#one of the places I might be living next year has wood panel walls and they're a lil ugly but also giving preacher's daughter realness

[likesthemoon]

Shoutout to ethel cain for aestheticizing wood paneling fr

[deadbiwrites]

hey, for the ask thing, can you do #9 under random: “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

This one was so fun!!

--

Kara doesn’t drink, usually.

It’s not like, a thing, that she doesn’t drink. Some sort of moral or religious blah blah whatever, it’s just that she… doesn’t.

So when she’s dragged out to the bar for Nia’s 21st birthday, she expects it to be more of the same- her friends will get drunk, Brainy will dominate at the trivia game that’ll inevitably be crawling across a screen at the bar, Nia will flirt with Brainy, Alex will stare and sigh at Sam all night, James and Mike will inevitably get at each other’s throats (how they manage to play on the same team without killing each other, Kara will never know), Mike will flirt with her and be hurt when she shoots him down, James will pull out his camera and take candids that Alex will doubtlessly demand to see and then delete immediately, and Kara will eventually wrangle them all into her minivan and drive them back to campus.

A typical Thirsty Thursday with her closest friends (and also Mike, for some reason).

Except that tonight, instead of Al’s, the dive they usually flock to, they’re at some martini bar downtown. And though the reasoning makes sense (Nia can’t really openly celebrate her 21st at the bar she’s been frequenting for the past 2 years with a fake ID), and it is her birthday and she wants to go someplace-

“Swanky,” Alex murmurs as Sam lets out a low whistle behind them.

This is barely a bar, it more closely resembles a set from a 30’s noir movie, with the large chandeliers dripping crystal overhead and the rich, polished wooden floor underfoot. For crying out loud, there’s a live jazz band- not a quartet, a full band- across what is clearly a dance floor, and the waiters and waitresses are all dressed in vests and ties (and not the cheap kind Kara had to wear for the week she worked at the catering company).

In short, it’s gorgeous, and glamorous, and she’s infinitely glad she’d asked Nia what she should wear because her usual jeans-and-a-sweater combo surely wouldn’t fly here, but the suit she wore to her cousin’s wedding this past summer definitely does.

They’re greeted by a friendly but slightly harangued-looking hostess, who quickly ushers their group to a large booth in the corner. Each of them peruses the drink menu, and quickly realize that they have no idea what any of the cocktails listed actually are.

"Yeah, great, this is- I love doing a Google search to get drunk," Alex grumbles sarcastically as she scrolls through her phone, pulling a face at something or other. "How many of these have absinthe in them? Jesus."

Kara laughs. "What, no green fairies for you tonight?"

"It was one time!"

"Aw, we still like you even though you're afraid of the mean, scary alcohol," Sam coos at Alex, smile tinged with an edge of teasing and Alex melts like so much wax before a flame.

Ridiculous. 

"Make out already," Nia jeers. When they both flip her off she turns to Kara, seemingly confused. "That was a legitimate suggestion, though?"

"I know. One day," Kara hums, throwing her arm around Nia’s shoulder and pulling her into a half-hug.

Their waiter appears, smooth and charming and managing to get Winn firmly under his spell in a matter of seconds. But in Winn's defense, he has a perfect smile, great hair, and a British accent.

Poor boy never stood a chance against all that. They each place their orders for a fancy drink, and when the waiter, Jack, turns his attention to Kara, Alex interrupts with, "She wants a Potion D'Amour."

"Oh, a love potion," he muses, smiling at Kara. His eyes catch on something and his smile widens. "I know just the lady to make it for you. Back in a tick."

And he's off before Kara can protest. Resigned, she turns to her sister. "Why?"

Alex rolls her eyes fondly. "Just take a sip. If you don't like it, one of us will finish it for you.”

“Fine, fine.”

--

So, as it turns out, Kara likes the love potion. A lot.

“It tastes like berries,” Kara marvels.

“We know, Kara, you told us when you were drinking the last one,” Alex chuckles.

“And the one before that,” Nia adds.

“You guys are so nice. I love you all so much.”

“Well at least she’s a happy drunk,” James chuckles.

“‘m not drunk,” Kara insists. “‘m always happy, ya butts.”

“Sure Kar, and the sky is red.”

Kara frowns as her friends all laugh. “Rude. Who wants another one?”

They all raise a hand, and Kara moves off in the general direction of the bar.

Or, well, she does her best.

“Hey there! Did you need something, luv?”

It’s Jack-the-waiter, looking at her with some bemusement.

“Yeah! Hi, sorry. Um, they all want more drinks, and I just, um…”

“Needed a break?”

She slumps in relief. “Yeah. Is that bad? Like, I love them and all, but I think I’m kinda drunk and they’re… a lot.”

Jack chuckles. “Trust me, I understand. If you want a minute of quiet, there’s a stool on the end of the bar that no one ever sits in. Got your name on it.”

“Thanks! You’re a very good waiter. Hey, d’you have any drink recommendations? Maybe one a little, um… lighter?”

“‘Course I do luv. Really fancy, too. C’mere, I’ll tell ya,” Jack says, motioning her close. When Kara is a few inches away, he tells her the secret. “It’s called ‘coffee’.”

Kara laughs as he winks and moves away to another table. She spots the empty barstool he’d mentioned and ambles over, dropping into it with a sigh. From here, she has a view of approximately nothing, given its location behind a pillar, and she leans back against the wall, the cool wood paneling chilly even through her jacket and shirt. 

“Long night?”

Kara’s eyes flutter open (when did they close? Maybe she is drunk…) and across from her is quite probably the most beautiful person she’s ever seen in her life.

“Wow.”

The girl smirks, quirking a brow upward. “You okay there?”

“Yeah. I um, I think I just had too many love potions.”

“Oh, so it was you ordering those,” the pretty, pretty girl drawls. “They’re a pain in the ass to make, you know. Mostly the garnish, but still, I’m tempted to be annoyed with you, for being so high-maintenance.”

“Oh, Jack said he knew the girl for the job!” Kara says. “They were really good, I usually don’t even drink, but those were great.”

“Well well, keep talking, I thrive on flattery,” the girl jokes. She extends a hand. “Lena.”

“Kara, Kara Danvers. Wow, your hands are big.”

Lena barks a delighted laugh. “You have all the subtlety of a hand grenade, Kara Danvers.”

Kara flushes. “Oh, that’s- wow, sorry.”

“You’re fine. Like I said, I thrive on flattery,” Lena says, throwing her a very cute two-eyed wink. She turns suddenly, fixing a polite, professional smile on her face. “Good evening, sir. What can I get for you?”

“Another round for my friends. And your number, gorgeous.”

Mike.

Lena remains polite, face impassive even as Kara hastily ducks out of sight under the bar. “What drinks did you and your friends have?”

“I dunno, fancy stuff. The waiter guy probably knows- my friend was supposed to come get us another round, but she probably bailed.”

“Oh yeah? Not much of a partier?” Lena asks, eyes darting to (hidden) Kara.

“Nah. Don’t get me wrong, Kara can be cool, but she’s a little… uptight. Needs to relax every once in a while.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So what’s your story, beautiful? You come here often?”

There’s a beat of silence before Lena drawls, “Well I work here, so… I’d have to say yes…”

Kara claps a hand over her mouth to muffle the laugh she can’t keep inside.

This obviously throws Mike off whatever game he thinks he has. “Oh, that- right. Um. That was a joke.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll ask your waiter what your order was- do you know who he is?”

“Um… he has a beard?”

“Jack, his name is Jack,” Kara mutters under her breath.

“Right. I’ll ask him. Did you need anything else?”

“No, thanks.”

There’s an extended silence before Lena says, “You can come up for air now, Kara Danvers.” 

Kara peeks over the edge of the bar, flushing again when Lena snickers at her.

“Good friend of yours?”

“No. He’s- I don’t even know why he’s here? Like one day we all hated him and then the next he was always around. Nia doesn’t even like him, and it’s her birthday.”

“Really? Good that she doesn’t- seems like a douche.”

Kara barks out a laugh, smothering in quickly and grinning behind her palm as Lena grins slyly over at her without turning her head. “He is a douche. He always asks me out even though I’ve told him no, like, a million times.”

Lena frowns at this, turning her attention fully to Kara. “Does he?”

“Yeah. My sister hates his guts, and so does our friend James, but somehow he just… sticks around.” Kara shrugs. “He’s pretty harmless, just really annoying.”

Lena hums, gaze narrowed. “He’s not worth your politeness, Kara.”

“Eh. Besides, I’m kinda doing the same thing to you, right? Just like, demanding all your attention?”

Lena bobbles her head side to side. “I’d say it’s a bit different.”

“Why, because I’m drunk?” Kara laughs. “‘m sorry about that, by the way.”

“First off, I don’t think you’re all that drunk,” Lena confides, leaning over the bar so . “Those drinks really aren’t all that strong. And secondly, there’s a difference because I am actually enjoying your attention, Kara Danvers.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. Cool,” Kara mutters to herself.

Lena smirks. “So, Kara Danvers- even though I already know the answer to this-, do you come here often?”

“Um, no. But I think I might start…”

Lena’s sly grin morphs into a broad smile, dimpling her cheeks and making her eyes shine in the low bar light. “Good.”

[deiliamedlini]

Whumptober 2021- The Darkness I Know

Chapter 1

Note: So, I decided to do the same thing I did last year, which is to turn the whumptober prompts into one continuous fic! This first chapter heading info up here is a mess! I’ll fix the next post!  Also will be posted on Ao3 (the link will only be on the chapter index page so I don’t keep forgetting to do that). These chapters are typically on the shorter side just because I am writing a chapter daily and haven’t written ahead more than the first two chapters! 

Fic Summary: After the world as she knew it was destroyed by the corruption of Malice, Zelda allies herself with her saviors from captivity: a disgruntled former governor, an alert paramedic, a cocky pilot, an excessively overt optimist, and a blind strategist. While the corrupted, malice-filled Yiga Clan looks for revenge on them, Zelda has to learn how important it is to find family in others... and how much more dangerous the stakes become if she fails to protect them.

No. 1 - ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO

“You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

Chapter Index/ Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean you don’t have a ruler?”

“I don’t need one.”

“What are you doing—… no!”

Never had there been a more malicious offence in Zelda’s eyes. Rulers were the key to life: they kept things straight, and they made things balanced. There was equality in every precise and calculated movement, and a delicate hand was required to hold the simple mechanism steady.

So, watching Dorian take the scissors and cut three strands of paper was like cutting straight through the muscle of Zelda’s heart.

“Why would you do that!” she screeched, more an accusation than a question. “Now they’re uneven, and they’re crooked! You’re insane!”

“It’s just a stencil, Zelda. If you want to cut the wood with a ruler, go ahead, but now we have an idea of how much we need.”

“We need to redo that. It’s not accurate.”

“I’ve been doing this since before you were born. It’s accurate enough. I can eyeball it. Do you want to fix the fence today, or no?”

Zelda grabbed their tools off the table and sulked behind Dorian as he left without waiting for her answer.

There were some battles Zelda knew she had to lose to win the war. This was one of them,

The fence was a priority to keep out anything that might have been affected with Malice from entering Mabe Village. There were so few survivors as it was.

Before the Malice had invaded Hyrule, Zelda had thought that her student loans were the biggest problem she’d have to tackle. She’d thought the money she’d spent on an apartment outside Castle Town was worth it, despite being far from her family back in Akkala. She thought there was a bright future waiting for her behind the years she’d spent in academia, trapped behind computers writing term papers and researching and experimenting and playing by others’ rules with the dream of one day making her own.

Then, the Malice spread: a thick purple substance that oozed from a seemingly endless source; a vile smell that reeked of rotting food in a broken refrigerator, and a gaseous haze that followed that made it near impossible to breathe. Worse, it corrupted any who came into direct physical contact with it for too long, and most of those affected were now dead for one reason or another.

She remembered when her car stopped working on the highway as the purple smoke filled the air on that first day four years ago. She’d stayed inside the metal hull, watching in awed horror as it engulfed her in an endless stream of fog. She ducked down below the steering wheel and listened to the crashes of other cars on the road that didn’t manage to slow down before their sight was stolen by it all. The constant ring of a jammed horn had her blocking her ears after too long.

Three days in the car, officially parched and hungry, no one had come for her. No phones worked; no drivers dared leave their vehicles. But it had become too much, and Zelda decided it was worth risking a venture outside, even amidst the lingering smoke. Her tongue was dried out and every breath of air came out in a wheezing hiss. But she’d done it.

The haze had been unpleasant and burned her eyes a fair bit, but when she stumbled into a water cooler that had fallen from a shattered car’s backseat and chugged every drink inside, she found other survivors along the side of the highway doing the same, and they all stayed together until they could reach safety.

Enter Mabe Village, four years later.

Zelda and her group had scavenged on the side of the road for almost a full year before they’d found the refuge. It was safe from the crazed bokoblins who once lived peacefully in their own territories. It had walls to prevent any of the fast-but-grounded lizalfos from scaling over. And each creature came at them with a vengeance, each fueled by contact with the Malice.

For a while, Zelda was the only engineer who could fix the solar panel garden and keep the power running. She developed as many mechanical skills as she could, fixing tools and maintaining the plumbing. She even began to learn carpentry to keep the houses upright.

Then, Dorian came in: someone with far more experience than her to help lighten her load. She slept more with him around, and he was full of energy to work through the nights when Zelda couldn’t.

“Would your mom ever let you do this?” Dorian joked as they made it to the wall and set their tools down.

Zelda, now in her mid-twenties, hadn’t seen her mom in years, but she’d learned everything from her. She thought about the blonde woman with blue eyes who used to sneak Zelda dangerous tools when she was too young to comprehend the danger. The woman who had her daughter assist her with live wires because she needed a third hand. Zelda knew how to hold a soldering pen before holding a real one.

“No,” Zelda snorted, always careful about her mother’s carelessness. “She’d let me watch, but she’d definitely be too worried about my hands.”

“Always the hands,” Dorian repeated with a joking smile.

“Always the hands.”

The two set out to fix a gaping hole in their fence, and while Dorian took the outside, the barbed wire that was laid over the wood planks to discourage any creatures from ramming into it, Zelda took the wooden boards inside.

When they were all in place, Zelda examined some of the old wood, intrigued by a perfect set of bite marks.

“Dorian! Was this Ms. Maple’s dog who did all this damage?”

She turned it over in her hand and set it down with half a mind to stride right over to the only dog owner in Mabe Village, but when she heard silence from the other side of the fence, Zelda stopped herself.

“Dorian?” When it was still silent, Zelda turned and grabbed the closest tool she could reach: a screwdriver. She glanced down to see if there was anything better, but there was only her ruler, a hammer, nails, and a second flathead.

Looking behind her, she tucked the flathead into her belt and gripped the hammer as tightly as she could before heading around the gate to check on Dorian.

He wasn’t there.

There was barely a moment to think that something might have happened to him before she was face first in the grass with a heavy pressure holding her down.

Zelda tried to buck them off of her, but they were too heavy. There was a sound of metal scraping against something, and Zelda let out a muffled scream into the grass, still trying to free herself.

“No, wait! Wait!”

Zelda’s head whipped up and she saw a large group walking towards her, each dressed in red bodysuits with a strange mask concealing their faces. The voice though… the voice was…

“Dorian!” she screamed, trying to move again. “Get help!”

His face contorted, and he bent down in front of her, but his words were addressed to whoever was behind her. “She’s useful. She’s smart, handy, talented. We need her. And she’ll understand why we did this. She smart,” he said again, nodding to her.

The man behind her hesitated. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Positive. I’ve seen her work. I know her.”

A chill shot down Zelda’s spine, and she felt herself tugged upwards until she was sitting on her knees, face-to-face with Dorian in his red suit and a white mask atop his grey hair.

“Fine. Bring her with us. Tie her up.”

“Don’t fight, Zelda. I promise, this is just a precaution.”

She couldn’t help her body from struggling a bit, and she watched Dorian slide his mask into place.

“What’s happening? What’s happening?” Her wrists were tugged hard behind her back, and the rope was frayed enough to cut into her skin a bit.  

Dorian held out his hand, and Zelda, now bound, was handed off. “You’re with the Yiga Clan now.”

And with that, every other member of the group drew out their weapons and headed into Mabe Village while Dorian held Zelda still through her sobs for all the friends she’d never see again.

[inkandpen22]

Otherworldly Kings and Queens (2/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader / Prince Caspian x Female!Reader  

Warning: mild mentions of violence 

Word Count: 1.8k

Part Summary: Y/N and the Pevensies search the surrounding cliffs and they start to piece together what happened since the Pevensies leaved. Then, someone is nearly attacked... 

A/N: As requested, I’m releasing one more part today! In the next part Y/N meets Caspian!!!! Get hyped! 

Masterlist

After our antics on the beach, the five of us hike up the cliffs after Edmund spotted some old runes he mentioned not remembering. Peter holds my hand the entire way. One, because when does he not frankly? Two, because I don't keep my eyes ahead of us as I'm too distracted by everything around me. I've never seen any place Narnia! There's so much untouched land, for as far as the eye can see! I've lived in London my whole life. There's constant noise and good luck finding a patch of grass that isn't a park. I had only ever been to the ocean a handful of times and it never looked like this one. The water is so clear and crystal blue! Also, I swear I saw an actual mermaid tail flick up through the surface at one point.

"So you really don't remember these?" I question, referring to the runes. 

"Not from what I can recall," Edmund pants ahead.

Once we finally reach the ancient-looking stone structures, we all start to wonder about the place individually to figure out where we landed. Peter and I, however, remain together and stroll about. Trees and bushes of various kinds have grown over the rubble. It's must've been centuries, perhaps even thousand of years, since this place was inhabited.

As Peter climbs to the tallest point to get a better look, I pick a bright red apple from its branch and toss it to Lucy with a giggle. I stroll over to the edge of the platform that overlooks the western coast. Scattered bits of green covered land streak the horizon. Whoever lived here was lucky, they had the most incredible view! The sunsets must be unparalleled.

"I wonder who lived here?" Lucy questions beside me.

"I think we did..."

I glance over my shoulder and Susan holds up something in her hand. I narrow my eyes at the shiny object and I go over to join her.

"Hey, that's mine!" Edmund announces as he takes the thing from Susan. "From my chess set!"

"What chess set?" Peter interlocks his hand with mine once he reaches us.

"Well I didn't exactly have a solid gold chess set in Finchley did I?" Edmund sasses, examining the piece.

"It can't be!" Lucy runs off, shocker.

The four of us follow the youngest swiftly to catch up. It annoyed me when she would run off in London and I know that city like the back of my hand. If she continues to run off in a foreign land... okay, so I don't know what I'm going to do, but I sure won't be happy about it!

Lucy takes Peter's hand and starts to escort him up a platform. I slip my from his, which earns me a subtle glare of annoyance. I snicker as Lucy aligns Peter in a specific place. She sets each of her siblings in a spot, clearly onto something. 

 "Imagine walls," she instructs. "And pillars there!" She points before stopping in her own place on the far side. "And glass roof!"

I observe the four siblings lined up a few feet above me on the platform. I start to see what I think Lucy is envisioning. The pile of rock behind each of them, they're remnants of thrones! I look to Peter and he's starting to process it too.

"Cair Paravel," he concludes with a solemn expression.

We continue searching the once glorious palace that Peter vividly described to me countless times this past year. Peter is understandably crossed and has grown quiet. All I can do is continue holding his hand and rub my free one on his arm comfortingly. I hate not being of more use in figuring out what happened here. In my defense, I've never been to Narnia before.

Edmund jogs ahead and kneels beside a boulder. "Catapults," he mutters.

"What?" Peter finally breaks his silence.

"This didn't just happen," Edmund determines. "Cair Paravel was attacked."

After a moment, Peter marches off with a stern expression. Silently, he takes me along with him on his march without slowing down. Lucy and the others follow, just as confused as me. Clearly, Peter knows where he's going and is on a mission to get there. I would ask him where exactly our destination is, but I prefer to keep my head.

Abruptly, he stops in front of a tower-like structure. He releases my hand and starts to remove brush from the building. Edmund helps him press against the stone which eventually shifts to reveal a worn wooden door with a lion engraved on the handle. Peter picks up a rock and starts to go at the wood panels. The door breaks and gives way to expose a dark stairwell leading down. I glance over at Lucy and Susan who simply watch their brothers act. Evidently, they must remember this place too.

Peter rips the bottom of his shirt and starts wrapping it around a stick he’d picked up. "Don't suppose you have any matches, do you?" He checks with his brother.

Ed starts to dig through his bag. "No, but would this help?" He reveals his torch.

The girls and I giggle. Of course this would happen.

"You might've mentioned that a bit sooner!" Peter laughs.

Ed starts leading the way down the stairs. Peter gestures for his sisters to go then holds out his hand to me. He follows behind me down the grumbled stairs. I'm really trusting these four not to get me killed, aren't I? The three ahead of Peter and I and hurry around inside. 

Sunlight pours in from skylights and my eyes land on four golden trunks are line up perfectly in a half circle.

"I can't believe it," Peter expresses as he appears by my side. "It's all still here!"

The three younger Pevensies start to search through their old trunks while Peter and I examine the dusty treasures that have been knocked around from the attack. Peter picks up what appears to be shield and blows away the dirt that hides the giant lion face on it.

"Was it your's?" I ask over his shoulder

He hums, holding it out for me to see better. "Many years ago..."

My eyes flicker up from the shield and land on a marble statue ahead. The figure appears so familiar, yet how would that be possible?

"Wait," I step forward to study the face better. "Is this you?" I point.

"Yes," Peter laughs, placing a hand on my lower back gently. "Again, many years ago. I was older then."

I shake my head in awe, "yeah, no kidding."

"Here Y/N!"

I turn my attention to Susan and she tosses me a royal blue velvet gown. "You can borrow it," she grins. "It'll help you blend in."

I hold up medieval style dress in front of me. The only time I ever imagined myself wearing something like this was for Halloween.

"Take this too," Peter hands me a dagger from his trunk.

"Why would I need a weapon?" I frown. 

"Not every creature in Narnia is necessarily in favor of us," Edmund snickers, glancing between his siblings.

Peter rests his chin on my shoulder as I examine the red leather handled dagger in my hands. "It's alright," Peter comforts with a whisper in my ear. "I'll keep you safe... promise."

"I could I at least have a real weapon?" I request, laughing lightly. "If I'm going to be in real life threatening situation, I prefer to have a weapon that doesn't require me to be mere feet from my opposer!” 

Peter snickers, collecting items to change into. 

"I might as well kiss my life goodbye,” I add under my breath. 

"I got this katana as a gift from the Emperor of the Eastern Desert Lands," Edmund offers.

"What's that?" I've never heard of it before.

Ed removes the sword from its sheath with a whoosh as I cross the chamber to him. Its curved, thin, long, blade would be perfect. I graze my finger tips across the shining blade, in awe of it.

"I did research on it when we returned to our world. It's native to Japan, amongst the Samurai," he explains, placing the sleek black and gold handle in my hand.

