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misteria247 · 3 years ago

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Night Raven College was a lot different from what you'd remembered. Then again after six years of not seeing it, it was bound to change in some way. While the buildings remained the same it was quite clear that the Ramshackle Dorm had changed. Following closely behind Grimm with Elliott trailing behind you, you couldn't help but stare at your old dorm in awe. The once somewhat decrypted building was now somewhat restored, the grass area was kept clean and the garden by the graveyard in the back was in full bloom. As you looked at your old home in stunned silence, your beloved son Elliott peeked his face from behind you to get a better look. His bright green eyes seemed to sparkle as they landed on the graveyard and with it it's massive gargoyles that sat on display.

"What is this place mama.....?"

Elliott asked his tone curious and full of wonder. Grimm was the one who answered his question.

"This is Ramshackle, me and your mom's old dorm. Back in the day she was my minion, helping me become the greatest mage within our school!"

Grimm said with a large smirk. You rolled your eyes at the feline's words but didn't bother to correct him. Elliott's eyes seemed to widen even more, making your heart twist slightly as the expression made him look so much more like his father. Even though he had your luscious (H/C) locks, everything else was completely his father's. Grimm seemed to do a double take at Elliott his ears flickering.

"Wow.....he really does look like him doesn't he?"

Grimm asked sounding slightly dazed. You gave him a small smile feeling a sense of pride hit you.

"He definitely has his looks doesn't he?"

You mused much to your son's confusion. Grimm just gave you a small look and led the two of you into the dormitory. As soon as you stepped inside you were ambushed, three familiar ghostly figures coming at you, Grimm and Elliott. Your son let out a startled shout as he clung to you while you jumped before smiling brightly.

"Is that anyway to greet me?"

You asked somewhat teasingly. The ghosts froze before their faces broke out into large grins.

"(Y/N)!!"

They cried in joy quickly surrounding you to welcome you back. Elliott clung to you tightly obviously uneasy and you were quick to break it up. Three confused faces glanced at you before catching sight of your little one. Bringing Elliott gently in front of you, you gave them a smile.

"This is my son Elliott. Elliott these are the ghosts that me and Grimm roomed with while I stayed here."

You introduced them. Elliott shyly clung to your hand feeling suddenly put on display. The ghosts took a good look at your child their eyes widening.

"He looks like your one friend!"

The first ghost exclaimed in shock.

"Is he....?"

The second one asked tilting his head towards you. You gave him a nod to confirm his question and were met with startled looks. Before anymore questions could be asked Grimm stepped in.

"Speaking of Elliott, would you three keep an eye on him? I need to speak to my minion here."

Grimm said his tone surprisingly mature sounding. The ghosts were quick to agree and with an encouraging push from you for Elliott along with a thinly veiled threat to your old roommates regarding your son's safety, the trio left dragging Elliott along with them to show him around the Ramshackle Dorm. Once you were completely alone Grimm all but turned to you his gaze serious.

"(Y/N) how are you going to keep him a secret?? Just from one look alone anyone can tell that he's Tsunotarou's!"

The monster feline exclaimed startling you slightly. You couldn't help but feel a sudden sinking feeling hit you. You knew that in reality it wasn't possible to keep Elliott's existence a secret like you'd wanted to. It was nearly impossible to given that much like his father, Elliott had a tendency to disappear and explore different places. Anyone in Twisted Wonderland could see him and quickly connect the dots of who exactly his biological father was, given how famous Malleus was in this world what with him being the literal king of the Valley of Thorns. But the illogical side of you wanted to try. You wanted to keep Elliott's existence quiet, you wanted to keep him safe from the possible dangers that he could face should he be discovered. Not only that but you were afraid.

You had no idea how Malleus would react to the knowledge of having a son. While in your heart you wanted to believe that he'd love Elliott you knew that logically it might not be the case as much as the thought crushed you. What would he even say? Would he even accept Elliott as his son? What would those of his kingdom think? That their beloved king technically had a bastard child, who wasn't only part dragon fae but part human as well? What if......Malleus had already moved on? It'd been six years after all and a lot could happen in six years. For all you knew Malleus could already be married and have several children, having completely forgotten all about you and the feelings you both shared (the thought nearly made your heart shatter into pieces and your throat tighten). As if sensing your thoughts Grimm put a paw on your cheek. You blinked back the sudden sting in your eyes and sniffled.

