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remsmoonlight · 3 years ago

Text

— title : calming the waters

— word count : 2.3 k words

— pairing : rick grimes x reader

— summary : the switch from surviving on the road to living in a cookie cut neighbourhood hasn’t been easy on anyone, especially the leader of your group, you leave it to yourself to remind him it’s not all on his shoulders

— warnings : only brief descriptions of blood and violence .. usual stuff for twd

note: only at the end did i realise i left the opportunity for smut but im too tired to continue damn

Life in Alexandria has so far been strange to adjust to, you continue to find yourself waking up regularly through the night. Your body has relied so long on a broken sleep cycle it simply cannot switch off the switch as easily as you wish for it, and wish for it you do every night before bed. However, life refuses to heed to your desires, preferring to disregard them completely. Your family finds it amusing to tease you about the dark circles under your eyes, that is after you have had anything with caffeine in to rattle your system into a state of alertness.

How the residents have made it this far agitates you to no end, while you and your family have suffered tragedy and loss at the hands of people like the Governor, to the people at Terminus while they sat sheltered and safe from the horrors of this new world crawls under your skin. The thought scratching inside of you, they’ve never known pain as you have, the realisation comes as one of the sons of the Monroe family accosted you the moment you set out of the door.

“ ⏤ she keeps going on about this pasta maker. I’m telling you, she never stops. “

“ she never stops, huh? “ you ask, placing yourself on the porch step with your head lazily resting in your hands. You felt as soon as he began speaking to you it was going to be a conversation you would not be interested in.

The you from twenty five minutes ago happens to be correct.

This all began because Rick thought it appropriate to let you sleep a while longer, and while you do feel more rested than you have in the longest time you can remember, you can feel irritation tickling the back of your neck intensely. Oh, I’m going to kill him when I see him. A silent thought interrupts you rudely, you almost shake your head to be rid of it and focus back on Spencer.

“ yeah, she’s not someone you wanna be caught right now by. She can talk your ears off for days. “ he informs with a chuckle, completely unaware of your blasé attitude or uncaring for it.

“ you know, I can really imagine that. “

Every inch of you is buzzing with an uncomfortable energy, you don’t want to integrate with their community just yet, preferring to feel around and understand the dynamics of how everything works. When society fell into the flames from humanity’s last fight with the walkers, you were lucky enough to have been able to seek safety with your group back in Atlanta at the quarry, and these have been the same people you have spent time with, shared your meals with, everything done has been with them. Quiet town life has been a memory of a past life that has faded into nothing more than a grey blur, shrouded in fog. To live here? It’s like learning how to ride a bicycle after many years of letting it gather dust. Your ways are not perfect, but they’re perfect for you. For your own pace and peace of mind.

“ has my mom given you a job yet? “

“ uh, yeah actually she has. I used to be a preschool teacher before everything went to hell. “ you explain to him, your memories of the children you used to teach had been painful until Judith. The little girl had been what you needed to confront your past that you had been so quick to push away in order to survive. You can’t count how many times you’d come close to thinking about their little faces, and if they’d survived the initial chaos, refusing to even put a face to a possible death. You’d spent many days and many hours getting to know their audacious and bold personalities, it cut you deep to even imagine the days they were supposed to have, the lives they should have been promised extinguished so prematurely as if they had been no more than a flame of a candle burning in the night.

“ well, those classes are really small. You won’t have your hands full. I suppose you’ll probably be helping with the afternoon classes, we’ve got more teenagers here. “

“ mhm, I thought as much. “ your words are a small acknowledgement, though it deterred him little.

Spencer keeps talking and talking, every once in a while you mutter an ‘ yeah ‘ or an ‘ mhm ‘ and even at points humming in response. It’s obvious he means well and is trying to get to know you all but it’s just a simple clash of cultures, it’s why you’re unable to cut the conversation short so rudely. Even during the apocalypse being respectful hasn’t been wiped away.

Yet.

“ hi, Spencer! “ the sugary sweet tone of Carol interrupted the interaction as she greets Spencer and yourself, the broad smile ignites her features.

Although, you know her better to know this is not one born of genuine emotion to see the man.

“ I was hoping to borrow my friend here. Rick’s looking for them. “

Recognition lights his features up, his eyes widen in understanding her words. Never have you been more thankful for the older woman than currently, if there’s one thing Carol can be, is a miracle maker. Spencer backs away with little to say, bidding a goodbye to both of you.

“ Carol, thank you. “ you breathe, your hands move up to scratch your scalp as tension eased away into the open air. “ I thought he was never going to leave. “

“ yeah, I thought you were in trouble. I thought you were ready to kill him. “

“ believe me, if he spoke for two more minutes I was coming close to getting very creative with one of those blunt dinner knives in there. “ you speak, a short giggle plummeting from your lips at the thought.

“ he’s at the gate ⏤ Rick, that is. If you want him. “

A few more words of light hearted humour are exchanged between you, just little things. You have known Carol for a long time, one of the few people to continue to see her as a human after losing Sophia, yes she was in mourning, but she was still human. You never tiptoed around her, you offered her support as best you could and for that she continues to be grateful. Even in the prison, you became closer, as time passed on she took up something of a parental role in your life. Though you were old enough at the time to not need one, you accepted it. A slice of normality granted to you for what reason you have never found out, but one you wouldn’t seek out either, for some things happen without cause or reason, a mystery of life.

Turning around a corner, you’d realised you took a wrong turn around one of the houses, your sense of direction would have been your downfall had you not found the people you now call your family. Admittedly, you’d not spent much time exploring the vast environment that is home to these large homes, you still dedicated some time to mapping all the twists and turns. However, not even that has aided you. Despite this, you find a silver lining to getting lost.. you have been able to shake off whatever blades of irritation that sorely wished to cling to your being for longer, you wanted nothing more than to approach Rick without anything that could set him off.

Though few words have been shared between you both about how you all feel about being in Alexandria, it doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed a tension building its blocks within Rick. Knowing all he has been through, you’re worried that he will reduce himself to being no more than a caged animal, biding his time to break free. It’s why you’re searching him out, a discussion is sorely needed before anything should happen, chaos has a way of trailing your family like a puppy following its master.

“ there you are. “

Rick lays his sights on you in the distance, waiting for you to move closer before saying a word. You would go so far as to say it has been one of the few instances of genuine contentment as his features relax from the lines of strain it held not even a few moments previously. Your hands move straight to your hips, standing a few metres away from him.

“ oh, you were actually looking for me? “ eyebrows raise ever so slightly, you thought Carol had been simply nudging you in his direction.

“ just to check the perimeter. “

“ and you need me for that ? “ you question him as your hands move to rest on your hips, a knowing smile lifting your expression as you observe him.

“ ‘course I do. “ Rick’s tone matches yours, it’s been a while since you’ve heard even the faintest hint of amusement associated with the intense male. It’s alien in a sense, though you’re welcoming of it.

Few words are exchanged with the Alexandrian who has been tasked with guarding the gate, exchanging the barest of information you realise as you watch Rick. You hope that even an hour outside the walls of the town is enough to soothe even the slightest of the negative energy that surrounds his being. Your situation is not perfect, and it’s inverted to what you had been experiencing previously, but you believe in your heart that this has to work. The thought of your family not being able to survive yet another bout of the outside world terrifies you to your core, the ice that is your fear erupting from your centre at the idea.

“ is there a real reason why you wanted me out here? “

“ it’s been a while since it was just us, gettin’ hard to breathe in there. “

“ Rick, you know I’m always here if you need it. I hate to see you carry everything on your shoulders the way you do. “

The hardness that had embedded itself into his face slowly eases at your words and thanks you for your support, he reaches out in between the distance that separates you to slip his fingers between yours. A comfort warms you in a way that no heat could at the action, you’re unable to stop the laugh that bursts free with a splutter. Even back on the road, and he was at his wits end, he was never this affectionate. It’s not something you hold against him though, there were many more things on his mind that required more attention.

“ somethin’ funny? “ he questions you immediately.

“ seeing this side of you, it’s just a bit weird. A good kind of weird, though. “ you assure, continuing to walk over the overgrown branches. “ you’re doing okay? Like, really? “

“ just hard to get used to. These people have just been lucky. “

You nod in understanding, it’s been your first thought every morning since walking through that gate with months of dirt and grime that had accumulated, clinging to every inch of your skin. While blood from the dead dried into your skin, becoming part of you, they lathered themselves in floral perfumes and sprays. As much as you want to allow the venom to pool within you, to form a monster born of hate ⏤ you can’t.

In this world you can’t be driven by such emotions, to aim them at innocent people. Had you been in their position, would it be such an easy position to leave this protected bubble? A piece of the previous world left untouched by the cold, ghostly grip of the dead.

“ we can’t hold it against them. “

“ they’re weak, they could get one of ours killed. “ he quietly grumbles in response, his head shaking at the thought. They’d lost too much already, and he would be damned if he lost any more members of his family, especially now they’d reached an element of safety.

“ or they might not? “ you counter his statement, your eyes pleading as you stop where you stand, your hands still connected.

“ we can’t deal in maybes, we deal in certainties. “

“ what are you suggesting, Rick? That we take over? “ you ask, your brows dropping lower. You’d seen enough death and violence to last you a lifetime, you’d had enough for now. You can’t confirm if you have enough energy for another fight. Too much has been lost.

“ if it comes to it. “

“ this is their home now, our home. They’re not bad people. “ you argue lightly, not wishing for a heated disagreement out there. Any walker around would be attracted by the noise and then the smell of the living, you’ve begun to get used to not having to slaughter walkers every day.

“ no, but they’re unprepared. “

“ so were we at some point! “ inch by inch, you close the distance. You rest your grip on his forearms, trying to calm him no matter how useless it may or may not be. “ Rick, you’re trying to create a problem. I get this is an adjustment and if anything does happen, we’ll have you back. We will fight, but for the sake of safety.. we have somewhere to actually live. “

Against his better judgement he nods, just to put a stop to the conversation. He’d wanted to spend some time alone with you that held no prying eyes from Alexandrians, nor the entertained gazes of your group.

“ let’s just see how things go, and try not to keep things bottled up. It never works out. “

“ I’m not sure you want me to share my deep, dark secrets. “ he asserts with a playful inkling hidden poorly within his words.

A smirk lines itself into your features, you’re feeling the energy from Rick and you can’t deny that it feels good. You lift your chin higher, inching your lips closer to his, the warm glow beginning to burn brighter ⏤ a silent dare in the form of a quiet whisper on your tongue. “ try me. “

#twd imagine #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes oneshot #twd oneshot #twd fic

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imtryingmybeskar · 3 years ago

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Part 14 of Fugitive. Quite a bit of deviance from what has gone before. Much plot, many darkness.

18+, 12k words.

"Cyar'ika...please..." A cruel smile curved your lips as you heard the Mandalorian's plaintive cries. They soothed your tormented soul like a balm after so many years of being denied. "You cannot do this. Please. Listen to me." The seemingly sourceless orange light splayed across his beskar like an oil slick fire.

You frowned and advanced on him, hissing. "I cannot? You do not tell me what I can and cannot do." As you reached him, he fell to his knees, the T shape of his visor fixed on your face.

"Please do not make me do this, cyar'ika," he begged as you heard the click of his blaster cocking.

"You think you'll...what? Shoot me? Kill me?" your words were icily mocking as you tore the blaster from his grasp and hurled it away without ever laying a finger on it. "You cannot kill me. You cannot harm me. As you say, I am your beloved. You love me." As you spoke you lifted the helmet from his head and dropped it on to the dusty black earth next to him as you looked down into his face. His nose and mouth were leaking blood and his lip was puffy and bruised. "As well you should," you added, bending down to stroke your hand through the hair at the back of his head and grabbing a fistful roughly. You planted a bruising kiss on his mouth and his lip split anew, the iron sweetness of him coating your own lips. His eyes were huge and staring, but his fear was being tempered with anger now. That too was as it should be.

"I love you. Not...this. Whatever this is. This is wrong." Bestowing another smile upon him, you released his hair and brought your hand around to cup his chin instead, speaking so softly and so, so dangerously.

"Wrong, Mand'alor? Are you quite sure about that?"

"I am not the-" But his denial of who he was drowned out by the gasp of pain he emitted as you flooded his mind with images. Of him sitting upon the throne in the royal palace of Mandalore, the Darksaber in one hand and his beskar spear in the other, the very picture of a warrior king. Of a war room filled with Jedi and Mandalorians alike, plotting and strategising their slaughter across the galaxy. Of legions upon legions of fanatical Mandalorians, loyal only to Din and cutting swathes through stormtroopers in a riotous orgy of blood and smoke...At this last you felt his mind rebel and struggle against yours, like a moth battering itself against a lamp. "No...," he managed to spit feebly.

"No?" you asked gently, your voice honeysweet and kindly as you withdrew from his mind and let him get his breath back. "But isn't it a glorious future? You and I working together to rid the galaxy of the vermin that plague it? I know you want to make them pay. For what they did to your child. For making you the Mand'alor in the first place. For Alzoc-" You knew what he was going to do before he did it. So predictable. His hand reached for your throat and closed around it as he stood, but you had already compensated your breathing and the gesture did little except excite you. His limbs were shaking with rage, as well as from his ordeal and you smiled sweetly at him. "You see?" you scraped out, "You do want this. We can set Mandalore aright again. Together. Husband of mine." His hand relaxed its grip a little, but his fingers were still around your neck. He swallowed as if something bitter were trying to force its way up his throat.

"The woman I married would never say such things, never force me to see such things. You are not my riduur." And suddenly his other blaster was in his left hand and pointing directly between your eyes.

You snarled at him, an animalistic noise of purest hatred, "You are weak, Mandalorian. You have betrayed your Creed countless times. And I know that you could never-" Suddenly the world went white, then dark, and you knew nothing more.

***

Seventy two hours earlier

***

"Din, you have to stop!" You were desperately trying not to giggle and encourage his behaviour. "I told you, either I do the ritual here or I go to my room in the Academy alone and do it."

"But mesh'la, how can I concentrate on anything else with you like this?" he said pleadingly as he gathered you into his arms.

"Like what?" you asked innocently, even though you knew perfectly well what. After you had taken shelter in the ship, you had set your robe and clothes to dry and sought out some fresh ones. Apparently you had gotten behind on laundry and had very little that was clean besides underwear, so had asked Din to borrow a spare undershirt and he had obliged. It wasn't often that you wore his clothes, but you loved having the scent of him so close to you all the time. The trouble was that you didn't have any clean spare trousers and now found yourself trying desperately to relax your mind and body when you could almost feel the heat of his gaze as he watched the bottom of his shirt grazing the tops of your thighs. "Would you prefer me naked?" That was the wrong thing to say. Or, possibly the right thing. Apparently the only thing more arousing to Din than you in his clothes was you out of them. He ground his erection against your stomach and kissed you.

"Always prefer you naked," he murmured against your lips.

"Are you going to make a liar out of me?" you asked, smiling. "I told Luke you made me a better Jedi. I also said we wouldn't be doing this here and yet..."

"And yet," he echoed, his nose stroking over your cheek. "Since you've already broken that promise once, would it be so terrible to do it again?"

"Absolutely," you answered. "But I can never resist you, Din Djarin. You know that."

Two hours later, you were finally sitting calmly and meditatively in front of a small bowl of water and a lit candle - the reflection of the candle upon the water helping to clear your mind and soothe your spirit. Recalling your meeting with Paz Vizsla, you went through each stage of what led to your anger at him, analysing and considering all possible angles to avoid a repeat of such behaviours in the future. At the core of it was your attachment to Din, your desire to never see him be hurt or damaged. You had to be mindful and better at managing your emotions surrounding him, else it would be increasingly easy to act that way again. The candle suddenly flickered although there was no draft that you could feel, and you could see a darkness swirl within the bowl. It...had to be a trick of the light. The bowl was white, there was nowhere that the darkness could be. Still, it was there and as you concentrated on it, you thought you heard a noise. A low level thrumming like machinery, but punctuated by the occasional voice calling, shouting in distress, screaming...

"Mesh'la?" Din's voice struck through your mind like an arrow, and his hand on your shoulder shook the dream from you instantly. "You fell asleep," he said needlessly, a smile playing about his lips. You looked down at the candle and bowl. The water was clear and ordinary, the candle not burned down by much. You couldn't have been asleep for more than twenty minutes. "Are you okay?" he asked when you didn't reply to him.

"Yes, fine. Just a strange dream. And apparently I'm more tired than I imagined." Din helped you to your feet. "Can we go back to the Academy? We need to speak with Luke again." His face took on a stony, annoyed countenance. "I know, I know. But we do have things to talk through. Not least the Council's discussion about you and I. Luke...he is a good man. Please trust me on this. And when you feel ready - if you feel ready - you can talk to me about whatever it is that has made you so...well you know." He nodded and looked into your eyes, his own softened and filling with love as he beheld your face.

"I do trust you. Of course I do. And I trust that what I need to tell you will not change us. Its just-" he swallowed thickly, "-its hard to say out loud after so long." Your arms came round his back to hold him close and you felt the understanding pass between you, strengthening you both individually and together.

Once your clothes had (mostly) dried, you got dressed and Din gave a low hum of approval when he saw that you were continuing to wear his undershirt. "You look far better in that than I do," he remarked and you kissed him happily before handing him his helmet. He held your hand on the approach back to the Academy, seeming to want to be as close to you as he could after your disagreement, even through his coverings. Just as you were about to enter through the main doors, Tolea came out to you.

"There you are," she smiled. "I've been looking all over. Luke said there is to be a "Council meeting" after the evening meal?" You could almost hear the quotation marks around 'Council Meeting'. "There's hardly a Council to speak of!" Her eyes fell to where yours and Din's hands met and she raised an eyebrow, more suggestive than questioning. You set about introducing your fiancé and your friend properly. He seemed inclined to trust her as when you gave his name as "Mando", he interjected with his real first name and held out his hand to clasp hers.

"So, a Mandalorian, hey?" she teased. "You always did have a thing for them!" Your eyes had gone wide at her words and you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks as you saw Din's helmet turn to face you in the periphery of your vision and heard what sounded like a laugh swiftly muffled by a cough.

"I did not have a "thing" for them," you spluttered indignantly. "I was just interested in the history of the Mandalorian Wars!"

"Yeah, yeah. But the armour helped, right?"

"Tolea!"

"Alright, I'll stop," she promised, her hand coming to pat your shoulder in a good-natured way. "I actually just wanted to see if you would come and spar with me? I'm a little rusty and it might be a good learning experience for the Padawans."

"I will, if you never mention the word 'Mandalorian' in front of me ever again," you joked. She bowed to you in a mockery of a solemn promise and turned away to walk you around the building to the outside exercise yard. Your cheeks were just beginning to cool when Din's faintly amused voice spoke softly to you.

"A "thing" hmmm?"

"Oh don't you start," you urged, holding up a warning finger toward him.

"Well....I can see it, that's all I'm saying." He paused briefly. "And there was that "thing" with Fett too." Apparently Tolea's hearing was excellent because at this she rounded on you, her face gleeful as you turned to Din, horrified.

"DIN!"

"Excuse me, what? Boba Fett the Bounty Hunter?! The one with the armour, yes? I just want to be clear!" Din's rumble of laughter at your face and Tolea's delight made your heart give a sudden squeeze. It had been so long since you had been with friends that you knew and trusted, and even though they were currently ribbing you mercilessly, you were so grateful to have them both in your life again. Your voice was teasing as you made your rejoinder.

"I'd be careful if I were you. You just asked me to spar and told me you were out of practice. Such a shame, what accidents can occur," you said breezily to Tolea. "As for you," you narrowed your eyes at Din and gently poked your finger at his breastplate, "Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?!" He laughed at your meaningless threats and caught your hands before pressing his helmet to your forehead for the briefest moment.

"I should not have taught you that one," he said softly. "I mean...I beg your pardon, verd." Tolea was looking between you both, a little bemused.

"I'm going to assume you said something disgustingly private and leave it at that," she ventured.

"Close. I was threatening to smack him in the face. That's kind of Mandalorian courting, isn't it?" you teased.

"Excuse me!" he exclaimed, ruffled. "I'll show you Mandalorian courting!....That...wasn't supposed to sound like that," he added in a slightly defeated tone as both you and Tolea roared with laughter. The good natured teasing between the three of you lasted until you were almost at the exercise ground.

"Okay," Tolea breathed. "We have to be calm and act like actual adults for the children now." She tried to make her face solemn, but giggled slightly when she caught your eye as you were trying to do the same thing. "I missed you," she said as she patted your shoulder again and the warmth of your friendship sloshed between you like a tropical ocean wave. You managed to collect yourselves enough to greet the children with a modicum of decorum. Din settled himself on the edges of the training ground, a little apart from the Padawans - you assumed so as not to distract them. It worked, for the most part, although eyes would occasionally stray to where he stood, monolith-like in his size and stillness.

"As some of you may know," Tolea began, gesturing at you, "we both trained together at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant before the Empire came. We have spent many years apart, but the bonds of kinship as Jedi remain strong, as well as the bonds of friendship." She smiled fondly at the Padawans in front of her. "We would often practice our Forms with each other and train together. Hopefully, our bonds will show through there as well, despite the time apart." She took up her initial stance opposite you, and you followed her lead. As she ignited her lightsaber, you blinked in surprise.

"Yellow? That's new." Tolea smiled.

"I lost my lightsaber that night but I rebuilt it when I came here. There is an ancient Temple not too far from here. I found an old and broken lightsaber within it and was able to rescue its crystal and purify it as my own. It felt like it was meant to be mine, even more than my old one, somehow."

"We shall see how it serves you," you replied with a smile. "I'll go easy on you and spare you the double blade, for now." Tolea tutted at you, but there was warmth in her eyes. You began by slowly demonstrating various aspects of the Forms and explaining how to incorporate Force abilities within some of these aspects, but after a while the joy of training with your friend again overtook the teaching somewhat. It was as if everything else fell away and for a brief time you were both ten years old again, with so few responsibilities, delighting in your new lightsabers and your abilities. Tolea was far less rusty than she had lead you to believe and before long the sweat was running down your back. When you came to a natural break, you begged a few minutes and she gladly acquiesced. It was at this point that you noticed that the number of people observing had swelled considerably. Master Kholi had come to join you with his group of students and was looking with approval at yourself and Tolea.

"This is good to see," he commented. "I myself was never very skilled with weapons. I was a Healer at the Temple and never had much time for them. I am glad the children can learn from such as yourselves." He glanced over to Din who was holding Grogu protectively, the child's back against his chest. "I see the Mandalorian seems more inclined to stay. This too is good. I will see you both at the meeting."

Tolea and yourself set to pairing the children up according to ability. There were practice sabers for the very youngest that were little more than padded sticks and these were distributed. With Din holding tight to Grogu there was an uneven number, so Tolea herself matched with Loro. As you approached Din and Grogu, you could hear his soft words spoken toward the child.

"...know everything about how to defend yourself. We will make sure of it. You will be a great warrior one day. Like your buir." With these last words, he raised his helmet to you, and you realised he wasn't talking about himself. A surge of pride and love roared through you and as you came to Grogu and kissed his head, he reached out to be held by you a while. You took him and cradled him in your arms, so that he could continue to observe the training going on around him and stepped backward a little so that your back was resting against the right side of Din's body. His hand came discreetly to the small of your back and stroked you softly. "You were amazing, cyar'ika," he said softy. "I pity the person who gets in your way."

You beamed at his praise. "Perhaps you could teach the children too. I don't think many of them know how to handle a blaster. I'll raise it at the meeting." You turned around to him and could see his helmet tipped questioningly at you. "I don't know what the others will say, but to me it seems silly to have an expert in weaponry here and not take advantage of it. Your lessons saved my life many a time."

"Teaching children? Do you really think I'm suitable for that?"

"Absolutely. Why wouldn't you be? I had never taught children before I came here. Just...be yourself." You looked across at the training yard at the students. "See, you already have a fan," you added, amused. Alikas was watching you and Din and when she saw you looking, she waved at you, the distraction causing her opponent to be able to knock her training saber out of her hand. She scowled at him, reached her hand out to raise it from the ground and retrieve it, and redoubled her efforts in sparring.

"That one reminds me of you," said Din, and you could hear the smile on his lips through the beskar. "Fierce and unafraid to speak her mind."

"And this one," you said, planting another kiss on Grogu's head, "Reminds me of you. Stubborn and very cute." He chuckled and reached out a finger for Grogu to grasp.