"Hey! Hey!" Peter appears at my side in a blink. "Careful!"

"I got it! I got it! Don't get your knickers in a twist," I tease. I turn hold the sword up right to admire the blade closer.

"You could get hurt with that." Peter still worries.

"I could get hurt by someone attacking me too," I sass, lowering the weapon to address my friend. 

His eyes meet mine, filled with annoyance. He wants me to simply agree with him all the time. 

I smile, "wouldn't you prefer I have a sturdy way of defending myself?"  

"I think your words and wit would be enough to frighten them," he smirks.

"You charm me,” I blush. 

"Always do," he winks, taking the katana from me before someone gets hurt. "You can get it back when we leave. After that, I want it in its sheath unless absolutely necessary! I mean it, Y/N!"

I watch him slip the blade back into its leather casing cautiously. I place my hand over his to gain his attention. 

"You may be the King of Narnia, but you forget I'm not one of your subjects," I mock playfully.

"You're right," he agrees surprisingly. Gently, he picks up my hand and places a kiss to the back of it. Then, his features turns serious. "But while you're here your safety is my responsibility."

I roll my eyes, I hate how he patronizes me. One would think I'm one of his little sisters too with how protective he can get. Actually, he's less overbearing toward his siblings, even Lucy and she's significantly younger than me! With my luck something bad will happen, I will be away from Peter, and then what? I will be left with the dagger toy he gave me. As soon as I get that sword in my hands, I'm not giving it back. I'm just going to have to prove my capability to Peter.

___________________________________

Okay, so Edmund was right, some creatures don't like us! A black bear quite literally attacked Lucy! Fully charged at her and was going to eat her as a midday snack! That was until the DLF shot it with his arrow. DLF as in “Dear Little Friend.” His real name is Trumpkin, he’s the dwarf we saved from some Telmarines. Telmarines are apparently from another land in this world. They're human like us, but not friendly! I repeat not friendly!

Peter quickly grabs his little sister and pulls her to safety by me. I take her into my arms and comfort her as she cries. 

"I thought you said the animals could talk?!" I scream at Peter, rightfully distraught. 

"They can! I mean... they could..." Peter stammers, evidently just as lost as me.

“We... we just killed an innocent bear!” I stumble over my words. “We took an innocent animals life!”

“Innocent?! He was going to kill Lucy!” Edmund justifies it. 

“Y/N’s right!” Susan defends. “It clearly didn’t know any better!”  

“It was probably hungry!” Trumpkin shouts over all of us arguing. 

“Great! That makes me feel so much better!” I shout at the dwarf. 

"You've been away for a while... ” Trumpkin grumbles bitterly. 

He pulls his dagger and stabs the bear. I cover Lucy’s eyes so she doesn’t see the horrid sight. Peter notices me grimace and guides my face to hide in his chest. 

Was the stabbing really necessary?! It’s dead! 

“I think you'll find Narnia is a more savage place than you remember,” Trumpkin adds. 

"Oh lovely!" I sarcastically remark. "Looking forward to it!"

"Just stay close to me," Peter instructs, keeping one arm around me and the other around Lucy. 

"Don't have to ask me twice," I mutter, utterly afraid. 

Narnia is supposed to be this fairytale lovely land! There are pixies and stuff here! Where are the dancing trees?! Where are the people made of flowers?! I envisioned Neverland and I got a fence-less zoo! 

_______________________

Tags:  @hyperactiveravenclaw @rangergranger11​ @blackbirddaredevil23​

Masterlist

[evarcana]

Taking it out on you

Ev attends the court meeting only to learn that sometimes the second impressions are just as bad as the first ones.

characters: Ev Panopolis, consul Valerius and brief appearance of Volta

words: ~3k

warnings: alcohol (as expected)

notes: On some point I gave up on the idea of Ev being the apprentice, as she just does not have this "MC energy". So this is an introduction to her story, because there is no better way to celebrate the 1 year anniversary of this blog than to remember that a very long time ago I used to write fanfiction.

It has been almost a month already. Almost a month since she came to Vesuvia, almost a month since she was told that her services were not required here. The thought makes Ev frown, but she keeps a quick pace, the sound of her impatient steps on the marble floor echoing through the palace corridor.

It is just before eleven o’clock, and the last of crisp morning sun pours over the rich mauve of lustrous silk drapes and the gold leaf of intricately carved murals, drawing out the warm scent of orange blossom and beeswax from the polished panels of precious wood. Vesuvian palace is exactly what she was promised - a great wonder, and yet Ev doubts it could give any lesser impression while the backdrop to its striking opulence is the city torn apart by disease and grief.

There are no servants or visitors in sight, and Ev’s only company in this seemingly endless corridor are paintings on the walls, depicting what she can only guess are some of the proud moments of Vesuvian history - people and places so foreign to her.

She does simple math in her head: two months and two days ago she was marching down the corridor of a very different palace, eager to be on time for the meeting with Crown Princess Nafizah despite the quite literal last minute notice, and not knowing yet that she was about to hear details of this so-called diplomatic mission.

Back then it sounded straightforward enough. Prakra couldn’t ignore the news of Count Lucio's tragic death, not least because that meant Princess Nadia, the youngest daughter of the Prakran royal family, was left widowed and with the daunting task of handling the red plague epidemic in Vesuvia all on her own. Any ruler could do with an extra pair of hands and any country could benefit from the alliance with Prakra, especially in times of crisis like this. And it would have stayed straightforward if only the discovery of Countess Nadia’s mysterious illness and the unexpected, unreasonable, outrageous hostility of Vesuvian court did not bring this crisis to the whole new, now personal, level.

In theory, Ev did not have to deal with any of that. She could use the excuse that it was only appropriate to deliver such unsettling news about Nadia in person, go back and forget everything that happened in this palace like one of those unpleasantly bizarre dreams you get after a night of drinking. But Vesuvia was still the city Prakra cared about, Nadia’s city, and as far as Ev knew none of the people who came to be in charge of it were appointed by her. Prakran diplomatic presence was perhaps the only way to look after Nadia’s interests until she woke up. Even if Ev had no actual power over the court, returning to Prakra without accomplishing at least something felt like a failure, and failure has never been an option for Ev. With that in mind, she pressed the seal with enough force to imprint Prakran royal crest on the desk and not just on the drop of red wax marking the envelope, and stayed.

Now, after a month of living in the city, she has learned to see that there is more to her new role than just misfortunes. Her relocation allowance is generous, her new place is nicer than what she had in Prakra and she is getting rather used to the convenience of the wine shop next door. Even if parts of it are foreign and unwelcoming, Ev feels at ease in Vesuvia. The tension in her body relaxes, and she thinks maybe this palace can eventually get used to her too, but the thought faints away as soon as she sees the salon door. Ev presses a pile of papers closer to her chest and tells herself that she can think about everything else another time - the court meeting is about to start.

She pushes the door open but immediately freezes on the spot stricken by the gagging wave of nausea - nails dirty with soil and blood, sickly sweet buttercream pastries and rustle of feathers covered in mud. It is no more than a faint impression but even through the fogged mind Ev recognises the feeling - it is vestige, the afterimage of magic. She has felt it before, many times and in many different forms but never has it made her feel physically sick. What is even more unusual is that such a revolting sensation is coming from the palace quarters. One would expect tingles of bubbles from the charmed fountains of never ending sparkling wine or at least the impression of whispers, premium tea, treacle and bitter ambition from the walls which have been magically given ears, and not... whatever this is. Ev draws a deep breath, pushing down into her diaphragm and looks around the room. The salon is not set up for the court meeting, instead there is a tray of food and stacks of empty plates towering on almost every flat surface. Her eyes stop on greasy remains looking terribly out of place on the delicate porcelain plate and she unconsciously covers her mouth. Maybe she is mistaken after all - it is the strange smell of food and not some kind of creepy magic, and, more importantly, maybe this is not the salon she was looking for.

Before Ev gets a chance to mentally blame the chamberlain for giving her the wrong directions, a tiny figure appears from behind the chair. The white cornette is instantly recognisable and Ev is about to ask procurator Volta whether she is here for the court meeting too when she sees that behind the commotion of dark robes Volta is frantically trying to push the whole roast rack of lamb down her mouth. Dear gods. Somewhat unsurprisingly, one of the bones appears to be stuck. Clearly having not expected to have an audience, the procurator widens her eyes at Ev in a mixture of terror and shame. Unable to speak, after a few incoherent squeaks, she throws her tiny hands in the air helplessly, spattering herself with gravy and gestures to the open French doors leading to the balcony. Without giving it too much thought, Ev gives Volta a quick nod and takes an opportunity to escape the awkwardness of the scene.

Wrapped in the soft shade of the balcony, consul Valerius is casually leaning back in the chair, with the usual glass of wine in his hand. Even before she reaches the doors, Ev sets her eyes on his face. The consul is looking away, his face carved and unmovable, the tight knot of dark eyebrows making him look ireful and disgruntled, like one of those statues of stern gods she saw growing up in Zadith. Her next step lands much quieter and then, there steps in, Ev stops and stands very still wondering what thoughts could possibly bring this storm to Valerius’s face. Sun would suit him much more, she thinks, her eyes curiously trailing down the golden glints of his hair.

A loud snort catches Ev off guard and she realises that Valerius is now facing her, looking considerably more displeased than before, no doubt because of her. That’s more like it. How could she forget that this man is the very cause of her problems.

“Could I please have some of your time, consul?” she asks, heading straight towards him. Greetings seem excessive, they didn’t necessarily part on friendly terms last time.

“I didn't expect to see you here again.”

Ev allows herself a smirk. “I know.” I am not here to do what you expect from me. She stops inches away from his chair looking down at him, apparently enjoying the close proximity which, considering their formal relationship and the consul’s well known bad temper, could be regarded as both highly inappropriate and potentially reckless. But Valerius only turns away, more interested in his drink than in her.

“I have been studying the treasury records,” she continues, searching his face for any kind of reaction. His lips curl up in a sneer as he takes a sip of wine, but his eyes are still firmly fixed on the horizon. Ev follows his gaze expecting to see some radical change to the surrounding landscape, but there is only faint outline of the city roofs behind the lush green of the palace's vast grounds, - no columns of smoke, no ominous looking storm clouds gathering in the distance, nothing that could possibly be more interesting than her. Whatever. “Your tax system - ,” she hands Valerius neatly arranged papers, which he completely ignores,“- it is not working.”

“Vesuvian tax system remained largely unchanged for the last two generations, this is how these matters are handled traditionally,” says Valerius, once again denying Ev courtesy of eye contact.

Ev’s mouth twists at the sound of the last words. Too worried the conservative mindset might be contagious, she quickly withdraws her hand and takes a step back.

“I trust you understand that sometimes one should focus on what works, and not what is traditional,” she says, doing her best to disguise the growing irritation. “You don’t attract nearly as much foreign trade as you used to.”

What comes next is a very profound, uncomfortable silence. Ev sighs.

“Consul, you had plague in the city, people died,” her voice is louder now, “lots of people died”, and the irritation is obvious. “And Vesuvia cannot exist without its people. Somebody needs to bring food from the farmlands, make clothes, teach children, attend to the sick. Yes, in the past you could always import whatever you did not have but now people are scared to come because of the plague. You -”, she pauses in anticipation noticing Valerius shifting in his seat, but he only reaches for the bottle to top up his glass, “- you need to do something to make it attractive for them again. Lower the customs, lift the taxes for people whose skills you need, sell empty real estate cheap. There is plenty all around the city!”

Deep down Ev knows that none of these is going to work long term, but she doesn't care - she wants to do something and she wants to do it now.

Yet, nothing changes. She is still standing there, and he is still looking away. Ev would prefer him to disagree, start arguing with her - anything really, as long as it breaks this silence.

“Fine! If you don’t feel like changing this traditional system of yours, even temporarily, at least fix your mistakes.” Ev starts chaotically flipping through the papers searching for the one she needs, which would be a much easier task, if she was less flurried and if Valerius offered her a seat. She wonders whether he is now watching her, sneering at her struggle. “Your approved accounts, here,” this time she brusquely puts the paper in front of Valerius’s face blocking his view, “your numbers do not even add up! ”

For a split second she sees something on his face - a twitch, a flick of rage, and thinks that she has gone too far. But his question comes out in a calm, almost disinterested tone: “What makes you think that somebody like you is even qualified to check the city’s budget approved by the esteemed procurator Volta?”

A moment passes before Ev is able to break from staring at Valerius in disbelief. She glances to the salon where, judging by the sound, Volta has freed her mouth only to move to the next dish. Seriously? Perhaps she should be impressed that he managed to say it with the straight face.

And then there is a chilling sensation at the pit of Ev’s stomach. She asks herself what is going on here? What is this city under the reign of a person who questions everything and everyone except the obvious mistake in the accounts? And what is she - ? Angry, she reminds herself, is what she is, and throws a look at Valerius, who is taking another sip from his glass as in triumph. You don’t need to be qualified, you just need to have common sense. And you, Valerius, either don’t have it or you were not even bothered to look at what your court approves.

She pictures him lazily drinking wine, legs on the desk, his shirt unbuttoned, while completely ignoring his state duties. The image is irritating and yet not entirely unpleasant.

“We both know that I come from a family of alchemists and merchants. Trust me, I know how to count,” she says with a smile. It sounded right in her head, a ridiculous answer to the ridiculous question.

“I thought that during our last meeting you said that you had nothing to do with your witchcraft family.” A perfectly raised eyebrow, and that infuriating smirk.

Ev opens her mouth in protest but gives up quickly. Those were her exact words after all, save for the witchcraft part.

She begins to pace around the balcony avoiding looking at Valerius as much as possible. The consul clearly has a way of getting on her nerves, and she needs all her concentration if she wants to explain what exactly will happen to this goddamn city if they carry on with this approved budget.

“Think about the consequences for the people if this mistake is not corrected!” she shouts, her voice much louder than she would like it to be, and quickly turns to Valerius expecting a blowback. But the pale eyes are looking down, studying something on the floor, or on the edge of the fabric of her long sleeve, she really can’t tell. Oh gods, he is not even paying attention.

***

Valerius has firmly decided that he is not going to pay any attention.

The time of plague was exhausting: the palace suddenly full of people of all kinds and intentions promising to find a cure, pleas for help on the streets which he could not escape even behind the doors of the most expensive carriages, the count who was growing more desperate everyday and the white smoke of the Lazaret carried by the sea breeze towards the city, the memory of which still haunts him. And now there is the Satrinavas’ new pet here having an audacity to talk about his city’s problems - the problems which, out of all people, he should know the most about, he is the consul after all, and a Vesuvian.

Vesuvia he inherited is haggard and sad, and on top of that an enormous responsibility. The last thing he needs is a stranger questioning his authority, as if the incompetent court and the city demanding their beloved countess back have not been tiresome enough. Valerius lets out a short, barely audible sigh. He just wants this farce to be over so he can go back to thinking.

But the witch is not planning to stop, if anything she seems to be enjoying it. Look at her. Absorbed by herself and her ludicrous ideas, she is loud and talks too much with her hands. Her dress keeps slipping down the shoulder draping around the soft curve of a half barred breast every time she does one of these unnecessary, overconfident gestures. Valerius has absolutely no idea whether this is deliberate or she is simply unaware of the indecency which keeps drawing his eyes.

He tries to distract himself by taking a drink of wine only to discover that his glass, just like the air around him, is full of this loud perfume of hers. Harsh cinnamon, incense and patchouli, very much alike their owner, have no concept of the personal space ruining the perfect balance of his red. The wine is not helping. He catches himself looking at the shoulder again. In fact, absolutely useless. He sets his unfinished glass aside on the small table. Valerius has had enough.

***

“Enough!” Valerius shouts. His voice is suddenly deep and rather forceful and Ev hates that it has the desired effect on her. She stops and looks at him. “You were not invited to the court meeting.” The consul’s face looks awfully angry now.

Ev narrows her eyes. “And what exactly are you doing at your court meeting?”

“That should not be a concern of the Prakran subject”, Valerius says, his words dripping with poison, “or whoever you are.”

“I am a diplomatic emissary -,” she does not get a chance to finish.

“Leave!”

Ev wants to scream and protest, but even she knows better than to yell at somebody who outranked her. She draws a breath. One, two, three. All right.

“I only came to give you the papers”, she says coldly, her eyes still locked on his, and leans forward to place the documents on the table. “But I am taking this away, one should work without the distraction of wine.”

With these words Ev snatches the glass from the table, turns away and heads toward the exit as fast as she can without breaking into running. She does not want to look like she is scared that Valerius will grab her by the arm. If anything she is slightly disappointed that he doesn’t.

“My regards to the court,” she raises her hand and waves the glass in the air without looking back. Behind her there is a sound of paper being torn apart.

***

Ev only slows down when she reaches the main staircase.

Suddenly feeling very tired, she leans against the handrail. Again, what is she doing here? Why did she need to turn up in person when she could send a letter? Ev closes her eyes and rubs her fingers together as if feeling for answers in the whorls of her own skin, and remembers about the glass in her hand. Another bad decision. It would have been wiser to take the bottle.

She raises the glass to her lips and breathes in the wine. It’s pleasant. Perhaps she would prefer its company to the boring palace affairs too. Ev twists the glass in her hand, eying the smooth rim before drawing one long sip. It leaves a blush mark of her lips firmly planted on the surface which she studies for a few seconds. “You better be as angry as I am now”, she says to the dark liquid at the bottom of the glass.

[kirishwima]

Your prompts are amazing, may I have a MC, who loves gardening and wants to live in a fairy tale-like cottage surrounded by nature, they are even saving money, however they are willing to give up this dream if it means they can be with RFA+V?

awe, sure! though not my style, i find the cottage-core aesthetic so sweet, and can really see the appeal of this kind of lifestyle ^^

RFA + MC who loves gardening and wants to live in a fairy tale like cottage:

Yoosung:

* Let's be real, when MC describes their dream to him he...doesn't see the appeal

* He loves the city, the amenities that come with living here-most of all the wi-fi, lol, but also the comforts of walking down the street to a convenience store, everything he needs within reach

* Yet...when he sees the way MC's eyes light up at the thought of living this way, how they keep bringing leafy plants and vibrant flowers into their shared apartment, making it into their own little magical place, he can't help but indulge. Would it really be so bad, to live a little further away from the city?

* He's cuddling with MC one day on the couch, when he brings up the topic

* "I was thinking...if we start saving up now, get a fixer-upper cottage for cheap and work on it, I can get a car to drive to and from work-I think we can make it work. Your-your dream, I mean."

* And the smile MC gives him? Makes all the effort they put into this plan worth it.

Zen:

* Oof, Zen..he'd be so split when thinking of MC's cottage dream.

* He wants to give them the world, and for him, these aren't just empty words. If MC asked him for the moon he'd find a way to bring it to them.

* Besides, he sees the appeal of this kind of a life. Being able to wake up every morning, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, no more sounds of motorcycles outside waking him up in the middle of the night, the view of a beautiful garden, grown and tended to by MC greeting him each morning...yeah, he sees the appeal.

* On the other hand, it's not so easy to just pack up their life and move into a cottage. He still has to be in the city every day for filming and practice, has to attend meetings and meet + greets...he could use the motorcycle to travel, but that'd hardly be convenient for them both.

* So he makes a decision.

* One day he comes home, twirling a set of keys between his fingers.

* He'd sold his motorcycle, bought a car-big enough to be able to fit a bunch of their belongings in the back, since a lot they'd be selling, buying new ones together to furnish their new home.

* It's not that he ever felt forced to do this-he just...knew it was time to take the next step.

* And lo and behold, only a year later, he wakes up every morning, the view outside the bedroom window-his and MC's bedroom, being the sight of the garden MC has been tending, MC sleeping quietly besides him. He wouldn't trade this for the world.

* ((Also I can definitely see him having a dog?? It'd be so cute, him coming back home from work to be greeted by his beloved MC and a big fluffy doggo jumping on him with joy ;u;))

Jaehee:

* YES YES YES

* At first she's hesitant-living in the city's all she's ever known, and what MC dreams of sounds...well, just like a dream. Too good to be true.

* Where would they find a cottage? How far from the city would it be? What's even the price range for one?!

* Yet she's so open to the idea-they've already pretty much made Jaehee's balcony a mini-garden, and she loves tending to it as much as MC so...if they were to have a garden, perhaps a vegetable patch in the back, MC's favorite flowers at the front of the house...being able to cuddle in front of a fireplace, living in nature, away from the hectic life in the city...would it be so bad?

* It doesn't take long for her to start looking up houses they could move into, imagining how the shared space between her and MC would be like, smiling at the thought of it-their space, not 'Jaehee's aparmtent that MC now lives in too'-she loves the sound of it much better than this.

* Soon they find the perfect space-a cozy home, further away from the city-in fact they move besides a smaller city, something between a city and a village, really, just far away enough to feel secluded, yet close enough to be able to walk to town each morning.

* They're quick to open up a coffee shop in town, a small cozy space usually frequented by locals, and the occasional passer-by who's travelling through the town. Oftentimes the rest of the RFA will visit them, and well-it's everything both MC and Jaehee could've dreamt of.

Jumin:

* Jumin...he's a little confused, but he's got the spirit

* When MC opens up to him, describes their dream home, he hums. "We can buy a cottage, visit it whenever you want-have someone tending the garden when we're not there so it doesn't wither"

* MC appreciates the sentiment but...it's not what they want. They explain to him that it's not the home that matters, so much as the lifestyle. They want to tend to the garden, want to grow their own vegetables and produce, want to be able to live off the land, keep the busy city lifestyle at bay-not to bar it completely, obviously, just...distance themselves from it.

* Jumin tries to understand, he really does, but for someone who only occasionally goes to a grape farm to relax and then come back to his usual routine it's not easy. It sounds far too idealistic...and in Jumin's case, it is. He would love nothing more than to live in a cottage with MC, but they both know with his work, that's far from feasible.

* He hates how easily MC agrees, how they seem so okay with letting go of their dream-all for Jumin, he...he certaintly doesn't feel like he deserves it. They reassure him that he does, that they love him and just want to be with him, regardless of the where, but still, he can't help but feel bad, wanting to offer to MC everything they could ever ask for.

* Eventually they come to a compromise; they buy a cottage together, with plenty of garden space for MC to work their magic on, where they'll spend all of their free time together. MC refuses to go there when Jumin won't be able to join them, and it warms his heart, to know they want to share this dream, this joy with him...so he does his best to get as much free time as possible (even when poor Jaehee begs him not to lmao)

Seven:

* Um??? Y'all I think that'd be his dream too???

* I know we talk about Saeran a lot and obviously, with Saeran there's no question that he'd be 100% down for this, but Seven...he wants a place to call home, a cozy place for him and MC where he can lay down roots, and I feel like, after getting away from his line of work, he'll want less to do with technology, probably will want to keep his home a little 'smart-less'. No need for talking doors and fancy security systems, not anymore.