"I.....I know I can't keep him a secret but Grimm it's.....it's been six years. What me and Malleus had.....is probably long gone. I can't just barge back into his life and tell him. It wouldn't be fair to him....."

You said sounding somewhat desperate. Grimm gave you a small saddened look before turning away, biting his lip.

"Well.....you may have to....and rather soon....."

Grimm said trailing off. You stiffened slightly at his tone, the sinking feeling you'd been feeling getting bigger.

"Grimm......what do you mean soon....?"

You asked nervous and slightly on edge. Your companion gave you a somewhat guilt filled expression.

"Well there's a reason why I'm here......the Headmaster Crowley has invited everyone from our old classes back for a reunion. So......Tsunotarou might be here sometime soon....."

Grimm mumbled ears flickering nervously. You on the other hand had seemed to stop functioning, barely able to process what Grimm just revealed to you.

'Malleus was coming back......Malleus was going to be here......he's going to see Elliott.....!'

The thought made you snap out of your terrified stupor and with an almost panicky response you grabbed Grimm and shook him slightly.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?!?! For hell's sake Grimm!!! I've got to get Elliott and we need to leave now-!"

You were cut off mid panicked rambling by one of the ghosts.

"(Y/N)!!! We're so sorry!!! We only turned around for a moment-!!!"

The ghost exclaimed sounding extremely upset. You turned towards him, the world seemingly tilting as you realized that Elliott wasn't with them.

"Where's Elliott....?!? Where's my son?!?"

You asked fear creeping into your voice. The ghost flinched guilty before finally answering your question.

"We....we lost him."