"Where do I sleep tonight?" he asked softly. "And where do you?"

"I think that will depend on what is discussed later. We will have the evening meal first, and then it will be the children's bedtime." At your words, Grogu turned his head toward you with a hopeful coo, and an image came unbidden to your mind. "I'm sure there will be eggs for you, little one," you assured him.

There were indeed eggs, along with fruit and meats and bread and vegetables and a type of savoury pastry you had never had before, but you took to well. The mood at the table was jovial and light, despite the fact that Luke was nowhere to be seen. Alikas displaced you by sitting next to Din before you could this time, and she and Grogu giggled happily together as they shared in their meal. Once Grogu had eaten his fill and was merely playing with his food, Din tasked her with watching him while he gathered a plate of his own to eat. The child nodded solemnly at the request and Tolea squeezed your arm in a silent promise that she would watch over both children. Just before he left, Din took a small silver ball out of a tiny pocket on his belt. Grogu babbled a long stream of happy nonsense and reached for it, using his power to take the ball from Din's hand. Din huffed a small laugh of contentment and stroked Grogu's head softly before picking up his plate. You led Din out of the dining hall and to the right, down one of the corridors of the quadrangle to one of the classrooms where he could eat his meal in peace. After removing his helmet and sitting down with his back to the door, he attacked the food with fervour, having had nothing since breakfast and once his immediate hunger was sated, he stared around at the pale blue walls surrounding him and the windows that looked over the grassy plains.

"Why do you have such a big space for so few?" he wondered aloud.

"Partly because we are hoping that we will not be so few in the near future," you smiled at him. "But also because this structure is part of something more ancient. Certain planets have more of a connection with the Force than others. Or at least, the Force flows more freely through them. This is such a place and is one of the reasons Luke chose to found the Academy here. Other Jedi came here before us and also settled. Some of their buildings survived and were in turn built upon. You paused, then said more softly, "I wish you could have seen the old Temple on Coruscant. It was a thousand times the size of this. The amount of times I got lost, even after having lived there for years...And it was so beautiful. Vaulted ceilings that were so high you could barely see them, or it felt that way. carvings and tapestries of Jedi past everywhere. And a serenity that permeated it. As soon as you walked in you felt more at peace with the galaxy." You only realised that you were staring out of the window, when Din took your hand. You had been looking at the plains but actually seeing the slanted sunbeams coming through the windows of the Temple and hitting the marble floors.

As you came back to yourself Din said softly, "It was your home. You've told me that it was before, but I've never really seen you speak of it as such until now. I'm sorry I cannot offer you a place like that to live."

"Don't. I just need you. The ship feels more like home with you in it than it ever did when I was alone." You stroked your hands over the stubble at his jaw as you spoke and he moved his cheek against your hand, almost burrowing into your touch. "I love you, Din. I don't tell you nearly enough." His eyes met yours and they were soft and warm with his matching adoration of you. You leaned forward to capture his lips with your own and as you did, heard a slightly embarrassed cough from the direction of the door. You raised your eyes to see Tolea standing there.

"Sorry," she grimaced. "Its just, the children are about to prepare for bed and I thought you might like to say goodnight." Din put his helmet back on and stood, gathering his plate and cutlery as he did so. "Here I'll take that," she offered. "You go."

Instead of sleeping in one room, the children were now divided into three dormitories, and Loro had his own little room to himself next door to the younglings. It was strange to see how much had changed in the relatively short time you had been away. Grogu shared a room with Alikas and a little boy called Dann. Even if Luke hadn't mentioned Tolea's biological children, you would have recognised those eyes anywhere. As you went to tuck the children in, Din hung back a little by the doorway, clearly still unsure as to whether he should be there. But when Grogu reached for him, he went immediately, stroking his fuzzy little head and covering him over with the blankets in his crib. "Goodnight, kid," he murmured. "Sweet dreams."

Din and you went your separate ways shortly afterward - he returned to the Haldon while you joined the other Jedi in Luke's study. Luke looked pensive and a little worried as you entered and he immediately asked you about the Mandalorian.

"He is troubled. Less by what we spoke of and more about something deeper, something from his past. He has not spoken to me about that yet, but he is also concerned about the alliance you spoke of. Din has no desire to be the Mand'alor. He obtained the Darksaber almost accidentally. He wishes a peaceful transition of power to the Mandalorian who does wish to rule." Tolea and Ka-Moon both looked a little confused about what you were saying, so you set to telling them an abridged version of what had befallen the day that Luke had taken Grogu. "We have plans to meet with Din's people. After that we will have a better idea of how to proceed. He does not want another civil war amongst the Mandalorians, especially since they are already so few. But the Mand'alor must be determined by combat. There seems to be no way to reconcile these things. An overt alliance with the Jedi at this time would muddy the political waters even further and bring undue attention upon us here," you concluded.

"I understand his reaction a little more now. And yet a reluctant ruler can sometimes be the better kind. He does not seek power for himself, or for its own sake. What about the one that wants the throne?"

"I know little about her, other than Din considers her honourable. I trust his judgement." Luke nodded, looking thoughtful again. Tolea piped up, a little hesitantly.

"I don't mean to detract from the seriousness of the situation, but if he did choose to take the throne does that mean you would be a...queen?" You smiled at her. It was a question that had passed through your mind but that you had paid little real attention to.

"I don't think it works that way. There is only one ruler of Mandalore. There are few shades of grey in their society. I think I would be viewed as his consort, but would wield no actual power. That's if we were married, of course." The unadorned mention of why you were here caused a slight tension in the room for a few seconds before it relaxed and released, the bubble burst by your simple words. No one seemed surprised by your declaration and your suspicion that the others had at least sensed the feelings between Din and yourself seemed to have been proven right. That was if Luke hadn't just told them both outright.

"I am personally unsure about the wisdom of doing away with such rules," Ka-Moon said, a little stiffly. "We all know where such attachment can lead."

"So much has changed," countered Tolea. "The dangers of allowing attachment to drive emotion are still present, but how can we be away from the rigours of Temple life for almost twenty years and then return to that life as if nothing were different?"

"We cannot," agreed Ka-Moon, "But nor should we let go of everything that made the Order what it was."

"I agree," Luke chimed in, "But we should find a new way forward. The Order fell in part because it was not responsive enough to change. I believe we need to be more flexible in how we operate, now that we are so few."

"Forgive me, but you were not there. I do not believe you have sufficient knowledge of how the Order used to be run to be able to criticise it in such a way."

"But we all were," you interjected, "And Yoda himself trained Luke, and I agree with him."

"You have a vested interest in this particular discussion," pointed out Ka-Moon gently. "I am not dismissing your view, only pointing out the circumstances surrounding it."

"Then I too must have a vested interest," said Tolea. "Since my children are here. Would you have us leave, Master Kholi? If we are adhering to the old ways, the children should not be in my presence." She sighed. "We cannot go back. We must build what we can."

"Bringing force sensitive younglings to be trained is far different than seeking marriage. The children are already here, we cannot deny them. We need to nurture them and their abilities. Ratifying marriage within the Order is new territory and possibly dangerous."

"The Mandalorian and I will continue to live as we have," you pointed out. "Whether we speak the words or not, he is my husband in my life, in my heart."

"So what difference does it make?" asked Ka-Moon.

"Precisely," you answered.

The debate stretched. Tea was made and drunk and made again. The light had almost totally failed and only a few streaks of pale green across the blue of the sky to the north showed where the sun had been by the time a decision was made. Ka-Moon was still not entirely happy, but had come around to the idea of forging a new path for the Jedi. Afterward he confessed that his own heart ached for a past love that he had been forced to give up in service of the Order and you understood his reluctance a little more. When you had suggested that he go and seek him, as you had Din, he gave a sad smile and shook his head. "He died fighting the Empire a long time ago. But I wish you and your Mandalorian much happiness in your life together." You were grateful for his kind words and told him as much.

"So...how do we go about this? I mean, can we do this here? Soon?"

Luke smiled a little at your eager impatience. "I don't see why not. If you can find somewhere you want to conduct the ceremony. What will the ceremony be, anyway?"

"I don't even know. There is a very brief Mandalorian ritual but as to what I am bringing, I just don't know. I would like to have you all there, though. My family in attendance and to witness." Tolea was overjoyed for you and hugged you close with tears starting in her eyes as she did so. As the meeting broke up, she caught your hand in her own.

"Come with me, I want to give you something." Curious, you followed her to her chambers - which were dark panelled but hung with beautifully woven and brightly coloured tapestries all over, giving the impression that you were walking into some sort of botanical garden. She rummaged around in a trunk at the end of her bed and finally emerged with a folded garment in her arms. "This was-" she began before her voice cracked. You stroked her shoulder, encouraging her to go on if she could. "This was the dress I was wearing when I met my husband. Well...he was never my husband under the law. He died before...But I was going to use it for my wedding dress as well. If you like it, I want you to wear it."

"Tolea I...that's so wonderful of you. Are you quite sure?" She nodded, sniffling a little.

"It was supposed to be a wedding dress. It should be a wedding dress," she said, simply. "Try it on, we'll see how it suits you and if we need to adjust it anywhere." You gently shook the dress out. It was long and flowing, made of some material that seemed to catch and hold the breeze within it, and a beautiful lavender colour that rippled as it undulated gently. Tolea helped you put it on and aside from some minor adjustments to the waist, and the sleeves being a little too long it fit almost perfectly. Her eyes welled up again a little as she took in the sight of you and you thanked her profusely as you embraced. "I can't believe I have my friend back and now you're getting married? It's so strange! Do you remember those nights we couldn't sleep and would talk about what it would be like to have a "normal" life? We never expected we would actually do it!"

"I remember both of us being giggly over Master Kenobi," you said, laughing. "We weren't exactly model Jedi, even back then!" Tolea laughed and rummaged in the trunk again, coming up with a small sewing kit.

"Let me just adjust this a little for you. It will be finished by tomorrow." She took her measurements and made her markings and you gave the dress back into her capable hands before putting on your usual clothes. "Go tell Din the good news," she smiled as she shooed you gently out of her room.

Even though the hour was late, Din had not closed up the ship, clearly expecting that you would indeed visit after your meeting. As you approached, you wondered why he had not come out to meet you, as the sensors in his helmet would have told him of your approach in good time. Reasoning that he had perhaps become weary of his beskar again and was hiding out in the ship, you all but ran up the incline of the entrance ramp, calling him as you did. He was not in the hold and there was no reply. You opened the door to the room you shared, but he was not there. You couldn't hear the shower running in the fresher either. The elation you had felt was souring to anxiety in your stomach as you climbed the ladder to the cockpit where you found Din's hulking form slouched in the pilot's chair, his helmet thrown carelessly to one side and his right arm dangling loosely over the armrest, the hilt of the Darksaber in his hand. He did not turn at the sound of your approach and a brief moment of terror seized your heart when you thought he might be unconscious, or worse.

"Din?" you called again as you came up to the back of the seat, and this time he stirred a little, though his eyes never left the view from the cockpit window. "Din, what's wrong?" you asked as you came to his side and touched his elbow. Finally, he dragged his gaze to you. His eyes were lit with the same wildness that you had seen when he had kissed you in the rain but it was wrong somehow, muted, dulled, and sickly. A thin trail of dark blood leaked from one nostril.

"I can hear it," he frowned, his words slightly slurred and coming slowly. "Is this what you hear? How can you bear it?"

"You can hear what, Din?" you asked, trying to keep your voice calm as you pressed the back of your hand to his head. His brow was both cold and slick with sweat.

"Everything," he panted. "Why can I hear it? I...I can feel it." His eyes grew suddenly wide and fearful, something you had never seen before and which chilled you to the bone.

"Din, you need to come with me," you said firmly. "You're unwell. Master Kholi will look over you and then you will be fine." This last part was more for your benefit than for his. There had only been one other time when he had acted in a similar way, long ago when you had first travelled with him, before you had ever known him fully. It had been such a silly mistake. As you had chased your quarry through a jungle landscape, he had tripped over a root and fallen headfirst into a bush. You had teased him mercilessly about it for the rest of the afternoon and all seemed well until the next morning. It transpired that as he had removed his beskar for the night, a thorn that had snagged on his clothing had scratched a jagged line onto his skin, its swift poison working its way through him as he slept. Even through his delirium he had managed to put his helmet back on before you found him. It had been his last rational thought for several days.

The beautiful depths of his eyes grew cloudy with confusion at your words. "But...you asked me. If I could feel it. And now I can."

"Its okay, kar'ta." you murmured soothingly to him. "Come with me, everything will be-" A thought struck you like a thunderbolt. "Din," you whispered haltingly, "Do you mean you can feel the Darksaber?" In reply he held the hilt limply up toward you, almost as an offering. It seemed to take all of his strength to make that simple movement. You gulped as you reached for it with trepidation, wanting to take the burden of it from Din, but not wanting you both to be afflicted with whatever it was that was happening. As your fingers closed around the hilt, a wave of sound and emotion hit you. Terror and abandonment and rage and screaming madness and the same thrumming that you had heard earlier as you had meditated, stronger this time and more defined as a heavy thumping the longer you held the hilt. As blackness crowded the edge of your vision, you dropped it to the floor of the ship. Din made tiny anguished noise at the sight and reached down weakly to grasp at it again. "No!" you exclaimed sharply as you pushed him gently but firmly back into his seat. "Leave it there!" You kicked the weapon away out of the reach of you both, the terrifying cacophony blasting through you for a second time as your boot connected with it. Din lay back into the pilot's chair, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he couldn't quite get enough oxygen into him. Quickly, you used the communication array to contact Luke, silently offering a prayer of gratitude when he answered almost immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "I sense-"

"Get Ka-Moon and come to the ship. Din is ill. Please hurry." Luke disconnected at once and you turned your attentions back to the man in front of you, kneeling down beside him and taking his gloved hand in yours while stroking the sweat soaked strands of his hair back from his forehead. "Kar'ta, they will be here soon and we will make you feel better, I promise. Can we take some of your beskar off? You might be more comfortable when they arrive." His attention seemed to have meandered back to the cockpit window. You stood and looked outside yourself, but could see only the darkness of the plains ahead. Only starlight existed out there to illuminate anything and it wasn't enough. Bending back to Din, you began to remove his pauldrons. He did nothing to stop you, but nor did he assist. You weren't entirely sure he was able to move to help, nor that he was even aware of what you were doing.

Your mind was turning furiously, trying to piece together what had happened. Clearly he had been well enough to get up the ladder to the cockpit in the first place, so this was a relatively new affliction. But you had been at the meeting for hours. Who knew how long he had been here in this state? The thought of him experiencing the torment you had heard and felt for that long made you choke back a sob that tried to make its way up your throat, and you forced your mind back to rationality with some difficulty. When you had been on Artorias and had begun teaching him about lightsaber forms, you had asked him if he could feel anything from the Darksaber, if the crystal within it spoke to him as your lightsaber crystal spoke to you. He had replied in the negative. What had changed? Location was the most obvious answer. This planet was strong with the Force. Was it possible that he had a degree of Force sensitivity but that it took a planet like this for it to be strong enough to be noticeable? Or was the Darksaber reacting differently and not Din himself? You had held the weapon previously and had felt nothing like what you had just experienced. As your mind whirred you were removing his thigh armour and this time he moved his legs up a little, you believed in an attempt to give you easier access to the fastenings. Your heart gave a hopeful leap at this and as you pulled the beskar away you cradled his face and looked into his eyes. They were still hazy, with pain or confusion you couldn't tell, but his attention was fixed on you now, and he held your gaze. Both of which you took to be good signs.

"Its okay Din, it will all be okay. I love you. I love you so much. We will make you better, I promise. I'm here with you and it will all be okay." You were babbling a stream of near-meaningless nonsense, for your own benefit as much as his. You heard Luke's voice and footsteps approach up the incline of the ramp and pressed your lips against Din's briefly, thinking (hoping?) you felt him try to reciprocate. You stroked his face softly before easing him forward from the headrest and placing his helmet back on his head, calling to the Jedi below as you did so.

The next couple of hours were a nightmare whirlwind for you. Ka-Moon made his basic assessments of Din, but was hampered by the fact that you refused to allow him to take his helmet off. You had no idea what choice Din would make in this situation, given that Luke had already seen his face, but you were determined to err on the side of caution and to retain his dignity for him as far as possible. Din seemed to be able to move a little more as the minutes ticked by and eventually could stand, aided by a person on either side of him, though he seemed to have lost the ability to speak when you took the Darksaber from him. Getting him down the ladder was problematic to say the least. While his hands were still able to grip the rungs sufficiently, you ended up helping to physically move his legs while Luke was on standby to catch him, with the Force if necessary. Mercifully, there was a floating stretcher waiting in the hold and as you helped Din to lie back on to it, he groped for your hand and squeezed it when you gave it to him. It was a pitiful fraction of his usual strength, but it bolstered your courage and gave you hope in your heart. You ached for him, that people were witnessing his physical weakness and for the first and only time you hoped that his wits hadn't entirely returned, to spare him his shame. As you had appraised Luke of what you had experienced, he had wrapped the Darksaber in a thick woollen blanket that you had provided, taking care to only touch it with his gloved mechanical hand and looking grimly thoughtful as he did. Tolea was there to greet you at the door of the Academy again and she accompanied you all to the medical bay. Ka-Moon swore that he would not remove Din's helmet but requested that he be allowed a degree of peace to run his tests. You knew it was the best thing to do, but were also having trouble leaving Din's side. Much as you trusted in Ka-Moon's healing capabilities, you couldn't help but feel that somehow this was your fault and that by leaving Din alone you were compounding your mistake. Only when Din managed to breathe a shaky "Mesh'la" to you before stroking his thumb clumsily over your cheek did you feel he was recovered enough for you to be just outside the room. You kissed the top of his helmet and pressed your forehead against it before you left, accompanied by Tolea and Luke.

"What's happening? Did you feel anything from the Darksaber? How can I help him? What can I do?" you fired these questions in quick succession at Luke, your voice breaking on the last one. Tolea came to you and hugged you close.

"I have a theory," Luke began haltingly, "But its not complete...Tolea, tell me again what you saw when you went to the Temple." Tolea let you go and turned to face Luke, but before she did you saw the look of trepidatious realisation on her face.

"The Temple where you got your crystal?" you asked, frantically.

Luke nodded. "I don't know if you remember but just before you left to find Din, I mentioned that I thought I had found reference to an ancient temple nearby. When Tolea arrived she volunteered to go and find it if she could."

"There was something...bizarre about the place," Tolea said, her eyes a little distant. "The further in I explored the more untouched it looked. As if one day everyone had just flown away and left. I found a few useful things scattered around - datapads and the like. The only ruination I could see had been caused by the weather and so was mainly on the outside. Until I reached what looked like the meditation room. There were...bones in there. A lot of them. All jumbled up. And scorch marks from weapons on the walls. Its where I found the lightsaber that I took my crystal from. There were a few of them scattered around, but I was drawn to that one in particular..."

"Did you feel anything from the Temple?" you pressed. "Anything that might explain-" you broke off and gestured helplessly at the room behind you.

Tolea shook her head. "You were always the more perceptive of us," she answered. "I felt nothing but the sadness and emptiness of yet more death around me."

"I need to go there," you said instantly. "If it might help-" Luke held up a warding hand.

"I know its not what you want to hear," he cautioned, "But you must be patient. Do not rush in until we have more information." He spoke more loudly over you as you began to protest, "I know you want to feel like you are doing something. But he needs you here. Once he is back on his feet, you know he will follow you wherever you may go. And without knowing more about what has happened here, you might just be leading him into more danger." He was right, you knew he was right.

"So what can I do?" you whispered miserably.

"You can help me with my research. The Darksaber is a unique weapon in the galaxy as far as we know. And so much of its history is lost. We will start with information on its creator, Tarre Vizsla, and then-"

"Vizsla," you murmured. Luke looked at you, puzzled. "Vizsla was the name of the Mandalorian I met. The one I...lost my control with." Had it really only been the previous night that you and Din had been wrapped around each other in the magnificence of that bed? It seemed like weeks ago. "I knew I recognised the name, but I couldn't think why. I have read about Tarre Vizsla before. Do you think it is relevant?"

"At this point, I don't want to rule anything out," Luke said grimly.

"Can you spare a datapad? I don't want to move too far from here."

Luke's eyes and voice softened a little as he replied. "Of course," he said. "I'll upload everything I have been able to find out about this planet and the Darksaber and I'll bring it to you." Tolea was the one who actually brought you the datapad. She came to you twenty minutes after Luke had departed and she also brought along water, some fruit and a couple of large colourful patchwork cushions that you recognised as having been on her bed earlier.

"In case you want to be a little more comfortable," she explained as you gratefully accepted them. There were no chairs in the corridor and the toll of the day had begun to make itself known to you. "No news?" she enquired, her eyes flicking toward the medbay door. You shook your head wordlessly, not trusting yourself to speak at that moment. She brought you in for a hug again. "Everything will be okay," she soothed as she stroked your hair. "He is strong. He will be just fine."

"What do I-" your voice broke and you stopped to take deep breaths before continuing. "How do I tell Grogu?" you whispered miserably. "He's only just got Din back and now..." Tolea took your face in her hands and looked into your eyes.

"You won't need to tell Grogu anything because Din will be fine," she insisted. You nodded sadly and Tolea sat you down on one of the cushions, positioning herself on the other opposite you. "Can I ask something?" she spoke hesitantly and you nodded for her to continue. "What did he say to you in there? That word that made you come away." You felt your eyes well up and had some difficulty controlling the spasms of grief that passed across your face. "I'm sorry," Tolea apologised hurriedly. "I shouldn't have-"

"It's ok," you said, your voice a little wobblier than you would have liked. "It's Mando'a. He called me 'Mesh'la'. Its his name for me, when we're together. I don't think he's ever said it quite that publicly before. It means 'beautiful'." And for some reason, that was the word that broke the through the dam you had tried so hard to keep strong. Tears flooded down your face in a silent stream as Tolea held you against her shoulder, stroking over your back through your shuddering breaths.

Once you were calm, you insisted Tolea go to get some rest. It would already be a challenge to focus on the datapad in front of you, when Din was so close and yet so out of reach. You didn't want to hurt Tolea's feelings, but you did not want an additional distraction to your task. She left, but only once she had extracted a promise from you that you would call her if you needed her for anything. Once you settled back down on the cushions and began to read, you realised that much of Luke's research was more of a reminder of what you had already known than anything new. Tarre Visla had been the first Mandalorian to train as a Jedi on the Temple on Coruscant. He had created the Darksaber as a way to marry his Mandalorian and Jedi identities and it had later become a symbol of power among Mandalorians, Vizsla himself using the weapon while he was the Mand'alor. After he had died, the Jedi had brought the Darksaber back to the Temple and it had been kept there until members of House Vizsla had taken it back and used it to unite the Mandalorian clans. That had been during the fall of the Old Republic, over a thousand years ago and its history was shrouded in mystery for many centuries thereafter.

More interesting was what he had been able to discover about the Temple that lay not far to the East. It had been a Jedi stronghold towards the end of the Jedi-Sith wars, around the same time that Vizsla was alive, and although it was small it was apparently of some strategic importance to both sides. There were reports of frequent Sith attacks, all of which seemed to be successfully repelled by the Jedi stationed there. However, the last report that Luke had been able to find had some interesting details that caught your eye. The Sith that had attacked on this occasion were bolstered by a cell of highly trained fighters that had managed to withstand the Jedi offensives, even though they themselves were not Force users. And there was a mention of a "Hunter" that stalked the plains, picking off any unwary Jedi that strayed too far from the confines of the Temple. The very last line of this account was a desperate plea to Coruscant for extraction, with a warning that the Temple was now unviable and a line that sent a chill down your spine; "They did not conquer, they did not have to. They were always here. They will always be here."

As you pondered the implications of those words, the door behind you opened and Ka-Moon's kindly face looked down at you. "Come in," he invited, and you scrambled to your feet to do just that. Din was sitting up on one of the beds, his back to the wall and with one leg on the bed and one on the floor, as if he were about to attempt to walk. His remaining beskar, cape and gloves were piled on a chair near to the bed, but his helmet was on. "Don't let him do too much," Ka-Moon was saying as you made your way across the floor to Din. "He needs rest. I will be back shortly." You thanked him a little distractedly as he withdrew from the room, and then turned your attention fully to Din. He moved to take the helmet from his head and you gladly assisted him. He looked exhausted, but much more himself and you couldn't stop the tears that spilled from your eyes as you bent and kissed his lips tenderly.