* Not to say he'd go completely off the grid-I'm sure that even if the two move into a secluded cottage, he'll still find a way to secure the perimeter, still wary from his past, still afraid of what might come to catch up to him. Plus...he'd definitely have an office/gaming room in there lol, definitely would find a way to get the fastest Wi-fi available even in the countryside.

* But he'd love to learn about gardening, would create fun gadgets to help MC with watering and caring for their plants. I can absolutely picture it, him crouched down over a small growing bud in the dirt, pure joy on his face as he turns to face MC with a proud grin saying 'Look! I planted this one and it's growing!'

* Just. A homey life with Seven. AAAAA :')

V/Jihyun:

* Listen. Listen I know I'm biased towards him, BUT picture this:

* MC and V buy a fixer-upper of a cottage; it's in a state of disrepair, the wood moulded in places, no electricity nor running water connected to it, what was once a garden is now a dry mess of twigs and dirt-

* But they both look at each other, smile, and know-this is the one for them.

* Each venture into the cottage is like a date, laughing as they pull out planks of wood, replacing them with new ones, trying their hand at working out the electric panel themselves-poor Jihyun tries his best but eventually gives up, sighs, and with slumped shoulders calls Seven-who needs an electrical company when you got a tech genius of a friend?

* It's a slow run, but soon the fundamentals are fixed, the walls are painted, the wood is clean and solid-MC takes care of the most work concerning the garden, reviving it back to life. While at first they just clean the mess and lay new dirt, they soon see the fruit of their labor grow as buds spring to life, as flowers they planted bud, a climbing rose latching onto the side of the house.

* Eventually it's not a house, but a home, the way the sunrays hit through the window-panes, how little dust particles dance in the sunlight; it's the exact opossite of a minimalistic house, there's trinkets in every available surface, the top of the fireplace is littered with things the two of them have collected during trips and travels-ranging from weird-looking sea shells to gorgeously crafted souveneirs, photos of them and their loved ones adorning the walls. There's always a messy blanket or two draped over the couch, from the late nights they spend cuddling and reading or just chatting with one another. The kitchenette has a whole rack full of spices, a myriad of plants on the windowsill-most are herbs used for cooking, ones that Jihyun still has a hard time differentiating between-it's not uncommon that he'll put mint instead of thyme into his cooking, still...it tastes good, because it's cooked with love, and care.

*It's everything they both could ever dream of.

-masterpost-

[fanfoolishness]

Finding the Way (The Mandalorian)

(Cara Dune & Din Djarin.  After the events of The Rescue, Din Djarin could use a friend.  Cara Dune doesn’t know what it means to be a Mandalorian, but some things are universal.  Friendship, angst, alcohol, religious questioning.  ~2400 words.)

***

She found Din Djarin alone, after the Jedi left with the child.

Cara wasn’t sure exactly when he’d slipped away from the bridge; there’d been a lot happening.  Bo-Katan and Kosca had been deep in conversation about their next destination, Fennec was pinging Boba to set up a rendezvous, and she’d busied herself with gagging the unconscious Moff and stowing him away in a corner with extra restraints.  The bastard had a lot to answer for.

In all that, though, she hadn’t wanted to look at the Mandalorian without his helmet.  It had felt too private, too close, to watch his goodbye with the kid.  Once the Jedi left, it seemed he’d taken advantage of her inattention.  

Without a ship, though, he hadn’t gone far.  He’d only been missing for fifteen minutes or so when she realized and started searching for him on the security console.  She gave a hasty request for the others to watch the Moff -- not as if Bo-Katan would let him try anything else -- and took the lift downstairs.  

She found him the next floor down from the bridge, inside the officers’ mess.  The half-opened door was scored with blaster fire; likely Din’s work when the doors wouldn’t open for him.  She peered in through the half-opened door, glancing away when she saw his mussed brown hair, a glimpse of his face.  She still wasn’t used to it, and still wasn’t sure if it was okay for her to see him like this.

“It’s me,” she called, rapping on the door with her knuckles.  Surprising a Mandalorian was a surefire way to an early grave.  “Can I come in?”

His voice sounded strange without the mechanical filter.  Human.  Almost small.  “Do what you want.”

That was encouraging, at least.  He wasn’t kicking her out entirely.  

She entered the room, rolling her eyes at Imperial waste.  Real wood paneling lined the walls, and instead of the spartan standard issue bench tables in the rank-and-file’s mess, individual tables with sleek surfaces and cushioned chairs dotted the room.  Gideon himself must have taken meals here.  

Din sat at the bar at the back of the room.  There was a half-drunk cup of liquor beside him, his helmet resting next to it, its visor turned away from him. 

“So… you okay?” Cara hazarded, taking the seat beside him.  It looked like he’d made a decent dent in a slim bottle of aged Corellian whiskey. Only the best for the officers, of course.  This stuff went for big credits in the Core, enough so that she’d never tasted it herself.

“I’m fine.”  He didn’t look at her.  He just stared straight ahead at the wall, brown eyes fixed on nothing in particular.  From the corner of her eye she could see the color of his face seemed off, red and blotchy in places.  Hell.  He’d been crying.

Her stomach twisted.  “Look… I’m sorry about the kid.  I know that had to be hard.”

He was silent for a moment.  When he spoke again, his voice was strained.  “Grogu.”

“Sorry?”

“I found another Jedi a few weeks back.  She said she couldn’t train him, but she was able to talk to him, mind to mind.  He told her about his life before I found him.  His name is Grogu.”

“Huh.  Grogu.” She chuckled.  “It’s cute.  Suits him.”

A slight dip of his head, angled toward her.  He was very still.  She could see a muscle in his cheek twitching. 

Blast.  She was no good at this crap.  She fished around for something to say, something that could help.  Maybe she could get him to talk; listening might be easier.  “You’re sure you’re fine?  Because you don’t look fine.” 

“I needed to help him find a Jedi,” Din said hoarsely.  “I did what I was tasked to do.  This is the W—“

But he cut himself off, turning his face away from her. His whole head moved to the side to shift his gaze, remnants of long years wearing a helmet.  Every martial style had its tells, and she could see the differences between the ways Bo-Katan and Koska moved, and how the man beside her moved and battled.  He was different from them, in fundamental ways, but she wasn’t sure why they could remove their helmets and he couldn’t.  Until he did.

Cara shook her head.  Think of something helpful.  You can do this.  “He’s gonna be okay, you know,” she said suddenly.  “I know who that was.  We droppers heard rumors during the war that a powerful Jedi took out the Emperor on Endor.  It has to be him.  Skywalker.  What other Jedi would fly in here in an X-Wing?”

“Good,” said Din.  He still wouldn’t look at her.  “So the Imps will never take him again.”

“I’d like to see them try.  I never knew a Jedi could do that,” said Cara.  She’d heard stories, of course, but stories were one thing.  Proof was another.  “I’m just glad he was on our side.”

Din turned back to facing forward, jaw tensed.  He nodded, a tight gesture that somehow seemed too broad for him.  Without the helmet, it was disconcerting to see emotions popping up on his face, vanishing as quickly as they came -- sorrow, pain, shame.  It almost would have been funny if it wasn’t so hard to look at.  Live your life in a helmet, guess you never have to learn to control your face.

She took a guess at the emotion that flicked past, marked in the set of his eyes, the downturned lines at his mouth.  “I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

“Maybe,” he said, and his gloved hands clenched on the table surface.  He reached out and took a drink.

“I didn’t know you drank,” she said.

“I don’t.”  His throat worked as he swallowed and drained the glass.

Oh.  “Right.”  

She reached out and took the bottle from him, pulling back a long slug on it.  It burned, clean and fierce, but it was strong stuff.  No wonder it sold for the price it did; she was surprised he wasn’t slurring already.  “Be careful with this stuff, then.  It’s not for lightweights.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, then lapsed again into quiet.

Like talking to a durasteel wall, she thought.  “Look, I wanted to make sure you were okay.  That was rough up there.  I just -- if you want to talk about it, or something, I can listen.”  She leaned back in her chair, taking another drink of whiskey.  It seared.  “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

He turned toward her, canting his whole head instead of just moving his eyes.  There it was again, the tell that he’d lived in his helmet for a long, long time.  He took a deep breath, but he still couldn’t make eye contact with her.

“I know he has to do this.  I can’t teach him, not the way he needs.  I have -- I had to let him go,” he said.  The words sounded well-practiced, like he’d said them many times before.  

“I know,” she said.  “I’m so sorry.”  She tried a small smile, though her eyes watered suddenly.  “He -- Grogu -- he was crazy about you, you know?”

A slight shrug, shoulders scarcely moving.

“Well, he was.  Looked up to you like anything.  You guys have a bond.” 

“I did what I could for him,” said Din, closing his eyes.  “I hope it’s enough.”

“It is,” said Cara fiercely.  “You loved him, man.  No kid could ask for more than that.”

He was silent, and when he opened his eyes again, she could see that they were damp.

She swallowed, took another drink, unsure of what to say.  The quiet filled the space around them, a weighty, crushing thing.

Eventually she forced herself to speak again, casting around for something to say.  “So….  They’re making arrangements upstairs.  We’ll be rendezvousing with Fett soon, but you’re always welcome on Nevarro, too. Greef was heartbroken when I told him the Imps had the kid again, so I know he’d want to help you now.  Have you thought about where you want to go?”

“I don’t know.”  He turned away again, shoulders squaring beneath his armor.

“Well, if you don’t want to stay planetside for a while, it sounds like those other Mandalorians want your help. Honestly, if anyone could take back Mandalore, I’d put even credits on them. And on you.  Dank farrik, you even have that sword now.”

“I don’t want it,” he bit out.

“Yeah, I heard.  But you have it.  May as well use it, right?  Why give up a tactical advantage?” asked Cara.   “Sounds like it belongs in the hands of a Mandalorian anyway.”

“All the more reason for me not to wield it,” said Din, and there was something sour, something wrong, in the way his face twisted.

She stared at him, raising her eyebrows.  “What?  Wait. Are you saying —“

“I broke the Creed.  I showed my face,” he said, his voice cracking.  “I had a choice, and this is what I chose.  I am no longer worthy of my beskar.”

Cara tried wrapping her mind around it, remembered dragging him in from the battlefield, his blood hot and slick on her hand, the panic in his voice when she tried to remove his helmet to save his life.  “You chose to show your face to your child who needed you.  You did the right thing for you both.”  It didn’t make sense to her.  “I thought your people wanted to help foundlings.  Well, you helped him!”

“It is forbidden,” he forced out.

“You’re still a Mandalorian—”

Anger, grief, pain, rapid-fire flashes in his eyes and face, every muscle tensing for battle.  “You have never sworn the Creed.  You know nothing about it!”  

She bristled, fighting the urge to say something harsh, or worse, throw a punch at him to knock the sense back into him.  Beside her he was breathing harder, chest visibly rising and falling rapidly.  She bit her lip.  

“Okay, okay, maybe I don’t know what it’s like to be a Mandalorian,” Cara admitted sharply, lifting her hands to calm him.  “But I do know what it’s like to turn away from something you spent your whole life believing.  Alderaan had no army, remember?”

He breathed a little slower.  The flush of red in his face receded.  “You never told me why you became a soldier.  I assumed, after what happened --”

Her mouth twisted.  “Close, but not exactly.  I started seeing what my people couldn’t, before it happened.  The Empire was rising and people were dying.  Diplomacy stopped working a long time ago.  When I told my family I had to fight, even if that meant killing, they turned their backs on me.”

“They were blind,” said Din.  “The Imps weren’t going to stop expanding with peaceful protest.”

“Maybe,” she said.  This was the hard part.  The part that had taken her years to understand, that she was still trying to figure out.  “I think now… we wanted the same thing.  We just saw different paths to peace.  They thought pacifism was the way.  I saw the Empire killing people, terrorizing them, and that wasn’t peace.  I had to fight for peace to even begin to exist.”  She wiped her cheek, fingertips brushing over the tattooed Tear.  “So I was offworld, trying to become a new recruit, when the Empire showed Alderaan what they thought about peaceful resistance.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him a tight, painful smile.  “But the thing is, Mando, I’m still Alderaanian.  No one can take that away from me but me.  Not the Empire, not my family, not the royal house of Alderaan.  Even if my family didn’t understand why I did what I did, I knew I was fighting to bring peace.  That’s what makes me Alderaanian.”  No matter what.

He gazed at the beskar helmet, shining beneath the overhead lights.  Its black visor was an empty void, disconnected from its bearer.

She let out a bark of a laugh, blinking away tears.  “I don’t know, man.  It’s your life.  Your Way.  But if your Way won’t let you show your face to your own kid when he needs you, maybe some of those rules should change.  If you still feel like a Mandalorian, I think that’s what makes you one, and not what anybody else says.”

He closed his eyes, hanging his head slightly.  He shifted in his seat with a small clink, one armored arm now resting against his helmet.  “I don’t know what I am now.”

Cara took another drink from the bottle, finishing the last of the whiskey.  “We’ve got two women up there who’d kill you in a heartbeat if you said they weren’t Mandalorian, and they show their faces clear as day.”  She shrugged.  “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to them about some of this stuff.  You could put it together with the old Way and make something new, something that feels right.  But for what it’s worth, Mando… you’ll always be a Mandalorian in my eyes.”  She clapped a hand over his shoulder, the beskar cool beneath her palm.

“It’s not --”  He struggled, mouth thinning, before he let out a long breath.  “That’s very kind,” he said slowly. He turned his head to look at her at last, searching her face.  He looked strangely vulnerable like this, far more so than he had dying in the dust of Nevarro. 

She nodded, attempting to smile, her mouth not quite getting there.  “Well, it’s true.”  

His face shifted into uncertainty.  “Perhaps the Way of the Mandalore is not… the only way to be a Mandalorian.”  He looked down at his helmet and swallowed.  “I’ll speak with the others, at least.”

“It’ll take time,” Cara said softly.  “You don’t have to figure it out right away.  Just… maybe hang on to your armor for a while, that’s all.”

He was quiet.  “Thank you.  Truly.”

“Sure,” Cara said, nudging him with her shoulder and giving him a quick smile.  “Any time.  After all, what are friends for?”    She leaned over the counter, pulling down another bottle of Corellian whiskey and grabbing an empty glass.  “What do you say to a toast?”

A dry chuckle.  “Sure.  You’ll have to tell me if I’m doing it right.  I’ve never done this before.”

“I think you’ll get the idea.”  She poured them each a glass, and raised hers high until it caught the light.  “To Grogu.”

The edges of his mouth turned up, just slightly.  Just enough.  He raised his glass to clink to hers, his brown eyes bright, his voice warm.  “To Grogu.”  

The whiskey burned in her throat, clean and pure.  To finding the Way.

[jungwon-crush]

(2) home - enhypen

(listening to the song while reading the chapter is recommended~)

in a long straight path, there lined eight houses, every two faced each other. this was what i considered my  neighborhood.

the houses looked completely worn out. there were still leftover hopscotch marks in the grubby street that separated the houses, and several cracks lined the outer front walls of the homes.

i hastily ran out of one of those houses, and onto the narrow roadway. i was in a bit of a hurry -  i decided to wash myself before going to sunghoon's place because the field made me feel sticky, which means i took an extra amount of time to get ready.

as i left my terrace, i heard gates clambering to my right side.

"oh, you're late too." niki pointed out as i approached him.

"didn't know you were going to eat at sunghoon's as well."

"sunoo ran out of food," niki crankily replied, "and everyone else is having dinner there anyway, so why not? it's free carbonara, might as well take the chance because sunghoon never shares anything unless his mom forces him to."

i gasped, "the others are there too-"

"hell yeah! goo goo ga ga hoon waaaah go cry about it! we're all going to drain your food supply tonight!" niki said as he childishly hopped up and down.

"niki, please don't be too happy. there will be three people slaughtering us tonight." i shivered at the thought while we both started to walk towards sunghoon's house at the end of the pavement.

jake, heeseung, and jungwon hate waiting for people in order to eat. they're literally a foodie trio, they get grumpy when they can't have their meals right away. they also tend to blame their hysteria on the people they're waiting for. the word blame is an understatement, heeseung takes food a bit too seriously for a twenty year old.

usually, they just go ahead if they get impatient.

however, sunghoon's flight-attendant mom is supposedly back home tonight. our parents have created this sort of rule that we have to eat all-together. this rule stems from when seven year old me threw a tantrum when i found out that the boys ate fried chicken without me, so we've been kind of following it for most of our lives because the elders get upset if one of us has a temper.

niki added, "actually, four people will have ideas that involve murdering us tonight. well honestly- only three for me. four for you."

i stopped in my tracks, "what the hell are you on about?"

"jay doesn't like when others take his stuff and wear it without his permission.."

clothes. niki was referring to my clothing. i looked down just to realize that i was wearing an oversized t-shirt that had 'park 02' printed on it. it was jay's custom tee from high school.

was i in such a rush that i didn't even register that i put on jay's shirt that i had secretly stolen?

"niki- you dumbass! why would you tell me this now? we just reached sunghoon's!" i yelled at the lanky being while i harshly slapped his abdomen.

"oh so i'm the dumbass? that's what you get for being an idiot, i can't believe you're a senior!" he yelled back at me.

i rolled my eyes and hit him one more time in the gut before taking position behind him as we slipped into the entrance of sunghoon's humble abode.

"using me as a shield won't do you any help." niki sneered while he opened the front door.

i wretchedly threw my head back and followed niki's back into the wood-paneled parlor. a chatter of voices could already be heard.

we moved past a set of stairs, and eventually winded up where the dining room was.

six people, who were previously facing each other and conversing, turned towards the direction niki and were coming from. they were seated at an old-fashion table with eight cushioned chairs. four individuals were settled on the side of the table that could see the room's entrance, while two people had their back facing niki and i as we arrived.

i scanned the room and surprisingly, nobody wore an irked look.

"byeol! looking good!" a puppy-like boy grinned. at that, i made my way towards him and teasingly pulled at his dark hair. jungwon, who sat beside him, elbowed his arm and mumbled something that sounded similar to "jake, focus on your food".

sunoo gleefully waved his hands then patted the seats beside him, gesturing for niki and i to sit there. the two of us shuffled and took our seats.

i found myself directly next to sunoo, with niki at the left end of the table facing heeseung.

i wrapped my arms around sunoo, he returned my actions and drew nearer to me which made our cheeks squish against each other. i creaked, "sunoo, my only source of sunshine! how are you? it's been a while."

"it has been way too long! i have been suffering lately- because of this moron called sunghoon! for the past hour he has been talking about how he received five confessions today even though it's only the second week of him attending college. my ears are so close to falling off!" sunoo wailed dramatically.

i hugged him tighter and jokingly sniffled, "i'm so sorry, sunoo... i can't imagine what you've been going through."

while i was comforting the poor boy, a hoarse voice sarcastically rang out, "i apologize for sharing my experience of being a really attractive, warm-hearted, and extremely smart person."

i let go of the hug and looked at the being past sunoo, "you don't need to ask for forgiveness. i think we all know that you don't have any three of those qualities, so what's the point in saying sorry?"

sunghoon just scowled as a response.

heeseung snickered at our exchange before his expression became serious, "start eating, byeol. the vegetables are gonna get cold."

i titled my head in confusion. wait what? i internally thought, did he just say vegetables?

i peered at the middle of the table, where an empty bowl with remaining white sauce stood alongside a plate filled with greens.

"you guys ate without-"

"yeah, byeol. you and niki were an hour late.. what did you expect-"

i cut jungwon off, "you were the one who told me there was gonna be carbonara! and now there's none? you could have made sure that heeseung and jake wouldn't hog it all for themselves!"

jungwon bit his lower lip guiltily, "i tried... but you know how they are."

niki shook his head as he grabbed the salad, "disappointed, but not surprised."

he put some vegetables onto my plate, then took the leftovers for himself. i began to bitterly munch it while making weird faces.

"i swear they're no older than six." jay whined. "also, byeol, is that not my shirt you're wearing?" he continued.

"now now jay, it is not the time to get mad at byeol. she 's already irritated, so she'll bite back even more." heeseung advised as if he was talking about an animal.

jay annoyingly pointed at me, "you're not getting away with this type of stuff next time."

i glanced at heeseung and gave him a quick thankful look. he gave a small smile back.

"considering you guys went ahead, is your mom not here, hoon?" niki probed.

"she's out running errands, won't be back until 10." sunghoon answered.

from there, the usual night-time conversation started. we discussed about the coffee shop heeseung was running, lutton high rumours, and how jake was unexpectedly doing well with girls in college too?

"did you know that i got invited to 3 dinner dates today? hoon's not the only one attracting ladies in the university of lutton." jake smirked.

"you should have went to one then." sunoo and i retorted at the same time. we playfully nudged each other.

"well, i was going to! until i heard that byeol was joining us for dinner tonight, she hasn't eaten with us for the past week!" jake countered.

jungwon's eyes flickered to mine while i told half of the truth, "sorry, i've been tired from school recently."

niki's eyes went wide, "oh right! you're still in the photography club? i heard hwang intak's the president this year!"

"who's hwang intak?" sunghoon strangely asked. he was rarely curious about others apart from us.

jungwon and jake's ears perked up at the question as well.

"lutton high's new it boy, also known as your replacement. except he's like ten times more friendly than you." sunoo taunted.

"yeah, right." sunghoon scoffed.

jay began to clap his hands and wheeze, "i thought the girls there would be heartbroken when sunghoon graduated. they move on quickly!"

"he's actually really nice though," i insisted, "during our club meetings, he always allows me to do homework before taking pictures. he even offers to help sometimes even though he's in a different section. i wonder why."

jungwon interrupted, "he's probably one of those overly kind people."

i shrugged, " i guess? i'm the only senior in the club apart from him, so he probably understands how i feel overwhelmed with assignments and stuff-"

"or," niki interjected, "he's into byeol!"

jungwon flashed a glare at niki.

niki responded with a face that said, "what?"

heeseung pondered out loud, "that may be true, i did something similar with the girl i liked when i was part of the student council."

sunoo's mouth was agape, "ahhhhhh! that explains why he comes into our class and studies with byeol sometimes during our free periods! it all makes sense!"

"who in their right mind would actually be interested in the lunatic?" sunghoon remarked.

"you've got to admit that she occasionally looks cute."

sunghoon's ears tinged red, "jake..." he paused, "n-no i don't think that she's-"

"i'm just saying!" jake hollered as he pushed back his hair.

"can everyone shut up for a second? you guys are being overdramatic. school just started last week- how can he like me in a span of  fourteen days?" i exhaustedly let out, ignoring jake's comment.

"you never know how someone truly feels byeol, you never know.." niki uttered.

i slapped his knee aggressively, "what do you know about love, niki?"

"trust me, i know more than you." he replied, his eyes fixed on something   behind me.

i let out a final huff of annoyance. i always question how i managed to survive eighteen years with these brats.