That one sentence threw your world into chaos.

~~~~~

Being a magical being had it's perks, especially when you wanted to go off and explore. For Elliott it'd been an easy task for the six year old. Now said child was currently walking around what was considered a courtyard, taking in the sights and sounds. Despite being nervous and on edge from this whole endeavor, the fae child couldn't help but want to explore the place. It was rather large and vast and had many things a young boy his age wanted to see. Walking past the fountain he caught a glimpse of a pathway that was lined with statues. Curious he changed his course to explore the pathway, taking in the strange statues that decorated the trail. The first statute was that of a woman. Her stature was short and somewhat stout, a large, strange dress covered her. The gown was covered in hearts and in her hand was a small wand with the same pattern. A strange dark spot covered one of its corners, almost as if it'd been burned at one point. The second statute was that of a lion, its fangs pulled up into a sinister grin and a lone eye was covered in a jagged scar.

The third statute was that of a woman whose lower half was of that of an octopus, a piece of paper held in her grip. The fourth statue was a man dressed in robes and a turban, a staff shaped in the likeness of a snake held in his boney grip. The fifth statute was of a beautiful woman who carried an apple in her hand. The sixth was of a man covered in robes and flames, a sharp toothed smile on his boney face. The last one was of that of a woman, a large staff held in her grasp. A long robe like gown covered her but there was something else about her that made Elliott stop in his tracks to look at her. With wide shocked eyes Elliott sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her head.

Horns.

She had horns, just like him. Without thinking about it Elliott removed his bangs from his face, revealing the small horns that grew from his forehead. Touching them he looked at the statue, a sudden feeling of confusion and awe hitting him. Elliott wasn't the only one who had horns. There was someone out there who had them too. It blew his mind, questions racing about in his head.

Was there anymore like her? What was she? Was she someone his mother knew? Did......did his father know her?

Elliott didn't know much about his father. His mother rarely talked about him, getting upset whenever the subject was brought up. All Elliott knew about his mysterious father was that he was someone who his mama loved more than anything in the world and that he could use magic just like him. Everything else was a mystery for the small child. Elliott felt his heart sink as he recalled all the nights he'd hear his mother's quiet sobs when she'd thought he was asleep. The lingering sorrow that always seemed to surround her no matter how hard she tried to hide it from him.

'And now mama's gonna be even more upset because you brought her back here. You don't even know if your papa is even here.'

The nasty thought made his chest hurt. He'd only wanted to make her smile, and while she'd been smiling quite a bit since they'd gotten here, his mother had also looked uneasy. Like she was expecting something bad to happen. Seeing his mother like that made him want to protect her even more, especially from this mysterious Tsunotarou the cat Grimm had mentioned. Getting lost in his thoughts the child hadn't noticed the sudden shadow that covered his form until a voice spoke up.

"Oi what's a kid doing here??"

The voice made him jump, the boy whirling around to see who had spoken. Having moved so fast he'd accidentally tripped over his own two feet causing him to fall into the statue and scrape his elbow against it. Pain shot through it and the scent of copper filled his nose. Elliott felt himself start to tear up and before he knew it he'd begun to sniffle. The owner of the voice, a young man quickly grew panicked at the sudden tears.

"O-oi! Are you alright?! I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you!"

He said panicked as he bent down to help Elliott up. As he reached out to grab him Elliott took notice of the man through his tears. The man looked to be at least a few years younger than his mother, large reddish brown eyes gazed at him with concern and guilt. Over one of his eyes was a heart that decorated his cheek, and his head was covered in unruly red hair. Elliott let out a loud hiccup as he tried to get his crying down, however given the stress and sudden injury he'd received it was rather difficult to. The man meanwhile watched him, uncomfortable and lost when another voice called out.

"Oi Ace! What are you doing-is that a kid!?! What did you do to him???!!"

The second man asked sounding instantly protective and scolding. The first man Ace sent a panicked look at the other man gesturing towards Elliott in an lost manner.

"I didn't mean to! I startled him and he got hurt and I have no idea what to do!"

Ace said panicked. The second man let out an exasperated sigh and with a practiced ease took over for Ace.

"It's okay little guy, we're not going to hurt you. My name is Deuce. Deuce Spades and this is Ace Trappola."

The man Deuce introduced himself. Elliott sniffled gazing at him before muttering back in a shaky manner.

"Elliott.....my name is Elliott."

Elliott said. Deuce gave him a small smile, helping him up the rest of the way to his feet.

"Elliott that's a cool name. Tell me Elliott are you lost? Do you know where your parents are?"

Deuce asked somewhat concerned. Elliott froze when he realized that he was indeed lost making him get upset again. At the small cry Deuce gave him a small hug, picking him up and holding him close.

"Hey, hey it's okay! No need to cry! It'll be alright we'll help you find your parents okay?"

Deuce said soothingly. Ace gave him a baffled look.

"We will???"

Ace asked only to be met with a dark teal gaze. Realizing that Deuce was serious he bit back his groan of frustration.