"Kar'ta," you whispered, as you gathered him to your chest and pressed him close. "I was so worried. I thought...I thought I had lost you."

"Never," he replied, his voice a little raspy. "It will require more than that to take me from you, cyar'ika." You took his face in your hands and scanned him, even as he wiped the tears from your cheeks. There was no evidence of physical hurt to him, even his nose had stopped bleeding. His eyes were his own again and that pleased you more than anything.

"What happened?" you asked as you sat yourself on the bed, holding his hands in your own. "What do you remember?" He was shaking his head at the questions.

"Ka-Moon asked me the same and I will tell you what I told him. I went back to the ship to attend to my weapons and beskar while you were in your meeting. I did so and took a shower afterward. That is all I remember." You frowned.

"You don't remember getting dressed? Putting your beskar back on? Going to the cockpit?" He shook his head at each question as you fired them. "When do your memories return?"

"I have flashes but I don't know if they are real memories or not. I remember taking my helmet off but I don't remember why. I remember a voice. Not yours. But a woman's. And...other noises." He visibly shuddered and then pulled himself together. "The sky. The sky was on fire. I remember your face. You took some of my armour off. And you held my hand. I remember reaching out to touch your face. Then everything seemed to settle in my head but you weren't there anymore. I've felt more like myself again for half an hour or so."

"Do you remember what this woman you heard said?" He frowned, his eyes focused on the floor but not really seeing it.

"She wanted something from me. I don't know what. I can't remember what she said, but I remember her hatred. Its still in my mind, like a bad taste I can't get rid of." He shook his head as if to dislodge what he was feeling.

"Are you in pain?" you asked him gently.

"My head hurt. He gave me something for it." He paused. "What happened to me?" You explained the situation from your point of view. When you came to talk about the Darksaber, Din almost absent-mindedly groped behind his back to feel for it and you gently took his hand in yours again.

"Luke has it. It seems to be connected with what happened but we aren't sure how yet." As you continued with your story, the crease between his eyes deepened until he was fully frowning at your words. You made sure to skate lightly over how much assistance he had required from the ship to the medbay and he didn't seem much inclined to ask. Your story ended with what you had read on the datapad and your own conclusion that you had drawn. "I have to go to the Temple, to investigate."

"Mesh'la-" he began, warningly.

"No, Din. I have to go. I need to stop this ever happening to you again, and for that I need information."

"Then I come with you." He made as if to heave himself off the bed, but you halted his progression gently with one hand.

"You need rest right now. I will not be going any time soon. I still need to see if Luke has discovered anything new." Din reluctantly settled himself back against the wall. When you spoke again, you did so hesitantly, not wanting to make him relive his traumatic experience quite so soon, but also needing answers only he could provide. "I know you say you remember nothing," you began, "but you said to me that you could hear the Darksaber, that you could feel it. Do you recall taking it out? Or using it? Or anything unusual about it from this evening?" Din frowned again in concentration and you squeezed his hand to remind him that you were there and he was safe. He spoke haltingly when he replied.

"When I cleaned my weapons, I held the Darksaber and switched it on to check it was all in order. But I remember that clearly, there was no voice then, nothing was wrong. It was all as it should be. I think...the Darksaber was the way that the woman could speak to me. But I don't know why I think that, I just have a feeling."

"Trust your feelings," you urged. "And let me know if anything else comes back to you. But for now, you must rest." You moved to the other side of the bed to settle next to him. "I am here, kar'ta," you murmured, as he lay down on his side and faced you. You kissed his forehead and held him close and within no time at all his breathing was deep and even as he fell into a deep sleep of exhaustion. After you had moved carefully and quietly back out of the room, you found Ka-Moon and informed him of Din's helmetless and sleeping state, promising him you would return shortly. Then you made your way to Luke's study where you were not surprised to find Tolea assisting in the research he had promised.

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed. "Not when everyone else was awake and doing something." You nodded and squeezed her hand gratefully before sitting in a chair next to her and putting forward the theory that had started to come together in your mind.

"I think that the Darksaber was here on this planet before, a thousand years ago. There is a mention of what sounds very much like a mercenary band of Mandalorians in that information you gave me, Luke. And a reference to a Hunter picking off Jedi, which may also have been one of their number. If Mandalorians and the Sith were working together here, is it not possible that the Darksaber was...infused? With some kind of memory perhaps. If one of the Sith were that strong, could they have done such a thing? And now that the weapon is back here, the echoes of it are strong enough to reach out and try to connect with us. If Din has any Force sensitivity it would explain why he was affected so badly. With no training to shield him, his mental defences would be minimal. I know its not a perfect explanation, but I think it fits a lot of the pieces together."

Luke seemed to ponder what you had proffered in silence for a time. "I have heard of artifacts and weapons retaining an essence of their owners, if their owners were sufficiently powerful in life," he mused. "I am troubled greatly by all of this. Not just because of what has happened to Din, but for the future of the Academy. I thought I felt a darkness...somewhere. I thought it was the remnant of what had happened between you and Vizsla, but now I begin to suspect it is something more. I have had dreams here and there ever since Tolea got back from her exploration, and I should have paid them more attention." He slapped his mechanical hand on the desk, and rose to pace the room.

"When you held the Darksaber, did you feel anything from it?" you enquired.

"No. And that troubles me too. How could someone who is not Force sensitive as far as we know hear it and I not? Unless..." he trailed off and turned to you. "Unless whatever was possessing it had got what it wanted. If possession is the right word. There's still so much we don't know."

"Which is why I need to go," you insisted.

"I will go myself," Luke said. "You are too close to this. If something is targeting you or Din, you need to stay far away from there. And I will not go until I am sure I have learned all I can about this situation." He spoke more softly toward you. "Go to him. Its the best thing you can do right now. And if you can, get some rest. We will resume tomorrow morning."

"The children-" you began.

"The children will be fine," Tolea interjected calmly. "And there is no sense in worrying about them or Grogu right now. Din may well be fully recovered tomorrow. Give it a night and see." You looked between she and Luke, feeling somehow that they were ganging up on you, even though what they were saying was perfectly logical and, you suspected, the right thing to do. You nodded and rose to leave the study.

"Before you go," Luke added, "Could you make out any words in what you were hearing when you held the Darksaber? Anything that might help?"

You shook your head slowly. "I don't think so. It was like a wall of sound. Of screaming in pain and anger and a weird thumping noise. But I should tell you something else that happened to me earlier." And you proceeded to inform him of your dream that you had had while meditating. "I don't know if its related, but the thumping kind of sounded the same and it seems like too much of a coincidence to not be linked."

"Agreed," Luke mused. "Go. I'll catch up with you tomorrow."

As you made your way back to the medbay, your mind was spinning once again. It was logical that Luke be the one to investigate the Temple, but something didn't sit entirely comfortably within you at that notion. You couldn't identify why, but you had a deep feeling that you should be the one to sort this mess out. Din was the most important part of your life and you wanted to be sure that proper justice would be done for the hurt he had suffered. Not that you didn't trust Luke, but you felt that with your additional investment in the situation, perhaps you would be more motivated to get answers. There was a part of you that wanted to just go, leave, fly off in the Haldon and fix it now, now, now. But you resisted the impulse. Din needed you and he came first. When you re-entered the room, Ka-Moon seemed to be running some tests, Din was sat up on the bed, his face covered once again.

"Well, the good news is that you are in wonderful physical shape," he was telling Din as he removed a sensor from the end of his finger. "And if you say you feel fine there isn't much more I can do for you at the moment. I would perhaps ask that you remain here overnight..." He trailed off as Din shook his head.

"I don't like hospitals," he grunted. "I won't get any rest."

"I'll be with him," you told Ka-Moon. "We'll go to my chamber here so we will be close by if anything happens." He inclined his head at you in acquiescence and moved off. Din reached for you as you approached and you took his hand and helped him to his feet. He was quite steady and apparently didn't need to lean on you. "Do you feel okay?" you asked. He nodded, but kept hold of your hand as he gathered his belongings from the chair.

Your chambers had remained almost untouched since your departure many months before. The droids had been in to clean and air the room and fresh bedding had been put on, so it wasn't dusty or dank, but it did have that sense of being unlived in that places get after a time with no one moving around in them. You lit the lamp by your bed and its soft yellow light permeated the room. Din shut the door behind him and deposited his clothes and armour on top of your dressing table, topping it with his helmet and then taking some time to look around him. The space was sparsely furnished and decorated. Everything that had meant the most to you, you had taken along with you upon your departure. Not that there was much, even then. The walls were dark panelled, similar to the room Tolea inhabited and this gave the room a cocoon-like quality. Strip lights were embedded in the walls, but you chose to leave them unlit - right now you wanted to make the room as conducive to sleep as possible. Some hangings in purple, pink and blue decorated the wall behind your bed. Their colours had reminded you of sunset on Naboo and you had bought them on impulse some years before. You had rescued Tolea's cushions from outside of the medbay and you stacked them neatly next to Din's armour before moving to the window and closing the curtains.

"Wait," Din instructed before you could block out the outside world entirely. He came up behind you, slid his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling his cheek against yours as he did and pulling you flush against his body. "I want to see the view."

"You can see much more of it when its not the middle of the night, Din," you smiled.

"Perhaps I meant the other view," he murmured as his finger snagged on the neckline of his undershirt, hanging so much more loosely than your usual garments and giving him an eyeful of your cleavage. You smiled fondly at his persistence and impetuosity.

"You just had quite an ordeal. Is this really the first thing you want to do?" you asked, half expecting it to be a rhetorical question. He held you even tighter to him and you were astonished to feel his breath hitch a little behind you. You tried to turn to him, to see his face and take him in your arms, but he held you firmly against him.

"I...just need you, cyar'ika. I do not know what happened today and that scares me. That is twice I have been afraid today, and twice I have told you so. What is happening to me? I do not think this place...I do not think it is for the likes of me. Perhaps there is a reason that there were no other Mandalorian Jedi. Maybe these worlds are not supposed to mix in this way." It shocked you, the uncertainty in his voice. It was so unlike Din to sound unsure. Even when he had no idea what he was doing, he would plough on ahead and try until he got the result he wanted through sheer force of will and bloody mindedness.

"You have me, Din. Always," you reassured him and all at once you remembered that amidst all of the worry and trauma of the afternoon, you had still not given him the good news. You squeezed his arms tighter around you and turned your face toward him, your lips brushing lightly over the tip of his nose as you added "If you still want me forever."

You heard the initial confusion in his voice as he said "Of course, why would I-" and the sudden joy that infused his words as he realised what you meant. "We will marry? You will not have to leave the Order?" He turned you to him as he spoke and held your upper arms. You smiled your answer at him and his lips crashed excitedly against yours. "Can we-I mean...I still don't know if you have a ritual to follow. But I want to do this. Now, if we can."

"Right now?" He nodded and cradled your face in one of his hands.

"I need you," he repeated.

"Don't we need someone to officiate? A witness?"

"Usually the head of the Clan is the one to hear the vows. I am the head of the Clan. I am...well, I am head of all the Clans..." he trailed off In a slightly embarrassed way and then continued swiftly as his eyes darted back to you. "We can reaffirm in front of the Tribe when we see them. We can do whatever ritual you wish in front of your Order. But I have been without you as my riduur for long enough. Besides, I wish to look upon you with my own eyes when we are joined."

"Yes," you whispered joyfully. "Let's do this." His smile was like the sunrise as he leaned forward to kiss you softly.

"I must teach you the words first," he smiled. He did and you spoke them slowly together, promising unity in all things, to share your lives in love forever and to raise Grogu and any other children you might have as warriors and looking with love and devotion upon the other as you did. He kissed you again afterward, the beautiful swell of his lips tenderly caressing over yours, the promises that had fallen from them captured between you in unbreakable bonds.

"My riduur," you murmured as you pressed your cheek against his chest, hearing the thunder of his heartbeat and his arms encircling you. "My love."

That night you held him. He lay on your bed with his back to you, looking out over the inky blackness of the planet's nightscape. One hand was around his stomach and curling up to his chest, stroking over his marred skin, and the other was softly stroking his curls while you placed occasional chaste kisses across the top of his back and shoulders, inhaling the heady masculinity of his scent as you did so. Your leg was hooked over his, resting against the sturdy muscle of his thigh and he stroked you there softly, seeming to just want the reassurance of your proximity. Long after he fell asleep you remained awake, your mind still unable to settle after the trauma of the day and the exhilaration of finally being joined with Din in all ways. He stirred a little, a small grunt emanating from him as he twitched in his sleep. Perhaps he too was reliving what had happened. You sent soothing, calm, loving feelings toward him and held him closer and he settled again, breathing a deep sigh and muttering nonsense to himself. Just before the dawn quite made itself known, when the sky was still blue enough to see the stars you succumbed to your weariness, slipping into a dreamless, formless unconsciousness but safe in the knowledge that Din was with you, now and always.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #darksaber shit

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suits-of-woe · 4 years ago

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So I just got to be Cornwall in a delightful zoom reading of King Lear and playing him and reviewing his lines has left me Head Empty Thoughts Cornwall And Edmund once again. This is basically a part 2 to the post I already made about their dynamic because going through this role has left me more convinced of what I already thought - Cornwall sees right through Edmund and understands more about how he operates better than anyone else in the play.

Here’s just a few more points that stood out to me this time around.

Point 1:

Cornwall: This is some fellow, Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he, An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth! An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends Than twenty silly ducking observants That stretch their duties nicely. (2.2)

So this line isn’t about Edmund, it’s about the disguised Kent, and I’d honestly never looked twice at it before yesterday because it just doesn’t seem that important and I think it’s pretty frequently cut. But actually looking over it to figure out how to deliver it made me !!!! because...Cornwall figures Kent out perfectly. He’s only spent a few minutes with him, and Kent’s being purposefully antagonistic and giving nonsense answers, but Cornwall totally gets what he’s doing. He’s not too stupid or simple to do anything but bluntly speak the truth - he’s putting on a show of stupidity and simpleness to get away with saying whatever he wants, and that’s a greater manipulation than anything the average smooth-talking courtier gets away with. Cornwall may not know who he is here, but he completely figures him out. Just a piece of evidence that Cornwall is startlingly shrewd and good at reading people, and if anyone could see through Edmund’s facade, it’s probably him.

Point 2:

Cornwall: I now perceive, it was not altogether your brother's evil disposition made him seek his death; but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reprovable badness in himself.

Edmund: How malicious is my fortune that I must repent to be just. This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens! that this treason were not- or not I the detector!

Cornwall: Go with me to the Duchess. (3.5)

I mentioned this exchange before in terms of how dismissive Cornwall seems of Edmund’s protestation that he feels so bad about betraying his father, and that’s still very true. What I didn’t realize until yesterday, though, is that it’s possible to play the line before as Cornwall completely calling Edmund on his shit. Because Edmund spent all of acts 1 and 2 constructing a narrative that Edgar was the cruel, evil son going after the poor, innocent father, because of course, he didn’t know he was going to be able to get rid of Gloucester so easily too. But now that Edmund’s switched tacts and is framing his father as an evil traitor, it’s pretty obvious how bullshit the previous stuff was, and I’m convinced that this line is Cornwall realizing that. That’s the way I tried to play it today: “So much for your brother’s...’evil disposition,’ then. I guess he was actually just responding to how evil your father’s been this whole time? Is that right? You’re gonna need to get your story straight.” 3.5 is just such a loaded scene for the two of them, it’s power play on top of power play culminating in the line that makes me lose my mind the most: “thou shalt find a dearer father in my love.” It’s clear that Cornwall knows exactly how to deal with him by the end of this scene, but I think it’s even more fun if he reveals that he completely sees through Edmund’s lies too.

Point 3:

Cornwall: Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A child-like office. (2.2)

Corwall: For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on. (2.2)

Cornwall: Edmund, keep you our sister company: the revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my lord of Gloucester. (3.7)

Cornwall: Edmund, farewell. (3.7)

This is basically just a continuation of something I said last time, but playing Cornwall really made it jump out just how often he singles out Edmund to pay attention to him or praise him for something. It’s notable because no one else really does this; when Gloucester brings Edmund into a conversation, it’s often just to demand something of him or talk about him like he’s not there, and the rest of the characters often just ignore him. 2.2 of course makes me lose it like I said before because god, he’s the only person to praise him and recognize his value in a scene when he’s presumably a hero, when he’s literally bleeding and his own father is basically ignoring him. But 3.7 too like! Cornwall is the first person to give Edmund his new title in 3.5, but he’s also the first person to use it publicly, which is just huge. And he gives him his first important political assignment while also possibly setting him up with Goneril! And then he hits him with an extra “farewell” as he’s leaving completely unprompted! What does it mean? What does it all mean???

Basically I am suing Shakespeare for killing Cornwall before this fascinating dynamic could reach its full potential and for not letting me be sexy and evil for two more acts.

#king lear #HEAD EMPTY THOUGHTS CORNWALL BABEY #shoutout to max and elena for casting me in this role #i was very nervous cause it's not a type i think of myself as being able to play very well but i had so much fun #also leaving this out of the post cause it's not actual analysis but. cornwall/regan/edmund real #'go with me to the duchess' yeah ok we all know what that means #edmund #cornwall #mine #shakespeare

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sparklingchan · 4 years ago

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Tipsy Turvy || Choi San(Ateez)

Pairing : Reader (fem.) x Choi San

Word count : 5k+

Warnings : Cuss words , alcohol , hangover , mentions of over drinking, not proof read.

Genre : Fluff , a tiny bit of angst , romance , friends to lovers au.

Description : You have a complicated relationship with San , and the alcohol in your system makes it worse ( or better).

Author's Note : So with all honesty , I have NO idea how people behave when drunk so I searched it up and wrote this 90% based on that ( and 10% on my friends’ advice). I hope at least one of y’all get the horrible pun in the title -_-

Please do reblog , like and comment if you like this. My DMs are also open so if you want to gimme a review , feel free.

Enjoy!

The coffee in the cup must have gone cold by now, because the moment you touch it’s surface ,you don't feel the same sting as you did a few minutes ago.

Not that it tasted good anyway. You're almost glad you didn't have to drink it but maybe, right now, you could use a sip or two to spare yourself a few seconds of peace.

"The coffee is wonderful, isn't it? It's my favorite one." The man in front of you - Mike - needs to seriously give you a break, or else there will be blood on the streets. Literally, "I'm glad you like it."

Does he not see the clearly disgusted look on your face ? Or was he so sure you'd like this drink just because he ordered it without even asking you?

"Yeah ,its fine." You sigh , touching your lips to the mouth of the cup and then putting it back down. You're not drinking that already tasteless and now cold coffee. No way.

"So ,y/n, since we're expected to give our parents an answer after this date, I'd like to know about your opinions first . And please be honest. I would hate to upset you." He says , scratching his chin .

Your eyes widen at the unexpected string of words. This is the first time since this stupid date began that he actually asked your opinion on anything.

"Well," you begin, your mind filling up with tons of words that you'd waited patiently to let out , "Marriage is a big decision. At least for me. And this is all too fast. I just hope we have enough time to know each other before our parents set the date."

He nods his head , “ I agree, I agree. Its important . Right."

You furrow your brows. His reaction seems very forced. Like he really didn't agree with you , but for the sake of it , he's agreeing.

"And what kind of qualities do you look for in a man,y/n?" You want to roll your eyes at the question but you pull your lips up in a smile, not quiet touching your eyes but enough to convince him. You wonder why he was trying so hard to save a date that had been going downhill from the moment he sat down in front of you. You guys clearly didn't like each other, and the spark was missing.

A spark you'd only ever felt with one person.

"Its difficult to describe ideal types but yeah,I'd like someone who's compatible with me and loving and well.. obviously respectful." You say. Mike chuckles at your answer , as if amused by it, "I was expecting you to say you wanted someone who's rich and handsome like...me , honestly. But it's alright." You wonder if he actually hears himself because he really sounded like a self absorbed piece of shit right now. And you'd really do anything to escape from this date.

"Well , I guess not. " you reply with a chuckle. In all honesty, you yourself don't know what your ideal type is. It's not about the conditions or requirements that a person fulfills. It's not a job , it's a connection. You can't confine people to certain criterias. It defies the whole purpose of that connection. And even if you did have qualities you looked for in a man , everything would always end up pointing at only one damn person. You push his images away even before they can surface into your mind.

"So anyway, as I was saying before the coffee arrived , my dad bought this really pretty yacht for me last month and it's super amazing to - " and you shut him out completely while he continues blabbering and you quietly sip the disgusting coffee in front of you.

You really want to groan now. Like on his face. Putting emphasis on how draining and boring this whole conversation is for you.

But all you do is smile and nod.

You were going to reject him the moment your parents set you up on a date with a ' nice and charming bachelor '. What side of Mike did they find even remotely nice or charming? You would never know. But one thing is sure now ,you will at least not have to deal with your parents pestering you for marriage after you reject Mike.

The weather is extremely humid today , despite it having rained in the morning so without a doubt , you'd spent your day indoors , reading a book and drinking unhealthy amount of fruit punch.

"Are they still upset ? " your parents should have seen it coming ,really. The rejection was as inevitable as the rising of the sun every morning or the setting of the sun in the evening. Yet , your parents are pretty disappointed at the decision even after three days since that stupid date. You , on the other hand are happy to have gotten rid of Mike - even if it meant your parents being angry.

Your younger brother , Jongho ,sighs into the phone, " What do you think? They really thought you'd finally marry now."

You don't really blame them though. Not at all. That's what they were always taught ,weren't they? Graduate high school, finish college ,get a good job and get married. The full circle.That is all they've every known yet you find yourself upset at the fact that they didn't consider your unwillingness to this marriage ( or any other marriage) at all. You're just barely starting to work ,you cannot throw away all of that to be a good wife and daughter in law. Sure Mike is the son of some rich man who does business with your father, but economical relationships cannot be a basis for a marriage.

"Well, I can't help it . I'm not marrying that asshole at any cost. " you huff , " He is so creepy and weird. Let mom and dad stay pressed. I don't care."

"Is it just because you didn't find Mike interesting or something else?" Jongho asks.

"I guess? " you reply, scratching the back of your head.

"You know , y/n, I understand that you don't want to get married and whatever but we both know there's a solid reason behind it and I am sick of you denying it all the time." Jongho is too honest for your liking. Too brutal , no sugarcoated words. Just the truth.

And the truth stings.

"Shut up." You grumble, fiddling with the book in your hands , legs dangling from the edge of your bed, " I told you not to mention it ever again?"

"Y/n, you love him. Okay? You have loved him for seven years now . It is high time you shoot your shot or else you'll end up with some rich asshole who doesn't give two shits about you!"

He's right,of course he is. His words are not really an opinion or a vague prediction of the future. Those are facts. But hearing him say all that out loud makes your blood turn cold in your body. Fear creeping through every inch of your skin , making it hard to think clearly.

"I don't think it matters if I love him or not. I gave up on him. We haven't spoken much ever since college ended. " you say.

" You didn't give up. You just ran away instead of acknowledging it. There's a difference." Jongho replies , " And for your kind information it's only been six months since college got over. You need to stop talking like it was twenty years ago or something. "

You chuckle at his last phrase, grateful that he's trying to uplift the weirdly tense mood. "I don't think I can do it , Jongho. I want to. I really do but I don't think he likes me back." You admit.

"You're delusional if you think he doesn't like you back, y/n. All the late night car drives, movie dates , eating unhealthy food late into the nights - San loves you too. Obviously he does."

You sigh ,running your fingers over the rough page of the book in your lap. 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' The words read out. The tightening of your chest increases.

"He was just being nice." You mutter.

Jongho sighs loudly from the other side , "Okay , believe what you want . I can't handle both you and mom-dad together, okay? Spare me your bullshit. Bye."

Wow, talk about being a rude, disrespectful child !

You are usually not the one to point fingers or put blame on other people , but you really despised your best friend right now. And you have every right to do so. Your best friend is the main reason why your parents are so desperately trying to get you married and see you settle down and have kids and whatever. Jisoo is the epitome of every good quality all parents desire in a daughter. She's perfect. Even more than that sometimes.

"How's your husband?" Your question doesn't sound very genuine - the words slipping out of your tongue like they were being forced out. But Jisoo seems to let it go.

"He's good , really good. " She replies ,taking a sip from the only can of cola you had left in your fridge. She passes it over to you.

"How lucky ." You mutter , taking a sip of the same drink.