"shoot, it's already 9:30! i'm gonna go to bed, i have early morning classes tomorrow. and so do you jake." jay got out of his seat and waved his hand at us as he left the room.

"tsch, i guess i'll get going too." jake said as he started bidding goodbyes. when he got to me, he pinched my cheeks hardly and ran out of the room with a cheeky smile before i could chase after him.

i rubbed the area where he pinched, whispering exaggerated cries of how much it hurt.

"i think it's time we all go, it's getting late. you guys still have school tomorrow, and i have to open up the café." heeseung stood up and clapped everyones shoulders.

"don't stay for too long!" he finally said as he exited.

niki ridiculed, "yes, father heeseung!"

"hey, is anyone going to watch the game tomorrow?" sunoo inquired. there was only five of us remaining. "i don't want to go alone."

"i have to go, the photography club needs to take pictures of the game." i nodded

sunoo put his two hands into a prayer position, "oh, thank the lord!"

"i'm coming too, a few of my classmates are players." niki said as he was beginning to leave, "jungwon and sunghoon, you guys should come along too, since you two are so curious about photography club president intak."

after saying that, the younger boy immediately took his leave. he didn't wait for any comments, he just yelled, "see you, tomorrow!" before he slammed the doorway.

sunghoon pointed out, "i think he left straight away because jungwon had a knife ready in his hand."

"no doubt about it, hoon." i said as i looked at an annoyed jungwon who was gripping his utensil in a very uncivil way.

"i'll come, unlike those biophysics majors, i don't have any classes tomorrow."

sunoo hooted, "good! that's good, hoon! how about you, wonnie?"

jungwon sighed, "fine. now we're done here. i'll walk you home, byeol."

sunghoon chimed, "walk her home? she lives down the street..."

jungwon pretended that he didn't hear sunghoon and moved over to me. he tried pulling me out of my place while i held onto sunoo's arm, "i'll go home only if sunoo's sleeping over! my dad's at the city again!"

"i'll stay at your house tonight, byeol! don't worry."

i let jungwon pull me up, while sunoo followed suit.

"your dad's not here again?"

"i just said that, hoon." i put my arms around sunoo and jungwon and started leading us out of the house.

"just know you can come over anytime- like always!" he called out in an uneasy tone from the dining area.

"noted!" i yelled back before sunoo closed the door behind us.

"my legs are tired, can someone carry me?" i immaturely begged.

"really? they're worn out from sitting down for two hours?" jungwon declared.

"let the girl be! you can piggyback on wonnie, byeol." sunoo beamed while ushering me to get on jungwon's back.

regardless of his displeasure, jungwon crouched down.

i jumped onto the rear part of his figure and wrapped my arms around his neck. he jumped a little as he made his posture straight again, "i actually need to stop babying you."

"i'm pretty sure you said that yesterday too." sunoo chuckled as we plodded back to my house.

taglist: @wonwobbles

a/n: this chapter is pretty long compared to the first one, so im a little proud of it! i wanted to show how byeol banters with the others and how their characters react to certain stuff to show their personality!!! heheheheh

[heyheydidjaknow]

I do not have a decent title for this. I’m also not even going to bother with an image (even though I know it would generate more traffic) because I’m not going to steal someone’s shit. It’s about 3500 words, so have fun with that.

Chapter 1

Dying is not fun.

I do not know if you knew that until last night. Maybe you figured that since it was romanticized so much that it would not suck as much as it so clearly and obviously did. Maybe you dreamed of dying relatively peacefully, surrounded by your loved ones. Alas, those dreams were dashed last night when you, oh so wise Y/N, decided that you were going to try baking and forgot the most essential step; taking the thing out of the oven. You remember that night so clearly, the screams of your family begging for their lives still bouncing around in your ears like a torturous golf ball that made a habit of forcing itself into your throat, the feeling of your hair catching alight as your skin bubbled and charred, and rational thought became a foreign concept. You do not remember if you had died from a heart attack or hyperthermia or smoke inhalation, but you had a general idea that, yes, that night had been your last on Earth.

So, where the fuck are you?

You pull yourself into a sitting position, your back pressed against something hard as your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness. The air smells like rotten food and exhaust engines as you pull yourself off the concrete, looking around the alleyway that you had found yourself in. It’s small, narrow, unremarkable in every way, with graffiti covered dumpsters near the entrance. Dazed, confused, generally out of sorts, you make your way to the entrance, patting yourself down for injuries you did not seem to have.

You rub the side of your face with your hand. ‘My head is killing me.’ You slip your hand into your jacket pocket, feeling a key and a piece of paper. ‘God damn it is cold in this alley.’ You zip up your jacket, walking out into the open as you pull the note out, beginning to read.

“Dear Y/N,” you mumble as you read, “we are pleased to inform you of your acceptance into our transference program, yadda yadda yadda, whoopdeedoo…” You skim ahead of some introductory jargon before getting near to the point of the note. “From this point forward, enjoy your permanent residence at ten West.. fifteenth street… apartment number six two two… New York, New York?” You blink. ‘I… that’s not my address.’ You pull out the key. ‘Wait, hold on.’ Your eyebrows furrowed. ‘New York? Wait, I was dead, wasn’t I?’ Your eyes become unfocused. ‘I don’t live anywhere near NYC. Where am I?’ You look around for some sort of landmark, street name, anything to give you some idea of where you are.

You hear a car squeal to a stop on the street corner in front of you, snapping you out of your stupor. As identical men start climbing out of the back of the vehicle, all marching deliberately towards you, a fifteen-year-old girl, your immediate reaction is to run like hell. Unfortunately for you, apparently your speed was not comparable to that of the men who quickly apprehend you, scooping you up and dragging you kicking and screaming into a van. You hear vaguely familiar voices outside, but your focus is less on the mayhem and more on the more pressing matter of getting yourself out of the van. You pound at the door, feel for any sort of locks on the inside, something, anything to get you out of the van, still screaming your head off as you hope whoever was outside had the common sense to call nine one one. You feel your eyelids droop as your breathing slows, your voice dying as your pounding becomes less intense. You slide to you knees, eyes closing even as you mentally scream at yourself to get up, keep at it. You passed out.

--

You wake up laid on the floor this time, the pulsing of electricity above your head almost soothing as you open your eyes. You stagger to your feet, looking around your well-lit enclosure, pink florescent lights lining the ceiling and walls like arteries. After taking note of your new bruises and checking to see if you still have your few personal belongings—you do—you ran over to the door, eyes fixated on the mind boggling, ridiculous scene taking place in front of you.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ You back away from the slot in the door, trying to process the blatant larping headassery. You had not thought that you would honestly be able to say that, apparently, you were kidnapped by the mother fucking Kraang, yet, in some stroke of tomfuckery on behalf of whatever deity controls your universe, you have, obviously, been kidnapped by some seriously hardcore cosplayers. If nothing else, you must admire the obviously advanced set up.

You run your fingers through your hair, chuckling almost manically. “So,” you say to yourself aloud, “I got kidnapped by TMNT fanboys. Great. Fantastic, even!” You pace around the room, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I guess this makes me April O'Neil, then? Cool.” Your voice is extremely tight as you shake with intense, mostly negative emotions. “So, I’m somewhere in New York, kidnapped by the Kraang in the worst convention ever. Let me guess,” you laugh, losing your mind a little as you speak to nobody. “I’m gonna have a run in with the Teenage Fucking Ninja Turtles next, right?”

As if on que, you hear laser blasts and shinking metal. The high pitched beeping on an alarm sounded as you heard people—‘Male, teenagers… fuck my life,’— talking about power or something as their footsteps approach your room. You pound on the door. “Hey! Over here!”

You see a brown set of eyes look in through the window. Your suspicions are confirmed; ‘Definitely TMNT larping.’

“We found her,” the owner of said eyes, the one cosplaying as Donatello, calls to the others. Lasers shoot by his head as he turns to stare death in the eyes.

“We’ll hold them off. You pick the lock.” ‘Leonardo.’ You breathe a soft sigh of relief; if nothing else, you are apparently on the side of the people trying to get you out in this game. You hear footsteps going towards the firing.

“Don’t worry,” “Donatello” reassures you, voice tight with apparent anxiety, “I’ll have you out of there in a second!”

“Thanks, Donnie.” You give him a half-hearted thumbs up, trying to see what he was doing through the window. “Take your time.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

You sigh. “Look, man, I don’t know the script for the first episode by heart. You’re gonna have to cut me some slack for not being off-book.”

“Off—what?” He stares at you blankly.

You purse your lips. “I’ll explain if you let me out,” you promise. “Just pick the lock before the blue one gives you shit.”

“Oh, right! The lock!” He nods, grasping onto the logical thing you say and leaning down to start working on the alien technology. He pulls the cover off a control panel by your door, starting to fiddle with the wires.

You lean against the door, watching him work curiously. You hear the battle cries of “Michelangelo” and the toppling of robots as he works, clearly focused on his task. You zone out again. “This is some serious shit,” you mumble.

He mutters in frustration. The one dressed as Raph marches over, more impatient. “Oh for the love of—get out of my way,” he snarls, proceeding to take a very real looking sai out and stabbing the panel with a very in-character ferocity. You almost feel the urge to applaud the acting, and you might if this weren’t such a high stakes situation.

The door in front of you and behind you open at the same time and, deciding against getting captured again—you remember something about hanging from a helicopter in that scenario and you want nothing to do with that—you run alongside the turtles like your life depends on it, stumbling to a halt once you reach outside and slamming the doors closed behind you, blocking it with your back.

Your feet scramble to gain some traction on the cement. “Donnie,” you snap, almost impressed by the force used to pound against the doors, “put your staff in the handles of the door. We gotta go ASAP.”

“Wait, hold up.” The one dressed as Raph jabs his thumb towards you. “How do you know his name?”

You groan. “For fucks- it’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, not fucking Happy Sugar Life. Get the thing in the thing before the vine thing kills us!”

“The what?” Donnie and Raph seem much more confused than before, staring at you inquisitively and angrily respectively.

“Uh, guys?” Mikey pointed. “I think she means that vine thing.”

From the shadows emerges a towering creature made of plant life, its vinelike limbs draping across the ground like roots as it rears its ugly head. Its exposed, pulsating heart pressed against what remains of the creature’s ribcage. “You did this to me,” It growls. “Now you’re going to pay!”

“It’s-“

You cut Leo off. “Snake guy. Mutated into a weed. If you wanna kill it, go for the heart.”

He looked back at you, joining the other two pairs of piercing stares. “Cut that out.”

“Then don’t monologue and kill it before it has mobility!”

“On it.” Raph charges at its lumbering form, and within moments, it falls to the ground in a heap.

The pounding against the door is getting more intense. “Donnie! Staff!”

“Right!” He runs over, sliding his staff in between the door handles.

You stumble forward, the pounding already starting to crack the wood. “Alright, now we can leave.” Without waiting for the others, you sprint away from the building like your life depends on it. The others, clearly confused, follow.

You got a fair few city blocks away before you slow down, breathing heavy and palms stamped with the outline of the key you were holding desperately onto. “You run really fast for cosplayers,” you pant, “with all the- the paint and all.”

“Yeah, about that.” Donatello stops next to you, a thousand questions apparently swimming around in his head. “How do you know our names?” His mouth moves a mile a minute. “How did you know the weakness of that vine creature? What do you mean, cosplay? Who are you? Who were they?”

You cut him off. “One question at a time, hot stuff. Deep breathes.”

His pupils dilate. “H-hot stuff?”

Leo cuts in. “How did you know what we were—uh—cosplaying?” he asks tentatively.

“Odd time to cut the act, but alright.” Your heart rate lowers to a decent pace as your mind still struggles to comprehend what had just happened. You slow your breathing. “I mean,” you explain, gesturing with your hands, “it’s TMNT. It’s iconic.”

“Iconic?” He nods. “Well, since you know so much about it, then why don’t we test your knowledge? To see if you’re a real fan..”

“Y-you think I’m hot?”

“I don’t see the point, but I’m down.” You shrug, deciding to ignore the melting turtle for a second. “Shoot.”

He thinks for a moment. “Who’s the main character?”

You shrug. “You four, I guess.”

Mikey jumped in. “What’s the theme song?”

“Gonna have to be more specific there, buddy.”

“Is it really a great idea to just talk out here in the open?” Raph crossed his arms across his front.

“Probably not.” You look around. “Unless you have a map on you, I’d suggest we go back to your lair.”

“Our—what kind of stalker—”

“Look, honey,” you sigh, “if we’re going to go over every aspect of their lives that I know about we’re going to be here for a long time. For our purposes, just assume I know everything I need to know, and if you’re curious about specifics, we’ll go on a case-by-case basis.” You start walking down the sidewalk. “I’m guessing you guys hang out in the sewer, right?” You feel almost tempted to say that they’re just flat out psychotic, their blatant conviction in their own characters almost frightening. ‘I’ve heard of kinning,’ you think, pulling up a manhole cover you see at the end of an alley and wincing at the smell, ‘but this is ridiculous.’ You blink at the surprising lack of weight.

“Yeah.” Mikey—no, the Michelangelo cosplayer—walked over, already hopping in. “Our show must be super popular, right? Who’s the favorite character? How long have we been running?”

“Oh, you guys are—” You stop talking. “Wait, what year is it?” You start climbing down.

“Two thousand and twelve. Why?”

You step off the ladder, starting to walk behind him as he lead the way. “Well, it’s not tweny twelve where I’m from. It’s twenty twenty.”

“Wait, hold up.” He turns around to face you as he walks. “You’re from the future? That is so freakin awesome!”

You rub the back of your neck, trying to ignore the smell. “I mean,” you confess, “being from the future would be cooler if I was from a better time, I think.” ‘I wonder where they—’ You shake your head. “But, If we were running on the same time, I’d only be seven, I think, so it’s pretty cool I get to be here, I guess.”

“Dude, totally!” He turns a corner. “Our first day up top and we meet a time traveler?”

“Technically,” a voice from behind you makes you jump, “if what she’s saying is true, she somehow also knows interdimensional travel as well.”

‘Mother fucking ninj—cosplayers, focus. Don’t let them pull you in too.’ “Well, I really wouldn’t say—”

“Guys, is there not a clearly bigger concern on our hands?” You were already getting sick of not hearing footsteps. “Like, say, I don’t know, the fact she’s claiming we’re fictional characters?”

“Look, man,” you roll your eyes, “I already said I’m more than happy to answer any questions I can. In fact,” you continued, stopping in your tracks as you stared the red—clad turtle in the eye, “I’ll even stay put until we sort this whole situation out.”

“Fine by me.” Leo and Raph both face you, eyes boring into your soul as you stand there awkwardly.

“Let’s start off with the basics.” Leo’s tone is awfully light compared to his blatant skepticism. “What is everyone’s name?”

You force yourself not to roll your eyes again. “You’re all Hamatos.” You point at the tall one with the gap in his teeth. “That one’s Donatello, the yellow one next to him is Michelangelo, you,” you point at the red one with the broader shoulders, “are Raphael, and the sensei appointed leader is Leonardo. Easy.”

Leonardo nods. “Okay, you got the easy one.” It is at times like these when you wish you could read people. “What are we?”

“Teenage mutant ninja turtles.” You don’t have to hesitate.

“How did we become the way we are?”

“Splinter had a Kraang run in and you got ooze on you. Last thing you touched before you transformed was a person, so you became turtle/human hybrids.” You rest a hand on your hip. “Oh, happy birthday, by the way.”

A sea of blank faces face you. “Wait, you know who those things are?” Donatello is the first to speak after a pregnant pause.

“Well, yeah.” You shrug, the reality of the situation not yet dawning on you. “They almost take over the world in at least two season finales.

“They what?”

“Yeah.” You stick your hands in your pockets, fingering the key and note, confused by their apparent horror. “I mean, I’m still on the season three finale, but alien invasion is this show’s bread and butter for the most part.”

“I- what?” Raphael appears to be having a stroke. “What- bre- I- huh? What the-“

“Is he okay?” You look, completely unconcerned, at Donatello, who is swaying on his feet.

“Alien.. invasion…”

You blink, walking over to him and placing your hand on his cheek. You were surprised at the feeling of skin under your palm. ‘Not face paint..’ You look his incredibly pale face over curiously. ‘Not a mask…’ “Oh.” Your fingers slide down and off his jaw, falling slackly. “You weren’t joking, were you?”

If nothing else, he seems less concerned than he did a second ago.

Leonardo—‘The actual—hold on a minute.’—grabs your shoulder. “This isn’t a joke.” His face is stone. “You’re being serious, right?”

You felt blood drain out of your face. “Sadly? Yes.” You force yourself to take deep breaths so as to not pass out. “But, on the bright side,” you smiled weakly, “I can guarantee your survival for at least a few months.”

“What do you mean a few months?” Raphael is shaking as he yells, his voice roar echoing in the enclosed space. “How is it only—what the hell?”

“The show only ran over the course of an in-universe year.” You fight to keep your voice steady as dread seizes your throat. “I don’t know what happens after the year is up, or if it even lasts the whole year.”

“So we have less than twelve months to live?”

“This is so not cool.” Michelangelo is having a bit of a mental breakdown. “So, so not cool.”

“Hey, it’s not a guarantee!” You put your hands up reassuringly. “That’s just how long the show runs. Besides, it’s a kid’s show. There’s no way they’d kill off the main characters.”

“The hell they—who the hell is they?”

“Nickelodeon.”

“What the fuck is Nickelodeon?”

You groan. “Look, I’m just saying that you four are definitely going to survive the next few months!” Your voice rises easily to his volume. “I don’t know what happens after those months are up! I haven’t gotten to that point!”

“Why the hell not?”

You ran your fingers through your hair, laughing incredulously. “What, do you think I knew I was going to meet the IRL Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and had a chance to plan accordingly? No!” You throw your hands up in the air. “I died last night and now I’m here! Hell, I don’t even know where the fuck I’m going to go, fuck knowing who’s going to get the fucking axe between now and the series finale!”

“Will you two both cut it out?” Leo snapped, shutting you two up.

You put your hands up, still fuming and glaring at Raphael. He responds in kind.

“What’s your name?” He looked at you.

“Y/N. Y/N L/N.” Your breathing slows slightly.

“Alright. Y/N, you said you’ve seen up to season three, right?”

“Yeah.” You nod.

“Meaning you know what’s going to happen in the next few months, right?”

You nod at the leader.

He thinks for a moment. “Then we need to stay in contact. If what you’re saying is true, your knowledge of our show could be extremely valuable to us.”

You rub your eyes with your hands, sighing, trying to cool down. “I can do that.” You put your hands down. “If nothing else, I’m more than happy to offer up emotional support. The next few months are going to be extremely physically and emotionally difficult for you guys.”

Donnie pipes up. “Do you have a place to stay?”

You pull out the piece of paper. “I have an address and key, but I don’t know my way around NYC.” You smile slightly at the unintentional rhyme. “Do you guys know where ten west fifteenth street—wait, it’s your guys’ first day.” You nod. “I forgot.”

“It’s alright.” Donatello is oddly quick saying that. “I-if you want, I—we can help you find it.”

You rub your arm, your previous indignance replaced with extreme embarrassment at your previous actions. “Nah, it’s alright,” you reassure him. “I’m sure I can find a map or something.”

“It’s really not safe to just wander around New York so late.”

You pause at that. “That is an extremely good point.” You nod. “Alright. But I owe you guys dinner or something for trusting me this far. Also,” you smile teasingly, “what you’re currently eating is legitimately revolting.”

“Amen to that.” Raphael, if nothing else, seems to have calmed down.

Mikey hopped in. “Oh, we just found this crazy awesome food—”

“I can order pizza,” you reassure him.

He punches the air excitedly. “Let’s go!”

“If you want, you can sleep on the couch for tonight,” Leonardo offers. “It’s going to get light pretty soon, and we really shouldn’t be seen.”

You shrug. “Works for me.

As you follow the teenagers down the sewer, conversating as you walk, you take a moment to reflect on all that has happened so far. A part of you, oddly enough, is almost excited by the prospect of spending time with these guys. But a stronger, darker part reminds you sweetly of the dangers you knew lay ahead.

You close your eyes. ‘I’m never going to see my family again, am I?’

How that is the least of your worries, you don’t know.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 2

[extremelyblackandwhite]

heiress - 5

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

a/n: more parallels between wanda and reader plus hayward being a bitch to reader. also pierce did not die during the winter soldier events in this universe. at this point this is called wanda and y/n collectively grieving over her how shitty their lives are.

previous chapter

The young woman held a small gun in her left hand, shooting the target at least 10 metres away from her with a mechanical precision, switching it to her right hand and achieving the same type of perfection and precision not even senior agents had. Yet, there she was, one of the newest SWORD recruits. Many people had opposed for her to join SWORD straight after escaping from HYDRA and the Red Room; however, Tyler Hayward had forced for her to become a new recruit. “Having Alexander Pierce’s daughter in our team will be an asset” he said and it somehow convinced all of SWORDs panel to take her in. She had nowhere to go after all, the Red Room will be after her in no time and she had no way to defend herself alone and so SWORD was her only option. An option she thrived under, being much more advanced than any junior recruit yet it was a far cry from what she wanted. She didn’t want to be an agent but that’s what she was, what she had been trained to do.

The trainer slowly blinked walking up to her and giving her a congratulatory pat on the shoulder which everyone could sense was filled of jealousy. She was thrown to the back of the line with someone else who also inspired jealousy in most recruits. Monica Rambeau, daughter of Maria Rambeau, the current SWORD director. They had never spoken too much other than orientation day where they introduced each other by their agent number.

     - That was the coolest thing I’ve seen today. - she hide a childish smile as the next recruit started  his training. - I’m Monica. 

     - Y/N. - she smiled and shook her hand. - Is it always like this?

     - Most of time yeah. The trainers are dicks about it when you’re better than them. 

     - Men. - Y/N rolled her eyes, getting an understanding nod from Monica. 

     - Excuse me? - Tyler Hayward entered the trainee room, always dressed in a polished suit as if that would be of any worth in a fighting situation. - I’m sorry for disturbing but I need Ms. Y/N Pierce to accompany me. 

Y/N Pierce. She always hated that name, even more than her code name. The mere thought that she had that last name, the name of one of the leaders of SHIELD was almost like a cruel curse on her. Everyone seemed to think of him as this all around saint yet she knew better; after all, if he had no reservations about submitting his daughter as a project and asset then he would have no reservation in hurting anyone else. SWORD had done their best to keep her existence a secret, not really allowing the connection to pass through but she knew he was looking for her and if he wasn’t the Red Room and HYDRA definitely were. 

She shared a confused look with Monica before stepping towards Hayward who led her away from the room and into the hall. He didn’t stop to explain to her why she had been summoned, instead he just kept on walking and she took the lead to follow him, entering a blackened window filled hall. They stopped in front of a window which gave way into an autopsy scene. Y/N was used to seeing death, some would say she was born surrounding it; however, she was not prepared to see what was being shown to her. It was almost as if she were sleeping, her mother. Laid across the metal table with various doctors surrounding her, the HYDRA symbol branded onto her foot. She looked over to the side, hand over her mouth as she felt sick just to see it. 