"Yes we will. Elliott do you know the name of your parents? Maybe me and Ace can help you find them quicker."

Deuce asked rubbing his back. Elliott gave a rattling breath and nodded.

"I.....I know my mama's name....."

He said in a watery way.

"That's great! Can you tell me her name?"

Deuce asked. The duo listened carefully as Elliott pulled himself together somewhat, unaware of the chaos that they'd be met with.

"Her name is (Y/N)."

*I know I'm supposed to be on hiatus but after doing the Thirteenth chapter for the Princess and her Dragon I was struck with inspiration for our lovely little family of two. I can't help but treasure my twst children sgdgdgdgg. Anyways sorry it's so short and crummy, but I hope it'll bring y'all some entertainment!! Anyways if any y'all read this I hope you enjoyed it!!!! Now back to my hiatus. But first!!! Tagging list!!!! @genshin-idiot @ditsy-anime-thot @ctannth @reaperfeels.*

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orsuliya · 4 years ago

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This part (4 of who knows how many) of my Awu/Xiao Qi married headcanons resembles nothing more that a dying whale full of confused feelings. Which is exactly what I would swiftly turn to left alone with this drama without @madeleineengland’s continuous friendship and support. What I actually want to say is: Happy Birthday, my dear! I am thankful to have met you. I hope you like this instalment, even if I couldn’t quite manage to fit in a kneeling Song Huaien. Sorry!

There are some things that no woman can choose for herself. Some things simply happen – or not – as they please with no regard to wishful thinking or social status. A princess or a gravedigger’s daughter, a young maiden or a stately matron, none can simply will themselves pregnant, no matter how many prayers have left their lips and how many offerings have graced the altars, set there by gentle hands yearning to hold a living, breathing child instead of a bowl of rice or a stick of precious incense.

And yet, no matter how many times she whispers this truth to herself in the middle of the night, Xiao Qi’s broad hand resting on her lower belly in a sincere attempt to soothe the twinges of pain that come every single month without fail, there are still moments when Awu cannot help feeling as if she’s failing in the worst of ways. Not failing her husband, for until the day she dies she will never forget the truth shining in his eyes, still fever-bright from Wang Qian’s vile mixture despite the self-inflicted blood loss. And not even the twelve generations of Wang Empresses. After all, hadn’t she courted their disapproval already by choosing to walk through life hand in hand with her husband instead of living torn in half until her very last breath? No, the person whom she fails is always herself.

And in her mind she fails a lot. There is a bitter taste on her tongue as she pushes Xiao Qi’s wise, warm hand off her abdomen and rises from their shared bed to stand at the window, throwing open the shutters and trying to breathe, even as the feeling of warm blood pooling between her thighs makes her remember her first and worst failure, committed right in the middle of the palace courtyard. There were pamphlets, she knows, vicious, cruel rumours of how she bled her baby out from sheer disgust of having been bred by a man born nobody knows of whom and where. Only after every wagging tongue had already been silenced with a cloak of red silk set around her shoulders, did she realize that half the court must have been tittering excitedly over the prospect of seeing the proud Wang daughter set aside and brought as low as she had once sat high. And they hadn’t been kind about it, going as far as to comment that her swift appearance at the scene of the coup must have been motivated by her eagerness to be rid of her spouse as the balance of power finally shifted. Fools, what blind, base-minded fools all those high-born courtiers – many of them her distant kin – have turned out to be!

Princess Shangyang wouldn’t have felt such dark, all-consuming anger. Princess Shangyang, as Awu has learned in all her years as Princess Yuzhang, had been something of a fool, a bird kept in a gilded cage, encouraged to sing and chirp happily regardless of how the bars of that cage withered her wings. It was only later that this caged songbird discovered that she was no songbird at all, but a bird of prey. And like a bird of prey Awu wishes she had known of every single salacious rumour – but only so that she could tear their originators to shreds for using her poor never-born first child for their own vicious purposes, for making a spectacle out of her – their – pain.

In her anger she barely notices how her fingers have curled tightly over the windowsill… at least until big, calloused hands descend onto hers and she finds herself cradled in Xiao Qi’s loose, yet strangely grounding embrace. For a moment she wishes to slip away, to escape and simply be angry, no matter how futile it may be after so many years… And had he tried to lead her back to bed, had he spoken a single word, she might have done just that, but there is only silence between them. Only slightly unreal, moonlight-washed silence and Awu feels the flames of her anger sputter and go out, leaving only bitter, choking ash of regret.

Yet there is one kernel of failure she can exorcise right here and now for both of their sakes, even if it can never be made right in this life. If I have children of my blood, she says, allowing herself to let go of the magical ‘when’ this one time, seeing them entered into the Xiao family book would bring me greater honour and joy than if they were feted as princes and princesses of the first rank. And maybe after a moment she feels the need to explain further, to say that she would have been honoured to act as a filial daughter-in-law to his parents, no matter their birth and status, but before she can get out a word, he manages to catch her off-guard. Not with a kiss to the side of her neck, that much she has come to expect always, but rather with his quiet, sleepily tender reply: Before we get to filling any pages, we need to have a book in the first place. Help me with that in the morning? And what can she do in response to that except hum in agreement and lean backwards?