"I know what you're thinking ,y/n. I know your ass is upset about everything that happened with Mike but things take time. Okay? I married early because I wanted to." she says, reading right through you like you were a book she'd read millions of times ,"If you don't want to marry , don't. Stop blaming yourself for not finding good guys." " I wonder if I'll ever find anyone even remotely nice, Jisoo. The only few guys I've been set up on dates with are not my type and well , Mike ... I don't know. We're just not compatible." You complain , " And besides I'm so terrified of marrying a guy I barely know."

Jisoo sighs , "Then marry a guy you've known for a long time."

"Who are you talking about?" You frown. You know exactly who she is talking about but you want to hear her say it. Say his name which you dare not even repeat to yourself when alone.

"Choi San ,of course. The love of your life ,your sun and stars , your sweetheart. " she says , her dreamy eyes widening to exaggerate her point.

You slap her arm hard , almost a little too hard. But you're convinced that she deserves it. "Ow !" She yells ,rubbing the sore area on her arm.

"That name is forbidden in my vicinity." You say.

Okay ,maybe now you are the one who deserves a slap. On the cheek. You couldn't believe that his name still fills your stomach with butterflies and causes your heart to beat so fast that you feel dizzy even though you claim that you're over him.

"No, it's not, y/n. Come on ,dude. You're still not over him. You will never be unless you confess and face the supposed rejection on your own. Only then you'll find it in yourself to seek other guys , unless that's not what you want." She jabs her finger on your shoulder softly , "That, or you can marry San himself. It's very simple ,really."

Now that she put it that way ,it sounds even more complicated and it sends your mind to a voyage into the sea of memories that you rarely even acknowledged anymore( or at least ,you tried to).

San's pretty eyes and alluring smile , the soft hold of his hand on your arm as you run to the movie halls just five minutes before it closes , the warmth of his hugs that you so dearly loved , his silky black hair that you've wanted to touch on so many occasions and the day you were sure he had leaned in to kiss you but your annoying brother decided to call just at that exact moment. You almost wish you could go back to your university graduation day , and wait a little longer for him after the event got over and tell him that he meant the world to you. More than he could ever imagine. You really wish you had waited that day.

"Jongho has this stupid theory that he likes me too. He's making me even more confused. " you say.

"At least Jongho has more brain cells than you. That kid deserves an award or something." Jisoo replies , chuckling.

"He's not a kid. He's just a year younger than me and you." You deadpan. Great, your best friend and brother are now on the same team.

She rolls her eyes , "Yeah , you are a kid too. Only a kid acts so naive and stupid when everything they've ever wanted is right there in front of them. Hell, even a kid would realise that San loves you !"

Jisoo talks a lot , but her words are never empty or vague. She says whatever she wants to and has to. And she is always able to make a point. But you're a dumb bitch who likes to pretend she's still not in love with her childhood sweetheart and is looking for love somewhere else.

"Anyway, can we go for a drink?"

"Glad you finally asked." Jisoo grabs your arm and drags you out of the house.

Your favorite bar in the entire world has to be the one you've been going to since you were in high school. From your first time drinking to vomiting in its toilet after having way too many vodka shots , from dancing with your friends to crying alone in a corner , that place has seen it all.

Coincidentally( not really), its Jisoo's favorite bar too.

"Okay, y/n. I think you should stop now. That's enough."

Coincidentally also ,you happen to not have a good alcohol tolerance yet an endearing desire to drown your sorrows in those glasses.

"No, I'm not even properly drunk." You whine ,your words only barely making sense to Jisoo. She grabs the glass away from you.

"Come on , let's take you home. " she tries to pull you from your seat , "Can't believe I thought it was a good idea to drink on a weekday."

"No, no, Jisoo. " you resist , pushing her away. " I want to..stay. here. I like it here. It's so warm and cozy . If I go home, I'll cry. I hate home. It's so ugly. Ew. This place is so pretty ."

Your vision is so blurry that your brain can't even form clear images anymore. You see Jisoo's form after squinting hard enough.

"You won't cry. I'll take care of you, y/n. Come on." Jisoo is so insistent you have to hold yourself back from punching her. Her lucky ass would never understand how much in pain your heart is in. And how much the alcohol helps in forgetting all that even just for a few minutes.

"You go home. I'll stay. I'll stay here for as long as I can. Away from all you blood suckers." You slur. And then giggle for no apparent reason.

Jisoo heaves a sigh ,sitting beside you. "Are you going to come with me or do I have to call San to pick you up?"

That was a threat. Jisoo always uses the same one and somehow, it always seems to work. Not today though.

"Hah! Joke's on you ! He doesn't care about me." You point at her face , giggling again.

San? Taking care of you? Funniest joke of the year.

"He does ,y/n. You know he does. What are you being like this?" She asks , rubbing your hand comfortingly. "I see the way he looks at you."

"He probably has a girlfriend already. He always posts romantic shit on Instagram. " you say ,resting your chin on your arm.

"He doesn't have one. I know he doesn't. He probably posts all that for you." She says.

You want to believe her but your brain feels fuzzy and foggy now. Like the sky on winter mornings.

"I want to see San, Jisoo. I miss him. I miss him so much. " you keep muttering under your breath , "Take me to him. I miss him."

Jisoo stares at you - wide eyed and slightly annoyed. Your low alcohol tolerance will get you into serious trouble one day.

"We can see him tomorrow. Let's go home now. Now." She pulls your arm again.

You push her off , "I said I want to see San ! Right now! Take me to him!"

You have never yelled at anyone while in a drunken state before so the sudden increased volume of your voice scares Jisoo. She let's go of your arm.

"Okay, will you come home after meeting San?" Jisoo asks ,taking her phone out to call a cab.

"Yes. No. Depends. I never want to be away from him." You say. "Take me to him , please. I haven't seen him in months. Years. I don't remember how long. Do you think he'll recognize me?"

Shaking her head , Jisoo makes a mental note to never take you out for drinking again.

San lives a few minutes away from your own apartment, but with traffic sometimes it takes almost an hour to reach his apartment.

Today must have been your lucky day because the traffic was almost negligible. Although you don't remember the journey to his house , you do remember his familiar voice greeting you and Jisoo like he had almost expected you both to arrive at his door this late at night.

"She was throwing a tantrum that she wanted to see you. So I brought her here. I hope it's not a problem. " Jisoo says in her sweet voice that she uses on everyone but you and her husband. You scowl.

"Hey, I wasn't throwing a tantrum! " You hit her arm again , but she puts on the fakest smile when San looks at the both of you with a confused face.

"And she's not very sober right now." Jisoo admits ,sighing. San presses his lips in line , observing you as play with the hem of your tshirt and your eyes are focused on his face. You never had so much confidence in a sober state. He knows this because he's seen you like this a million times before and hopefully, if all goes well tonight , he might see this state in the future too.

His stomach does a back flip when you stick out your bottom lip in a cute little pout.

"It's okay. She can stay the night here. I believe you have something important to tell me ,y /n?" San asks, titling his head.

You nod , beaming with happiness. Your eyes never leave his perfect face and his beautiful black hair which he decided to tie in a small ponytail tonight and his toned arms and his breathtakingly sweet dimples as he leads you inside, bidding goodbye to your bestfriend. Jisoo must be very relieved right now ,you think.

"Do you need a glass of water ,y/n?" San asks you , as he takes you gently by the arm to his bedroom. His alert eyes are always on your steps ,making sure you do not trip on anything.

"No. " you giggle. You're so happy to be with him alone at last that you can barely contain it . "I missed you ,San."

He laughs at your words ,shaking his head in disbelief as he makes you sit on his warm ,fluffy bed.

You've always wanted to sit there.

"Waoowww , this bed is so soft. " you swing your legs up and down with a big grin on your face , "I want to sleep on this bed. Oh my god ,awww."

San sees you lean down against the headboard and laugh at the ceiling, pointing out peculiar patterns . You look very content right now ,he notices. Your flushed cheeks , big , curious eyes , messy hair , yet he thinks you look beautiful like this - raw and natural and pretty.

"San! Sit with me, come here." You say , patting the empty space beside you.

San obliges without a question. He pushes you gently to the other side of the bed , himself settling beside you , careful not to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.

"What it is that you wanted to tell me ?" San questions, his fingers reaching upto your forehead to remove the strands of hair that cover your eyes.

"Promise me you won't be mad. " You hum into his touch ,wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around his body and snuggle into his chest. But even with alcohol in your system ,you know better than to do that.

"I promise." He replies with a toothy grin. His head leans on the headboard beside yours , his beautiful brown eyes drilling into yours ,making your knees go weak and heart flutter. And if it were possible to replace all blood from your body with physical adoration for Choi San ,you would have done it already. "Pinky promise?" You ask again ,lifting your right pinky up in front of his face.

Sighing , he connects his pinky to yours then pressing your thumbs together, "Pinky promise."

You take a deep breath then as naturally as ever ,the words you've always wanted to say roll out of your mouth , "I like you. "

San's breathing gets stuck in his throat , his whole being as if swallowed into a black hole for a few seconds. He stares at you like you were suddenly someone he'd never seen , never heard of before. Like you were a stranger that caught his eye in the mall. Like a gemstone he'd found while digging the ground. Like a precious falling star on a cloudy night.

"I-I mean we have known each other for sometime now. It's normal that you like me. As a friend." He stammers.

You roll your eyes , " I did not mean as a friend ,you idiot. I meant I like you as a man. You're so stupid, gosh." You punch his arm.

His heart skips a beat. He'd always known deep down his heart that this confession would happen one day or the other - but he had always hoped it would be him to say it first ,not you. His ego is a teeny tiny bit hurt.

"I know you don't like me , " you whine , your excited tone now suddenly switching into a sad one , " I know you won't date me."

San frowns at this new melancholic side of yours.

"Why would you think that?" He asks.

"I just know ,okay?" You say ,tears filling your eyes , " And that's why I agreed to an arranged marriage."

"You must have met someone nice then?" He takes his hand in yours.

Jongho was right - you love him. So much that it hurts to look at him ,knowing that one day you'll have to marry a man who isn't him. It hurts like someone is pressing a hot metal rod onto your skin.

You start sobbing.

"No! Of course not ! I don't want anyone but you! " You yell , a little too loud , " But my parents are still insistent about it. How do I tell them that I can't marry anyone else because I'm so in love with you?"

That's another new piece of information for San. But this one makes his heart drop into the deepest pits of his stomach , making him go numb for a few seconds. You were almost taken away from him, just because he'd always put your relationship in a complicated situation. You had almost held someone else's hand on the alter. You had almost ended up in someone else's arms.

The image of you with another man nauseates him and he decides to stop being a coward . Right now ,right at this moment .

"I like you ,too, you idiot." He says , not quite meeting your teary eyes." Don't go find anyone else. I'm here. I really am ,y/n."

His sincere voice washes over you like the first showers of monsoon - refreshing and enchanting. You feel like melting into a puddle under his gaze.

"I wasn't planning on anyway. " You sniff and rub your tears away. He leans in closer to your face , rubbing your cheekbones with the pad of his thumb. And you , being the shameless person you are , stare at his kissable, pink lips. If you lean in a little more , they'd touch and you could finally kiss him. You really want to . Would he mind ?

He presses a soft kiss on your forehead , pulling you into his warm embrace.

"I want to go to sleep and wake up like this every morning." You mumble into his chest , your hand playing with the hem of his t-shirt. "We will. I promise." he replies. The thought itself makes him feel warm inside , "I'll talk to your parents about the arranged marriage thing. They love me more than they would any other guy out there."

Your parents in fact do love San. Whenever they met him , they'd be filled with praises for him. Although a little jealous , you could easily see why San was so easy to like.

"You smell so nice." You say abruptly , drowsiness slowly taking over you , your eye lids getting heavier by the minute.

San's chest vibrates as his laugh fills the room , "Thank you, y/n."

"Will you be here when I wake up? You aren't going to run off, right? " You are just spewing out random sentences at this point but he doesn't complain either way. He likes this honest and vulnerable side of you.

"I'll be right here. Don't worry. " he whispers ,running his fingers through your hair , "But I'm pretty sure you won't remember anything tomorrow ."

You laugh, a big hearty laugh as you finally find enough courage to lightly wrap your arm around his torso. "I'll remember, San . I never forget."

San rubs your head soothingly , smiling to himself, knowing that even if you forget about it in the morning , he'll really be there to remind you of it. He'll be there by your side, as he always has been.

Every hangover is like a cycle that includes pain , regret and a promise to never drink so much again yet you somehow always seem to be struggling with the last one.

And the inevitable headache that follows makes you feel like someone had thrusted millions of knives in your head.

It hurt. Badly.

You stir in your position ,groaning at your throbbing head.

"Woah , good morning , sleepy head." San purrs into your ears , his early morning voice sending chills down your spine.

Wait. San? Choi San? With you in his arms? On a bed?

You sit up at the speed of a lightning bolt , breaking away from his warm embrace and crawling to the farthest corner of the bed. You look around the room , your heartbeat in your throat , taking in the unfamiliar surroundings that reminded you of what you might have done while in a drunken state.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Your eyes scan San, his sleepy face pressed to the pillow and his lips curved in a smile. His white t-shirt hangs loose from his shoulder, exposing the skin near his collarbone and his black, messy hair covering half of his face.

And even in panic mode , your first thought is that he looks ethereal with that early morning glow. Is this what being whipped really means?

"Y/n, don't tell me you forgot what happened last night. " he says ,visibly annoyed. He forces himself up in a sitting position as he runs his fingers through his messy hair.

You look away from him , adrenaline rushing through your veins as you try to recall last night's episode. Surely ,you didn't sleep with him since both of you are fully clothed and you didn't feel sore anywhere. Thankfully.

"Y/n? " he calls you again but you don't reply because your brain is way too occupied at the moment.

You remember the sound of a very weird combination of words leaving your mouth last night and an even weirder combination of words leaving his. And that's when it hits you - you had confessed to him. Full on movie style. All those years of daydreaming and trying to keep everything a secret gone into vain , your heart placed naked in front of him.

"Oh fucking hell." You hold your head in between your hands ,closing your eyes.

Maybe this was all a dream and if you focused hard enough ,you'd wake up in your bed , alone and yearning for the man supposedly in front of you. But that would still be better than this.

"Y/n, it's alright. You don't have to be embarrassed. " San says, inching closer to you.

You sigh. It's not a dream and you have to face him now.

"I-I'm sorry for whatever I said last night. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable at all. I don't know what had gotten into me." You say, rubbing your forehead.

By now , San is kneeling right in front of you, his galaxy filled eyes never leaving yours.

"I should be sorry , you idiot." He says , gently tapping your forehead ," if I wasn't such a coward and had confessed to you earlier , everything would have been different now. But better late than never , right?"

You gulp hard.

Now is the time to wake up , y/n, I'm going to be super pissed if this turns out to be a dream, you wonder to yourself.

"So..what you're saying is - "

"I like you , yes. Not as a friend , not as a classmate. I like you as a woman and if you agree to this ," San leans in dangerously closer , "Then I'll like you as a girlfriend, too."

You didn't need time to agree to this. You didn't need a second thought. You only need a small tug at your heartstring , which happened everytime you see his eyes focused on you and only you.

"Yes." You say.

His face breaks into a massive grin as he wraps his arms around you , with yours around his torso. You can feel the fast beating of his heart against your cheek as you snuggle into his chest .

"Thank you. Thank you so much." He whispers into your hair. Your cheeks are burning red by now but it's alright. It's a good type of burning. You can come to like it in the near future.

You don't know how long it is before he finally decides to pull away , much to your dismay.

"I'm going to make breakfast . Are pancakes okay with you?" He says , his arms by his side but his body still close to yours.

"Yeah. Obviously. " You loved his pancakes, as a matter of fact. Once, Jongho had even forced you to confess to San during your college years just so he could eat those delicious pancakes whenever he wanted to.

"Okay. You can go freshen up in the bathroom by then." He then unexpectedly takes your face in his hands , inching closer to yours with every passing second, " Don't miss me too much though."

You pout, playing along , " I already do."

And just like that , he presses his soft , luscious lips to yours, enveloping them in a quick kiss.

"Bye." And just like that too , he runs away into the kitchen , avoiding confronting what had just happened while you are left frozen and shocked and petrified and all synonyms of those words in the English dictionary.

But you hear him hum his favourite song softly from the kitchen and your shoulders relax.

Relax , y/n , you tell yourself , it's just San and he is your boyfriend now.

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highsviolets · 4 years ago

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like real people do, chapter one: obi-wan x handmaiden!reader

summary: in which you and obi-wan stumble into each other’s acquaintance through accidents of honor and pleasure

word count: 3k-ish

cw: brief, brief allusion to body dysmorphia in first paragraph after part one (a).

A/N: WOW it’s finally here!!! my handmaiden x obi fic!! my first multi chapter!! anon you are so patient. thank you for bearing with me as i developed this concept and finally got words onto paper. This lil chapter takes place at the beginning of AOTC and sets the scene for all sorts of shenanigans. pls be gentle folkx i am v nervous i hope you love these idiots honorable humans as much as i do.

*if this is your gif pls lmk!*

like real people do, a fic by corellians-only

prologue

Glamor. Satin. Hapan wine and curtseys and a diplomatic accent polishing over your country roots and the knife strapped to your thigh and a propensity to linger in shadows. This is your life, as handmaiden to Senator Padmé Amidala. This is your duty.

Grime. Sweat. Clone armies and custom armour and a commission muddling the balance of peace and deep-rooted affection and unwavering devotion to the Jedi Order. This is Obi-wan’s life, as High General of the Republic. This is his duty.

You meet before the chaos erupts, though, before it spills over the senate security and the temple’s walls and starts incinerating the foundations of life itself.

You meet before the chaos erupts, but your acquaintance is tangled with its aching tendrils. You do not see each other, at first. So many things are in the way. But slowly, gently, acquaintance forms into friend forms into companion forms into lover over cups of tea and night watches and snatched moments of vulnerability in a world that is determined to wrest your soul from your body. Armor and silk and robes are stripped away; duties that once swathed you tightly become more gentle. When you are together it is just you and him, but when you are in the world you are handmaiden and he is general.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves: let us go back to the beginning, when the wholeness was yet separate. Let us go back to the beginning, and meet ourselves anew. Let us go back to the beginning, where everything divines its purpose.

part one (a)

Shimmersilk voile glistens as you turn in the mirror. The tender glow of artificial sun lamps is enraptured by the diaphanous weave, and its metallic threads gleam under such ministrations. It’s a dress that drips with regality. A sense of noblesse oblige seems to ooze from every swish of the cape flowing from your cap sleeves, and you sigh. The act is heavy, and the cape grumbles as your shoulders heave with the motion. Brilliant flickers of gold and silver mock you as you continue to shift from side to side, scrutinizing your body from each angle. Another sigh leaves escapes through your nose, but this one is softer, gentler, more like the gossamer that now encloses you — more like the woman you been trained to be. You will never be as petite or slight as the Senator, but that, you observe, wrangling to adjust one final hairpin into your headpiece, was never quite the point. Your job is to stand in for her ladyship: not to assume her person.

The offending hairpin proves obstinate. You surrender to the cause and submit yourself to an evening of faint wisps of curled hair framing your face. Wisps of hair are too spontaneous. You must be crisp, but it is not about what you want — not in these petty, mundane expressions of living.

While you have been doing battle a figure has entered the room. It’s one of the Senator’s new Jedi protectors, if the robes are any indication. Without fanfare he approaches you and plucks the pin from your fingers, like he is intimately acquainted with such things and communes with them on a daily basis. Gentle fingers — though, the bruised knuckles tell you they are not immune to struggling against life’s grip — smooth the hair at the crown of your head before he slips the pin into its rightful place, nudging into the golden circlet now held secure. The sleeve of his robe caresses your cheek, obscuring your vision, and you feel with your , rather than see, all of this occur.

“All of this” happens without sound, without breathing almost, as though the two of you have entered a vacuum that warps both space and time and sound.

The man takes a step back and paints himself with an apologetic smile, clasping his hands together in the privacy of his robe and offering you a half-bow.

“I apologize for the liberty, your ladyship.” The Jedi’s voice is precise. “I do hope I wasn’t too forward.” He announces every syllable, acknowledges every idiosyncratic whimsy, each grammatical proclamation.

You meet his gaze in the mirror, and despite the shadows casting about, you can detect the openness, the earnestness of his gaze. He holds no tension in his face, or anywhere else in his body, for that matter. It has been a long while since you have seen someone so at peace. Perhaps, hidden under the cloak, his fingers are grasping at themselves, trying to be rid of the vestiges of forbidden touches.

A half-smile graces your painted lips and you incline your head. The movement cuts but a short arc in the air’s currents, just as you have been taught. “It is no matter.” You toy with the idea of letting him continue to believe you are Padmé, the thought careening through your mind like a model airspeeder run amok. You let the thought crash. It is above you to engage in such petty games, you decide. Padmé would not do it, and it is your job to act as she does. Besides, the Jedi would know, wouldn’t he? Can’t they read minds with the Force? That’s what fisherman in your village used to say when you would let your feet dangle off the docks and graze the surface of the water and watch the boats come in with the day’s catch.

So you turn, then, the cape twisting behind you, and address him face-to-face. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Master Jedi.” You gesture to your twinkling gown. “I am not the Senator.” You catch the tail end of his frown as you avert your gaze, fixating on some unseen object just out of sight. “I am but one of her ladyship’s handmaidens.” You hear the clipped tone of your voice, the way every word is measured like cups of flour, like the yards of fabric for this dress, and you think you hate it, but you cannot tell.

“Oh, I am sorry.” The apology is sincere and bookmarked with amusement, and he rocks back on his heels. It seems he is laughing at his own mistake. “I must however, inquire after the whereabouts of her ladyship. The council has requested that my padawan and I escort her to this evening’s function.” The Jedi’s hands drop to his sides and the robes that shield them follow.

“I’m afraid the Senator has already departed,” you say, making for the exit. The Jedi matches your stride. “She left with another Jedi some twenty standard minutes ago. I presume it was your padawan, Master Jedi?”

“Blast!” he murmurs, but you hear his swearing and duck your head to hide your grin. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, throwing a glance your way. “I’m afraid my padawan has a mind of his own.”

“I think the Senator and your padawan will get along famously, then,” you remark wryly. You have reached the landing pad and are about to bid him a good evening when he climbs into the shuttle and extends a hand to guide you.

“May I be of assistance?”

Skin meets skin for the second time that evening. At this rate you will be more acquainted with his body than your own, and as you sense his muscles grow taut when you shift your weight to board, an unfamiliar sensation embeds itself among the metallic threads. It feels like when you have to receive the Chancellor when Padmé is away on business, or when you act as decoy traveling to and from Theed, but more subtle, more inviting.

“Thank you, Master Jedi.” Skin breathes on skin for one, two heartbeats and then the contact withers and he drops your hand.

A silence nestles over the two of you as the pilot races you over to the function. It persists as he helps you exit the shuttle and delicately rearranges your cape, ensuring the shimmersilk is matches the beams of fractured stars.

Obi-wan does not know why he does this; he does not understand why he feels the nudging of the Force to offer his arm like he is a chivalrous courtier, but he obeys. It is his duty to obey the will of the Force, so he does.

part one (b)

The function teems with lifeforms, and each one spars for attention. They are wrapped in chiffon and decked in damask robes and fine crystals compete for light so they can shine that much brighter. It’s some gala ostensibly designed to raise credits for a struggling cause, and it is like all the rest. A pathetic excuse for most Senators to say they are dedicated to more than greed.

To you, it reeks of Coruscanti power; to him, it stinks of politics.

The Jedi Master spots the Senator and her Jedi protector before you do, and he steers you in their directly, swiftly sidestepping curious glances and intoxicated beings. You manage to snag a glass of something from a passing tray.

He bows again, deeply. His hair seems to blend in with the crowd — it is copper and gold and refined.

“My lady,” he intones, and his voice sparkles like the gem-encrusted champagne flute in Padmé’s hand.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Master Kenobi.” She looks up at the gangly teenager by her side. Rich chocolate and licorice colored robes complement the Senator’s wine-colored gown. It’s a striking image, despite the youth’s awkwardness, here in the blurry illumination of the cavernous room.

Padmé breaks into a full smile as she spots you lingering at Kenobi’s side. “I see you’ve met my handmaiden.”

“I suppose I have,” he says, examining you anew, “although I’m afraid introductions got swept away in the excitement.”