    - Our intelligence believes HYDRA is trying to send a message and we don’t believe they won’t stop anytime soon.

    - Was it fast? Did she suffer?

    - Gunshot to the head. Quite merciful, really.

    - Why are you showing me this?

    - Well, HYDRA experimented on you but there is the possibility your “enhancements” might be genetic. 

    -  What is that supposed to mean? Why did you really brought me here, Hayward?

    - We need the next of kin’s permission to perform an autopsy and it seems that would be you, following your mother’s will.

    - No. - she stepped back. - You’re not gonna tear my mother apart for a stupid hypothesis. No. You don’t have my permission

    - We’re being kind enough to hide you from your father for no specific reason. You either accept it or we’ll be forced to hand you to SHIELD.

The night air was crisp and sharp as he sat on the swing next to hers. She hadn’t changed much other than her hair which was much longer but her face was still unblemished by the tragic unkindness of the world. After all it had been about 5 years since he last saw her and he hated the fact he had forgotten her. Somewhere, deep within himself he knew her mark was still there; he could still hear her voice in his dreams but he always chucked it to his mind crumbling under the pressure it had been under for so many years. Nevertheless, he had heard her voice plenty times, specially in Bucharest. It had haunted him from nights and nights on end; “Promise?” “Yes”, turns out it wasn’t someone he had killed but someone he had forgotten. Her of all people. It had come back all to him after that woman gave him the file. Her name alone, her lips telling him her name. He remember telling himself he would not forget him as they prepared him to go back in the blender and he did. He forgot about her but looking at her everything came back to him; the good and the bad. But the most of it was he remembered loving her, he still did, a feeling that had been dormant for a long while and suddenly awoke in him. Of course Bucky did not expect her to love him back, he didn’t blame her either. She was a good kid, too good even. 

     - Uhm ... are you enjoying it here? - she motioned her hands abstractly. - In the hex, I mean. 

     - It’s better than in hideouts with Sam and Sharon. - he chuckled dryly, looking up at the transparent yet red tinted dome. - I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Sam is great, despite everything and Sharon ... Sharon has helped me so much, I owe her that.

     - Oh ... - her heart dropped to her stomach as an ugly feeling took over her. Sure, Wanda would say it’s jealousy but she refused to admit it. 

     - What about you? I never really asked what you did after ... you know, IT. 

    - You can say the name. - she smiled at him yet it was voidless of any emotion, as if she were used to people tip toeing around the subject which they always did. - I became a junior recruit for SWORD until the blip then ... I was gone for a while but it didn’t hurt. It was almost like I was finally at peace and then I woke up and Hayward was director. He sent me and Monica to investigate the hex Wanda created, mostly to keep his own project a bay. Then we all ran off, got classified as fugitives. The rest is really not important. 

     - I don’t really think I need to tell you what I’ve been up to.

     - You don’t ... most of it it’s my fault, anyway. - she got up from the swing once she noticed a purple light a few miles away from the limits of the hex. The back of her eyes started growing instinctively white. Bucky got up as he recognised her fighting stance, a hand safely placed upon her shoulder. - Go grab Wanda.

     - Y/N ...

     - Go grab her, now. - she stood there watching the purple light almost call out for her. Bucky chose to do what she said, the white mist involving around her fingers as she stepped towards the hex, fingers barely touching the wall. 

Bucky rushed inside the building, hoping to reach Wanda before Y/N could do anything irrational. However, before he could find the newly named Scarlet Witch, she found him with one of her twins behind her waist. Her eyes were glowing red, almost similar to those Y/N had except those eyes looked desperate, worried even.

    - Where is she? - she asked him with an ice like directness. - Where is she, Barnes?

    - Outside. She told me to come get you.

Wanda rushed past him with a speed that he had never seen before and he only followed after her. The two stepped outside the building, towards the swing tree where Bucky had left Y/N, except, she wasn’t there anymore. No, he couldn’t lose her. Not again. Vision came after the two followed by Yelena and Monica who had been awakened by the twins; however, Wanda did not need their help. She approached the hex, just missing the purple glow as it entered the woods. Bucky tried to step up but Vision pushed him back. 

    - Y/N? - Wanda broke through the hex, shutting Bucky out as well as Vision. It was night time, dark and cold surrounded by the woods of the place they had chosen to hide from the world. Breaking dawn was so far away and even the tallest individual would’ve melted into the dark night. - Y/N!

   - Are we not going to help them? - Bucky questioned back inside the hex, probably the most awake apart from the synthezoid and the former Red Room graduate.

   - It’s a witch thing. - Yelena smirked before springing into action. - We should activate the hex’s protective system in case something happens.

   - What about them? - Bucky once again interrupted, not receiving particularly kind looks from Yelena.

   - They’ll be fine, Mr. Barnes.

Y/N on the other hand walked further into the confused and dark woods, holding her small trusted silver revolver which reflected the moon light onto its surface; yet most of the light came from behind her coloured eyes. She did not know exactly why they did that, it was almost as if they light up whenever she felt threatened. Whatever it was, it was there inside of her. She, of course, knew it was Agatha lingering around; however, she never got dangerously close to the hex. It was an unspoken truth between the witch and Wanda Maximoff yet there she was. 

     - God, dear, I thought I’d have to break into the hex to get to you. - Agatha showed up from the darkness, dressed in her typical black and purple palette as if she were royalty. - So, how are you deary? Still playing Queen Elsa? Is that fun for you?

     - You’re trespassing. 

     - Come on, is that how you thank me for giving you Bucky Barnes on a platter? What else do you need to thank me? A love spell?

     - Go away, Agatha. What do you want? 

     - I am trying to help you, just like I helped Wanda. I mean how old are you, sweetheart? Old enough for HYDRA and SWORD to realise you can do much more than just magic tricks. Making a whole room objects disappear? Now that, that was impressive. If I knew you were gonna do that, I would’ve brought Barnes into your life much much sooner. - she crossed her arms. - I think you and I are very similar. Much more similar than Maximoff to be completely honest. Where were the avengers when your father handed you over to a terrorist organisation? Constantly overlooked, underestimated, seen as nothing but your father’s daughter. I understand, Y/N and I can help you if you let me help you.   

    - I ... - she faltered her response, slightly lowering down her gun. - You can really help me?

    - I know more about magic than everyone else, Y/N. I can train you, I can help you more than SWORD or Wanda Maximoff will ever help. I can even give you what you want the most. Barnes, a regular family, everything but a SHIELD recruit. A regular citizen and all I want is for you to give me my regular family. 

     - I can’t help you, Agatha.

     - I don’t mean to cause any harm, Y/N. I’m not the villain, I just want my husband back and only you can give that to me. That’s all I want. It’s a small price to pay for your happiness. I can even take it away, your powers, I can take them away and then you will have what you want. Pretty sure Barnes still has some swimmers and if he doesn’t surely Wanda can get you some kids, she sure did well with getting herself some. 

     - Y/N! - Wanda’s voice broke through the two woman’s conversation. Agatha smirked, purple eyes replacing her regular blue ones. - Y/N!

     - I think you need to make a choice, dear. 

taglist: @lookiamtrying

[gracegriller949]

Shining Devotion

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: DinLuke, Luke Skywalker/Din Djarin

A/N: Read the full fic on Ao3 here

Chapter 6

“We don’t have much time,” says Luke, turning away from the opening of the hangar.

Mando nods and walks over to the side of the hangar. He bends down, careful not to jostle the sleeping Grogu in the sling around his neck and runs two gloved fingers on the ground, covering them in dirt. He taps his helmet, inspecting the floor.

“Luke, come see this.”

Luke hasn’t gotten very far. In fact, he watched Mando the entire time, pretending to examine some panels near the wall on the opposite side of the hangar. He walks over to the Mandalorian’s position and looks at the floor.

“This floor moves,” says the Mandalorian. “There’s something underneath it.”

Luke’s eyes widen. He scans the ground and sure enough, under all the dirt and debris, there’s a long line stretching from the back of the hangar to the front. Luke bends down and traces the line along where the Mandalorian did.

“What’s under there?”

“I’m not sure. Can we get it open?”

Luke stands up and looks back over his shoulder at the panel that he was pretending to look at earlier. He strides over to it quickly, his heart thudding in anticipation. Once he reaches the panel, he tries every button he possibly can, but the floor doesn’t budge. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy-- someone would have done it already.

The Mandalorian is scanning the walls next to where Luke fusses over the panel, his fingers running along the seams of the wall.

Luke gulps at the sight of the Mandalorian’s gloved fingers running over the smooth surface.

Despite his best efforts over the last few weeks to repress his feelings for the Mandalorian, his feelings have only grown stronger. He knows that Mando has to leave eventually. There’s a whole planet counting on him, after all.

Luke feels the familiar pang of guilt at his selfishness of wanting Mando to stay there, but he knows that it isn’t possible. He’s just going to have to enjoy the time that they have now-- however short that time might be.

Just then, the Mandalorian moves some vines to the side and knocks loudly on the wall.

Hollow.

He takes a step back, tucking Grogu behind him in the sling before punching into the wall. Luke takes a step towards him, his eyes wide as he peers into the compartment that the Mandalorian just discovered. There’s a single button, cracked, but still glowing. Luke and Mando look at each other once before the Mandalorian hits the button.

The floor below them shutters and the entire building quakes with the effort as the two halves of the floor begin to slowly slide open. Luke and Mando step forward as they watch the gaping hole appear before their eyes. Dust pours from the ceiling and Luke swears he sees some new cracks forming all around the room. Once the doors are completely open, the two men walk back to the edge of the hole and peer into the abyss below.

Except it’s not an abyss, it’s a ship. A big ship.

Luke’s jaw drops and his heart thuds. They did it. They found a ship. Luke looks over at the Mandalorian. His hands are opening and closing and his helmet stays trained on the ship below.

“That’s a VCX-100,” he says.

Luke can hear the excitement in his voice, however slight it might sound to the untrained ear.

“How are we going to get it out of there?” Mando asks, scanning again for a solution.

“I think I can help with that. Go stand next to the button. Press it when I say so.”

The Mandalorian seems skeptical for a second but walks over to stand next to the button and waits for Luke’s orders.

Luke stands next to the hole and closes his eyes, taking a few long, deep breaths and shaking out his hands slightly. He draws on his connection to the Force and focuses his thoughts on the ship below him.

He puts his hands out and starts to lift.

The amount of concentration it takes for him to lift the ship is exponential. Luke feels himself faulter slightly about halfway up, but he recovers quickly. The ship hovers just above the ground as Luke yells “Now!” to the Mandalorian behind him. Mando slams his fist on the button and the doors begin to close achingly slow. Luke screams as he continues to hold the ship in the air before dropping it onto the platform as the doors finally slide closed. The hangar rumbles slightly as the ship thuds to the floor.

Luke breathes heavily, resting his hands on his knees and slowly wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead before turning around to face the Mandalorian who is already walking towards him. Mando stops for a second and looks at Luke, awestruck. Luke smiles at him winningly.

Suddenly, Mando is closing the distance between them rapidly, one hand on the bottom of his helmet. Once he reaches Luke, he places his other hand on the back of Luke’s head and lifts his helmet to kiss him fiercely.

Luke is so startled that he trips backwards into the ship. The Mandalorian keeps him from slamming his head into it by holding the back of his neck.

After he recovers, Luke tries to latch his lips back onto the Mandalorian’s, but just like that, Mando pulls away from him just as fast as he approached him, his helmet returning to its usual position.

“Mando, I-- “

“We should go. The kid needs dinner,” interrupts the Mandalorian, turning away from Luke.

As if on cue, Grogu pops his head out from the sling and starts making distressed sounds that Luke knows means the little womp rat is hungry.

Luke nods even though the Mandalorian still has his back turned to him. He touches his lips deafly, still feeling the remnants of the Mandalorian’s kiss there.

Luke’s mind is racing, and his heart is galloping right behind it. What just happened? Luke feels a little lightheaded, but whether that be from raising the ship or the events that transpired afterwards, he can’t tell.

He gathers his strength and with a big sigh, Luke follows the Mandalorian who is now waiting at the back of the hangar waiting for the lift. The lift beeps dully as Luke takes another look at the ship he raised from the depths of the hangar and rubs the back of his neck with his hand as he steps onto the lift.

-

They walk in silence all the way home, Mando staying a short distance in front of him.

All the while, Luke is trying to rebuild the puzzle that is the Mandalorian back in his head. Has he really been that oblivious this whole time? Was the kiss a fluke? Why did the Mandalorian take off his helmet?

On the trek back, there are many times that Luke opens his mouth to say something to the Mandalorian, but always ultimately decides to stay silent. If Mando doesn’t want to talk about it, then neither does he.

But also, it’s just so incredibly frustrating. Just when Luke thinks he’s got him figured out, something new comes around that surprises him. The mystery of the Mandalorian seems to be a never-ending train of questions with no answers. Or more accurately, there are answers, the Mandalorian just isn’t so willing to give them up.

By the time they get back, Yavin Prime is dimming overhead meaning nightfall is quickly approaching. Without a word, Mando slips into Luke’s hut, most likely to get food for Grogu who whined all the way back.

Luke hesitates to go into the hut. He’s not sure that he can face Mando right now. Instead, he sits down in what has become one of his most favorite spots in the galaxy: a log. It’s the log that sits in front of the fire pit, its twin sitting in parallel just across the collection of ashes and charred wood.

Almost every night, Luke and Mando sit here across from each other, usually in easy silence. Sometimes Mando will get Luke onto the topic of the war, and they trade stories of their past adventures. Other times, they’ll discuss the limited information that Leia has provided for them thus far.

Luke grabs the tube of fire paste sitting nearby, groaning slightly at its dismal contents. They’ve been hurting for supplies for a while. Luke’s been putting it off for as long as he can, knowing that the New Republic is busy still being built and he doesn’t want to bother Leia. Not when he knows that he can make it work on his own.

Part of him wishes he could talk to her about Mando and their brief kiss, but he’s not sure there’s much to tell. Plus, it’s probably the middle of the night on Coruscant and she will have turned in for the night.

Luke manages to get a small fire started and has just started warming his hands when he hears the Mandalorian rustle the curtain that hangs in front of the entrance of his hut. Luke doesn’t look up, opting to stare into the shifting flames of the fire.

He thinks that the Mandalorian is going to head back into his own hut, but instead he sits down on the log across from Luke, Grogu munching on his snack in the Mandalorian’s lap. Luke keeps his eyes trained on the fire, not sure of what to do next.

The Mandalorian speaks first.

“I’m going to go back tomorrow to look at the ship. See what all needs to be repaired. Looks like it’s going to need a hell of a lot of work.”

Luke finally looks up at the Mandalorian. Okay. So they aren’t talking about the kiss. Got it.

“You should take Artoo,” says Luke, “He can be very helpful.”

“I don’t like droids.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Luke deadpans.

Mando sighs. “I’ll take the droid.”

Luke feels a small smile creep onto his face. “His name is Artoo.”

The Mandalorian leans to the side, his left forearm resting on his knee, his right hand on his thigh. Grogu is making slurping noises as he gulps down the rest of his food.

“Could you tell me more about Mandalorian culture?” asks Luke, desperately wanting answers but not wanting to address the Bantha in the room.

The Mandalorian shifts a little, seeming hesitant.

“Like what?”

“Like what’s the significance of your armor?”

Mando’s grip tightens slightly on his thigh.

“The Beskar has been passed down through many generations of Mandalorians. It represents the years of combat that my people have been through. Our history lives on through it.”

“And your helmet? Why do some Mandalorians leave them on while others take them off?”

“Mandalorian is a creed, not a race. When I was a young boy, I vowed to never take it off. In my clan, that is what we did to survive. We did not tell our names, and we only went above the surface one at a time. Other Mandalorians live by a different creed. They have different experiences. Most of them think that my clan’s ways are outdated. No longer relevant to the galaxy we live in.”

“But you don’t?”

“Our anonymity is how we survived. It’s an important part of who we are as a clan. Whether or not the rest of my people want to honor that, it is their choice.”

Luke thinks back to the day that they met. Din’s teary eyes and disheveled hair, looking at Grogu like he was his everything.

“That night—” Luke starts, “the night I came to get Grogu, why did you take off your helmet if you made a creed not to? If anonymity is so important to your traditions, why would you break them?”

The Mandalorian looks down at the little green creature in his arms, his big eyes closing and opening, fighting sleep. He swipes a gloved hand under his chin, wiping off the crumbs there.

“I wanted my son to see me. What I really look like. We had been through so much together and I didn’t know if I was ever going to see him again,” says the Mandalorian as Grogu’s tiny fist wraps around one of his fingers. “When I lost him to the Empire, I realized that there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

Luke once again recalls that night. How sad Mando looked, the love that he could feel between the two of them.

Sadness washes over Luke. How hard it must have been for Mando to give up the one that he loved most, just so that the kid could be trained as a Jedi.

The conversation fades out and the three sit in silence for the rest of the night.

Luke still feels a bit on edge about the whole situation between them, but he feels that, even though almost nothing between them is resolved, that a key part of the Mandalorian has clicked into place.

The Mandalorian is staring at the fire, patiently waiting for Grogu to give in to his drowsiness.

Luke wonders what he’s thinking.

For the millionth time that night, Luke opens his mouth to say something to address the situation, but just as he does, the Mandalorian stands up from the fire, cradling Grogu with one hand. He steps around the fire, heading towards his hut.

“Goodnight, Mando,” Luke calls as he always does.

The Mandalorian stops in his tracks, deciding something.

“Din,” he says, almost too quiet for Luke to hear. “My name is Din Djarin.”

Luke is taken aback. “Din… Djarin?”

The Mandalorian nods once.

“Goodnight then… Din.”

“Goodnight, Luke.”

Din lingers a second longer before disappearing into his hut.

[sp00kworm]

A Figure by the Lake

Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Female Reader

Warnings: General Slasher Warnings, Stalking, Violence.

A/N: This was an exchange piece with the fabulous @of-devils-and-drawings​ who deserves all the love in the world. I present, the softest of Camp Blood Killer, Mister swamp water man, for your entertainment, in six thousand words. I based his looks off of Jason Lives so take that as inspiration!

---

---

Camp Crystal Lake. Now, it was a refurbished, new living area for holiday makers once again. The small town fifteen miles away had seen enough of the bloodshed to last years, but none of them dared go near for fear of the death curse lingering around the place. The revenge of the Voorhees family. Pamela and Jason. All swore blind the legend was real. Jason Voorhees had lived in the woods for twenty years without his own mother’s knowledge before seeing her slaughtered and extracting his revenge on any who dared to set foot on his territory. The man who filled your car hummed, chewing a toothpick as he eyed up the luggage in the back of the car.

“Where you headin’ missy?” He asked as he replaced the cap on the fuel tank and walked back to your window, wrapped tightly in a thick, sheepskin coat and a heavy scarf. He replaced his gloves and shuddered in the snowy cold as you smiled pleasantly, stroking your Pitbull with gentle movements of your hand. Bronson barked cheerfully from the seat next to you as the man peered into your window.

You were ready for the horror-stricken face as you opened your mouth, “Crystal Lake.” You uttered, “My family has an old cabin up on the outskirts of the place. They’re developing the land. Letting people buy holiday homes.” You continued, watching the local’s face turn dark.

“Do you know what happened up there?” He asked as he sparked up a cigarette, blowing smoke up into the air. You knew for sure it could blow up the gas he was stood next to, but the man didn’t seem to care.

 You knew what happened. The 1980s slaughters were known the world round. A woman and her love for her son, and her son who only sought blood-soaked revenge. You looked at the date in your car. Friday the 13th. You had to smile. Jason’s birthday was the 13th of June. A Friday. It was somewhat ironic.

You shrugged your shoulders at the man, “I know. The killings. I’ve heard the stories in the dinner. I had lunch before stopping here for some gas.”

He shook his head, “Slaughter you mean. There’s been enough killing around here. People stay away. Ain’t no good to come from poking a phantom’s nest. You be careful, ya here? Jason ain’t dead and gone, and he won’t be for a long time.” He slapped the top of your car, “That’ll be thirty bucks for the gas.”

You handed him the money and rolled away from the small gas station, trundling up the new road which the developers had put in for the town. It was a smooth journey until you met the old roads. It was about fifteen more minutes of slow driving through into the old, run down roads that led to the cabins. It was slow going through the mud, and you thanked the gods above when you finally made it to the cabin and parked, just as the snow began to slowly drift from the sky. You thanked the gods again that you had brought enough groceries for the stay. Two weeks in the peace and quiet would be nice. You pulled on your coat and got out of the car, sighing as you looked at the sheer amount of luggage you had to move from the car into the house.

 The noise of a car had drawn him from where he was washing in the streams. The icy cold water still dripped from his hands as he watched from the treeline. The cabins were being worked on, he knew that, but the construction workers were gone for the winter, and Jason was left alone once again. No one had ever shown up in the winter. He watched you shiver and unload the car, making trips back and forth with the load of things you needed. Jason watched you mess around with a large looking dog for a while before he took his shirt and coat from the tree and headed back towards his own home to make his plans. Jason thudded through the undergrowth, exhaling air that turned into mist through the holes of his mask, as he ducked through the trees and into his own, small hut. He closed the old door and peered around before heading towards the rickety chimney he had built. Jason lit a fire with the dry logs he had piled up the wall. It was silent as he lit the fire, the flames taking to the logs quickly from the kindling.

 The phantom watched it burn and pushed his cold hands closer to the fire, feeling the heat in his undead fingers. The dead skin pulsed with warmth until he pulled away to say hello to his mother.

“Hello, my sweet boy. Did you have a good day?” Pamela asked from his stand. Jason nodded as he plucked the skull from table and gently touched the top of the bone, looking at the eye sockets as his Mother smiled back at him.

“Did you see someone, sweetheart?” She cooed, “Did you get rid of them for me? You’re such a good boy, Jason.” Pamela’s blue eyes were soft as Jason looked away from her. He placed her down as he shook his head.

“Did she get away?” She asked softly, “Oh that’s alright my boy.” Jason shook his head ‘no’ again, “What’s wrong then?” She looked at him again and smiled, “Watch her. Winter visitors are such a pleasure to have.” She cooed as Jason touched the moth-eaten jumper and carefully turned her towards the fire, “Thank you, sweetie.” She cooed as Jason settled down next to the fire. He pulled out a pine tree branch and opened his box, intending to put it into the scrapbook he had managed to snatch from one of the visitors a long time ago.

 It took hours to get all the shopping and your luggage away, and even then, it took you a while to get a fire going. The cabin was new, fitted with central heating, but you looked for the logs the company had left and eventually curled up in front of the fire, Bronson by your feet, soaking up the heat from the flames. You hadn’t cooked. It was too late, so you settled for one of the ready meals as you soaked up the heat, wiggling your feet by the fire as you looked at a book open on the side of the couch. The snow was getting worse outside, blowing a gale at the windows. You hoped the power would stay on. They’d installed on-site generators in case of a power failure, but you found yourself enjoying the dark, the fire and a small lamp illuminating your book as you spooned poorly made lasagne into your mouth.