____________________________________

Some things simply happen – or not – as they please. Which does not mean one should not help them along in any way that comes to mind. Or several minds, as it happens in this case.

Doctor Shen, however wise and famous, is far from the only – or even the best – available authority on the matters of female body, partially due to not being of female persuasion himself. Unlike, for example, his assistant and niece Shen Yunxin, an aspiring female doctor in her own right. Once that accomplished, if rather young lady managed to make herself heard, she swiftly rose in Xiao Qi’s regard, and would have done so for her gumption alone, even if her medical skills hadn’t been excellent in the first place. Shen Yunxin, skipping the dancing-around that most of her male colleagues invariably tended to degrade to in the presence of any person of power, rather daringly announced that perhaps instead of concentrating solely on curing Awu’s infertility – and thank you, the acupuncture treatments she herself administers every week are going just as planned – they should perhaps focus on the picture as a whole. That is, after all, what a doctor should look at first, right? Especially as there is no material proof of Xiao Qi’s high fertility. The ‘or is there now?’ part remained unspoken; even though Shen Yunxin came to like her primary patient a lot and had her own reasons to distrust men and their promises, she – this time and always – held to the standards of professional behaviour.

Awu, for her part, really enjoys seeing Xiao Qi drinking bitter herbal concoctions of his own. Even if she might not be all that convinced by Shen Yunxin’s words, it surely cannot hurt anything. And why should she be the only one to suffer under a tyrannical medical regime? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And if in truth Xiao Qi doesn’t mind the taste at all, who would blame him for exaggerating a little for his wife’s amusement? Certainly not his wife, who has seen through his play-acting at once and swiftly decided that there is something to this mouth-to-mouth method of feeding particularly vile medicines to recalcitrant patients.

And yet Shen Yunxin isn’t the only fount of knowledge to be found in Ningshuo and, truth be told, has shown much interest in the secrets of folk medicine herself, especially as practiced by Alima’s kinswomen. Although some of those women, in particular Alima’s crone of a grandmother, have proven astonishingly… direct and rather shameless with their advice, to the tune of making a fully-fledged practitioner and an old married woman such as Awu, both of them hardly prone to prudishness, blush like girls not yet through their hair-pinning ceremonies. Or perhaps the advice was actually fine and tamer that one might expect. The enthusiastic appreciation that Alima’s kinswomen seem to hold for Xiao Qi, however, could probably fluster anybody, much less the man’s wife!

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It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Awu decided to follow the kindly-meant advice of Alima’s grandmother. After all, the woman had successfully given birth to nine babies and gotten eight of them to adulthood, which would make anybody pay attention. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of hard-won experience? And perhaps it was Shen Yunxin’s acupuncture skills that helped in the end, or even her insistence to look at the greater picture first. Or Doctor Shen’s bitter tinctures, or Xiao Qi’s unwavering, ah, helpfulness. Or possibly the fact that Awu finally decided that what will be will be and threw herself with doubled energy into the whirlpool of domestic concerns… which are truly never-ending, if one counts an entire province as one’s home.

Whatever the cause, Awu eventually achieved her goal… And yet she was among the last ones to actually suspect anything, the first being Xiao Qi and A-Yue, who had informed Doctor Shen and Shen Yunxin respectively, after having noticed some rather peculiar changes. A lady’s maid knows her mistress better than her own husband, although in this case, with the husband being an exceptionally affectionate one, that might not ring quite so true. Incidentally, the symptom that both of them had noticed was Awu’s sudden heightened sense of smell combined with a rather noticeably expressed aversion to her previously favourite perfume, which, you must admit, is a rather worrying sign.

As it turns out, both the uncle and niece had a good idea of Awu’s state, going by her last bleeding being more of a spotting than anything else – and you may bet Shen Yunxin monitors that closely – and yet they remained unable to fully ascertain their suspicions without any clear accompanying signs, nor were they willing to give any early hope, which may later be dashed. In fact, Doctor Shen would have preferred to avoid any agitation whatsoever for at least a week or two more, having had difficult experiences with this patient in particular, but one look at Prince Yuzhang’s face had him rethink that plan. Had Hu Guanglie been there – or alive in the first place – he would have immediately recognized that expression as Xiao Qi getting ready for battle, which he is quite sure he can win… but not entirely sure, with his doubt rising with every hour of there being no news of enemy movements. But even an amateur would be immediately wary of this sudden tension, for all that it might be hidden under an impressive facade of pretended calm. And Doctor Shen, after thirty years of practicing medicine among the upper echelons of Cheng nobility and staying alive – which is no mean feat – has learned to be quite sensitive to his powerful employers’ moods. As a survival tactic, if nothing else.