You think he sounds as unaffected by “the excitement" as one could possibly be, and the duplicity gnaws on your gentility.

You sip while Padmé sweeps together strands of lore about your service, about your loyalty, about your selflessness. The beverage is sweet and sparkling, rather like your gown, and like your dress, it feels sticky and cloying and altogether fake for something that tries so hard to be real. But you smile and nod and once more his skin melts into yours as he shakes your hand.

“The honor,” he says in that voice colored with melody, “is all mine.” You look into his cerulean eyes and wish, dimly, in that part of your brain untouched by starlight, that he had said pleasure.

Padmé’s eyes flicker between you and him, but the moment has passed. She pulls you away, citing the need for diplomatic business and brushes aside her escorts with a firmness she seems to have possessed since birth.

The pair of you wander through the crowd. You are always one step behind, always letting her be the first person they see. She is wearing her favorite designer tonight, and you wonder, taking another sip as she holds court with Bail Organa, why she has commissioned such a work of art for tonight’s event.

Like yourself, the Senator has opted for airy materials matched with splendor. And yet, her garb lacks your ethereality: the deep burgundy smacks of something firmly rooted in rich soil even as you strain heavenward. Tulle and satin are artfully draped over her lithe form, and beaded crystals cover her from head to toe. An open back reveals creamy skin. More than one being in the hall has dragged their eyes over the Senator’s body, straining to glimpse more, more, more, in the dim light.

The Senator pays them no mind. When she concludes her business with Organa, she refreshes her glass, and yours, and tucks you in her side. You begin to walk. It is an aimless thing, but not purposeful — now is when you see who is here, and who is not, who is watching, who pretends to look away, and who slips out unnoticed.

“How did you meet Master Kenobi?” you ask.

“Oh, it was years ago.” Padmé drinks. “I was still Queen at the time.”

“And?” Back in those days, she had retained at least a dozen of Naboo’s finest young women. Now, it’s just you and few others.

“And that was when we met,” she announces. “He’s very famous, you know. So is his padawan, Anakin Skywalker. They’ve protected at least half the galaxy.”

Confusion contorts your features, carving rivers in your forehead. “I’ve never heard of them.”

Padmé laughs, but the expression is faint, almost undetectable. Senators do not typically jest with their bodyguards. “That’s because you think anyone who reports on the Jedi is a gossip-mongering snob and you refuse to read anything about them.” She squeezes your arm and drops her voice to a whisper. “Don’t know know they’re the ones who write all the good stuff?”

“All…the good stuff,” you echo, voice flat and uncomprehending.

Padmé simply rolls her eyes and resume her stride. “They’re in charge of my security now, with Captain Typho. I expect that you’ll be working closing with Master Kenobi. Please help him fulfill his mandate from the Council in anyway you can.”

The mere suggestion of working with that man twists your insides. It’s the same feeling from earlier, swirling and basing into unease. Work with a Jedi? A famous one? The ache anxiety you are used to. It is familiar and it is your unwelcome companion but you have made peace with each other. This — this is something new. This is a grinding jaw and a drawbridge heart and hot and cold dueling for dominance in your stomach and something so strangely akin to anger. You drink more champagne to mask the disconcerting sensation.

part one (c)

The Senator is being pulled away, now, to a group of prominent Senators to discuss the new child labor protection regulations. She does her job and you do yours, melting into the shadows, embracing them, keeping eyes on all those who gather near to your mistress.

Master Kenobi’s sudden appearance at your side does not surprise you, though perhaps it should.

“Are you quite sure you’re able to keep watch on her ladyship from this distance?” His words are no longer melodic. They come to your ears dry and flinty, the way rocks feel without the rain to abate their constancy.

“Quite.” You fail to elaborate because there is simply nothing more to say.

“Your disguise is quite effective. You must pass along my compliments to Captain Typho and the rest of the security team.” He tries again, but you refuse to be endeared. He is stubborn, just like you — he resists being broken down by your cool acidity.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi.” You finally meet his gaze. “I was worried it would be too intricate, but the Senator assured me I had selected the perfect piece. It’s just enough like her for people to not look twice.”

“You engineered this?” Master Kenobi’s body is static, but his face swells with vivacity. A minuscule gesture to the left, an arching eyebrow, a corner of his mouth quirks upwards, ascending to meet his eyes.

“It’s my job,” you return, but the pH of your tone has neutralized somewhat. You are uncomfortable, so you try to tease him. “Maybe one day I can show you how to use all the weapons I have under this gown, and you will believe I can do my job.”

You regret the tawdry joke immediately when he shifts and looks away. “I’m sorry I’ve offended you, my lady.” Master Kenobi analyzes you, then the Senator, and sighs heavily. “I see you have everything well in hand. I shall bid you good evening, then, my lady.” He bows and exits in a boiling mass of robes, his padawan not far behind. Anakin Skywalker lingers on the threshold, gazing into the crowd, eyes frantic, but his Master beckons and he follows obediently.

part one (d)

It is not until early morning, during that brief moment between night and dawn, that you are able to think clearly about the strange feeling gurgling in your chest.

You think of Master Kenobi and his sentimental hair and the caramel of his accent. You wonder about his hands grazing yours, how your fingers curled so naturally around his, the ghost of fingertips in your hair. You consider his attempts at gallantry, at his fealty to his duty, to Padmé embrace of his presence and her lavish praise.

And you ask yourself what would it have been like, if he were just a boy, and you were just a girl, and maybe if he had danced with you he could have respected you more, and maybe if you had been less defensive he would have been more contrite, and you laugh at yourself.

Silly girl, you think as sleep nibbles at your vision. Those are not our kind of dreams.

tbc.

#obi-wan x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan imagine #obi-wan imagine #star wars fic #handmaidens #padme amidala #anakin skywalker #fic: like real people do #i am v tired now #honor kink #cris writes

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sopeloveee · 5 years ago

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Worthy

WARNING⚠️ Mature Themes( self harm, mentions of suicide) member: jung jaehyun (NCT) genre: really angsty, with a fluffy ending! this is actually the first in a while that I’ve written on here, so, please sorry for any mistakes or unclarity kinda just wrote this on a whim, please enjoy💚 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- {3:32pm} Jaehyun finds your razor blades and you come home looking for them.

Jaehyun arrives at your house at 3:32 pm. He had just got finished with dance practice with the other members for the new comeback. You and Jaehyun met in Chicago in a Starbucks, as they were currently there for their tour. You had been living in Chicago for about 2 years at the time, and you had worked in Starbucks as a side job for school. He was the most attractive boy you had ever seen, and you were amazing, both blushing as he ordered for him and a couple of the other members. He walked away that day with your cell number on his receipt and his ears burning red.

“You like her. Don’t you?” Mark asks. “Of course not.” Jaehyun responds quickly. Ears getting redder by the second.

“You are literally lying.” Taeyong hops in. “Your ears are as red as my phone case, so cut the shit and text her when we get back to the arena.”

You guys were 7 months into your relationship now, and you had moved to Korea for dance school and to also be closer to Jaehyun, as he couldn’t stand being across the world from you. You’ve been living there for about 8 months now, and was settled into your nice loft that Jaehyun helped pay for. You had given Jaehyun a spare, telling him to come over whenever he felt free. Him coming over became weekly, weekly became daily so you asked him to move in with you, him lighting up at the idea and immediately saying yes. You’ve been living together for about 6 months now, and you were two years and a month into your relationship. Everything had been going good, Jaehyun was a nice man, he always encouraged you to do your best, he was sweet, handsome; what more could you have asked for?

Though, you had good things going for you, you had one thing that was playing a detrimental role in your life; your severe depression and anxiety. It came hereditarily, so there wasn’t anything you could quite do about it, other than therapy and medication. Some days were okay, some were manageable, and others were just downright bad. Today was one of those days, and you’d had enough. Your dance coach had berated you in front of the whole team, calling you a piece of dead weight and a waste of talent. You are a beautiful mixed girl, not too skinny but not thick either. You had a nice body, and nice soft brown skin. You’d hadn’t told Jaehyun about your depression or anxiety, or the fact that being insulted and looked down upon at your dance school was an almost daily occurrence. And when you did good, your teacher would still give you back-handed compliments or not even say anything. Your teammates were very supporting though, they always told you that you were the best and that you had a lot of talent. Your coach was just a dick.

You, being the only brown-skinned person on your team you were often the center of attention. This caused you to become hard on yourself and you believed that it was always on you, and that you should’ve done better as one of the seniors of the team. Times like these, were times where you were at your lowest, seeking self-harm to rid you of the emotions that you had felt that day. So you settled on cutting today as your source of relaxation. You’d leave straight after practice, wanting to get home and just be in the presence of your favorite person. Some friends patted you on the back and gave you words of encouragement as they saw the frown upon your face right as you were leaving. Back at the house, Jaehyun had gotten himself comfortable, making him something to eat and sitting on the couch to watch whatever he could find on tv. After eating, he went to the bathroom to wash his hands (have you washed your hands today?) and realized that there wasn’t any paper towels left in the bathroom. So, after shaking his hands dry and wiping them on his sweatpants, he heads for the supply closet located next to your bedroom. He reaches for the paper towels on top shelf, and while reaching his large hand lands on a small box that was pushed all the way to the side close to the closet wall. He’d never known there was a box up there, what was the box here for? He was sure you had finished settling in. He thought as he pulls the box down from its hiding place. He opens the box and gasps loudly.

Razor Blades. Broken Pencil Sharpeners. Jaehyun can’t believe it. He cries for the first time in years. He would’ve never thought, that you, Y/N, his world, his inspiration, his soulmate, had been hurting yourself. Jaehyun knew all about self harm, as he had lost a dear friend to something so bad and saddening as suicide. He was in shock, crying loudly as his body lost balance and fell to the ground shaking. How come he had never realized what you were going through, how could he have been so oblivious? The sweatshirts, the cardigans, in 85 degree weather. He had always known your style had leaned towards the more artsy/ 90s side, be he never could have thought the reason you wore such big clothing and long sleeves were to hide any scars that you could’ve been withholding. He loved you with his whole being, why have you never told him about something like this? You never were a burden to him, you could’ve opened up to him about it. He couldn’t imagine what you were going through, everything was just running through his head so fast. He took the box and threw all of the blades out, tearing the house up to make sure you hadn’t hid any someplace else in your home. He goes to the bathroom to run water over his face, and heads towards the bedroom to wait for you there.

Twenty minutes later he hears the front door open, and the floorboards creak as you make your way through the house. You don’t announce your entrance. You don’t call out to him, you head straight to the supply closet. Jaehyun gets up and heads towards you, watching as you take out the step stool and climb to the top. Only to find nothing there, he watches with sad eyes as you frown. You don’t even notice him there, to wrapped in your mind to even think that his sorrowful eyes are watching you. Tears escape his eyes and it’s only until he speaks that you realize he’s there.

“ I threw them out.” He says quietly. You flinch harshly at the sound of his deep voice. You turn to him slowly, you heart in your throat, and yours hands tucked anxiously between the sleeves of Jaehyun’s sweater you wore to practice. “ Baby.” He says, choking on his tears. You’re shocked to say the least. You’ve never seen Jaehyun cry, and you would have never though that this would be the reason. You close your eyes feeling guilty, letting your reserve down and letting the tears slip down your plump cheeks rapidly.

He walks over the step stool and lifts you off of it, hugging you tightly and crying his eyes out. “ Why have you never told me? I could’ve helped you, I could’ve-“ You cry harder, everything coming up and out of you. You thrash against his frame, yelling and screaming. “ I love you Y/N, I’m always here, just let it all out.” Jaehyun regathers himself, as to stay strong and be your rock in this moment. You cry for about 15 minutes straight, hiccuping and talking about how you’ve been struggling with depression and anxiety since your early teens. You tell him about dance, you tell him about all the things that you’ve been through, and he listens. He listens intensively as your spill your heart to him, finally relaxed at the fact you can tell him everything. When you finish, he picks you up from the floor, as you both slipped to the ground in each other’s embrace while crying. He brings you to the kitchen, and sets you atop the island looking at you directly into your eyes and softly smiling.

“Thank you for telling me. I love you more now that I know how strong, beautiful, and amazing you are. These scars? They’re in the past, you are the most driven, talented person I know. I want you to come to me with every problem you have, and we’ll fix it together. You never go through stuff alone anymore, I’m always here. I love you so much, and I want you to know that you don’t have to feel like a burden, or a distraction. You are the most important person in my life. You come first, remember that. Can you do that for me?” He sheds a few tears watching as your head hangs low, and he raises your gaze and makes you look at him. “ Can you do that for me Y/N?” You nod quietly, and smile softly. “ I need to hear you say it princess. I know that stopping can be tough, so if you ever feel the urge please tell me, I’ll get you food, make you laugh, hell, I’ll kick the shit out of Taeyong if it’s what it takes to take your mind away from you hurting yourself. Do this for me, I cannot lose you-” He chokes. “ You won’t Jaehyun. I promise.” You both pause and revel in each other’s presence. You feel thankful that you're him with him right now, in this moment. You take some time to get yourself together as best s possible, and you play at the back of his head with the strands of his hair nervously, as he rubs his hands up and down your legs gently. “You can look if you want.” You say shakily. He takes your hands softly as if he could break you, and rolls up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He looks at the lines with broken-hearted eyes, his fingers shaking as he runs his hand along the scabs and bubbles on your wrists and forearms.

“ Oh princess.” He says, kissing your scars and cuts, and letting his tears run down your arm.

Jaehyun is fully crying again, wrapping his strong arms around your stomach and placing his head on your heart. “ I’ll stay strong for you. I promise. I love you so much.” You say tearfully. He looks up and smiles as tears slip from his crescent eyes. You wipe his tears, and he wipes yours, and he picks you up from the counter and spins you around making you laugh loudly. “ You are so strong. You know that?” You nod, blushing. “ I’m truly so happy that you told me everything. It means a lot to me that you are allowing me to help you recover. I love you so much.”

“ I love you too Jaehyun.”

“ Soo, burgers or pizza?”

“ Burgers ”. You both answer together. “ Yeah burgers for sure.” you say with a smile.

For the first time in your life, you can breathe clearly. For the first time in your life, you feel worthy. Nothing could ever stop you from living. Not with Jaehyun by your side. Not even depression or anxiety.

#nct scenarios #nct #kpop smut #ambw kpop #kpop angst #kpop #nct 127 #nct u jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct u scenarios #kpop memes #kpop scenarios #nct u #jaehyun #kpop prompts #kpop bands #nct angst #nct fluff

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deadwatcrs · 4 years ago

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⟨ tom holland , non-binary demiboy , he/they , 22 ⟩ there goes ARTHUR ‘ARTIE’ HART after the opposing team’s flag , the child of APHRODITE who was claimed to CABIN TEN eleven years ago . wielding their SPEAR , and their inherited TELEPORTATION at the ready , they’re sure to lead their team to victory . after all , it was their demigod prowess that proved to be vital during the arduous and decisive JOURNEY TO FIND DAEDALUS AND THE MAP OF THE LABYRINTH ( demigod 18 ) they ventured on in the past . don't let their feat fool you though , it was during this quest that they were challenged by their FEAR OF ABANDONMENT AND LONELINESS . perhaps that is the reason they've chosen to side with the titan army .

hello hello !!! so excited to be here with everyone :-) !!! i’m mira, i’m 20, i use she/her pronouns nd i live in the gmt+8 zone, so u can expect me awake when no one else is KJEHHSEJK i’ve been a fan of pjo since like,,,, i was 12 nd was literally convinced i was a demigod so u can imagine !!!! that when i saw this rp i was like !!!! [screams]

anyways !! this is arthur ‘artie’ hart nd they are New so i’m still working out a lot of their story, but im v excited to see where they’ll go :-) i have a few connections regarding his story nd also just ,, slapped som stuff down from the app into here HEKJHESJK

PART ONE. THE BASICS.

name: arthur ‘artie’ hart. prefers to go by artie, as arthur is what his aunt calls him. age: twenty-two. zodiac: born on july 21st, 1999, making him a cancer sun, scorpio moon and leo rising. gender & pronouns: nonbinary demiboy. uses he/him and they/them pronouns. romantic orientation: bisexual.

PART TWO. THE HIDDEN DEPTHS, THE SCRATCHED LAYER.

positive traits: compassionate / perceptive / mild-mannered. negative traits: pessimistic / evasive / easily jealous. mbti: ENFJ - the protagonist. moral alignment: chaotic good. what is their motivation?: artie is motivated, primarily, by the desire to never find themselves abandoned and alone. growing up with an absent goddess of a mother, a mother deep in her memories of a lover she’ll never see again and an aunt who tried to give them a foundation to grow from meant that their life was more or less marred by the concept of loneliness, of abandonment.

artie wants, more than anything else, for no future demigods to feel the same way they did — and if that means tearing down olympus and getting rid of the gods, then they were willing to turn the other cheek, to contribute bare bones to take on the least amount of blood and ichor. aphrodite had never made a move to acknowledge him other than the obligatory favor of claiming him as her child, and the knowledge that she too had abandoned him pushed him to the side of the titans.

the choice to do the bare minimum is rooted in the fact that they are still very much attached to camp half-blood and everyone within it, as they had been there for half their life. it is a decision rooted in wanting the best for the camp and its campers even if the decision is a difficult one. after all, what have the gods ever done for the hundreds of children they’ve brought into the world?

what was growing up like?: for starters, artie appreciates that his aunt tried. their mother was far too wrapped up in memories of a lover long gone, and aphrodite had never once made an effort beyond dropping them off at their mother’s doorstep and then claiming them as her child eleven years later. growing up was difficult. like any demigod child, there were instances that could never be explained, like the time artie was in his room one minute and the living room the next without ever having touched his closed door and the time his backpack was torn to shreds while he was still wearing it. still, they had to push through childhood, often seeking comfort in the arms of their aunt when the monsters got too close. at eleven, a satyr brought artie to camp half-blood after discovering their teleportation ability (it was a stupid incident, and one artie is reluctant to tell again, but it ends with falling asleep while their foot was in a toilet bowl while walking to class).

camp half-blood was a haven for artie as their heritage was unraveled. aphrodite claimed him a week after he arrived at camp, and he was immediately drawn to the change in lifestyle. it was a relief for all the pieces to fall into place, for artie to realize that they weren’t different. at thirteen, they became a year rounder camper after their aunt had encouraged them to stay, knowing their mother couldn’t keep them safe. their time at camp was divided into learning how to fight with a spear (a weapon that quickly became their go-to, the one weapon they were actually proficient with) and learning how to manage their ability. however, worry constantly nagged at them, as they realized they were only putting off a life alone. artie may not have been different, but there were very few people who lived like they did.

PART THREE. THE EXTRAS, THE CONNECTIONS.

ambrosia tastes like the cranberry-walnut cookies their aunt used to make for them.

they have a little mp3 player because they absolutely cannot live without listening to music. it’s not connected to wifi or data, just a little device that hosts illegally downloaded music.

interchangeably uses he and they pronouns. gender identity was something artie struggled with growing up, as they never felt totally connected to their assigned gender at birth but didn’t feel totally disconnected from it either. it took a lot of google searches, long late night talks with the nymphs and his aunt and encouragement from their fellow siblings before they realized they were non-binary, and furthermore, a demi-boy. they do have a preference for people to refer to them with ‘he/him’ pronouns, while they tend to use ‘they/them’. of course, they don’t really mind what people use as long as it’s either he or them, and ultimately, artie is just happy he’s got this part of himself figured out.

handy with a spear. they tend to spin the weapon around their hand as part of their signature move, and yes, it is just to show off how good he is at spinning it.

pinterest here.

i. this house burned down and we’ll take the memories with it.

this would be the person who artie is closest to and considers family. they would’ve been there for his every milestone, the person who had his back more often than not and vice versa. however, after artie is revealed to be part of luke’s army, betrayal strains their relationship. i can see this connection (in current times) focusing heavily on the fact that they’re both on directly opposing sides but want the other to be by their side, but being unable to switch sides themselves. this connection is also one heavily steeped in years and years of friendship, as artie has been at camp since he was eleven, and then switched to being a year-rounder at thirteen.

ii. and where have the gods gone? taken by rainier gang.

artie didn’t want to switch to the titan’s side at first. he was convinced over a long period of time, and this connection focuses on the dynamic between artie and whoever took the time to convince him to switch sides. seeing as one of artie’s deepest fears is ending up alone and abandoned, maybe this dynamic focused on that aspect! honestly, i’m open to however this connection develops since it’s a pretty open-ended one.

iii. for these are shared wounds. taken by emri kyung, salem poe.

in short, they have been artie’s sparring partner since he was a new camper. as a child of aphrodite, there was always that expectation that he’d be useless in a battlefield and this person took a chance on him, showing him everything he now knows about how to fight. they aren’t close by any means but there is comfort in intimately knowing what they’re like on a battlefield. how this dynamic develops depends on which side (or none, if they’re neutral!) the other person is on.

other wanted connections:

literally anything my brain is tiny LOL

#titanomachyintro #UHHH HERE WE GO VROOM VROOM

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sanguinesorceress · 4 years ago

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Marked For Death (Part 3)

[Part 1]

[Part 2 ]

Suspicious Death of Magister Deemed Homicide

Toxicology reports have uncovered the cause of death for a Kirin Tor Magister to be a deadly toxin more commonly known by its street name of “Zanzil’s Slow Poison.” Believed to be completely incurable, the outlawed toxin is either ingested or absorbed through direct contact, triggering the gradual deterioration of multiple internal organs before resulting in what can only be described by medical experts as “an excruciating death.” Authorities are baffled as a recent interview with the medical examiner has revealed “there is no definitive way of knowing precisely when the victim came into contact with the toxin. Several factors such as body mass, diet, exercise, and the use of other medications, can alter the timeline when attempting to calculate the exact moment of poisoning. Unfortunately, we are working with an approximation of one week at best.” If anyone has any information regarding the suspicious death of Magister Jadex, authorities are encouraging them to come forward at this time.

As the ‘Tide Seer’ dispersed with a splash of salt water and collapsed into a lifeless heap of seaweed on the shore, the Sorceress appeared on a cliffside elsewhere.

"Such an intriguing cloth to wear,” remarked the watcher from the shadows as he stepped to her side, “especially when used to turn a suspicious eye toward the already disreputable Kvaldir.” She could feel his frigid stare burning into the crimson fabric of her hood, but she dared not glance his way. Not yet. For now, her eyes remained glued to the Kaldorei’s silhouette down below, watching him saddle up in preparation for his immediate departure.

As per their agreement, her co-conspirator had tailed the assassin across the continent while taking every precaution to ensure his presence went unnoticed. Looming high overhead, he observed the Sorceress’ performance from the safety of a cave through a network of scrying orbs she had organized beforehand. Already confident of the answer, she sought the opinion of her companion for the sake of making conversation. “Do you believe he will comply?”

"You understand your prey, Sorceress. You know their weaknesses and just how to exploit them,” he remarked dispassionately. “The living will throw all caution to the wind when love is concerned, whether to obtain said infatuation or to protect it, I find it quite pathetic, really.”

She glanced over her shoulder, rivaling the intensity of his gaze with that of her own. “Is that so?” she prodded, and an amused grin pulled her sable lips tighter than a garrotting wire, “Is there nothing in this world you would protect with your life?”

Her question brought a telling smirk to his face. Haunting was that subtle gesture, the look of a man who housed layer upon layer of intricacies that were nearly impossible to unravel. "Blindness" he scoffed, and although the word was little more than a whisper, his authoritative voice carried above the crashing waves, refusing to be overcome by their ceaseless roar. "Blind love. Blind actions. Blind movements in the dark. Flailing arms trying to grasp at hope, at an opportunity to free one’s self from whatever chains they have shackled themselves with.” His eyes found her target, the shaken Kaldorei, and his grin stretched into something far more sinister.

"What I cherish, dear lady, cannot —and does not— need protecting.” His eyes flared into a mixture of blue flame and shadow, as his gaze returned to the Sorceress. "You need only notice the bones under your feet, the cuts you make, and the lives you absolve from this realm. Gaze deeply into the eyes of those you claim, bask in the realization of their fate —of their untimely end—then, in those eyes, you will see what I love."

It was for this very purpose she had chosen him to carry out this important task in her overarching plan. The man’s ideals were iron-clad, armoring him against unwelcome influences, thereby distinguishing him as a powerful ally. Having served his tenure under the Lich King, the Shepherd, once awakened, vowed to never again succumb to the same ‘blindness’ as the living. Perceived to be walking abominations in the eyes of mortals, the two shared the belief that they were lucid dreamers existing alongside a comatose society.