“Well, Bronson, it looks like we’ll be getting a lot of work done while we’re out here.” You hummed as you leaned over to pet his head, stroking the blue coloured fur with a smile, “Though we might not if the power drops out.” Bronson sighed and settled back down to sleep as you got up to throw away the rubbish from your dinner. As you washed the dishes with a sponge, you looked out of the window at the snow. It was slowing down. You smiled as the snow caused the automatic porch light to come on again, and you squinted into the light, looking for any sign of life. You blinked and looked harder into the snow as a shadowed figure appeared at the end of the garden, stalking along the fence. You blinked again and the black shadow was gone.

“It might be a bit of a weird holiday this one, Bronson.” Your dog only grumbled from where he had climbed onto the sofa, laid on his back, soaking in the heat from the fire.

 The next day was just as cold, but the snow had stopped falling. There was a decent covering on the ground, and you opened the door with a smile as you looked at the drifts. Winter was done properly up here by the lakes. You turned to see Bronson in the door, his large mouth open as he waited for the signal to be allowed out. With a whistle, you tugged him back inside to put his jacket and harness on before tapping his butt and watching him sprint into the drifts.

“Bronson!” You laughed as you walked into the snow, wrapped tightly in a heavy coat, scarf, gloves and hat. It was below zero. You laughed at your dog as he snorted and buried his face into another snowdrift. He barked and followed you as you trudged through the snow, towards the treeline. The Pitbull on your heels snorted and barked as you walked into the woods, your hands in your pockets, clutching his lead and the bags you had brought with you just in case.

 Jason watched from the trees as you disappeared into his woods. He hefted the axe over his shoulder and followed, the logs he had come to collect hefted on top of his shoulder. Lumbering behind, he watched from around the trees as you ventured further and further from your own cabin, and closer and closer to his own home, on the outskirts of the lake, hidden behind broken trees and rotting areas of swampy water. It was frozen still this time of year. He followed quietly, keeping his smell away from your giant dog as he watched you climb over the rotting trees and roots that blocked the pathway to his home. Jason stood still, his breath stopping all together as his eyes danced across the surroundings.

 You frowned at the heavy tree in your way and whistled softly as you climbed over the heavy log and then watched Bronson bound over the top of it, his ears flopping as he panted and looked around the snow. You both scrambled over a set of upturned roots before peering into the white surroundings. Bronson pushed his nose into the snow and snuffled around your feet as you looked between the trees. A shack was sat between another upturned giant tree and a set of rotting stumps. The wood was old and rotting in most places. You approached the old panels slowly, Bronson snuffling alongside you as you both approached. It was a very old cabin, homemade from heavy timber. The roof needed replacing, small parts of it having caved in with the rot and winter snow, but it looked lived in. With a frown, you approached the front door. It was as old as the rest of the place, the hinges rusted and the lock a simple deadbolt. It was undone. You swallowed and swung the door open. Bronson peered inside as well, quiet, his ears pressed flat to his skull. You both were quiet as you looked at the smouldering fire and the tins littering around. They were stacked in the corner on top of a very old dresser. A few bones were stacked too. A knife was sat next to the bones and what looked to be a small carving project. Carefully you peered at the small figurine being shaped from the deer bone. It was a beaver. You looked around again at everything.

 A rocking chair swayed with a squeak by the fire, rocking back and forth as the cold wind rushed inside. Everything was rotting. You entered a small bedroom, Bronson protective on your heels as you opened the door. It swung open and revealed a dry room. A table was sat in the corner with a makeshift bed in the other, piled with old shirts, blankets, and pillows. You looked at the table and gasped. A faded photo sat on the top, next to a moth-eaten jumper. You approached and looked at the skull sat next to it. Pieces of dried skin littered the tabletop as well, curling black lumps that looked putrid. The photo was of a young woman and her boy. The blond woman grinned back at you. Pamela Voorhees. You swallowed and tugged Bronson by his collar.

“Come on, Bronson. We don’t belong here.” You ushered him out and looked around the place one last time before you closed the door and rushed through the snow once more. Bronson whined as you both hopped back over the log, trudging back through the snow, “I think we have a certain resident to appease, boy.” Following your own tracks, you were unaware of the killer watching you disappear back into the snow.

 Jason watched you leave with uncertainty boiling in his stomach. You hadn’t done anything to his home. He threw the logs down by the fire and turned to his Mother.

“Maybe she’s a good girl, Jason? Watch her for me sweetie.” She cooed. Jason nodded sombrely and made sure to lock the door as he left his home, covered in a heavy jacket and his work gloves, a machete sheathed on his hip.

 Cooking for one was difficult, and soon you realised you would have more than enough for you and someone else. Bronson was busy chowing down his own food in the corner, and you sighed softly as you plated the leftovers onto another hot plate. You looked out into the cold, still night and wondered if this would be enough to appease the giant killer that might be lurking. It was stupid. He was a ghost story. But you knew to believe in the warnings of spirits. Carefully, you found a plate cover and covered the meal before opening the front door and placing it, shielded from the cold by the entryway box for tools. It wouldn’t remain warm forever, but if he was watching, you knew he’d be curious enough to investigate, spirit or undead monster. You placed the meal down and closed the door, locking it in a small fit of paranoia as you headed back to finish cleaning up before bed. Bronson slumped down by the fire as you finished putting the pots away and headed upstairs for a shower. You sighed at the white canvas you set up by the window, still with no ideas about what to put on it. Hopefully, hot water would ease your nerves.

 The door opened with creak and Jason peered at the light spilling from the house, breathing slowly, evenly, in the trees. You peered out with a plate in your hands, covered to keep it warm, before you tucked it against the toolbox and closed the door once more. Curious. Jason waited. He watched as you moved upstairs, curiously, following you around the house, watching from the bottom floor as you pulled the jumper over your head. His eyes went wide as you pulled off your tank top underneath, revealing the bra you had on. Set, he couldn’t pull away his gaze as he watched skin move and ripple, tilting his head as he moved to catch sight of your backside as well. Naughty. He chastised himself as he turned, moving back to the front of the house to investigate the plate you had put on the porch. His mask turned his breath into steam as Jason stood over the plate. He knelt and picked up the plate in one gloved hand. He opened the top and looked at the hot food on the plate. It looked like the meals his Mother once made. Jason felt conflict churn his guts. Mashed potato. He adored mashed potato as a child. Jason looked at the door in front of him. He glanced at the blade at his hip and the knife by his thigh. He could open the door himself, crash through the wood and slaughter you. Instead, he stole the food away, scaring as Bronson yawned inside, rushing back into the trees with thoughts he shouldn’t have churning in his head.

 “Jason. Have you ended her?” Pamela asked from her seat in the rocking chair. Jason looked at the head and shook his head as he sat by the fire, grinding the details into the beaver’s face with his small skinning knife, “Why not, darling?”

Jason looked at his feet, sheepishly, and pulled out the meal from behind him. He held it up to his mother’s head.

“Oh, my darling boy, she’s a good girl, isn’t she?” Pamela cooed. Jason felt phantom hands stroke his head before he drew out the spoon, he had whittled it some time ago. He could eat but being undead meant it wasn’t necessary. Still, he pushed the mask up enough to reveal his mouth and cautiously ate a spoonful of the cooling potatoes. He grunted, the memory of the food he used to eat as a child making his chest ache painfully.

Pamela smiled from her place in the chair, “Yes, my boy, she is a good, good girl. Just like you, my perfect little boy.” He continued to eat thoughtfully, beside the fire, before realising he had finished the entire thing. The killer looked at the plate sadly before picking up his beaver again. He eyed the little creature’s eyes before setting to work on finishing the tail. Pamela hummed a song before melting into the background again. He remembered to set her head down for the night before he trundled back into the blackness, the empty plate, and the small bone carving in hand.

 The snow when you woke up was horrendous. You peered down the driveway and sighed at the layers of snow melting on your porch. It was terrible weather. You shuddered as you climbed out of the bed, immediately wrapping up in your gown before you patted Bronson, beckoning him up as you started the day. You descended the stairs with a yawn and a stretch over your head. Excitedly, you remembered the plate you had left outside of the door. The keys jingled in your hand as you unlocked the lock and slid the chain bolt free. You swung open the door and watched Bronson bound into the snow again. You watched him for a moment before giving him a tut of disapproval. As you took a step forward, your slipper met the plate. Sadly, you looked down, only to smile at the sight of the empty plate and a small token next to it. You picked up the plate and the small carving. A beaver made from bone sat perfectly in the palm of your hand, its front teeth opened wide as though it was ready to chew through a new piece of wood. You laughed at the carving as you tucked it into your pocket, shouting for Bronson back. The dog bounded back into the house and you looked at the treeline before closing the door and setting to towel drying your now wet dog.

 Jason looked on from the woods as you laughed with the dog in the lounge. He watched as you placed the small beaver on your fireplace. The killer nodded to himself before hiding away in the trees to continue to watch you in peace.

 Over the course of the first week, you made sure to leave food for the legend out on the porch. Every morning it was gone, your plate returned alongside some trinket the man saw fit to leave for you. On the seventh day, you opened the door and saw that the plate was left alongside a small pocketknife. The blade wasn’t long. It was a switch blade and you snapped the thing open to look at the pointed end. It was clean, polished with metal cleaner to be shiny. You smiled and took it inside once again, placing it on the small shelf with the other goods, on display in the window. The snow was still present. Icy but slushy under your feet. You made breakfast and showered before you ventured out into the cold, this time, turning to the right, heading towards the famous Crystal Lake edge as Bronson snorted and ran beside you. The track down to the lake wasn’t huge, a short walk in all reality, but you enjoyed it nonetheless, peering up at the trees as the crows called overhead. Bronson barked and rushed forwards with a stick, his tail wagging as you took it from him and hurled it as far as you could in front of you on the track. He followed happily and you both continued towards the water’s edge. Bronson sniffed at the water curiously before deciding the icy water wasn’t worth the time jumping in. You peered around at the huge lake.

 It was easily a mile across, you surmised, from bank to bank, and the roots of the trees had recently been cut back to give it a more open appearance. It wasn’t as overgrown as it once was, the reeds kept back at the pier and tugged out from around the sides to prevent the water from looking too murky. With a cold inhale of icy air, you wandered closer to the edge, looking at the murky water as Bronson snorted and walked around, sticking his face in every pile of mud he could find under the snow. A crow called again above you. You looked up at the tree and frowned at the bird before it squawked again and fluttered off, leaving a black feather to float down into the snow. Bronson gave the feather a sniff before he moved into the snow again, shoving his face underneath the piles. The pier was new. The rotting boards and support structure were new, the wood painted a white colour. It would probably need redoing when spring rolled around. You walked up, towards the end of the pier and looked out at the icy lake. Parts of it were frozen, thing sheets floating around and clicking into each other. You watched a duck tuck itself into the reeds on the bank as Bronson barked at the end of the pier, gaze set on the trees. Murky water slopped against the wood with a gust of icy air and you shuddered before turning back to your dog.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You chuckled as you turned around and carefully walked back towards the banks.

 Your foot slipped beneath your own weight. Ice, hidden by the white paint, made your grips slip. Suddenly, the water lurched towards your face, icy pain imminent. You closed your eyes and gasped, winded, as arms snapped tight around your waist and heaved you upwards, away from the icy water. Wheezing, you turned your head to look at your saviour. Icy, blue eyes stared back at you through a grubby hockey mask, and you peered down at the dead hands holding you tightly against the man most now only knew as legend.

“Jason…Voorhees…” You wheezed as you were manhandled away from the pier. Bronson barked at the creature and he bared his teeth before he jumped for his arm. Jason’s eyes flicked, and in a swift movement, he snatched the dog by the collar, holding you with one arm, the other holding the hound at arm’s length. Bronson yelped as the grip twisted into the fur on the back of his neck.

“Let him go!” You coughed weakly. Jason’s eyes flashed between you both before he dropped you and offered you your dog. He dropped Bronson on the floor, lowering him to his feet, giving you enough time to wrestle a lead from your pocket to hold him at bay. He cowered behind your legs as you looked up again at the Camp Crystal Lake Killer.

 “You’re real…” You whispered, gazing up at the giant. He was dead, clearly, the skin mottled and dark, pale in other places with rigor mortis, the blood stagnant. Yet, any wound seemed to not have left a scar. You looked at the hands and watched him twitch the fingers. Jason shifted, uncomfortable with the staring, and turned his eyes on Bronson again. The Pitbull cowered behind you.

“I’m sorry if we’re trespassing.” You whispered before finding your voice, “Did you, uh, enjoy the food I left out for you?” You asked the giant man. He paused in his staring, the hockey mask turning to the side, as though bashfully, as his massive head nodded.

He held up his hands in front of him and you watched his right hand move to his ask before dipping down with flat fingers, the palm upturned.

“You sign?” You asked with a smile, “That means ‘thank you’ right?”

Jason nodded twice with two slow movements of his head.

“Well, you’re welcome.” You smiled at him as genuinely as you could manage, “Though I don’t know if you really needed the food. You seem to be able to look after yourself.” With a small sigh, you rubbed the top of Bronson’s head, fear making your heart beat double time, “Are you going to get rid of me?” You asked quietly.

 Jason’s eyes widened a little as he listened to the fear lacing your voice. He shook his head firmly before holding his hands up again in front of his chest, fingers twitching before he signed to you slowly. His thumb pointed to his chin with his fingers curled into a first. He moved his hand forwards before holding up his other hand and pointing a finger out from his right. He connected the finger with his left hand. You frowned, confused, before watching him stick his finger into his other hand repeatedly.

“Does that mean you’re not going to kill me?” You asked gently.

Jason nodded, confirming your guess, before signing the two words again slowly for you.

“Okay, I believe you.” You smiled as Bronson peered back from behind your legs, his nose sniffing at Jason’s heavy combats. The giant recoiled from the dog, his hands clenched by his stomach before Bronson deemed him not a threat, and simply sat down, staring at Jason with soft eyes. Curiously, Jason reached to pet Bronson, his large fingers flipping the dog’s ears around as he gave him a small scratch behind them.

“He likes you.” You laughed softly before awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, “Would you like to come and eat with us?” You asked.

 Jason felt his heart catch in his chest. You asked him to come and eat with you. He was embarrassed. It was very forward. He took a step backwards, glancing at the treeline in contemplation as he wondered what sort of motive you had for inviting him to dinner. Words were empty. He knew that. Jason had been lied to again and again. He knew though, that you did intend to give him food. You left it for him every night. He wished his mama were there with him. He reached for his hip and shook his head.

“She’s a good girl, Jason.”

His mother was right. Jason nodded and looked at the snow covering the ground before stepping away from the lake and pointing back through the trees.

“Sure. I’ll lead the way.” You smiled as you tugged Bronson along at your side. Jason followed to your right in comfortable silence, observing your grins and smiles at your dog with a smile of his own, hidden behind the ruined hockey mask.

 “Is that shack in the woods yours, Jason?” You asked as you reached the edge of the trees. You looked up at the phantom as his fingers curled into a fist and he dipped it down, nodding his head at the same time. You looked over the snow drift and smiled, “It’s a nice place. You seem to be able to look after yourself.”

Jason shrugged his shoulders, his jacket rippling with the movement before he wiggled his hand and his head in a ‘sort of’ motion. He was embarrassed by the praise, though you couldn’t see his face. His blind eye twitched as he watched you trip in his periphery. With a snap of his arms again, he snatched you up from falling face first into the snow.

Winded again, you looked up at the killer as you span in his arms, “Thank you, Jason. Sorry, I’m such a clutz.” You laughed as he placed you firmly back on your feet and held out his hand towards the dog lead. Bronson was happy to bound over to the giant, and you laughed as Jason was tugged around by the dog. Bronson barked, leaping into the snow, only to be fished out a moment later by one, giant, powerful hand. Bronson looked at him with a dumb smile before Jason placed him back on his feet and let him walk in front of the two of you.

 Your cabin porch, at least, was free from snow. You slammed your feet on the wood and watched Jason do the same, shaking snow from his shoulders before he reached down and unclipped the dog lead from Bronson. The Pitbull gave one large bark and licked at the yellow workers gloves over Jason’s fingers before scratching at the door to get back inside.

“Here. You can come in if you want? It won’t take too long to make something.” You offered. You smiled up at Jason and he felt his resolve melt a little as he tentatively took a step into the house. His figure filled the doorway before he peered around, looking for a threat that might jump out at him, before he relaxed enough to carefully step into the lounge area.

“You don’t have to take your shoes off if you don’t want.” You offered as Jason looked down at his boots with concern. They were dirty and your floors were very clean. With a tilt of his head, he leaned over to undo the laces of his boots and carefully tugged them off. He even managed socks. You were amazed at how well put together the gentle giant was for an undead corpse.

“Thank you.” You smiled as you slipped the harness off Bronson and removed your own coat and shoes. Jason looked back and took his coat off as well, thumping over to the coat rack to hang his own mucky coat over a hook.

 “You can sit in the kitchen if you like?” You headed towards the small kitchen in the back and smiled as Jason followed, stepping around the rug carefully before he peered over your head, into the well-equipped kitchen, “Do you like music, Jason?” You asked.

Jason repeated the sign for ‘Yes.’ back to you and nodded his head before continuing, ‘Not too loud. Soft.’, But you didn’t seem to understand those signs.

With a nod you reached over the counter and smiled as you showed him the small manual radio. You swivelled the knobs and caught the frequency of the local radio station. It was something weird and country sounding. You showed Jason the radio, “You can twist the knob to tune into different stations. Try and find something you like.” He took the small thing from your hands and eyed it before quickly setting to work spinning the knobs, searching for something for you to listen to. As he played with the device you pulled out the things for dinner. Jason grew tired of the knobs quickly and settled on where it had been before he had messed around, the soft country playing in the background as he watched you cut vegetables and add them to the pot for a stew. His curiosity made him accidentally turn the wrong knob on the radio and the giant jumped with a grunt as the music screeched. He almost threw the thing, but before he could, you already snapped the volume back down.

“Be careful, Jason.” You chuckled before wiping your hands properly and covering the food, “Now, maybe you should teach me some of that signing? It might be handy.” He nodded and stood from the table, following you to the lounge.

 The food in front of him looked delicious.

“Oh, she is a good girl, Jason.” His Mother cooed from wherever she was, he couldn’t see her, “She’s looking after you, my dear. She could be good spouse material for my darling baby boy.”

Jason shook his head. Surely his mother didn’t think that. She had never mentioned wanting him to settle down. He curled in on himself a little. He knew he wasn’t handsome or even worthy of someone doting on him.

“Are you okay?” You asked nervously, “I thought you might like this, since you like mashed potato so much.”

Jason nodded his head and signed, ‘Thank you’ before he picked up the spoon and then remembered his mask. He looked at the gravy dripping from his spoon and placed it back down into the bowl. With a huff he pointed to his face and looked away.

Instantly you understood what he meant, “You can take it away if you would like?” You asked, chewing the inside of your cheek.

He nodded enthusiastically before placing on finger under his nose and curling it away from himself. Before you could ask him to do it again, he grabbed hold of his shoes from the door, and tied them swiftly. He shrugged the jacket on and took the bowl gratefully from the table. With a nod, he disappeared out of the front door and rushed away as fast as he could manage with the bowl of stew and potatoes.

 You found a book in your cabin later. American Sign Language 101. You looked through at the basic words and frowned at the pictures for the word ‘ugly’. Jason had called himself ugly. You rubbed at Bronson’s ears and shook your head as you looked at the fire burning in front of your feet.

 The next morning you turned from your canvas to a knock on the door. It was still early. Bronson perked up from where he was laid by the fire. Curious, you laid your brushed on your small table and headed towards the door. You opened the door and smiled.

“Jason, what are you doing here?” You asked before the bowl from last night was thrust into your hands.

‘Thank you.’ Jason signed.

“You’re welcome, big guy.” You opened the door a little, “Do you want to come in or are you busy?” You asked, revealing the paint streaked apron covering your body.

Jason shook his head and raised his hands once more, ‘Walk?’ He asked carefully.

“Sure. Bronson needs one anyway.” You left the door open with Jason stood in it as you took your apron off and whistled for Bronson. The dog trotted to the front door and greeted Jason with a lick to his gloved hands. You pulled on your shoes and coat before snatching Bronson’s lead and the book you were looking through last night. Jason pointed curiously as the big book and you held it up for him to see.

“It’s a Sign Language book. I wanted to learn a little bit more, so I can understand you better!” You smiled up at the giant as he appeared a little flustered and lost, his hands twitching by his thighs before he closed your door behind you and pointed in the direction of the lake. You followed with Bronson close on your heels.

 Your visits to the lake became a daily routine. Jason would walk you there just before lunch and you’d both return just in time for you to cook dinner. Jason was conflicted every time you asked him into your home, but he followed you in each time. His Mother was positive. She appreciated what you were doing for him, and Jason was thankful for someone who cared. He even did odd jobs around your cabin, chopping wood and leaving it for you as well as fixing a fence after Bronson chewed a slat free.

“Jason, are you okay?” You asked as you placed his food in front of him. He could see you were nervous, wondering about something. Worrying. The giant reached out and took your hand in his own. He was about to recoil, remembering the cold temperature of his flesh, yet you didn’t flinch away from the icy grip. You squeezed his fingers and looked into his eyes.

‘What’s wrong?’ He signed after letting go of your hand.

“I’m just…” You sighed as you sat down, “It’s what you said when you first took that dinner.” You looked the phantom in the eyes, “That you were ugly.” You made the sign with your finger and scowled, “But I…All I’ve seen is a lonely man who has done nothing but help me…and be sweet.”

Jason looked away, peering into the food you had served him before he turned in his seat and repeated the sign back to you.

‘Ugly.’ He snapped his fingers together with a sigh and you shook your head at him.

 “You’re not…” You chuckled, “Well I’ve never actually seen your face…” You confessed. The killer shook his head resolutely, his hands clutching at the strap of his mask.

‘Ugly.’ He signed again as he leaned back, protective of the hockey mask covering his face. With a smile, you nodded at him and eased back over your own food.

“I understand. You’re not ready to show me…” You stood up slowly and held your hands away from him, “But, when you are ready, just know that I’ll accept it, no matter what.” You promised before you leaned forwards, and pressed a soft, single kiss to his forehead. The mask was as cold as his skin, and you leaned away, dazzling the phantom with your smile.

Jason’s hands shot out, catching you by the wrists before he gently eased them up towards his face, his blue eyes gazing at you in awe as he let you brush the strap on the back of his head. Firmly, he held you in front of him before he raised his hands and fumbled.

‘I love you’ He signed, ‘Protect you.’ He promised before he took hold of your waist again and tugged you into his lap, wrapping his giant arms around your body before he pressed the cool mask to your face.