Another important skill, which Doctor Shen hasn’t yet imparted onto his niece, is judging when and where a doctor’s presence might be wanted... and when and where it is most certainly not needed. Pulling Shen Yunxin from the room by her sleeve might seem like a rather abrupt reaction, but it was by no means unjustified. Some things are simply not meant to be seen by outsiders. Prince and Princess Yuzhang facing each other and simply looking into each other’s eyes in perfect, tremulously joyful silence before the Princess lets out a hiccuping laugh and hides her suspiciously shining eyes against her husband’s collarbone is certainly one of those.

____________________________________

Xiao Qi’s first emotion after hearing the news is joy, then absolute panic – as far as that man ever panics, that is – and then steely determination most usually reserved for military planning. Having heard one word too many about miscarriage being a real possibility this early on makes him frantic and this in turn means that something really, really foolish is about to happen. Something like riding for the capital with only ten thousand troops. Something like going into Hulan alone. Something like dealing ungodly amounts of damage and letting his hair fly loose. Hu Guanglie would call this state a silence before mass decapitation. Were he there and alive, that is. Thankfully Hu Yao is both alive and there (deal with it, people!) and manages to redirect this thrumming energy into something actually constructive, which is probably the only thing that saves Awu and Xiao Qi from having an epic row over a series of very unreasonable ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born.

Meanwhile, Awu’s behaviour couldn’t be more different from that exhibited by her very own husband. Now that her years of continuous disappointment are over, she refuses to even consider that something might go wrong. At least not during waking hours, when she’s surrounded by a steady throng of people and children; and there is no way she would ever agree to being imprisoned in her rooms, although she agrees to retiring at the first sign of true fatigue and actually keeps her word, which causes her to share more than one nap in the middle of the day with little Song Guanglie. Which, in turn, makes for a pretty mellow Princess, especially right after she rises.

Which is exactly why this is the exact moment the brilliant tactician Hu Yao chooses to inform Awu that her fool of a husband (even if she doesn’t use exactly those words, she means exactly that) has evaporated with a troop of six into direction unknown, which may or may not be Hu Yao’s fault. Awu confirms that yes, Xiao Qi came in as she slept, woke her up briefly and said something about going on a short trip, promising to return as swiftly as possible. The look on Hu Yao’s face is rather telling and a tiny bit guilty.

That little overnight trip? Hu Yao is reasonably certain it is a hunt for something big and impressive. A local variety of wolf? A big feline of unfriendly persuasion? Probably not Hulan raiders, such as they are those days; she is rather insistent on that last point and for a good reason. That reason being that Xiao Qi had been making things strangely tense in the training yards, which are Hu Yao’s rightful domain, and so she decided to get rid of him by asking about preparations for the birth, no matter that the happy event may be six months away yet, and describing in great detail the extent of the prospective father’s involvement in those.

And seeing as it’s paramount – for future good fortune and the safety of both the mother and the baby – that no products of the birth are allowed to touch the ground, hence the need to provide a layer of ash, rushes or perhaps a cow’s skin as is the case in the wealthier families of Hu Yao’s acquitance, and taking into account that Xiao Qi has never done things by halves, his plan is rather obvious. Awu doesn’t know whether to feel strangely amused, immensely flattered and touched… or perhaps increasingly annoyed by losing her bedmate for such paltry a cause. For the moment she chooses option one, if only because amusement helps her forget about any apprehension the word ‘hunt’ might be causing her for rather obvious reasons. She will hold her judgement on options two and three until she sees the result of Xiao Qi’s bout of paternal madness.

The hero of the hour returns four days later, impossibly smug and with a bloody enormous salted pelt of a great brown mountain bear. Which he will then proceed to cure himself, because why wouldn’t he. Awu doesn’t have the words for what she’s feeling. Exasperation? Fond exasperation? A sudden onset of unexpected horniness? And I mean really unexpected, because bears smell and she’s still not over her olfactory oversensitivity. But mainly a burst of love and womanly pride. Sure, her man might be a fool, but he’s her fool and… I mean, it is a really big bear. Very, very impressive, if one was prone to being impressed by such things. Which Awu usually doesn’t find herself to be… Oh, who is she even trying to fool?

____________________________________

Xiao Qi has made something of a study of his wife’s body, which she had always been cognizant of to a certain degree. So it’s rather hard to say that it comes as a surprise that he’s able to tell when she begins to show even before she herself does – and she shows very early due to her general slimness. All the other things, however, are somewhat more out of the left field.

Like how he starts to send Awu’s maids out every time he catches one of them with a comb even before she confesses that somehow her scalp became really, really sensitive and in a rather peculiar way. Which he has apparently noticed and decided to take shameless advantage off, especially as the pleasure is mutual; Awu’s hair has become somehow both thicker and softer, a true delight to touch for a person as tactile as Xiao Qi.