“I would like for you to continue your surveillance on the young assassin to ensure he fulfills his task.” She handed him a satchel, and judging by the clinking sounds coming from within the leather bag, it housed several glass vials. “I have procured enough invisibility potions to conceal you from the scrying eyes in Dalaran.” A single, cautionary finger stabbed the air as she relayed a warning. “They will only hide your appearance, not your aura, therefore I advise you suppress any urges you may have to use magic over the next twelve hours.”

A trying task. The simplicity of it was presented before him, yet the request was made all the more complex in the back of his mind. For one who dwelled among the shadows, who lingered out of sight only to be seen as the last thing to be seen, he understood intimately that strategy was paramount in a situation such as this. "Hide what I am.” It was a familiarity that soon reclaimed him. Conceal yourself. Don't let them catch you. Pallid lips twisted ever so slightly as he accepted the Sorceress’ magical aid. "Be it by shadow, unholy magic, or physical inevitability… Death always collects its due.” He curled his plated fingers around the bag and held it close to his chest. "You shall have your result."

From the moment the Tide Seer dispersed, Oneth knew the clock was ticking.

12 Hours. Starting now. Think fast, you can do this.

Eliminate target number one = 4 Hours (Including travel time, cleanup, and disposal.)

12 - 4 = 8

8 Hours

Target number two would require preventative methods and careful planning. His death won’t be nearly as easy to cover up while meeting the Tide Seer’s conditions of a ‘slow and excruciating death.’

Excruciating Death = Zanzil’s Slow Poison

Acquire reagents from usual suppliers = 6 hours

Create and administer toxin = 4 hours

6 + 4 = 10

8 - 10 = Dead Wife

Not an option. Try again, Oneth.

Acquire half of the reagents locally, the other half from usual suppliers = 3.5 hours

Create and administer toxin = 4 hours

3.5 + 4 = 7.5

7.5 Hours (with 30 mins serving as a buffer for small errors)

This won’t be easy, but if it will save her life, I have to at least try. Now, to make this happen and not fuck up.

He had worked tirelessly through the night, and thus far, not only was everything going according to plan, but according to schedule. Perhaps lady luck was on his side, or maybe the Gods had finally decided to smile upon him. Whatever the reasoning, he was not one to question his good fortune.

Even with the use of portals, the majority of his time was consumed by travel. The places he was required to visit were remote, and with good reason. Herbalists were forbidden to stock the full ingredient list and alchemists were outlawed from making or carrying the deadly poison. Anyone caught with the knowledge of its procurement were obligated to report suspicious activity to the authorities, and there were few business owners willing to risk their livelihood or their reputation on an assassin regardless of how tempting the bribe may be.

Each reagent had to be purchased from a different supplier, then combined in the privacy of an undisclosed location to avoid suspicion. This was not the first time he had created Zanzil’s Slow Poison, but it was certainly the first he had done it on such short notice.

“Your tea, Sir,” trilled the waitress as she placed a steaming beverage before the Magister. “Only a half-spoon of honey; just the way you like it.”

Scholar’s hands, smoothed by the caress of only the finest parchment in Dalaran, wrapped around the teacup. Stolen warmth snaked its way up his arms and scalded his lips as he flashed her a heated smile. “My dear, sweet, Lady. It appears you are working late, yet again.” Despite what he would have others believe, the Magister was not as gentle natured as he feigned. His tips were overly generous, particularly when it came to pretty faces, and such generosity would grant him a night or two with a supple body to warm his bed. (Before they discovered the dark, sadistic desires he harbored behind closed doors.) This evening’s prize had been particularly elusive over the past several weeks and tonight he was certain she would succumb to his particular brand of charm. “What sort of gentleman would I be if I did not fret for your safety at such a late hour. Would you allow me the honor of escorting you home after your shift this evening?”

As the two conversed, Oneth carried on with his work, seemingly overwhelmed by the persistent duties of being a porter. Tables were cleaned, empty glasses were cleared, and bottles were retrieved from the cellar upon request. Never did he cease to move, the buzzing bee that he was, and he flitted from table to table with the enthusiasm of a young lad eager to please. Let them grow comfortable with the diligent worker so they may overlook the stinger at his back. It was menial work, but necessary in order to maintain certain appearances, and the bustle of the tavern helped to bring a semblance of normalcy to an otherwise unorthodox lifestyle. Now and again, Oneth allowed his gaze to wander in their direction, waiting for the exact moment when all of his careful planning would come to fruition.

Twenty seven minutes and counting.

After an excruciatingly painful exchange, his coworker managed to, yet again, artfully decline the polite pervert and evade his overeager hands. Evidently the Magister would be going home alone again, but tonight’s loss would do little to thwart his redoubled attempt tomorrow. Oneth had witnessed this ‘act’ on more than one occasion. He would be doing her, in addition to his employer, a favor by ridding the world of this viscid parasite.

Eighteen minutes.

Long after the tea, and his advances had gone cold. Magister Jadex commenced his nightly exiting ritual. The empty teacup was returned to its saucer, followed by the jingle of too many coins being placed upon the table in a grandiose show of ‘appreciation,’ and lastly the dabbing of his lips with a paper napkin. Only this time, the napkin would bear both the message and the means of his demise. At first, the Magister appeared not to notice the writing, but rather than make a scene, he lowered it to his lap where he could read the words discreetly.

One day I will return and you won’t be around to see me rise again.

No dilation of pupils, no widening of eyes, no frantic searching for the culprit ensued. Nothing occurred despite knowing with absolute certainty that he had received the message. Oneth found himself both perplexed and slightly intrigued. Perhaps this was not the first threat the Magister had received. Instead, the note was pocketed, and he bid his coveted prize a good evening before gracefully taking his leave.

Unfortunately for him, this was not just a threat. It was a delayed execution, and with the strange pearl already concealed within the Magister’s home, all he had to do now was wait.

[ Co-written with @lazraelbandtherion as his respective part. ]

@hmratking @loveherdekay @safrona-shadowsun @duraxxor

#Plot: Marked for Death #part three #read all three parts #you will not be disappointed #sanguine sorceress #the shepherd in wolf's clothing #The Rat King #the rat queen #so sorry this took so long #thank you for your patience #stay tuned for more to come #sorceress literature

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

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kiss me in the d-a-r-k .5.

wednesday

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Warnings: non/dub con sex (more oral)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The girls go to the beach but our reader cannot escape Steve for long.

Note: Second last part y’all. Steve gets a bit darker in this as both he and the reader grow more desperate. I hope you all enjoy this and I know you can’t wait for quote-on-quote grande finale. ;)

That being said, I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think!

...

You awoke in as much confusion as you'd drifted off in. Images of Steve floated in your dreams and the same tingle burned at your core. You tossed and turned until the sun forced you up. You heard the sound of a car engine and rubbed your eyes as you sat up. You stood and peered through the window.

Kylie's Mercedes rolled to the end of the drive and you frowned. Where was she off too? Or maybe, hopefully, Steve had borrowed her car. You shrugged and shook the sleep from your head. You needed to shower. You should have the night before but you were overcome in your bliss. You felt dirty now. The sweat and cum stiff along the edges of your panties.

You dragged your feet into the bathroom and cranked on the shower. You undressed with a series of groans and stepped under the stream. The steam rose around you and eased your muscles, stiff from a night of overthinking and all-too-vivid dreams. You closed your eyes and let the water wash over you. It was almost cleansing.

You jumped when the shower door slid open and you pushed yourself against the tile with a yelp. You tried to shield yourself with your hands but it did little to hide your figure. Steve's eyes roved every inch and he smirked.

"I was knocking," He said. He didn't look at your face. "Kylie just went to grab some milk."

"What are…" Your voice died as he licked his lips. "Get out!"

"I won't touch," His voice was dusky, "Can I...watch?"

Your lips trembled and you gave a long exhale. "You should go. She'll come back."

"We have twenty minutes, at least," He raised a brow and backed up. He sat on the toilet and his eyes clung to your figure. "Better get cleaned up fast."

"Steve," You hissed and reached for the faucet.

He tilted his head tutted. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Wait, I have something for you to watch first." He unlocked his phone and scrolled. "Can't have a house this big without security."

He held up his screen and you squinted. It was you, stripping down to get in the hot tub. The footage played through and soon his lips were on yours. Without dialogue, it looked different. Almost as if you had tempted him.

"It would be a shame for Kylie to cut your visit short but she can be rather melodramatic," He lowered his phone away and shrugged. "Now, go on."

You shivered and turned back to the shower head. You tried to ignore his presence as you reached for your soap and loufa. He wasn't there. Just hurry up and wash. But you could feel his stare. Hear his subtle breaths.

You scrubbed your hairand peeked over at him as you turned to rinse the soap. He held up his phone and you covered yourself once more. "What the fuck?"

"Ah come on, just a little something to remember you by," He smirked. "I'll miss you when you go. What is it, two days left?"

You shook your head in disgust and turned to quickly rid your hair of the lather. You grabbed the towel and wrapped it around your body. You stepped out and pushed aside his phone. "There. Now get out."

He stood and made sure to brush his front against you. Again his arousal was obvious. "Kylie should be back with that milk soon," He said, "Should I make some coffee?"

You didn’t answer. You just watched him leave, sure you were still dreaming. You looked around as if the world would dissolve around you but it was all too real.

You dressed carefully. You took your time. You dreaded another run in with Steve. It had already gone way too far. That night in the gym...you should’ve never followed him to the hot tub. That had been your first mistake. That had been his invitation and now there was no rescinding it. Yet, you were a guest in his home but he was the one intruding on you.

You listened closely as you descended the stairs. You didn’t hear anything, not until you were halfway to the kitchen door. You paused and thought of running up the stairs. You could hide until Kylie returned. She was your only shield from him.

Yet you couldn’t be sure that your avoidance would not instigate him. One wrong move and he would bring up the video on his phone. Or, one of them. You cringed as you recalled his cell phone held up, its lens recording your every move.

I'll show you even more. His promise bounced around your head. Maybe it was best to leave early, but what would you tell Kylie? Maybe she wouldn’t care so much...but he would. And he’d still have those videos. You couldn’t face your sophomore year without your bestie.

Two more days. That was all. Bide your time and you'd be on your way home.

You jumped as Steve appeared in the kitchen door. It was too late to turn back now. He smiled and tucked his phone away. You couldn't help but stare at the red case as it disappeared in his pocket. What had he been doing? Or rather, looking at?

"You take cream in your coffee?" He turned his body as he leaned against the door frame and waved you inside. "Unless you wanna wait til Kylie returns."

"I'll just take it black," You said and hesitantly stepped into the kitchen.

He followed closely and you could feel his gaze on your ass. His fingers confirmed it as they squeezed. A gentle pinch as your paths diverged around the island. You flinched and retreated.

"Do you really think Kylie would believe you?" You asked as you watched him pull out a dainty pink mug.

"Do you think she'd believe you?" He returned as he poured the coffee. He turned and neared the other side of the counter. "I mean...you're not that innocent."

You stared at him as he slid the mug across to you. You took it and frowned. "Why--"

"Because I want you," He didn't wait for the questions. He gripped the edge of the island and wiggled his hips. You could imagine his erection hidden by the marble top. "I've never had a virgin. As old as I am."

"So it's all just a middle-aged crisis? A check off your bucket list?" You asked.

"More than that," He smirked. "It's that little flowered swimsuit. The bikini was cute but…" He inhaled. "How another man hasn't already had a go is beyond me."

You sipped your coffee. You didn't know what to say. You were embarrassed. Nervous. Afraid.

"You didn't act like you hated," He slowly rounded the island. "In fact, I'd say you needed it. You need me." You set down the cup and took a step back for each of his. "You need someone to teach you. To show you how fucking sexy you are."

You gulped and nearly tripped over your own feet. He lunged forward and kept you from falling. He pulled you close and pressed himself to you. He rocked his hips so you felt his desire.

"I want to fuck you on this counter," He ran his hand over the island as his other gripped your arm. "But...there's still a few things I need to teach you first."

"Steve, I--" The front door opened and suddenly you were free. Steve was quick to move away. You held onto the counter as you tried to clear your head.

The door closed and Kylie's footsteps preceded her. Steve opened the fridge and searched inside. "Finally," He said coolly, "Was starting to think you got lost."

"They were out of soy milk," She replied and she planted the carton on the counter, "Had to go to the other store."

"Well, thank you," He turned to set a handful of fruit on the counter. "Coffee's ready."

"Awesome," She skirted around you and opened the cupboard. "All the better because we've got a lot to do."

You turned to her with a curious hmm.

"We're going to the beach!" She sang as she poured her coffee. "Jenny and Dani will be here soon." She paused and turned to Steve as he loaded the blender, "Daddy…"

He sighed. He looked at her knowingly. "What do you want?"

"Can we borrow the rover?" She folded her hands together in a plea.

"Well…" He looked over her shoulder at you, "It might be worth it for a day to myself." He placed the lid on the blender. "Fine. But leave the Mercedes keys...just in case."

"Thank you!" She grabbed her coffee and added a drop of milk.

"Any scratches and your paying for the buff," He warned and hit the button. The kitchen filled with the same violent buzz that had taken over your mind.

It was a relief to be out of the house but the inevitability of your return loomed in the back of your mind. The sun was dulled by the shadow of dread across your vision. The sand was hot beneath your beach towel and the sound of waves lulled your mind. Even so, you couldn't help but think of Steve. The look in his eyes when he had said ‘I want you.’

It wasn't a general statement. He wanted you. Not just a virgin, the innocent friend of his daughter. The trope found in the pages of your sister's favourite novellas. He was set on you and he would find a way to have you.

"...right?" Kylie elbowed you and shook you from the trance beneath your round sunglasses. You looked to her and set down the book you weren't really reading. "Hey, I was talking to you."

"Sorry, I was...reading," You lied and sat up. "What's up?"

"I was just saying that next year I gotta get you laid," She trilled, "Loosen you up a bit."

You swallowed and crossed your arms over your knees. "I can handle myself." You assured her.

"Oh yeah? What's it gonna be? Another twenty years?"

"Shut up," Jenny tossed sand at Kylie, "Give her a break. We didn't all pop our cherries at fourteen just to spite our dads."

"You would if you had my dad," Kylie scowled, "It wasn't just him. It was...everything."

"Like mother, like daughter," Danielle muttered.

"Shut the fuck up, Dani," She grabbed her own handful of sand and threw it at her mouthy friend.

"Hey, hey," You touched Kylie's arm. You rarely saw her so angry. It had happened so fast you were almost frightened. "I'll give you one night, okay? I'll go to one of your parties. That's all."

"Face it," She fell back on her towel, "You wanna get some. That little nun act must get real boring."

"You know what, I kinda like the convent lifestyle," You kidded and reclined. You rolled onto your stomach and stretched. "It's quiet."

You hid your face as you leaned your forehead on your bent arms. Her laughter filled your ears and you tried not to think of Steve. Of what he wanted. Of what he would do. You had heard that it hurt, but you weren't so worried about the pain.

Kylie had a burn along her nose and cheeks and Dani had drained her secret flask of vodka. Her and Jenny argued for fifteen minutes about the lack of sharing. They finally quit as you piled into the car. You drove on the way back. The other three girls were sleepy from the day in the sun. You were too but sleep wasn't high on your list of priorities.

Once you reached the main strip, Kylie roused herself enough to give you directions. Jenny's house was the first stop, Danielle’s the second. The same suburban castles as their friend. The whole town was the pillar of white collar America.

You idled at the corner just before Kylie's house. She didn't notice as your fingers tapped the steering wheel and you stared at the familiar gate just down the lane. You hit the gas and pulled onto the long drive. Kylie yawned and opened her eyes as she sat up.

"Jeez, I'm exhausted," She said as you killed the engine. "Would you be mad if I zonked out now?"

"It's barely nine," You chided. You tried to sound like you were kidding but you really didn't want to be left alone. Not here.

"I'm sorry. I--" She yawned again. "I should have put my umbrella up sooner."

"And I'm the square," You joked as you followed her to the trunk and helped unload the cooler. You hooked your bag over your shoulder and lifted it between you.

"Now you know how it feels," She chuckled. "I'll get up early tomorrow, okay?"

"Fine," You grumbled as you followed her to the kitchen. You set the cooler down by the counter.

"I'll take care of that in the morning," She shrugged and dragged her feet back out the door.

You were a step behind her as she climbed the stairs. Your skin was on fire as you listened for any sign of life. Flinched at every shadow. Steve was here somewhere. She patted your shoulder as she grumbled a good night and you parted to your respective rooms; impossibly far from one another.

You looked back as the door closed behind her and you sighed. You grabbed your handle and turned. It didn't budge. You jiggled it and tried again. You shook the door and cursed under your breath. Another trap.

The realization wasn't soon enough. You hadn't heard his door, you only felt the weight of his gaze. You turned to Steve as he leaned on his elbow against the doorframe and smirked.

"Need help?"

"No," You grabbed the door handle and pushed down with all your force. It didn't move. "I can…"

"It does that," He pushed himself from the wooden frame and neared. "You just need to know the trick." His hand closed over yours before you let go of the handle. He wiggled it and suddenly it released. "It jams every now and then."

He didn't release you. His breath washed over your head and you looked up at him meekly. "Kylie--"

"Was barely awake when she stumbled through her door," He said, "And if she wakes, you think she's going to come knocking on your door...or mine."

"Please, just...haven't you done enough?" You asked.

"Have I?" His other hand grazed your thigh. "It's one thing to be touched by a man but another to touch a man…"

He drew your hand away from the handle. He walked backwards as he tugged you with him. You tried to yank your hand free but his grip was strong; his hand almost twice the size of yours.

"With these," He took your other hand and rubbed the back with his thumb, "You can drive a man crazy."

"Steve…" You pulled and he did the same; so hard that you collided with him, your arms caught between your bodies.

"Shhh," He led you through his doorway, "I know you're a smart girl...such a quick learner."

"I…" Your voice quivered as he spun with you in his arms and released you. The door shut with a click as you kept yourself from tripping. You looked up as he turned the lock. He grabbed the bag from your shoulder and plopped it behind him.

"You don't have to be afraid," He cooed as he neared, "I want it to be special for you...but tonight isn't the night."

"What are you--" He turned you by your shoulders and you looked around the room. His large bed was awash in scarlet light, thin scarves slung over the lamps.

"Tell me, have you ever touched a man before?" He took your hand and urged you forward. "Have you even seen…"

"N-no," He jolted you forward as you tried to resist. "I...no, please."

"We can take it slow. We have taken it slow, haven't we?" He brought you to the end of the bed. Again he turned you and pushed on your shoulders until you sat. "I've been gentle, haven't I?"

You lowered your head. He had been. You couldn't deny that; couldn't deny the feelings he had inspired in you. You couldn’t ignore the heat that was once again licking at your flesh.

"Sweetie," He purred as he cupped your face in his hands, "It's okay to enjoy yourself. Sex is not a sin. The human body...is beautiful." He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone, "Your body is beautiful."

You lowered your lashes shyly and he bent to kiss you. His lips met yours hungrily and his hands drifted down your neck and along your chest. He felt your tits through your tee and bathing suit beneath. Your nipples hard against his palms.

"Just relax," He whispered as he pulled away. He stood and ran a hand along the front of his jeans. "Take off your shirt, sweetie."

His eyes were intent on you. You pouted but your voice was but a wisp in your chest. You reached down and slowly pulled up the hem of your tee. His pupils grew as you stripped yourself of the pale yellow cotton to reveal the same floral bathing suit you'd worn on your first day there.

"Mmm, I like that one," You glanced down. You could see your nipples poking through the fabric. The pale pink patterns did nothing to hide your own arousal. "And your shorts."

"I…" You breathed and he pressed a single finger to your lips. He dropped his hand as you stood. You rolled your shorts down and he rubbed the crotch of his jeans. "Sit."

You obeyed a little too quick. You bounced from the force of your descent and he chuckled. He grabbed his belt buckle and swiftly undid it. You bit down as he unhooked the button of his fly and looked at you as he slid down the zipper.

He shoved his pants down just to his thighs. He tucked his fingers in the elastic of his brief. He pulled them down his pelvis and carefully past his erection. You gasped as he revealed his thick cock and your heart beat wildly. He rolled his briefs down to the top of his jeans.

He grabbed the base of his cock. "It's not so bad, is it?" He said, "You like it, don't you?" He stroked himself and shuddered. "Just like that."

He let go and inched forward. He reached down and took your hand from beside your leg. He wrapped your fingers around his cock and closed his hands over them. He led your grip up and down his length. The skin was smooth and the veins pulsed against your palm.

"Mmmm," He repeated the motion, "Yeah." You bit your lip and he released you after the third stroke. "Keep going, sweetie." You did it again and again and he leaned into your touch, his hands on his hips. "Ah, baby, you're a natural." He let his head fall back and ran his fingers through his golden hair.

"Firmer," You tightened your grip, your eyes on your hand. "Faster. Yeah...oh god." His breath picked up as you continued. You could feel the wetness along your bathing suit. "Okay."

He stopped your hand with his and gently pulled it away. He stepped even closer. "Now," He took his cock in his other hand. "Try it with your mouth."

"What?" You blinked at him. "I…"

"Take it slow, use your tongue first," He coaxed as he spread his hand over the side of your head. "It's a lot, don't take it all at once."

You gaped at him and he urged you to the edge of the bed. He came closer still and pressed the head of his cock to your lips. You flicked your tongue out across his tip and he sighed.

"More," He rasped.

You licked him shyly, a swirl around the head of his cock. He exhaled sharply and you dragged your tongue down his length as you leaned forward. You went back to his tip and repeated the motion. He tasted salty.

"Just like that, baby. Make sure your ready for it," He cradled your head as you licked him up and down once more. "Use your hand."

You gripped him and started to stroke him as you used your tongue. His hand slid around the back of your head and he pushed himself to your lips. "A little at a time, sweetie."

You gulped and clamped your lips shut. You looked up at him as he pushed harder.

"Open up that pretty little mouth," His voice was stern. "You can do it, sweetie."

You parted your lips and closed your eyes. He pushed his head inside and you stretched your mouth around him. You kept your hand on him and stopped as he prodded at your throat. He guided you back with his grasp on your head and shoved himself back in. You couldn't take all of him.

"Use your tongue," He directed, "Mmm, yeah, keep those lips tight. Yeah, like that." He hummed as he hit the back of your throat again. "Don't be afraid to get messy."

You felt the spit spreading along his shaft and against your hand as you moved it in time with his mouth. You did you best to breathe past his girth.

"You're doing good, sweetie," He pet your head as he cooed, "Oh, yeah, so good."

He groaned and gripped the sides of your head as he moved you faster and faster. Your eyes rolled back as tears pricked and you gulped back the saliva pooling in your mouth.

"Can I cum on your tits, baby?" He grunted.

He pulled out suddenly. You could barely react as he grabbed the front of your bath suit and ripped it down. He stroked his cock as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and forced you close. He hissed as a warmth spurted onto your chest and between your tits.

"Fuckkkk," The drawn out moan surrounded you and he slowed his hand as he let go of you. He leaned back on his heels and sighed. "Ah, that was so good, sweetie."

He flinched as he released his cock. He eased himself back into his briefs and carefully pulled up his jeans. He smirked down at you and you looked at the cum dripping down your tits.

"Even more beautiful than before, sweetie," He pulled the straps of your bathing suit up your arms and covered his cum. "Tomorrow," He bent and kissed your forehead, "We'll finish our little lessons."