 “Jason…I’m not here forever…” You whispered against his cold face, “I have to go home.”

His arms tightened as fear pierced his gut, ‘Stay?’ He signed with sad eyes, ‘Come back?’

You gave him a watery smile before nodding, “I…I can.” You thought on the life you had, back in the heat, the warmth of a residential house. Small, cramped, surrounded by other people. Your job wasn’t even most of your income. Your art could flourish. You could be with this loveable, giant phantom. No one would ever know. You took a deep breath and stood up, pressing another kiss to Jason’s head, “I’ll find a way. I have enough money to stay another few weeks anyway.” You grinned, “We can figure it out from there…” You took a giant hand and pressed a kiss to the cold flesh, “I think I love you too.” Jason made a soft noise as he grappled you back into his arms.

 A Figure by the Lake, you thought, as you worked on the canvas the next day, looking at Jason as he walked back towards the water.

[tarithenurse]

Spark - 3

Fandom: Enn Enn no Shouboutai / Fire Force. Pairing: Shinmon Benimaru x fem!reader. Content: A bad headache. A proverbial olive branch. Tension and arguing. Probably errors due to lack of proofing and second language issues. A/N: Whyyyyy have a gotten hooked on a series that’s still ongoing?!?! Do I never learn?!! Feel free to ASK or reblog for tag – in fact: always reblog <3 Thanks to those who have already <3

3. Smoke

Your brain protests as you start to wake up. The entire left side of your skull is throbbing, the pain reverberating into the throat as a groan.

“Ah, you’re waking up.” The man’s voice is quiet, gentle even, but whoever is next to you might as well have been shouting, making you wince. “Sorry...Benimaru did try to hold back, but he’s a strong guy.”

Blinking blearily, the room begins to come into view with its tatami mats stretching towards wooden walls on all but one side – the remaining consisting of old-fashioned paper panels and a curtain in lieu of a door. There’s something comforting about the old traditions, you’ve always found – maybe it’s the scent of cedar, tea, and warm wood – and you almost feel like sinking back onto the futon to surrender to sleep. Almost.

“Hrmehm -” clearing the throat is scratchy as best.

Large hands help you get onto your elbows before proffering a cup of water, holding it to your lips as you greedily swallow. By the second cup, you’ve managed to follow the arms with your gaze, finding a man with an honest, if tired, expression. You recognize the crinkle around his eyes from concern, the lips pressing into a thin line while still speaking volumes of his patience.

“Where am I?” The headache is still there, but at least you sound like yourself.

The man settles down again before answering, “Special Fire Force 7 headquarters.”

“Should’ve guessed,” you sigh.

This is...not good. All those years, trying to live below the radar. You know what happens to people like you: enrolled into the fire forces, Haijima, or maybe sent to one of the Holy Sol institutes. At least you doubt any monastery would have kept you, but none of the remaining options have ever sounded great to you.

“Diplomacy isn’t Beni’s strong suit -”

“No kidding.” Your headache is plenty proof of that.

“- but he just wants to talk. That’s why he brought you here.”

Sitting up completely, you push the blanket aside (happy to see that both soot and “clothes” have been left untouched). “He should’ve saved himself the trouble...got nothing to talk with him about.”

“Very well...” This time, it’s the man sighing. “I’ve brought you clean water and clothes. You’re free to leave but I hope you would accept a meal as recompense for Benimaru’s harsh treatment.”

Pride tells you to refuse, however, the promise of a proper meal sounds too compelling to ignore. I’ll leave after, make it to another district and find a shelter to crash at while figuring out what my next steps are.

“Hm,” you nod.

“I’ll make sure there’s enough,” he smiles as he gets up. “By the way...my name’s Konro, Sagamiya Konro.”

“[Y/N].”

He doesn’t ask for more than that, at least.

...

You are used to handed-down clothes – often making do with sizes that don’t fit you – so the black t-shirt and baggy pants riding low on your hips are a comfortably un-tattered surprise. Man’s clothes. Maybe they are Konro’s.

It feels like trespassing when you exit the room and follow the scent of food cooking through darkened hallways of the fire station until you find the kitchen. Clearly, this place can’t feed all the personnel a fire force company normally has which also explains why it’s Konro himself that’s cooking together with two identical, small girls.

“Eeek!” The twins shriek in unison at the sight of you.

Your hand instinctively fly to your head where the sound stabs at you. “Eeep at you too,” you grunt.

“Hinata, Hikage,” the more comfortable voice of Konro shushes, “be nice. This is [Y/N] and she’s our guest for this meal.” Turning to you, he smiles apologetically. “There are painkillers in the cabinet over there...make yourself comfortable.”

While you wait for the pills to work, you watch the older man as he navigates the kitchen – sometimes tailed but mostly impeded by the girls – slowly setting you at ease. It’s unbearingly normal. A patchwork family allowing you a glimpse into the mundane part of their life and stirring an envy you were sure you had buried long ago. Mostly though, it helps you relax.

The twins are...well, they’re a handful or two: adorable and annoying at the same time as only kids their age can get away with. You can’t tell them apart of course, but Konro doesn’t seem to have any issues as he shoos them out of his way or stops them from stealing any of the food on the counter. It’s an easy decision to like him despite the infinite sadness lingering behind his eyes. He’s gentle, pays attention to the little things (and people) around him with a grandmotherly grace; he makes the fire station resemble a home.

Food is practically ready when a tired voice breaks the peace.

“Oi, Konro? Have you seen my...black...”

The captain of company seven enters the kitchen for you to see the sentence wither and die in his mouth as his eyes fall on you. Not that you’d have a lot of surplus words to give out of while taking in the unfairly perfect chest peeking out from the short kimono hanging over a pair of baggy pants identical to the ones you’re currently wearing.

“Why’s she here?” The cross-and-circle eyes don’t leave you.

Konro sighs, “I invited her to dine with us. Go get dressed, food’s ready.”

The younger man does as he’s told but even if his face doesn’t show anything but boredom, you see one of his fists clench in the shadow of the wide sleeve.

Not my problem.

He’s back soon (fully dressed), marching in just as the last bowl is set on the table and he doesn’t stop until he’s right next to you, glaring. “That’s my seat.”

“Didn’t notice the name tag.” Either way, there are plenty other options and it would be unkind towards Konro to make a big deal out of it so you move to the other end.

The meal is off to an awkward start and only the twins enjoy the tension, staring back and forth between the two of you as if it was a ping-pong match and sometimes snickering – perhaps due to an unvoiced joke only they know.

“Not going to tell us your name?” Benimaru challenges.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was about to fall asleep. Eyelids heavy, corners of the mouth barely maintaining a straight line of the lips; and a shock of black hair adds to the difficulty you have of reading his facial expression. The invisible crackling of tension in the air is unmistakable, however.

“You’ll get it if I trust you.”

“You’re eating our food.”

“As a recompense for your actions...knocking me out and bringing me here.”  You smirk before a new mouthful. “I’m a guest now.”

The tired look is slowly disappearing. “Guest or not, no pyrochinetics stay in Asakusa without my approval.”

Oh, really? “You were the one who stopped me from leaving...after I helped you take care of the infernal. I don’t owe you.”

“You’re wearing my clothes.”

Benimaru’s chopsticks snap down on the table, obscured by the big hand as he pushes to his feet. Leaning in over the rattling dishes and bowls, the man stares you down in a seething battle of wills. One of you must give way for the other.

Not me. “Fine!” Standing too, you yank the t-shirt off – once more happy for the makeshift top underneath – and toss it at him.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Konro’s hand intercepts. “Enough!” The room rings with the echo of his voice for a few seconds before he sighs and hands the piece of clothing to you. “Both of you...settle down. Eat.”

If the stubborn man at the other end of the table feels as sheepish as you do right now, he sure is good at hiding it behind the bored mask of a face.

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (14/18)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

Rating: Mature

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 

-/-

This place is decidedly more cabin in the woods than Killian was expecting. Well, if the cabin in the woods was a bloody large cabin made for groups of people in Maine looking for a weekend away from their regular lives. When he looked at the link Anna sent him when they were planning this trip, he didn’t look past the specifics of price and how many bedrooms there were.

So when he pulled up and saw the two-story cabin with its wraparound porch and large, floor-to-ceiling windows nestled near a lake, he was a little taken aback. Mostly, though, he doesn’t understand how the owners of this place decided to make every wall wood paneling and for each damn piece of furniture to be made out of a log or pine or something that looks like it’ll put a splinter in his ass when he sits down.

Hell, he’s pretty sure that he’s going to turn the corner and there’s going to be animal heads hanging from the walls.

At least there’s sunshine and clear water and all of the food and alcohol that a man could ask for.

Or, well, that could be asked for by a joint bachelor and bachelorette party that Elsa and Liam wanted, the both of them insisting that they needed a weekend away and that it should be nothing like the beach…so naturally they’re spending it on a lake.

Anna seemed to think it was all a brilliant idea, and since she is so keen on planning things, he figured he’d let her do it instead of getting into arguments over it. Or, well, he might have been distracted when she called to talk about the trip because Emma was on her knees in front of him, and he wasn’t paying attention to anything other than the feel of her.

“Why do I feel like every time I turn a corner, a deer’s antlers or something are going to poke me in the eye?”

Killian chuckles and turns to Emma next to him. She’s got a large duffle bag hanging over her shoulder, and he doesn’t know what she packed, but it must be all of the contents of her closet.

“Because you probably will.”

“Okay,” Anna shouts as everyone keeps walking through the front door, chatting and dragging in suitcases and looking around, “I have had all of the bedrooms labeled. Elsa and Liam get the master, obviously. Mary Margaret and David have bedroom one on the first floor, and Kris and I will take bedroom two, which shares that bathroom. Will and Belle, bedroom three, which is at the end of the hall just down that way. Ariel and Eric, you have bedroom four, which is right at the top of the stairs and will share a bathroom with Ruby and Mulan’s room, which is bedroom five. The final room is, like, basically the attic. Emma and Killian, you guys get that one. It may or may not be the kids’ room, so don’t be surprised if there are bunk beds up there.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Killian mutters. “Bunk beds? We’re twenty-eight. We don’t get our own regular beds?”

“Do any of the couples here want to give up their private rooms with big beds to go sleep in the attic in bunk beds so that Killian can have a queen mattress?” “For fuck’s sake,” Killian laughs, rolling his eyes at Anna, “the beds are fine. I simply wasn’t aware Emma and I were going to be punished for not having significant others.”

“Yeah,” Emma joins in, “we should get compensated in, like, first choice of food tonight.” “I think Elsa and I get that,” Liam says. “You two will be fine. I’m sure the beds will be comfortable, but Emma, lass, as someone who lives with Killian, you might want earplugs. He snores.”

“Liar.”

Liam shrugs, bright smile on his face. “Have some mercy on the poor girl, Killian. Try not to be too loud.”

Killian opens his mouth to keep protesting, but then he snaps it shut. There’s no point. He doesn’t snore, and Emma knows that. Why should he care if everyone else thinks he snores? He’s sure that half of the people in this room do anyways.

This is Liam’s weekend.

If he reminds himself that enough, maybe he won’t try to pick at everything Liam says and does, and they can all have a good time like they’re supposed to.

Even if he does have to sleep in a damn bunk bed.

Emma elbows his side. “I have ear plugs, but that was mostly because I was scared I’d have to sleep next to David and Mary Margaret.”

“Please don’t put that image in my head.”

“We’re in a cabin full of couples, KJ. How is the image not in your head?”

Killian groans and tilts his head back, and Emma laughs, nudging him again before adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go put our stuff up. My legs are stiff from the drive, and I’m ready to go hiking.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Anna squeals, “I have sunscreen and bug spray for everyone who forgot it. I’ll leave it in the kitchen. Let’s all meet up in half an hour, okay?”

“Anna is…very organized,” Emma sighs as everyone begins walking in different directions looking for their bedrooms. “I feel like she’s a very intense version of Mary Margaret.” “That’s exactly who she is,” Elsa laughs, walking next to Emma up the stairs, which leads them to a hallway with more wood paneling and more large, paneled windows. There are no animal heads yet, though, so Killian would count that as a win. “I think she wants everything to be so perfect for me that she’s taking it overboard. Plus, she’s used to working with all of these extravagant people, so this is kind of out of her wheelhouse. You’re just lucky my cousins couldn’t come this weekend, because that would make it even worse.”

“She’s doing a great job. With this and the wedding. I mean, the wood paneling here is a little much, but this is beautiful.” “Hey, I could have helped plan this,” Killian protests.

Liam, Elsa, and Emma all laugh at him.

“What?”

“If I was a betting man, I’d say the only thing you planned was the food and the alcohol.”

“And to that,” Killian laughs, “I’d say you were right. If I had gotten my say, I would have found a place with one more bedroom so that Emma and I weren’t sleeping in bunk beds while everyone else got normal rooms.”

“I mean, technically,” Elsa says, “I think there’s another bed in David and Mary Margaret’s room, but I think you two might be safer upstairs.”

They get to the end of the hallway where the master bedroom is, and Elsa and Liam tell them that they’ll see them in a few minutes before walking inside while he and Emma turn to find the spiral staircase that leads up to the attic. It’s beautiful, but it’s not exactly convenient when carrying luggage, but he and Emma manage to get their stuff upstairs without any kind of disaster.

“Those stairs would be horrible if you’re drunk. I feel dizzy just getting up here.”

“Aye,” he sighs, dropping his bag and looking around the room.

It’s small, just a set of chairs, a dresser with a television, and then, indeed, a set of bunk beds covered in red plaid bedding. In the center of the room is a round window, and when Killian looks out it, he has a direct view of the lake and all of the surrounding hills and trees.

He imagines none of the other rooms have a view like that.

“Wow,” Emma whistles, “a view like that will almost make you think the lake is better than the beach.”

“Never,” he laughs, looking at her to his side. “I like my salt water and my sand too much to ever give it up, but it is stunning.”

“I can’t wait to get to explore it. It’s so damn nice not to be working this weekend. I haven’t had an actual, multiple-day break in months, and I’m taking full advantage of it.”

Killian nods as he keeps looking out the window. He sees two people walk out onto the deck, and he believes it’s Ruby and Mulan. It’s hard to tell from here, but then one of them walks a little further out and he recognizes Ruby’s red shirt. They must be ready to go already. He needs to change into a different pair of shoes.

Turning around, Killian moves to grab his bag only to see the last seconds of Emma pulling down a sports bra. She’s in nothing but a pair of black shorts and a white sports bra, and dammit if she doesn’t drive him mad like this.

He’s grown to know the curves of her body more intimately than he ever thought he would, and that’s how he knows that she’s been running more this summer and that places where she was once soft are the slightest bit more firm and how he knows the way her skin has changed from a creamy white to a shade or two darker, all of her freckles showing up more and more.

It’s how he knows that if that’s all she’s wearing today, he’s going to struggle holding it together in front of all of their friends.

He doesn’t know what to do when it comes to Emma any longer.

He wants her all the damn time, but his traitorous mind keeps telling him that he wants her in a way that he hasn’t had her: where there are no rules or implications or anything even closely relating to the friends with benefits situation they’ve got going on.

Where Killian can get it out of his mind that Emma kisses him in greeting now, how she intertwines their fingers, how she finds a way to touch him even when they’re not alone. It’s subconscious, he thinks. She’s not doing it on purpose, not seeking him out like she would a boyfriend, but it’s still happening.

(It matters not he is also guilty of doing the same things.)

It’s messing with his mind, with his heart, with everything.

And all he knows is that he feels like he’s betraying her because what Killian feels for Emma is far more than friendship, and he has no idea how to deal with that without mucking it up.

Especially because he can’t seem to stop being with her.

Their first rule was to keep the friendship at the center of everything, to make sure that neither of them messed it up, and the more time that passes, the more time that he thinks he’s barreling them toward disaster.

But he can’t stop.

“You gonna just keep staring at me like that?” Emma teases as she ties a jacket around her hips.

“I don’t believe I was staring.”

She chuckles and saunters toward him until she’s standing toe to toe with him. Killian glances away from her face, but that only leads his gaze toward the top of her breasts and the freckle that seems to be calling him.

Not now, not now, not now.

“Oh, you definitely were.” Emma presses up on her toes and runs her lips across his jaw. God, this is another one of the things about her that drives him mad, and he has to focus all of his attention on his breathing to keep himself from becoming too aroused. “Later,” she whispers. “I really do want to go on this hike, and I’m not going to let you distract me, Jones.” “I thought you were the one distracting me.”

“Eh, it goes both ways.”

And then she’s pulling away with this bright, kind smile on her face, and he has no idea how she can go from seductive to friendly all within the span of five minutes.

“See you downstairs. I need to get Ruby to braid my hair, so I’m going to go ahead and go.”

“She’s out on the deck with Mulan.”

Emma nods, grabs her phone, and then walks out the door.

This weekend is going to be bloody torturous.

-/-

If Killian had to guess, he would say that David and Liam have gotten them lost somewhere in the middle of the woods despite the fact that they’re all following a trail.

Or, well, supposed to be following a trail.

At one point, Anna and Elsa got distracted by this flower bush, and once they veered off the path to look at it, wondering if they could get Elsa’s florist to change her bouquet arrangement, they all started veering on and off the path, especially since there are twelve of them out here on a trail that really only allows two people to walk side by side.

If someone had brought alcohol on the hike, he imagines at least half the group would be lying dead in a ditch by now.

Honestly, Will usually has a flask on him, but as far as Killian knows, he hasn’t pulled it out yet.

Damn.

Killian ignores David and Liam arguing and keeps looking ahead. Emma and Mary Margaret are directly in front of him, now leading the group, and he tries to focus on the ground instead of the way Emma’s ass is nearly on display from the way her shorts are riding up. She hasn’t paid him much attention since they started the hike, and he’s never been so thankful to be left alone, if only for a little while.

He hasn’t been able to run all week, and this is exactly what he needed, even if the quietness of nature is cancelled out by everyone talking.

“I’m not kidding,” Ruby chuckles. “It’s awful. I mean, I get it, these are teenagers who are getting away from their parents for a little while, but do they have to make out in booths that I have to clean? There are so many places they could go, places where I don’t have to look at them while I’m trying to do my job.”

“We’ve made out in those booths.”

“That’s different, and you know it.” “Why? Because you’re the one who is getting a little action?”

“Exactly.”

“Granny’s is a fucking popular make out spot,” Will adds in. “There’s the hallway that connects to the B and B, which has seen more action than Killian has all summer.”

“Oi,” Killian scoffs, turning around to stare Will down, “mind your own bloody business.”

“Sorry, mate. I couldn’t resist.”

“You know who I keep seeing there?” Will continues. “Neal Cassidy. I know he’s dating Tamara, but damn, you’d think they could go to one of their places every once in awhile.”

Killian cringes, nearly faltering in his step, and he finally looks up to Emma, who is simply continuing to walk.

Good. That’s good.

She told him that she was over Neal, that she’s letting it go, but you don’t love someone for that long and have them break your heart and not be affected when someone is talking about them.

“Will, shut up,” Belle hisses.

“Why do I need to – oh fuck,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, Emma. Please ignore me and that bloody wanker.”

“It’s fine,” Emma shouts back, not turning around. “Neal has nothing to do with me anymore. He can do what he wants as long as I don’t have to look at him while I’m eating my onion rings.”

“I’d never make you do that,” Ruby tells her. “I’ll kick him out.”

“Can you even do that?”

“Eh, I can try.”

“Look,” David interrupts, and they all stop to stare where he’s pointing. “There’s that damn split tree. That’s where we were supposed to be going.”

“How do you even know that?” Liam grumbles.

“Because I noticed it on the way up. We’ve been here before, so it we turn that way, it should take us back to the house.”

“Can’t we use our phones to check where we are?” Killian asks only to have both Liam and David glare at him. “Okay, okay,” he backtracks, holding his hands up, “I guess we’re not using technology to make our lives easier.”

By the time they’re back at the house, Killian’s skin has been kissed by the sun, his feet ache, and his stomach is growling with hunger. He could really go for a nap, but Kris offers to cook burgers for everyone down by the lake, so everyone grabs their swimsuits and some drinks and heads down to where the grill is.

Killian settles into one of the lounge chairs that’s set up down there, a bottle of water in hand, and leans back, wondering if napping outside would be possible, but then Liam starts blaring music over some speakers and he knows the nap is never going to happen.

“Hey,” Emma says as she plops down in the chair next to him, “why do you look like you’re about to fall asleep?”

“Because I desperately want to.”

“How are you tired?”

“Because, unlike someone, I drove us up here and could not nap in the car.”

Emma shrugs and curls her legs up in the chair before taking a long sip of her water.  “You make a good point, KJ. Do you think I’d get my hand slapped away if I went and got the bag of barbecue chips off the table before all the other food was ready?”

“Depends on if the picnic table guardian is looking over it or not.” Emma laughs and leans forward, looking over at the table. “David seems to be occupied staring at the grill being all macho man with Kris. I’ll be right back.”

And then she’s jogging over to the table, slowing down right before she gets there, and then grabbing the big bag of barbecue crisps before springing back over to him and sitting back down in her seat, dropping the crisps between them. David looks over at them, and Killian swears that he sees his eyes narrow, like he knows Emma took the crisps off the table.

“Sneaky, love.”

“I try. I don’t know why he does that at any event. It’s like he gets some weird high off of making sure no one gets too food, but the worst part is definitely the fact that he watches to see if people throw any uneaten food away.”

“It is rather odd, isn’t it?”

“It’s the worst is what it is.”

She leans over between them and opens the bag, grabbing a crisp and taking what he swears is the loudest bite in existence. David is likely about to look over at them and give them hell for it. The man is going to make a great father one day.

If only because he can monitor food better than anyone else in existence.

Killian leans back in his chair and settles down into it, closing his eyes. He stretches out his arm, his hand laying against the arm of the chair, and after a few moments of relative silence, he feels Emma’s fingers tracing over his forearm in soothing patterns that have a shiver running down his spin and settling in his stomach.

It feels so natural for her to do this, for him to let her do this, and he should stop it.

But he can’t, not now.

Soon. He’ll figure it out.

Soon.

“I’ve always liked this tattoo the best.”

“Hmm?”

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” She traces the words inked into his skin as she says them out loud. “I don’t know. I just feel like it’s so fitting to have them mixed in with your scars.”

Killian fights with himself to keep his eyes closed, to keep himself from looking into Emma’s eyes. Not a lot of people get such unfiltered access to his scars, and yet here she is in the open tracing them and talking about them and yet again making him feel like maybe they’re not too bad.

“I mean,” she continues, “I like all of your tattoos. They always make me want to get more than my buttercup, but I really like this one.”

“Aye,” he sighs, deciding that just for today, he can let everything be. This is a good moment, and he’s not going to let his mind ruin it. Instead he’ll let Emma run her fingers over his hand and let her hold onto him for a few moments. “I am fond of that one as well. I am also fond of yours, though it is rather small.”