Or how he suddenly stops going after Awu’s earlobes to her sincere confusion and irritation. She liked it, dammit, and what Awu wants, Awu gets, so the next time his mouth appears anywhere in the vicinity of her neck, Xiao Qi finds himself rather brusquely pointed at the desired target. The problem is, upon his acquiescence Awu finds it not as pleasurable as all that and really rather painful, her ears apparently having become rather sensitive practically overnight. By which point she has no other choice but to demand how had he guessed before she realized this about herself. His answer turns out to be rather disarming: You haven’t worn a single pair of dangly earrings for half a month.

The worst thing is, he is absolutely right. Every single time, which at the beginning causes no little exasperation, especially when Awu’s body starts rapidly changing and sometimes she feel like she hardly knows what she even looks like anymore. Is that pale, drawn face in the mirror actually hers? Why are her eyebrows suddenly so pale and whispy? And has she always had dark patches on the underside of her breasts? As time passes, all those other changes start looking less and less dire, having taken second fiddle to the most important thing of them all: a growing, living child nestled between her hipbones, which have lost all pretense of sharpness during those last few months. And so she starts asking questions. Not to fish for compliments – she truly cannot complain of a shortage of those – but out of true curiosity. What have you noticed that I haven’t? Show me.

And he does show her, claiming and re-claiming every inch of her skin as it changes and there is not a single moment in which she does not feel beautiful, or wanted, or loved, even when she’s absolutely miserable and sick, and bloated. Although she calls him a liar the one time he truly earns it by announcing her stitches on the newest piece in the increasingly elaborate layette to be the height of perfection despite them being crooked and all over the place due to her suddenly clumsy fingers. But just as he is her guide to her own body, she is his and there is little that she finds herself unable to complain of.

It’s their journey, their child, perhaps their only chance at this miracle and she absolutely refuses to hide, especially as her time comes near. Refuses to hide both literally and metaphorically, spending hours upon hours of increasingly warm, stuffy summer evenings laying naked on top of the covers and drawing nonsensical labyrinths upon her own skin with the tips of her fingers, every line closely followed by eager eyes, calloused hands or gentle lips; every single tap or movement from within met with genuine fascination and something not quite unlike worship.

____________________________________

There has hardly been a military campaign that involved more meticulous planning than the birth of this one tiny child, Ningshuo’s first princeling. Taught by Wanru’s premature experience with childbirth, both Awu and Xiao Qi remain rather wary of any fixed dates. The child will come when it will come, rather like the enemy, announces Xiao Qi, stopping the rather spirited discussion between the womenfolk about the necessity of early preparation and earning himself a fiery glare from Awu for using such inappropriate comparisons. By which I mean there is little to be done aside from observing the terrain and getting ready for an ambush, which may or may not come at any time, he explains, trying to mollify Awu and enclose her into his self-imposed bubble of confidence, usually reserved for use upon soldiers on the verge of panic, which is exactly what this discussion of premature birth has brought into their home.

And you know what, it actually helps, if only a little. Enough to take Awu’s mind off the possible complications and redirect her nervous energy into consulting with the astronomy charts and then choosing an appropriately situated side room, setting up curtains around the bed to serve as a birthing tent and getting that blasted bearskin out of storage. Which process they will ultimately go through four times, as the star charts – and thus best orientations – keep changing every month. And which neither of them will begrudge, as every single time they move the birthing tent Awu grows just a tiny bit more confident in the success of the upcoming labour and also more attuned to her own needs. At the very last milestone – during which she is comically enormous, but no less able to give out commands – she is an absolute nightmare, having everyone running around to and fro as well as throwing an absolute fit over the birthing rope, which she has agreed to previously.

Doctor Shen, being a great believer in getting his clients through labour alive and having a long-standing grudge against the usual way of birthing practiced in the Imperial Palace – which means supine, surrounded by a crowd of panicking women and with the doctor hardly able to see the patient in order to preserve their chastity – instills a certain regime, which is perfectly in accord with the traditional ways dictated by medical practitioners of old. By which he means peace, no more that two calm attendants at one time and letting gravity do part of the work; the last thing meaning that a length of rope or cloth should be suspended from the ceiling or perhaps stretched between two pillars at at appropriate height, so that the mother can support herself while kneeling or squatting.

In Awu’s case the arrangement changes from a hanging horse bridle – which while a show of status and a portent of good fortune proved to be not that comfortable after all – to a length of silk, to a rope stretched between two pillars. Which apparently doesn’t suit Awu any longer, not providing her with a steady enough support. While A-Yue and Alima keep tying and retying the rope to Awu’s continuous disapproval and even irritation, Xiao Qi doesn’t get involved. Yes, partially because in contrast to everybody else he doesn’t find his heavily pregnant wife a nightmare to deal with. Adorable, more like, the man is that hopeless. And partially because as long as Awu acts out on her irritation, she’s not getting apprehensive or despondent. So let her rage to her heart’s content. Now, the moment she goes silent and perhaps a little bit bashful over her previous outburst, he decides it’s high time for an intervention. Any intervention, even an absurd one. Which means that he disappears for a moment and brings back his spear, which he then secures in place of the rope to the growing disconcernment of everybody present. Awu finds it steady enough for her needs and it’s not like anything else matters.