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skgway · 4 years ago

Text

1832 Nov., Mon. 12

9 1/4

12 1/2

Pickles came at 9 1/4 which roused me up – To see him after breakfast at Lower place or he to call here again in the evening – Letter 3 pages and ends from M– [Mariana] (Lawton) vide line 27 page 285. Inquiries about Miss W[alker]. Smokes what is going on. Writes with implied affection, true and great as that of former days. Is unhappy and carless off living long, and has made her will and …… the tears started to my eyes and all my own affection burst upon me again –

Breakfast at 10 40/.. with my aunt – George Robinson came almost immediately for near an hour – Settled with him for stone leading for James Smith’s road etc. – He proposed some means of getting rid of Lower Brea lane footpath – To see about another day –

Breakfast at 11 40/.. – Told my aunt of M– [Mariana]’s letter – Came to my room at 12 20/.. – Fire in my room and from 12 25/.. to note 2 pages of 1/2 sheet from Miss Walker at 1 10/.. in consequence of which off in 1/4 hour to Lidgate and there in 25 minutes –

Home again in 1/2 hour at 5 20/.. – At my desk in about 10 minutes – Wrote the last 1/4 of page 3, and the ends and under the seal and finished my letter to Breadalbane MacLean – Began yesterday – Thanks for her letter and the willows (sent off Monday 29th instant from Coll house)

"which I am very anxiously expecting, not only for their own sake, but because they are associated with many remembrances that I value most highly" –

Should have written some days ago, but waited in the hope of announcing the arrival of the cuttings – Shall write by tonight’s post to Glasgow to inquire about them – Bavardage amical – Wonder how her people did without her so long (5 weeks away)

"Your life is one continued benefit to them; and a five week’s arrear of such services is hardly to be made up" –

Sorry her father is so dead to the world and that Sir Hector’s health is so failing – Mention the death of old Lochiel on the 19th September – Only known to Lady S– [Stuart] on the 6th ultimo and not known to Vere on the 24th ultimo the date of her last letter to me (from Turin) – Hope

"if Lochiel is obliged to come over immediately surely V– [Vere] will remain with her friends till he can return for her – I should quite dread her being hurried across the alps at this season of the year …. You would all be pleased at dear Vere’s having got her rank – Surely, it has some value in a world of vanities like this" –

Civil congratulations on Mrs. Maclean’s being again about to increase her family and sorrow at Mrs. Hunter’s having lost her youngest daughter – The loss of my steward and my aunt’s suffering health have kept me so long here or I should have been on the continent again before this – But my aunt so very much recovered, no longer uneasy about her – She herself spirits me up to get off, and I hope to leave here about the end of January but all things here so uncertain never think much of plans very long beforehand – Kind regards to all I know "and believe me always very truly yours A Lister" –

Had written the following 2 1/4 pages to M– [Mariana] just before being off to Lidgate –

"Shibden Hall – Monday 12 November 1832

Mary! I have been late this morning, and have done nothing but see and speak to Marian, and breakfast, since reading your letter – It would be difficult to describe the effect it has upon me – It is many months since I have basked beneath the beam of happiness, and without courage to think of the past, or hope to calculate the future, I am attempting to answer your letter –

Your account of yourself unnerves me – I grieve over your leaving Lawton, and tho’ I could, and would, see good in your going to Leamington, if you would let me, I am now uneasy at the thought, and little out of sorts than you can be – The only thing I rest upon, is the manner in which you mention coming here for a few days –

It makes me fancy, nay almost hope, my scheme is not quite impossible – You would have been agreeably surprised, and satisfied to hear what Marian said about it – Say I am not well (God knows I am sick enough at heart) or, which is true, that I am in great perplexity, or that my aunt is poorly (tho’ she is very much better, and probably in no danger) or say what you please, but lose no time in coming to me for at least a few days –

I really do want to see you – I will take the carriage and meet you at Manchester – Do pray make an exertion and get off – At any rate, answer my letter by the second post after you receive it, and tell me if you cannot come off immediately – Nothing like the spur of the moment –

You will get my letter tomorrow afternoon – and, if your answer is off on Wednesday morning, at night on that day I may hear whether I may be off for you on Thursday or Friday morning at seven, or not – Bring merely a few things and yourself – I will take care of you from and to Manchester –

You will see from my manner of writing, that I am not likely to relax my interest while it is yet necessary to your happiness – Your pages of Saturday make me fancy, I may have been mistaken, and that, in the bitterness of disappointment and regret, I may have miscalculated what it was my interest and desire to estimate most correctly

This here written after dinner –

It is needless to write more – I shall anxiously and impatiently wait your answer – I would give worlds to hear of your being in better health and spirits – I had a letter from Eugénie last night – I consider her engaged; and she is to wait my orders till January –

I cannot enter upon the subject of my friend, as my aunt and sister laugh and call her – I am too much thinking of the interests of other days – Come if you can – You might be almost ride over to Manchester –

But cheer up, my dearest Mary – Time was when I had power to charm you into pleasure-stirring thought, and almost into happiness – I am what I was – And yet this power is gone, – Parted like Aynt never to return?

God bless you! The heart knoweth its own bitterness – ’Tis harder than you think to break the spell of twenty years �� Entirely and very especially yours AL –

Sent off at 8 by John my letter to Miss Maclean of Coll, Coll house Aros North Britain and my letter to Mrs. Lawton Lawton Hall, Lawton, Cheshire and my letter to the “Reverend T. Ainsowrth, at Miss Bentley’s, 1 crescent, Salford, Manchester”

George Robinson then came and staid till 9 – Said Ramsden, now the constable of H–x [Halifax], bought the last ground sold adjoining my Northgate land at 11/6 [shillings/pence] a yard – and Stancliffe bought his ground fronting into Broad street the street given at 12 /. [shillings] or 12/6 [shillings/pence] a yard but then it was cleared, or sunk down ready for building –

Had seen Bates of Washer Lane who said that I might build a good corn mill at Mytholm with saw and goit and wheel and machinery for £1500 and might have 7 to 7 1/2 percent for my money tho’ people in general did not look for much for their money now –

Some man (Brook?) of Brighouse is letting a mill had 10 percent on his money for the 1st ten years, and then 5 percent rent afterwards – The Embargo on Dutch vessels has already made a great difference – Has stopt the German trade –

Went into the other room for 1/2 hour till 9 1/2 – π [Mariana] thought I might have gone from York to Langton

"Is it Miss Walker of Crow Nest with whom you seem so suddenly to have formed an alliance? You mention her twice as "my friend" and as you were not wont to bestow this title lightly I am puzzled to unders[t]and, not having ever heard you mention her name, how Miss W[alker] has so quickly succeeded in adding herself to the list so designated.

You say, "I shall be glad to hear your friend was etc. etc." I am glad to hear anything that gives you pleasure, and so far shall be pleased to hear all possible good of Miss Walker, but as I don't remember ever having seen her.

She must be satisfied with secondhand interest for I cannot fancy her at all one of those who could herself awaken it. So far as her better health can contribute to your comfort, I rejoice that it is likely to improve and hope by this time she has somewhat recovered the loss of her particular friend" –

You say ‘I always tell you how much better Mr. Lawton is,’ because you always ask me. In bodily health he is certainly better than I have known him for years, but in mind and temper he is infinitely worse. As he improves I fall off, and I have been weak enough to fret and discomfort myself about this Leamington plan until I have almost made myself ill –

M– [Mariana] in very bad spirits about going to Leamington – "and if I could get to you, I should come for consolation" – Should be glad to spend a few days with me but does not know how it can be managed –

Watson more philosophical than π [Mariana], thinks she shall get all her mistresses things off to a place of safety

"Made my will the other day, and told Watson where to find it – I do not fancy, my dearest Fred, that my health or happiness will claim your attention 20 years longer, so dont relax your interest while it is yet necessary to my happiness. I live in so much discomfort that it cannot be expected that I should covet living forever”

Concludes with

God bless you Fred. Whatever I have said or may say, trust me, there is not much warmer affection bestowed upon you than that which flows from the heart of yours, very entirely, Mariana –

Poor π [Mariana].

Vide line 4 of today – The following is Miss W[alker]s note

I have received a letter, which you shall see, but we must meet on different terms. Oh that I had taken you at your word last Monday, and as you said finished the matter on that day. I should then have spared you this additional bitterness.

I did hope when my word was once given to you that I should have felt at rest and satisfied, but in reflecting on all you have said and trying to turn it to my own advantage I cannot satisfy my conscience, and with such sufferings as I have endured since Wednesday, I feel I could not make you happy. That I should only bring misery upon you, for misery I am sure it would be to you to see me in the state I have been in for several days.

It was this sort of wretchedness that was expressed in my note on Friday. It was these miserable feelings that prompted my request

(that is I suppose for me not to send to York for the ring)

For your own sake, fly whilst it is yet in your power,

(I smile as I copy this sentence)

and believe that I will never intrude myself in any way upon you (unless it is your wish) whenever you revisit the neighbourhood.

Nov[embe]r 12 eighteen hundred and 32 writton [written] on the outside of this half sheet but under cover,

Read this alone

–

Off I set. Found her twenty minutes ago returned from Cliff hill and lying on the bed in tears. Kissed and soothed her till in a few minutes she went down to dinner. I remained in her room a little while read overMr. Ainsworth’s letter pathetic appeal to her feelings, making sure that she must be engaged and hoping that her choice would do all he, Mr. A[insworth], had hoped to have done.

Begging her to take the scrapbook as a friend and to condescend to write in answer to say if he might send the book and a narrative of himself. And if this business should be the death of him, he would only pray for blessings on her. But much bad tact and the whole ill done, tho better than I expected.

I went down before dinner was over. Agreeablized and amused both Miss Parkhill and Miss W[alker]. Then pretending business letters for Miss W[alker] to answer, Miss P[arkhill] left us, and I talked the poor girl into admiration of my conduct and into thorough approbation of my writing and sending (I wrote there and shewed it to her) the following to Mr. Ainsworth,

Lightcliffe Mon[day] 12 November eighteen hundred and 32.

Sir, I am commissioned by Miss Walker to acknowledge immediately the receipt of your letter of Saturday and to inform you that she has given me for the future, at least for some time to come, the surveillance of all her letters and parcels.

I am Sir your obedient servant, Anne Lister

Before writing I had asked if it was her heart that had changed towards Mr. A[insworth]. No, it was all her conscience. She owned she was not in a fit state to judge fairly and tho she had felt great affection for him, yet she did not know how it was, now all seemed dead. And if she felt at liberty, she did not know or think he was quite the man she should choose, in spite of the two great things, his being a clergyman and liking to live at Cliff hill.

‘Well, but what would you have done had I not been here?’ She said she would certainly have exone[ra]ted herself now. Would have gone to her aunt Ploughs in London and then brought down the Chapmans with her. She would not have been alone and would have kept out of the way and done the best she could.

This, said I, is enough. In answer to her note said I did not think her at liberty to marry anyone without my consent, in which she agreed, and that Wednesday had given me a power over her which I was determined to use in her service. She would be better by and by and more able to judge for herself, and then she might try again, but now I should not let her.

She might safely trust to my honour, but I pledged myself to nothing. She brightened up and owned how much better she was. I even brought away, with her full consent, and A[insworth]’s letter, and the book of prayers he gave her with a long rigmarole written on one of the flyleaves promising to get her another of the same from London, and on asking for my dirty night things to bring back she said no till I promised to send clean ones, and we parted very good friends.

She agreeing with me that she had reason to be thankful for the great event of Wednesday – Who could have anticipated such a result as the consequence of her note? She likes me. But my affections are not so fearfully and I irretrievably hers as she thinks, and I shall manage well enough, tho I really will do her all the good I can –

Writing the above till 11 – Came to my room at 11 20/.. and then wrote note to Mrs. Holroyde

“Mr. T. Holroyde Esquire Solicitor Halifax” in answer respecting the land at Northgate – Not in any way anxious to sell, but would sell lot A as marked in the plan if his client would give my price – But before naming any terms I wished to know what sort of buildings it was proposed to erect –

Wrote to desire Booth to get me Gilpins practical hints on Landscape gardening and theform of family prayers published by Hatchard and Son Piccadilly London 8 edition 1828. 12mo. [duodecimo] pages 159 and 2 bottles of Albin and Chapman’s chemical writing ink –

Did my clothes for the wash. Very fine November day – Fahrenheit 49º now at 11 40/.. – Sent off my note written last night to Mr. Holroyde –

[in margin] vide line 12 page 286

nothing like the spur of the moment

very fine November day

#anne lister #ann walker #shibden hall 1832 #mr. ainsworth #anne lister code breaker

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ruminativerabbi · 4 years ago

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Looking Forward/Looking Back

And so a new era begins in our nation! Will the Biden years, whether four or eight of them, lead to healing in a nation so riven that many of the chasms that divide us—some racial, others political, still others ethnic or economic—feel truly unbridgeable? Will they feature an end to the COVID-era that has so radically altered the way we live and do business in our land? Will they bring a rededication to the kind of environmentally sound public policy that could possibly head off the crises that will otherwise visit the planet with increasingly frequency and ferocity if we choose to put blinders on and then recklessly to barrel ahead into uncharted waters without any clear sense of how to address even the issues that threaten us the least overtly, let alone those that are the most prominent? Will the recent hopeful developments in the Middle East serve as the prelude to the kind of complex reconfiguration that will, at long last, make Israel into a nation tied at least as profoundly to neighbors and local friends as to distant allies in North America and, when the wind blows in the right direction, Europe? (And will such a rebalancing of alliances lead finally to a just resolution of the Palestinians’ plight in a way that both serves their own best interests and Israel’s?) All of these questions are in the air as we pass from the Trump era to the Biden years, definitely from the past to the future and ideally from a period characterized by unprecedented (that word again!) incivility and fractiousness to one more reminiscent of the nation in which people my age and older remember growing up.

To none of the above questions do I have a clear answer to offer. But I do feel hopeful—and that hope is born not merely of wishful thinking (or not solely of it), but also of a sense that we have come to a point in our nation’s history at which the task of re-dedicating ourselves to the bedrock notions that underlay the founding of the American republic in the eighteenth century is crucial. But no less crucial is ridding ourselves of some of the fantasies we have been taught since childhood to accept as basic American truths.

There are lots to choose from, but today I would like to write about one of my favorite American fantasies, the one according to which Americans have always treated dissent graciously, enjoying national debate without acrimony and finding in principled dialogue the most basic of American paths forward. According to that fantasy, Congress exists basically to house friendly co-workers whose disagreements can and do yield the kind of dignified compromise that in turn serves as a path forward that all their constituents can gratefully travel into a bipartisan future built on our collective will to live in peace and learn from each other. Hah!

We have had in our past instances of violent altercation, including some in the very halls of Congress that were besieged by insurrectionists on January 6. Forgetting them won’t necessarily condemn us to reliving them. But keeping them in mind will surely help us find the resolve to avoid them. As we enter the Biden years, we need to look with clear eyes on that part of our history and, instead of ignoring it, allow it to guide us forward into a different kind of future.

First up, I think, would have to be the 1838 murder of Congressman Jonathan Cilley (D-Maine) by Congressman William Graves (Whig-Kentucky). This one did not take place in the Capitol, although that’s where the party got started. The backstory is so petty as almost to be silly, yet a man died because of that pettiness. Cilley said something on the floor of the House that irritated a prominent Whig journalist, who responded by asking Graves to hand deliver a note demanding an apology. Cilley declined, to which principled decision Graves responded by challenging Cilley to a duel, which then actually took place on February 24, 1838 in nearby Maryland. Neither was apparently much of a marksman. Both men shot twice and missed. But then Congressman Graves aimed more carefully and shot and killed Congressman Cilley.

To their credit, Congress responded by passing anti-dueling legislation. But that only kept our elected representatives from murdering each other, not from behaving violently. For example, when Representative Preston Brooks (D-South Carolina) wanted to express his disapproval of the abolitionist stance of Senator Charles Sumner (R-Massachusetts), he brought a walking cane with him into the Capitol on May 22, 1856, and beat Sumner almost to death. The account of the beating on the website of the United States Senate reads as follows: “Moving quickly, Brooks slammed his metal-topped cane onto the unsuspecting Sumner's head. As Brooks struck again and again, Sumner rose and lurched blindly about the chamber, futilely attempting to protect himself. After a very long minute, it ended. Bleeding profusely, Sumner was carried away. Brooks walked calmly out of the chamber without being detained by the stunned onlookers.” The rest of the story is also instructive: Congress voted to censure Congressman Brooks, whereupon the latter resigned and was almost immediately re-elected to the House by his constituents in South Carolina. He died soon after that (and at age 37), but his place in history was secured! Sumner himself survived and spent another eighteen years in the Senate.

I’d like to suggest that all my readers who felt totally shocked by the events of January 6 to read The Field of Blood: Violence in Congress and the Road to Civil War by Joanne B. Freeman, a professor of history at Yale University, that was published in 2018 by Farrar, Strauss, and Giroux. I read the book when it came out and thought then (and still do think) that it should be required reading for all who imagine that, as I keep hearing, the use of violence and, even more so, the threat of violence “just isn’t us.” It’s us, all right. And Freeman’s book proves it a dozen different ways. As readers of my letters know, I read a lot of American history. But I can hardly recall reading a book that so thoroughly changed the way I thought of our government and its history.

And then there was the brawl in the House in 1858 that broke out when Laurence M. Keitt (D-South Carolina) attempted to strangle Galusha Grow (R-Pennsylvania) in the wake the latter speaking disparagingly about of the Supreme Court’s decision in Dred Scott v. Sanford to the effect that Black people were by virtue of their race excluded from American citizenship regardless of whether they were enslaved or free. The House was, to say the least, riven when Keitt went for Grow’s throat. And what happened next, Freeman writes, “was a free-for-all right in the open space in front of the Speaker’s platform featuring roughly thirty, sweaty, disheveled, mostly middle-aged congressman in a no-holds-barred brawl, North against South.” Keitt, who threw the first punch, was already known as a violent man: it was he, in fact, who took out his gun and threatened to kill any member of Congress who was part of the effort to save Charles Sumner’s life in the attack on him by Preston Brooks mentioned above.

These are the thoughts I have in my heart as the nation enters the Biden years. We have a history of violence, incivility, and public rage. What happened on January 6 was, yes, an aberration in that no one supports—or, at least, supports openly—the use of violence to make a point in the Congress. But that was not something new and shocking as much as it was a return to an earlier stage of our nation’s history, a kind of regression to the days in which violence was the language of discourse, an age in which it was possible for one member of the House openly to attempt to strangle another and then to suffer no real consequences at all. And just to wrap up the story, Representative Keitt later joined the Confederate Army and was killed on June 1, 1864 at the Battle of Cold Harbor near Mechanicsville, Virginia.

That we can renounce violence, embrace civility, listen to opposing viewpoints carefully and thoughtfully, debate with courage and respect for others’ opinions, and behave like grown-ups even when we are unlikely to have our way in some matter of public policy—I know in my heart that we can do that. Last week, I wrote about three different instances of armed insurrection against the federal government. This week, I’ve written about the use of threats of violence, and violence itself, at the highest level of government. I could go on to note that, of our first forty-five American presidents, there have been either successful or unsuccessful assassination attempts against a full twenty of them…and that that list includes every president of my own lifetime except for Dwight Eisenhower. We cannot renounce our American propensity to settle things with our fists by making believe that violence is not part of our culture. Just the opposite is true: it was part of our past and it certainly part of our present. Whether it will be part of our future—that is the question on the table. The insurrectionists who entered the Capitol on January 6 were convinced they were acting in accordance with American tradition. There’s something to that argument too…and that is why it is so crucial now that we all join together to renounce that part of our past and then to move ahead into a future characterized by mutual respect, respectful debate, and a deep sense of national unity born of pride in the best parts of our past, confidence in the present, and hope in the future.

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sweethazzababy · 5 years ago

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Darkness.

A/N: Another one shot. Very, very sad. Extreme angst. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: mentions of suicide, angst TRIGGER WARNING

* PLEASE do not read if you are sensitive to this topic.*

Feel free to leave comments on this post. Would love the feedback.

One Shot

Song: From the Dining Table by Harry Styles

____________________

Numb. That’s all Y/N can think of when she thinks of herself at this very moment. Her body feels empty, her mind vacant. Lifeless. Not once did she ever think it was possible for a human being to feel like this. She can’t find herself to speak, to smile, to even get up from her position. She’s curled up in bed, making sure to stay on her side. If she dare move to his, a wave of guilt would crash over her and his lingering scent would be too much to bare. It would be a tease.

His side is left undone, cotton sheets wrinkled and tossed about in the way he would usually get out of bed. She swears she can still see the imprints his body left since the last time he’s peacefully slept next to her, holding her tight to his chest. His pillow is still in the position it would normally be in for him to be comfortable during his night long slumber. Crumbled up tissues are messily scattered along his bedside table, the gloom of his hay fever caused him to get up in the middle of the night as he tiredly snatched a tissue without the energy of getting up to throw it out after using it. His clothes are still perfectly lined in his closet, but his drawers messy with t shirts rolled and shoved in. There will never be another time where she can rest her head on his chest, her hand rested near his heartbeat. His heartbeat. Oh how she wishes she could feel it...feel him breathing. Alive.

It’s been three weeks since he passed. Three weeks since she’s seen his dimpled smile, three weeks since she’s heard the low huskiness of his soothing voice. Three weeks since she’s looked into his bright green eyes that seem to catch her off guard every time she meets them with her own. Three weeks since she’s been embraced in the loving cave of his tattooed arms, or kissed by his soft lips. It’s only been three weeks and she feels like she’s getting weaker by the minute. How can she go on without him? How can she live her life without him to go home to? She can’t. It’s too much to bear.

She misses him. Misses him more than she could ever have imagined was possible. It feels like a knife is piercing through her chest, slicing her heart and twisting it...but leaving it to ache and bleed in a long suffering pain with no end. He occupies her mind constantly. She wishes he didn’t. It’s like her entire life is on a repetitive film reel, replaying all of the moments she craves to feel again. Witnessing his laugh, the way he shuts his eyes mouth wide and those crinkles she grew to love that appear next to his eyes. The way he shakes his hips to the beat of his own song in the kitchen as they cook together, taking her hand and spinning her into a whirlwind of a dream. The way he gently grips her thigh as he cruises down the road, sunglasses perched on his nose letting the wind whip through his hair. The way he loves her.

She can’t take it anymore. As she’s curled up in bed, her fingers mindlessly play with the ring on her finger. The sparkle glimmering in the moonlight peeking through the sheer curtains. The ring almost seems like its alive, glittering in the light, even though the person who so lovingly presented isnt...he’s gone forever. She feels she doesn’t have a purpose anymore. He was her entire life.

Why did he have to leave her? Why did that evil being of a person get into a car knowing he was too intoxicated with vodka and tequila, step into his car thinking it was okay to drive? And why did that person have to hit Harry? Why did Harry have to leave the house at that moment in time? Why, why, why, why? Endless questions crowding her mind, making her feel crazy and delirious.

She will never forget that night. And she wishes she could.

~~~~~~

“Babe, do you have to go now?” Y/N whimpers dragging on her words as she grasps his forearm from the couch. Reluctantly Harry gets off the couch, chuckling at her cuteness.

“Jus’ need to run to the store. I can’t make your favorite dinner if I don’t have the ingredients for it.” Harry hums, leaning down softly kissing her cheek.

He lingers, teasing her well knowing how much she loves it. Dragging his lips softly from her cheek to her jaw, then to her lips.

“Mmm..please stay I don’t care about dinner right now.” Y/N mumbles into the kiss, tightening her grip on his arm attempting to pull him back down next to her.

“Let me cook for you tonight. I haven’t in a while since promo started for the album. Let me treat you.” Harry pulls her up from the couch and brings her into his chest, cuddling her as he kisses the top of her head.

“Fine. But don’t be gone long. I’ll miss you too much.” Y/N pouts endearingly. Harry chuckles again, and goes to grab his wallet from the table.

“I promise I’ll be right back. I can’t break a promise.”

Twenty minutes turned into an hour. Y/N was puzzled, the grocery store was only a mile away. He only needed a few things for the recipe. She called his phone a few times only to hear a voicemail. Frustrated, she started to cry, her thoughts succumbing to the worst. Then it all happened at once.

Her phone lit up with his name on the screen as Y/N scrambled to pick it up the second she heard it ring.

“Harry where are you it’s been nearly an hour!” Y/N worriedly exclaimed into the phone.

“Is this Y/N?” An unfamiliar voice replied, Y/N immediately covering her mouth in disbelief. Something bad has happened. She can feel it.

“Y-yes this is she.” Y/N gulps, stuttering over her words, her hands trembling from the anticipation of the impending news.

“Your boyfriend has been in a terrible accident. I’m a witness and I already called 911 they will be here any minute. You should get here.” His voice sounds sad, unsure. He sounds ashamed and sorry for her. She gasps, a sob slipping her lips as the tears form and start running down her cheeks uncontrollably, oxygen being harder to take in. He gave her the address, and she dropped everything but her phone, ran to the door and sped her car to the scene.

When she pulled up, her sobs thickened. Her eyes not believing the scene in front of her. The site...she couldn’t even recognize his car. Flipped, crushed. Her vision started to blur from her tears, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart drops, further and further as her eyes frantically make out the scene in front of her.

Before she could stumble our of her car, an ambulance arrived. Her eyes were jolting everywhere. The flashing lights, the cars, the bystanders. It was too much. She felt like it wasn’t real, what she was witnessing. Like it was all some bad nightmare.

Y/N sprinted over, desperate to see him. The worst of her thoughts running through her head over and over. He has to be okay. He has to be okay. She keeps telling herself that, hoping that her prayers are answered.

A police officer steps in front of her, grabbing her shoulders as Y/N desperately tries to break from his grip, sobs and cries mewling from her mouth.

“M’am, you cannot enter the scene.” The police softly explains, still gently holding her back.

“M-my fian..my fiance..” Y/N blubbers, her breathing quickening as an impending anxiety attack is on the horizon.

The police officer’s eyes widen, his head nodding as he realizes who she is, the woman he called 10 minutes ago.

“Okay, okay. You’re Y/N?-“

“Yes, let me through! I-I need to know, need to know if he-if he’s..” Y/N sobs, her chest heaving.

“I-I’m afraid it’s not good. He is going to be airlifted to a nearby hospit-“

“L-let me see him.”

“I don’t know if thats a good idea-“

“LET ME SEE HIM!” Y/N yells in between cries, yanking herself from his grip.

The police officer obliges, bringing Y/N over to the wreck.

Then she sees him. Or what’s left of him.

Lifeless.

Pale.

She can’t even recognize his face. The blood is everywhere, the cuts, the bruises.

His hair is matted with drying blood, his body unconsciously limp. Glass all over his lap, some shards piercing his face. His beautiful face

The next thing she knows, she’s on the floor. Sobbing into her knees, shaking her head hoping it could rid her of the horrific nightmare. Wake up, she tells herself.

But she doesn’t. This is real. She spots a shard of glass a few feet from her and she feels tempted to grab it and slice her own throat so she doesn’t have to live with the pain.

Before the ambulance even got there, he was announced dead.

And Y/N felt like she was on the verge of dying too.