“What? Do you want me to get a giant one?”

“You should get one that covers your entire back.” “Shut up,” Emma laughs, digging her nails into him. “I am obviously not doing that. I don’t know what I’ll do, or if I ever will. I think I’ll just stick to liking yours.”

“I like that plan. Do you think if I eat a crisp that David will hear it?”

“He hasn’t noticed me yet.” “Ah, but you have better luck than me.” “Guess you’ll have to try your luck to see.”

Killian slowly opens one eye, then the next, before moving his arm away to reach into the bag. He takes one bite, eyeing David who still has his back turned, before eating a few more. He thinks that maybe he’ll get away with it until David turns around.

“Jones, put the damn chips back on the table before I burn your food.”

“Sorry,” Emma says to him, shrugging, but he can tell that she’s not sorry at all.

“I think I’ll survive, love.”

When the food is finished cooking, everyone settles around tables and in chairs, eating and drinking and laughing. And it’s nice, a nicer time than Killian has had in awhile if he’s honest with himself. But then the night falls, crickets finding their places in the surrounding trees and a breeze wafting through the campground, causing a chill to travel down his spine as his skin pebbles with goosebumps.

There is a fire going, though, and plenty of alcohol being passed around to warm him, but really, the alcohol might not be the best idea right now, especially since Mary Margaret and Ruby tend to like to play games when they’re halfway to drunk.

Mary Margaret said something about how they needed to play a shower game. It was tradition, but Elsa and Liam hadn’t wanted that. Then Ruby stood up from the bench she was sitting on and declared that they would play Truth or Dare like the grown adults they are. They love their games, though, and, well, Ruby does know how to turn the game into something that is rather more adult than what he played when he was a lad. This is nothing new. They tend to do this at every party they have, but he never knows if it’s going to be tame or not.

So far Elsa has had to share some intimate details about the first time she slept with Liam, which Killian truly did not need to hear about, Liam has chugged down half a bottle of ketchup, Will has jumped into the lake, Mary Margaret has had to answer what the one thing she’d change about David would be, which resulted in a hushed argument, and Ruby has run to the neighboring house and asked them for condoms.

She came back with an entire box.

So, now it’s Ruby scanning the semi-circle they’re sitting in looking for her next victim, because, really, of all the people here, the last person he’d want to have pick out whatever form of torture this is would be Ruby Lucas.

His one glass of rum has not numbed him enough for this.

“Emma,” Ruby finally says, and Killian swears he hears half the group let out sighs of relief.

“I hate you,” Emma mutters, flipping Ruby off.

“Oh, no you don’t. You love me, and I’m going to be really nice to you by telling you that if you pick ‘truth,’ I’m going to ask you about the guy who gave you that hickey last week.”

Killian’s cheeks immediately heat, and he swallows, pushing the thought down. He hadn’t meant to do that. It had been an accident because they are not teenagers and don’t usually leave marks, and he didn’t even know it happened until Emma had sent him a picture the next day.

Shit.

At least Emma’s a damn good liar since it’s not like anyone is actually forcing them to do this.

It’s the spirit of it all.

“Dare, you asshole.”

There are a few whistles from around the group, and Killian already knows there are going to be a few follow-up questions to Ruby’s words later.

“I dare you to…kiss Jones. Killian, not Liam. And none of that on the cheek shit. You two have so much chemistry, and I need to see it. I feel like everyone here needs to see it.”

“Oh my God,” he hears Emma murmur next to him at the same time that he has that exact thought. The whistles increase, some hollering too, and he swears that everyone here but he, Emma, and David are drunk off their asses. “Ruby, no. Pick something else. Like, something normal that non-tipsy you would pick.” “You chose ‘dare.’”

“Because you were going to ask me something I didn’t want to talk about. I don’t want to kiss Killian.” She turns back to him and winces. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he mumbles, knowing she’s trying to save face.

“Why not? He’s super hot. I mean, I know you think he’s hot. You’ve said it before, and you guys kind of have that ‘will they, won’t they’ thing going on, which I have been saying all summer. We actually have all talked about getting a betting pool as to when you’ll finally get together, especially since you and the dumbass are no longer a thing. So, come on, it won’t be that bad. You’ve got to uphold the integrity of truth or dare.”

Emma’s lips part, and Killian knows she has a retort on her tongue. She always does.

But then she’s turning and leaning over her chair until she’s grabbing the collar of his t-shirt and pulling his mouth to hers.

Fuck.

Her lips press into his, soft and warm as they always are, but it takes him a minute to fully close his eyes and appreciate how she feels against him. Eyes are on them, whistles ringing out around the group, and Killian swears he sees flashes of camera lights as Emma sucks on his bottom lip and his hands thread into her hair, pulling her closer.

And for one, miniscule second, he forgets about the people around him and the warring thoughts he’s been fighting for weeks now, and he lets himself revel in how damn good it feels to kiss Emma Swan.

But then it’s over.

They part, gasping for breath, and Killian’s grip tightens on the back of Emma’s head as her forehead rests warmly against his.

Strangely, all he can focus on is the fact that she smells like sunscreen.

“Well, hot damn,” Ruby sighs, and Killian finally drops his hand from Emma’s hair, “I feel like I need a glass of water now. Anyone else?”

There’s a murmur of voices, but Killian ignores them, focusing on the way Emma is blinking at him with a smirk painted on her lips. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?” “No, that wasn’t bad at all.”

“Emma, it’s your turn,” Ruby reminds her. “Feel free to do your worst to me.”

“Trust me, I plan to.”

In the blink of an eye, things go back to normal. The attention is back on the game, not on him, not on Emma, and no one says anything else about the kiss.

Apparently everyone cares about it a lot less than he thought they would.

But it was all part of a game. It wasn’t real.

None of it has been.

And he has no idea how much longer he’s going to be okay with that. He also has no idea how he could make any of it real, even if Emma wanted that, because he’s got no fucking clue how to do this.

His brain doesn’t seem to be conjuring up any ideas either.

Shit.

Eventually, the game dies down, everyone quieting and forming their own circles and conversations, and while Killian tries to stay for a little while, when the opportunity to sneak out and go to bed presents itself, he takes it.

-/-

-/-

tag list: @qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @galadriel26​ @galaxyzxstark​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @mariakov81​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​ @andiirivera​ @elizabeethan​ @captain-emmajones​ @csalltheway​ @itsfabianadocarmo​

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

the governess

Summary: Y/N is brought in as a Governess to Timothee’s ward Daphine, the only daughter of his late uncle. 

word count: 1,703                                                                                     reading time: 6 mins                                                                               warning: uses 19th century vernacular 

A/N: I apologize for the rough ending, I haven’t written in months due to school, so I’m sorry for the crappy writing

“Miss Y/L/N, I take it to be?” asked the kind woman, popping her head out from the side of the rather large oak door. I nodded my head in affirmation as she stepped aside to invite me into the elaborate estate. 

My eyes explored the vast space before me, taking in the engraved decorations that littered the ceilings. The polished marble floors that were tattered with chains of convoluted lines, reflecting off the light that emitted from the chandelier above. Although, it was the grand staircase that sat elegantly in view that captured my interest. It was made of the deepest of oak woods, age lines painting it beautifully and engraved in it were crafted scenes that beheld ethereal creatures. 

“Mr. Chalamet will arrive momentarily, he had ventured into the town nearby for business practices and had been gone for long” the kind woman exclaimed, closing the hatchet that the door was secured with. “Mrs. Vernon” the woman introduced, stretching her hand out, in which I complied. As I observed Mrs. Vernon more, I came to the conclusion that she was at least of 40 years of age. Wrinkles have became apparent of her pale face, laugh lines seemed to emerge and carry happy memories, and the tired warm smile she expressed said it all. In contrast, she dressed in a royal blue pinafore embedded with silver pins, while lace ties embellished her silk sleeves. Based on her countenance alone, she seemed of the middle to higher rank in society. 

“How long is of Mr. Chalamet’s absence, if I may ask?” I inquired. 

“Close to a fortnight ma’am” she replied, crossing over the foyer into a grand living room with an articulate fireplace. She soon took her place in a grandfather chair next to the fire, resuming a textile she had begun knitting. “The help will accompany you to your quarters” she announced, not looking up from her work.

With a scuffle of shoes and low murmurs of conversation, two women came clambering down the stairs, taking my belongings upstairs. I bid both of them a cordial welcome, curtseying before them, and facing my attention to the warmth that the fireplace gave. Observing the decorum of the room, several paintings of nature’s beauty filled each frame, depicting the different temperances of the four seasons. One particular frame captured my attention, it was of a little boy next to a pale, yet elegant woman with an impeccable visage. Both of them were dressed with the finest of materials, most likely from an affluent lineage as the older woman sported an array of jewels that blemished her neck. The little boy on the other hand, despite the exaggerated clothing, wore a grimace with an almost grieved countenance. 

“Miss Y/L/N?” 

A voice beckoned from behind me. Turning around, it was of the servants with both her hands carrying my belongings. I apologized for my lingering, bid a goodnight to Mrs. Vernon and followed the two women up the stairs. With every creaky step on the wood steps, I took time to continue observing the estate at its glory. The walls were plastered with an elegant floral wallpaper and wood paneling, all encased by a dark brown royal trimming at the ceiling and floor. Down a dimly light corridor and a series of turns, I was led to a sizeable apartment with a queen sized bed, two dressers, and a single bay window across from the bedpost.  

I thanked the two women, nodding them off as one of them placed my cases next to the dresser. With a sigh of relief and a fixed composure, I began unpacking most of my clothes into the drawer. Sorting my items, I soon thought I was ill-prepared for the expectations that the grandness of this estate might throw at me. I had only brought a series of textbooks that I owned and a dress, along with a few accessories and linen smocks. 

In the midst of my thoughts, the sound of a pianoforte seeped into the room, diverting me from the concerns I had spiraled into. With a curious intent, I grabbed the lit candle that one of the servants had left and began to follow the sweet tunes that bounced off the walls. The creature playing must of been a formidable player as no note was off-tune or melody faltering. My steps slowed as the music became loud and coherent. It was a romance melody, a work of Mozart or Bach perhaps. 

I came towards two heavy oak doors, my feet planted in front of the entrance as I lingered around. I, then, began to push at the door quietly, careful not to disturb the player, in order to peek at the creature that was able to convey such romantic music. As I got to look inside the room, I found it to be a grand library with the pianoforte in the corner of the room. To my surprise, the creature was little girl. She was wearing a blue gown tethered together by a lace bow on the back and she had beautiful raven-black hair that were coiled in curls, decorated with pearls. 

Stepping my figure through the crevice of the door, I managed to enter the room without a sound. Although my praises were too early to be celebrated as the metal canister that housed the candle I was carrying banged into the wood of the door, emitting a loud bellow. 

The music instantly faltered at a flat note and the little girl’s eyes, filled with surprise, landed on my silhouette.

“Please forgive my intrusion, I couldn’t help but hear the enchanting tune from my quarters and beckoned to investigate what it was” I explained, stepping into the light the fireplace emitted in the room, to offer a better view of myself. 

The little girl then curtseyed, in which I replicated, and introduced herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/L/N. I’m gratified that my playing was music to a creature’s ears” she expressed with a polite tone, before taking a seat on the bench she had sat on before.

“It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Miss?” 

“Daphine Chalamet” she answered.  

“I take it that you father has versed you in the implications of my employment here”

“My father?” she repeated, halting her practice on the instrument and faced me. “Mr. Chalamet?”

I nodded in puzzlement to her bizarre address and began to think of the possibility of some sort of mix up with the students. “Yes your father, the one who’s picked up my advertisement to be your governess in the papers” I elaborated. 

She laughed and rose up from her seat, walking to a family portrait that hung near the the array of bookcases that lined the entire room. “He’s my cousin, not my father. My father was met by God last april, it was the fever” she explained, pointing up to the painting again where an elder man stood taut and confident. 

“My condolences to the late Mr. Chalamet. I would love to stay in your society longer, although I must attend to occupying my apartme-” I was cut off by a sound of hurried footsteps clattering against the floors, as they grew closer to the room we were in. One of the maids then opened the door in a haste and stated “Mr. Chalamet is present to meet your acquaintance”. With that, she scurried off back to her duties. 

Then in came a man of great height and sculpted features. His eyes were a deep green blue, similar to the color of the water near the Western river, a haven I would often find myself visiting. His hair was the color of the finest Belgian chocolates and he dressed like a man of high society. 

Me and Daphine bowed at his presence as he welcomed us both. 

“Salut mon cherie, comment ca va?” 

Daphine ran up to the man, forgetting about any type of manners she’s been disciplined to portray. “Ca va tres bien, mon frere. Et toi?” She asked.

“Comme ci comme ca” He replied with the biggest smile he can put on as he lifted her up in the air and spun her around. He finally took a glance at me and set Daphine down before kneeling beside her. “qui est-elle“ he asked. 

Daphine giggled with a light smile, “Oh don’t be ignorant cousin. That’s the governess you’ve summoned”. He picked her up once again, pulling her in for a tight hug. “I’m aware little one, now practice you’re Mozart and we’ll have supper soon”. With that, Daphine scurried off to her pianoforte and resumed her practice once again. 

I took this as a signal to curtsey and introduce myself. “Y/N of Yorkshire Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance” I introduced. He gave me a light smile in response, bowing his head in return

“Pleasure to have you serve my Daphine, Miss Y/L/N. I hope that you find your quarters bearable” He welcomed. 

“I assure you sir, it’s more than I can be offered Mr. Chalamet. I hope your venture wasn’t too long” 

“No no, it certainly wasn’t”

We stared at each other for a little while, pausing with each given breath. His eyes really did resemble the haven I would often visit, Maybe, this house will be a place of paradise for me. 

“Sorry Miss Y/L/N, you just have-” He paused, his voice fading out as he moved in closer to my face with his hand held up. “You have a stray hair” he continued, advancing towards me, silently asking for permission with his glance and me agreeing. 

We locked onto each other once again, this time obtaining a clearer image of each other. His lips looked like pink clouds and his eyelashes decorated his eyes beautifully. His jaw was carved into perfection and so was his cheekbones. 

He pulled away as he tucked the hair behind my ear, the redness harshly displaying on the apple of my cheeks as he returned back to his position. 

He gave me a flattering smile and said, “I hope that if you shall need anything or company, you will come to see me first, Miss Y/L/N” 

“I’ll see to it sir” 

[kiranatrix]

Names and Distant Things

Collaboration by @kiranatrix​ (fic) and @ikathemadhatter​ (art)

Characters: Beyond Birthday & L Lawliet

Rating: mild T for a dash of angst and a stolen kiss

For @wammyweek [Secret crush and/or Secrets]

Beyond always knew when L was planning to visit Wammy’s House because a padlock would appear on the second refrigerator in the kitchen (not that the kids were supposed to be rummaging in either of them). A day or so later, a green Aston Martin would roll up the long, oak-lined driveway in the dead of night, headlights off and practically invisible. Not to Beyond, though; his strange eyes had always seen more than others could, even when he didn’t want to see it. Names and distant things; an antique car in the darkness or the date someone will die.

He hadn’t made the connection at first, that the padlock and the car were because of L and not one of the other guests they occasionally received. They would have professors or groundskeepers interviewing for positions, people making various deliveries of food and supplies for the school, repair crews for the old church whose old plaster was in a perpetual state of falling down. Wammy’s House was always full of activity and new faces weren’t uncommon. It wasn’t until he’d accidentally caught sight of a young man he didn’t know about opening up a door in the bare wall that he definitely didn’t know about, that things clicked. The name hovering above black mussed hair and too-bright eyes was L Lawliet, and it then disappeared into the wall with its owner.

It was a revelation, a lightning strike-- that L himself had been secretly visiting the school, staying out of sight by using secret passages none of them had ever noticed before. After that, Beyond had made it his mission to find out how to open that secret door. He knew to keep his mouth shut, and not just because he’d been out of bed and sneaking around Wammy’s at 4 am. L’s pale face and angular features, his stance and posture, how he moved-- Beyond filed it away in his mind with exquisite, rehearsed detail, and told no one but the mirror. It reflected back an ever-improving version painted on the imperfect canvas of his body, as if perhaps if he became L, he too could open that door.

Beyond loved nothing so much as a sneaky puzzle, but sneaking was the easy part. Because although he could make out the faint, well-hidden outline in the wood paneling, he saw no keyhole or any other mechanism to open it. The mystery stumped and plagued him, and many more frustrating months passed before he got another opportunity to watch the door open. In the in-between time, Beyond scoured the library for schematics of Wammy’s House, but those he found had nothing detailing any secret passages. Of course Mr. Wammy wouldn’t be so careless.

It was nearly a year before the padlock on the refrigerator appeared again, and it made Beyond so giddy he could hardly focus on his work that day. He’ll be here soon and I have to make an impression! Beyond wasn’t sure if it was possible to fall in love with a mystery, but that was the nearest thing he could describe his feelings about L as. The students had been told story after story about L’s cases and thinking but next to nothing about the man himself. It made Beyond feel privileged to be in possession of L’s real name and face, like they had a connection despite L not knowing about it. Something about L belonged to him and him alone, and that was like a treasure in his otherwise depressing and anxious days in this place.

The next night, Beyond hid behind a bureau that was close but not too close to the secret door; he didn’t know if L would use it again but he was willing to sit here all night for just the chance. He got lucky, which was rare enough for him. Around 3:15 am, Beyond heard the soft padding of bare feet, and peeked out as much as he dared to verify. It’s HIM! L! He held his breath as L rapidly tapped a spot on the paneling three times and slipped into the passage after the door creaked open. Ah...so that’s how it’s done.

Beyond dashed forward as soon as L was inside and counted to 100 before tapping the same spot L had. He grinned as the door opened a crack, enough for him to wedge his black-painted nails into and pry open. The inside was softly illuminated by electric wall sconces and he followed the twisting narrow passage, up some spiraling stairs, until he emerged in what he guessed was the converted attic of the chapel. Across the dark room and framed by the soft, flickering blue light of a dozen monitors, was L. He was crouched in a tall-backed desk chair, facing away from the doorway and rapidly clacking on his keyboard.

Beyond snuck forward silently, step by step getting closer. His heart was hammering and all the words he’d rehearsed in the mirror to prepare himself for this ever happening had flown from his head and out the stained-glass windows.

“I know you’re there.” L continued to type with one hand as he picked up a cookie from a plate on his desk and nibbled it. “Just introduce yourself already.”

Beyond slid into the shadows, hissing a curse before saying, “I’m, uh...one of the kids who lives here. Beyond.” One of your successors. Do you know about me?

L mumbled, deadpan, “Your boots are very noisy, Beyond.” He stuffed the rest of the cookie in his mouth and swung his chair around. He knew who Beyond Birthday was, mostly by reputation as a troublemaker and from his high test scores meriting him a place in the line of successorship. “If you’re going to sneak around, go barefoot.” He wiggled his toes perched on the edge of the chair and focused on a dark corner when he heard a soft giggle emanating form there. “Mind telling me how you got in here?”

“Followed you.” Beyond was paying extremely close attention to L’s voice, modulating his own to match its pitch and timbre. Softly, “I wanted to meet you.”

L’s eyes widened-- it was almost as if he’d heard his own voice, but the implication surprised him more. Has he guessed who I am? He slowly unfolded from his chair and slouched to the center of the room, now able to see a vague outline of a young man in the shadows. “Come into the light and meet me then.”

Beyond’s heart fluttered as he slowly stepped from the shadows, eyes meeting L’s nervously. He’d spent hours perfecting his makeup to mimic L’s facial features, flat-ironing and then styling his black hair to the similar mussed chaos of L’s. This was his best work yet, but still only a prototype. He only just now noticed that L had no eyebrows, and the details of his clothes had been obscured in the darkness before. I’ll improve.

L stayed silent as he circled Beyond, pressing a thumb against his bottom lip as he took it all in. Other than the clothes, it was almost like looking in a mirror. He came to a stop again in front of Beyond and breathed out, “That’s quite remarkable.”

He’s impressed. Beyond briefly smirked to himself before assuming L’s same posture and inquisitive expression, pressing his thumb to his lip, tilting his head and widening his eyes. In a mimicry of L’s voice, “You think so?”

“Mmmhmm.” L’s mouth twisted as he tried not to smile, unsure if he was disturbed or flattered by this mimicry. His ego being what it was, he leaned more towards flattered and would give some rare praise in return. “You have a talent for disguises.” With an edge. Drily, “And for rooting people out who’d rather stay anonymous. You shouldn’t be here.”

Beyond’s confidence wavered, eyes narrowing as he continued to parrot L’s every movement. But he had something he wanted to say and wouldn’t leave until he had. “I want harder work. More interesting cases.” He could see the spark of interest in L’s eyes and imprinted that the man appreciated initiative, directness.

“And what makes you think Wammy isn’t giving you cases that already challenge your abilities?” L took a step closer, bringing their faces quite close. What kind of puzzle are you? “In any event, the education of the students here is his concern, not mine.” Almost eighteen. He remembered from reading Beyond’s file that they were almost the same age. It was alarming and attractive, that sneaking in here to sate curiosity was something he too might do.

“I am your concern.” Beyond’s voice changed back to his own, and nearly a growl as his frustration bled through. “Aren’t I meant to succeed you one day?”

L smiled behind his finger. “That’s assuming I intend to die. I don’t.” And if I push, will you push back?

“No one lives forever.” Beyond’s gaze flickered above L’s head momentarily before meeting the man’s eyes again. No, you won’t even live to old age. “Not even you.”

L’s breathing sped slightly as he whispered, half-hoping and half-dreading, “And who am I?” There was no way Beyond could really know, even Wammy didn’t know. Hell, L barely remembered. He grasped Beyond’s chin and turned his face when the man tried to look away. “Who?!”

They stood there staring at one another, the authentic and the copy, the original and the backup. Beyond knew he shouldn’t say it, speak it. That doing so would give something away best kept quiet, might give L a thread to follow to the secret room inside himself where so many open graves had been dug. L’s touch made him tremble all over and he jerked his chin away from L’s grasp. “You’re L.”

“That’s only a good guess.”

Beyond’s lip curled at the challenge. No. He couldn’t help but say, “L Lawliet,” before pressing a kiss to L’s astounded face and fleeing the room, running as fast as he could out of Wammy’s. I kissed L! He didn’t bother being quiet as he flew down the hall and flung open the front doors, grinning as he sprinted down the oak-lined drive to the cliffs by the sea. He couldn’t stop giggling as he pulled off his boots and hurled them into the ocean far below, one and then the other. He yelled down to the rocks, “Better to go barefoot!,” and collapsed on the pebbly ground to look up at the stars. 

The sea crashed against the rocks like a predictable laugh track, on his side for now, and the stars flashed like smiles. “I stumped him.” I hooked him. He’d see that padlock again, that green Aston Martin. He’d see L and be oh-so-apologetic for his terrible manners. 

The template would improve. The draft would become perfect.