~~~~~~

He broke his promise. He said he would be right back. He said he never breaks promises.

Her sore eyes let out a few lone tears, a pit of guilt settling in her stomach at the most minuscule thought of being mad at him.

But it seems like the only way to cope with the pain.

Anger.

The images of his last moments become too much. Abruptly, she gets her aching body out of bed for what seems like the first time in months. Trudging over to her dresser, she grabs the framed photo of the two of them from the day of their engagement. His arms are wrapped around her from behind, his lips lovingly pressing against her cheek with a smirk as she laughs. Her bright and beautiful ring on full display. After grabbing it she sombers over to the bathub, dragging her feet.

Starting the water, grabbing a razor. She’s replayed this scene many times in her head. How she would go about doing it.

She wants to end the pain. She wants to see him again.

Before she does, she looks around the room. This is it for her. But she’ll be happy. Setting the picture next to her, she stares at it. Tears streaming down her pale cheeks. But she’s quiet. No sobs. Just tears.

She hisses at the pain of the blade digging into her flesh. But then she calms. Relaxes. Her eyes still set on the photo, ring still tightly wrapped around her finger.

Then it happens. She feels herself losing consciousness. But a small smile lifts. Not very wide, but subtle. First time she’s smiled in weeks. Closing her eyes, a shy smile on her face, she whispers weakly, her body slowly losing its grip onto life...

“I’m coming for you Harry. I can’t wait to see you again. I love you”

____________________

A/N: sorry to do that to you guys...requests are open as always

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adrenaline-roulette · 5 years ago

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Crazy little thing called love

Roger Taylor x Reader

Warnings: None!

Preview: “Turn around! Get your arse back in that fitting room right this second!” She yells, waving her arms above her head wildly.

“Mary? What on Earth are you doing?” “Roger! The boys! They’re outside, they saw me and are coming in!” “Get rid of them! I don’t care what you have to do, but they cannot be in here!” You plead.

“Look Y/N, there’s another one!” Mary squeals excitedly as you walk along the busy street, you come to sudden halt as she stops moving, your linked arms preventing you from going any further without her. “Come on, lets take a look!” She urges, as she gently tugs you into the bridal store. As you enter, you feel like royalty, and know that you definitely do not belong in here. Pristine white dresses are displayed across the shop floor on mannequins in uncomfortable poses. Marble tiles line your way as you walk further inside, your jaw going slack as you look around. There’s a crystal chandelier hanging above you, its lights twinkling away merrily, unaware that no one in the history of the world would ever be able to afford a dress in this store.

“Mary, we shouldn’t be in here. We don’t belong!” You mutter, as you gaze down at yourself, your dusty combat boots nearly leaving scuff marks on the tiles.

“Oh come on, Roger just popped the question, you have to at least start looking for a dress!” Mary admonishes sharply, with a final tug at your arm to move you further into the store. She was stopped in front of the clothing racks, each garment in a bag to protect it from dust, and other foreign bodies. Ivory and cream fabrics were overloading your senses as she moves each dress to look at it.

“He asked me last week, we haven’t even spoken about it since, he’s been so busy with the record, I don’t think we’ll start planning it until the end of the month.” You shrug, following Mary’s lead and looking through the numerous dresses.

Mary rolls her eyes, huffing at you. “That isn’t the point Y/N. The point is, is that you are going to be Missus Roger Taylor at some point in the near future! And I’ll be damned if you don’t look a million dollars on your wedding day!” She declares, stamping her foot down to make her point as final. An older woman looks up from a few racks away, lifting an eyebrow at the noise Mary had been making.

“May I help you ladies?” She asks, her lips pursed as she saunters her way over to you both. You gulp, looking to the bottle blonde woman, wanting to simultaneously run from the store and also give her a swift kick to the knees. You knew you didn’t belong in here, but she didn’t have to make it so obvious with that look!

“Yes actually, I’m in the market for a wedding and maid of honour dress.” You smile sweetly, your perfect customer service voice coming in to play. Moving your hand to brush away a stray lock of hair, you make sure your engagement ring is clearly visible to the shop assistant, noticing her frown lift from her face somewhat. She still has a hard look about her, though it seems to be crumbling away slowly. Mary stifles a giggle from beside you, hiding it behind a sneeze.

“Of course, congratulations on your engagement! Was there any style of dress you were looking for in particular?” She asks, moving her hands in grand gestures towards the racks you and Mary had just been browsing through.

You frown for a moment, you hadn’t really thought about your dress very much. You know that Roger would find you stunning no matter what style you picked, though you also know that he would probably prefer you to wear jeans and one of his leather jackets. “Nothing too over the top, classic and simple, maybe with lace? I like off the shoulder sleeves…” You finally decide, an image of what your dress should be forming in your minds eye.

“And nothing too frilly, or too puffy.” Mary chimes in, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. The two of you had been to a wedding earlier this year, for a friend you had both went to school with. Although it was her big day, both of you decided that the dress was utterly hideous, not that you would ever say that to her face of course. The dress had wide, puffy sleeves that were at least twice the size of her head, the bodice had a corset style ribbon running across it, with lace surrounding the edges. Then, there were the ruffles. The skirt had layers, upon layers of tulle, with ribbon edging each one. All in all, she looked like a yeti, but it seemed to make her happy at least.

You nod your agreement, and the sales woman busies herself with finding suitable dresses for you to model for Mary.

Twenty minutes later, you find yourself in a circular fitting room, with mirrors covering the entire wall around you. The sales woman was with you, helping you into each dress you tried on. The first three had been, nice enough, just not quite what you had been hoping for, and you were beginning to think that maybe the dress you had imagined didn’t exist. “There we are, all buttoned up.” She smiles, patting you on your shoulder with a soft smile. “Now, off you go and show your friend this one!”

You step out of the dressing room, noticing that you didn’t have to lift the skirt while walking unlike with the other dresses you had tried on, a smile forming on your lips at that. You wanted to be able to move easily in your dress, and the idea of lifting the hem each time you took a step just sounded like torture!

**********************************************************************************

The four men walked through the bustling streets, smiling and waving at fans as they made their way to the nearest pub. They had been in meetings all morning, discussing what their latest album should be, and were tired of trying to explain what they had all come up with.

“I just don’t get it.” Roger huffed, kicking a stone away from his feet as he walked. “What about Radio GaGa don’t they understand?” He groaned, as John placed a hand on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him.

“It’s a great song Rog, and it’ll be on the album whether the record execs understand it or not.” John offered with a smile, which was returned by Roger.

“Mary!” Freddie squealed loudly, causing the other three men to look at him in surprise. From what they could see, there was no Mary anywhere in sight.

Brian looked at Freddie, squinting down at the excited man. “Fred, there’s no Mary here.” He shrugs, unsure as to where his exclamation had come from.

Freddie points towards a bridal store, grinning light a child on Christmas. “She’s in there darling.” He coos, waving at Mary through the display window. Mary looks shocked, then promptly runs away from the window, arms flailing like a mad woman.

Roger had turned his attention to the store now, along with Brian and John. “What’s Mary doing in a bridal shop?” He muses aloud, as he takes a long drag from his cigarette, before stamping it out beneath his toe.

“I haven’t the faintest idea, let’s go find out, shall we?” Freddie decrees, as he pushes his way through the crowds of people, parting them as if they were the red sea. The remaining three men gaze between one another, before following their lead singer towards the elegant store.

Upon entering the store, the four men look around, rather overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of white dresses. How can there be this much choice in only one colour? Roger walks further in, stopping every now and then to take a closer look at some of the garments hanging around him. From the corner of his eye, he spots a frantic Mary shoving a figure draped in white back inside a dressing room. “Get in! And don’t come out!” She shrieks, as she barricades the door with her body. Roger frowns at the sight before him, shaking his head before making his way towards his flustered friend.

As he reaches Mary, the other men had decided to check what all the commotion was about themselves. “Uh, hi Mary?” Brian begins, lifting an eyebrow at the pale rose coloured dress she had on. The dress boasted puffy sleeves at the shoulders, with the length ending mid forearm, a deep plunging neckline showed off her chest nicely, and a large bow was tied at the back. “You look stunning love, but I must ask. Do you have some news to share with us?”

Mary had the decency to look affronted by Brian’s suggestion, placing her hand against her chest. “Why, whatever do you mean Brian?”

It was John’s turn to speak up next, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded Mary. “I think what Brian means to ask, is whether or not there is a particular reason as to why you’re trying on bridal dresses?”

“Yes! Who is the lucky man? And for the love of God, why did you not tell me you were getting married?” Freddie gasps, as he takes Mary’s hand away from her chest, twirling her in a circle.

Roger frowns deeply, desperately trying to put the pieces together of this puzzle. “Who’s hiding in the fitting room?” He finally asks, referring to the figure he had seen her practically tackle into the small room just before

Mary blinks up at the four men before her, her eyes darting between each of her friends, desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation. “What makes you think I’m getting married?” She finally asks, folding her arms across her chest, tapping her foot impatiently as she awaits a response.

“Well darling, either you’re getting married, or being just a little bit presumptuous. I will happily speak on behalf of all men here, if you were to find a wedding gown in the closet before having asked the woman to marry you, it would be a little bit confronting.”

Mary’s eyebrows crease together, listening intently to Freddie’s explanation, of course he of all people wouldn’t buy her story! She bites down on her lower lip, looking back at the fitting room behind her, praying that you would be able to keep quiet, and hidden from just a little while longer. “If you must know, my dear friend is getting married shortly, and she has asked me to be a bridesmaid. So I’m looking for a dress for her big day.”

“Oh really?” Brian smirks, lifting an eyebrow in challenge up at her.

“Yes really, thank you very much.”

“What’s her name?” Roger queries, leaning his hip again a glass cabinet filled with tiara’s and accessories of the like. His arms are folded across his chest, his baby blues regarding her with scepticism.

“Um, my friend’s name?” Mary stammers, her eyes going wide, as if she were a deer caught in the headlights of an approaching car.

“Yes, your friend’s name. Who else?” Deaky jumps in, from what he could tell, none of the others were believing her story. What he couldn’t quite understand, was why she was being so secretive. If Mary was engaged, surely, she would be excited?

“Her name?” Mary begins, before losing her nerve, and stepping backwards, pressing herself closer to the door leading to the fitting room. “Jessica!” She quickly declares, breathing a sigh of relief as she thinks up a name.

Freddie’s grin broadens across his lips, showing off his teeth. “My dear, I met all of your friends while we were together, you have never known a Jessica.” He chuckles, and the four men watch the colour drain away from Mary’s face.

“Just tell us the truth Austin, who’s in the fitting room, and who’s wedding is it?” Roger groans. He was already tired from the morning they had had, and he found himself in no mood to play silly games with an over emotional Mary.

Mary gulps audibly, “I dragged Y/N in here to start looking for her wedding dress.” She finally admits, and as if on cue, the fitting room door which she had been guarding is pushed wide open, sending the young woman tumbling to the ground, as a vision in white emerges behind her.

You only manage to make it halfway towards the podium in the centre of the store, surrounded by mirrors so you could see yourself from each and every angle, before Mary comes running at you, the silken fabric of her maid of honour dress shining merrily beneath the bright lights. “Turn around! Get your arse back in that fitting room right this second!” She yells, waving her arms above her head wildly. You blink at her in surprise, unsure of how to react to her sudden outburst, that is until her hands are cupping your shoulders, and marching you backwards, back into the fitting room you had just emerged from.

“Mary? What on Earth are you doing?” You gasp out, as you take hurried steps backwards, both trying to follow the lead of your friend, and also get away from her.

“Roger! The boys! They’re outside, they saw me and are coming in!”

Your eyes widen, while your jaw goes slack, Roger can’t see you! It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress! Even if this isn’t the dress you end up purchasing, you still don’t want him to see you! “Get rid of them! I don’t care what you have to do, but they cannot be in here!” You plead, just as the chiming of the bell above the door informs you that the band had arrived. Mary has just enough time to slam the fitting room door shut, sending you tumbling into the sales assistants arms. She caches you swiftly, a scowl forming over her features.

“What do you think you’re doing, playing around in a dress this expensive?” She chastises you, glaring daggers down at you.

“I am so sorry. But please, we need to stay quiet, my fiancé just walked in with his friends, he doesn’t know I’ve started looking at dresses yet!” You plead with the furious woman. The moment you had regained your balance, she had taken her arms away from you, whether to protect the dress or because she was cross with you, you were unsure.

You keep your voice hushed, and the sales assistant does the same, allowing you to hear the conversation beyond the door. The boys are pressing Mary for a reason as to why she’s here, and her lies didn’t seem to be doing a good job at convincing them as to her situation.

“I’m sorry my dear, but I don’t care who else is in this store. You do not, under any circumstances throw yourself around wearing a dress like this.” The woman hisses at you, as she pushes you towards the door again, desperately trying to get you out of the fitting room, despite your protesting. “This is a three thousand pound dress, you either get out there or get out of the dress!”

With one final push, you find yourself practically flung out of the door, falling against Mary as the door swings open. You both crash to the ground, Mary luckily breaking your fall. “Five more minutes Y/N! I nearly had them convinced to leave!” Mary groans, as you roll off her back.

“You really didn’t…” Four voices laugh from above you, and you find yourself too embarrassed to look up at them. Mary pushes herself up to a standing position, before dutifully reaching her hands down to you, assisting in pulling you upright.

Once standing up straight again, you smooth the dress out around you, lifting the skirt before dropping it back down, quickly removing any creases that had formed from your, elegant entrance. After a few moments of silence, you finally look up at your audience, biting your bottom lip, desperate for someone to break the silence.

“Y/N, you look stunning…” Roger breathes out, drinking in the sight of you. You were an absolute vision, the dress looked as if it had been made just for you, and he would not mind seeing you walk down the aisle wearing exactly this dress.

“Thank you, Rog.” You smile gently, your gaze meeting his heated one, causing your smile to grow wider. It wasn’t an often occurrence for Roger to be honest with his feelings, however you knew he was genuine with his compliment.

Brian nods in agreement, his wild mane of curls bouncing around his shoulders. “You truly do look wonderful, but I must ask. Why are you trying on wedding gowns?” Deaky and Freddie both nod their agreement, all with equal looks of confusion adorned on their faces.

You blink at the three men, confusion colouring you features also. “Why wouldn’t I be trying on bridal dresses?” You press, lifting your eyebrows in anticipation.

“Well as we said to Mary just now, typically one waits until they are engaged before they start dress shopping.” Deaky supplies helpfully.

Nodding, you lift your left hand up, just as Mary points directly at the engagement ring adorned on your ring finger. “Yes, I think I’ve completed step one.”

Freddie gasps loudly, racing over to you and wrapping you up in a rib crushing hug. “Who and when?” He squeals, reaching a pitch that only dogs could hear.

“What do you mean who? Roger of course!” You declare, whirling around to glare at your fiancé.

Brain looks between the two of you, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Roger finally got up the guts to propose?” He chuckles deeply.

“Roger Taylor. You have some explaining to do Mister!” You snarl, your hands resting on your hips as you glare at the blonde, who at least looked somewhat embarrassed by the situation at hand.

“Yes, I proposed, last week so everyone knows exactly when it happened, on a Tuesday. I just, I wanted to keep it between us for a little while, before telling this lot.” He shrugs, a look of guilt gracing his features, as he gazes at you. You step closer to him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, causing him to smile against yours.

“Okay, I understand. You just had me worried for a moment there. I thought maybe I had imagined the whole, you getting down on one knee, and asking me to marry you, thing. But good to know I didn’t!” You blush, reaching up to push his hair back off his forehead.

Mary sighs dreamily behind you, wiping a fake tear off her cheek. “No matter how many times you tell me, I still find it hard to believe that The Roger Taylor proposed to you in a traditional manner.”

You roll your eyes at her antics, shaking your head slowly, smiling once more as you feel Roger’s arms circle around you, his hands resting gently against your waist. The moment is soon broken however as Deaky raises his voice to gather everyone’s attention. “While this is all very romantic, may we just take one moment to remind ourselves of the fact that Roger, our dear drummer, didn’t think any of us important enough to share this news with!”

Roger bows his head, his shaggy hair flopping over his forehead once again. “I mean, you did find out eventually.” He shrugs, looking only somewhat guilty about the whole situation. Deaky shakes his head in disapproval, while Freddie and Brian grin at the semi argument before them.

You can feel Roger’s fingers gliding along your spine as you face the group, playing with the ivory buttons that trail from the nape of your neck, down to the base of your spine. His fingers catch on the price tag, and he plays with the piece of card idly, taking a moment to glance down at the price stamped across it. His breathe hitches in his throat for a moment, though you pay him no mind, instead focusing on the grumpy sales assistant. She had recently emerged from the dressing room, her arms folded across her chest, a stern look gracing her already hard features. “This is no place for a friendly catch up! I must insist Miss, if you are not here to try on our gowns, then you must leave.”

Her look is focused solely on you, and you feel a blush cover your cheeks, averting your gaze quickly. Freddie, reading the discomfort on your face jumps to the rescue, sauntering over to the woman, a devilish grin tugging at his lips. “My dear, we were just leaving now! We are so sorry to have caused a scene, please forgive us!” He finishes his apology by walking up to the woman, taking her hand gently, and placing a kiss against the upside of her palm. Freddie’s grovelling only manages to raise a small smirk from the woman, though it soon falls away.

“I believe it best if I never see you four in this store again.” She grumbles, before turning her attention to you and Mary. “And you two are on thin ice too.” Mary gasps, taking a step back, at what she had deemed as a verbal attack.

“What did we do wrong?” She demands, stomping up to the older woman, both standing with their arms folded across their chests, glaring daggers at one another. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, it truly looked as if Mary were fighting with an older version of herself.

As Freddie rounds the band up, deciding it really was time to leave, Roger leans down against your side, his lips resting against the shell of your ear. “Get any dress you’d like Y/N…. Just not this one.” He whispers, still struggling to wrap his head around the exuberant cost of one dress. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he dashes out of the bridal store, racing to catch up with the others, leaving you to try and stop Mary from arguing with the sales assistant.

The four beer bottles clinked together, the noise muffled out nearly entirely by the noise of the band playing in the small pub. “To Marriage!” Brian declares as he grins at Roger.

“To secret proposals and not telling friends!” Deaky interjects playfully.

“Let’s just stick with to Roger hm?” Freddie offers, before downing a large gulp of his beer, the other three quickly following his lead.

Roger taps his foot along to the song the band had begun playing, the drummer in him unable to rest when a decent beat started. He had never heard of this band before, nor seen them at any of pubs the regularly visited. Though they were quite good, might even be the next Queen he thought. “Is it wrong for me to be worried about the cost of this wedding already?” He laughs half-heartedly, looking at John intently. “You got married Deaks, how much did it cost? Are you still in debt? Help me!”

John blinks at Roger in surprise, the usually stress-free drummer looked to be in the midst of a panic attack. “Ronnie and I kept it pretty simple, so it wasn’t too much, and no we aren’t still debt. We were never in debt. It’s the dress that’s the killer, they can cost a small fortune.” He finishes, before taking another swig.

“Trust me, I know. The dress Y/N was wearing, I don’t think I could ever afford something like that.” Roger sighs, his nerves now calmed somewhat from John’s reassuring words.

John nods in understanding, smiling gently. “You may think that now, but the dress is what makes them the happiest. That’s what Ronnie says at least. At the end of the day, all she cared about was having me there, and her perfect dress.”

“So, from the sounds of things. As long as you let Y/N get the dress she loves, then the wedding could be held in a grocery store, and she wouldn’t care!” Brian chuckles, noticing as the colour drain from Roger’s face.

Roger gulps audibly, before he leans forwards and rests his chin against the table. “I told her not to get the dress she was wearing. And now I can’t imagine her wearing anything other than that one!” He groans, as John moves Roger’s beer away from his head, in an effort to stop it from spilling.

“Congratulations Rog, your marriage is already doomed, and you haven’t even started planning the wedding yet. Surely that must be a world record!” Freddie smirks, while Brian timidly pats Roger’s head.

“Did you get the dress?” You hear Roger long before you see him, as he stumbles through your apartment door, swearing as he walks directly into the coat stand by the front door. Despite you both having your own apartments, you can’t quite recall the last time Roger had stayed at his, not that there was much of his there anymore. Most of his belongings had migrated their way into your living space during the course of your relationship.

You bite down on your lip, waiting for your drunk fiancé to navigate his way into the sitting room. You couldn’t blame him from having a few drinks in celebration with the others, even you and Mary had gone to a fancy café that served mimosas all day, after leaving the bridal shop. Though from the sounds of things, Roger had likely had a few more to drink than you. “You’ll just have to wait and see won’t you? Just, you know, don’t go into the closet.” You grin softly, as he finally makes his way to you. It was fun to tease drunk Roger, it was fun to tease sober Roger too. Roger looks down at you, curled up on the sofa, with a book across your lap. He raises and eyebrow at your comment, mulling over your words for a few moments, before turning on his heel and marching towards the bedroom.

A part of Roger was ecstatic at the thought you having bought the dress, the other part of him was utterly terrified, still unable to get the price tag out of his mind. Soon, he finds himself stood before the closet, hand hovering above the handle, shaking with anticipation. “Just do it!” He mutters to himself, before swinging the door open. There, in the corner of the closet, is a white garment bag, with the name of the bridal store printed across it, in black cursive. Reaching out, he pulls the bag off the rack and brings it over to the bed, draping it over the duvet. It’s not as heavy as he had thought it would be, though really, what did he know about the weight of a wedding dress?

Carefully he pulls the zipper down on the bag, pulling it down inch by inch, before it lay open before him. Roger wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at the sight before him, there, in the garment bag, from a bridal store none the less, lay a brand new leather jacket. A note, with Roger written in your handwriting taped to the material. He hurriedly shook off the denim jacket he was currently wearing, before replacing it with your gift, grinning at how well it fit, the smell of leather filling his nose as he breathed in deeply.

While Roger was engrossed in his findings, you quietly made your way into the bedroom behind him, leaning your hip against the wall, as you waited with a baited breath for him to reveal the jacket. “Damn I have excellent taste in clothing.” You chuckle, as he whirls around on the spot, sporting his new jacket.

“So, you didn’t get the dress then?” He raises his brows in surprise, blinking his striking blue eyes over at you. With a sly grin, you step over to him, reaching your hands out to his jacket.

You zip up the jacket slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I will not justify that question with an answer.”

The zip stops at his throat, and Roger smirks down at you. “It’s at Freddie’s isn’t it?’

“it’s at Freddie’s.” You smile.

My Masterlist

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