Seeing as she goes into labour the very next day and finds herself properly appreciative of this improvised solution, Xiao Qi can’t find it in himself to really mind the rapidly growing slew of jokes and ditties starting to make rounds, although he makes a point of trouncing the most intrepid joker rather soundly. Or perhaps five of those, not that he’s in the right mindset to actually keep count once the entrance to the birthing room is barred to him. Before it is, there is still time to tell Awu– not for the last time, this isn’t going to be the last time! - of her bravery, of how only now does he start to truly appreciate what it means to send a loved one into battle and of how they’re going to carry this moment through their whole lives. You’re Princess Yuzhang, you will come back with a victory, hale and whole. You will always come back, he whispers into her hair, not sure who is he actually trying to convince as he hold his entire world in his arms, desperately trying to hide his fear. And failing miserably, which Awu cannot help but notice… once she gets through the current set of contractions. Don’t you dare to be a coward now, my Prince Yuzhang, she scolds, resting her sweaty forehead against his chin. Don’t you bloody dare. I have asked for this and I don’t take upon myself what I cannot carry. And now get out and let me fight my war. You know what I’m capable of.

And by all gods, he knows. And this steely determination in her voice scares him as little has ever scared him before. This time, unlike every other time when she’s risked her life this bravely, there will be nothing he can do to help her, no miraculous rescue, no last-minute shot, no hand ready to break her fall. Has he been too greedy, he ponders, only by a miracle avoiding skewering Tang Jing straight through the gut and then actually earning a light graze from Hu Yao’s blade. Useless, she pronounces, confiscating their weapons and hurrying both men off the training field. Absolutely useless. Go and do whatever it is that men actually busy themselves with while women do all the work.

It turns out that what men actually do in highly stressful situations is sharpen their swords as well as any other blade they may encounter. They are joined in this endeavour by Xiaohe, who will later be unilaterally – and wholly unfairly – blamed for each and every single skewed edge. Of which there will be quite a few. But then, what does an imperfect sword or ten actually matter, when after long hours of absolute hell, during which Xiao Qi has imagined at least five different worst scenarios ending in a pool of blood – just like that terrible day – and prayed to all the gods he has ever heard of, A-Yue finally comes, her wide smile speaking for itself.

#the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #and unto us a child is born #although the aftermath must wait #this was getting a bit too long and me a bit too weepy #I am an absolute disgrace of a human being #oh well #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MADELEINEENGLAND #also I might have read a book about childbirth in ancient China #it was full of dead babies but on the whole very interesting

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belovasangel · 4 years ago

Text

Come Back to Me

Summary: Shawn missing big events leaves to beautiful memories and Christmas miracles

Pairing: Shawn x fem!Nurse!Reader

Warnings: swearing, light angst, fluff, flashback heavy, holiday feelings

A/N: Yup. Surprise. Also flashbacks are in italics, per usual. Also I am not Canadian so I don’t know if y’all celebrate Remembrance Day. For the sake of this story, pretend that it’s the equivalent to Thanksgiving.

Shawn took your hand as you barreled down the sidewalk, laughs flying past you in the wind. Tonight had been a perfect date, something great to wrap the summer up, full of time alone with your favorite guy (and your favorite wine). He had been planning this for weeks now, and you can even remember him talking about this back in June when his tour had been announced. The pandemic put a damper on your two’s plans since March, but once the numbers started decreasing did he get calls from managers, and then... there was another world tour. You weren’t mad, music was his passion. Even though you two would be wrapped in each other’s arms after a lovely night, you could tell behind his eyes he longed to play the guitar for different cities.

That’s why tonight was so important, because he started packing and planning, then he would leave on Wednesday for Prague. And of course, your job needed you in Toronto. While Canada hasn’t experienced any significantly alarming numbers, there were still cases rolling in. You insisted that Shawn goes on tour, so much that you had to pay for his first ticket yourself (he payed you back, though. He insisted).

Shawn skidded to a stop, turning around and putting his hands on your shoulders. “Now promise me you’re gonna close your eyes, just for a few seconds.”

You huffed and shrugged your shoulders, “Shawn I’m out of breathe, you made me run in heels for about half a mile... Give me 5 minutes instead.” With a quick chuckle, he pecked your lips and turned you around. You heard his shuffling from those black boots he wears to rubble, then decided to look around. He somehow managed to find a quaint park, with a nice bubbling fountain and family’s scattered around. Dogs were running a lit in the distance, and the bustle of the city wasn’t nearly as booming as it usually is. This was nice.

“Okay, turn around.”

With a giggle, you turned around to see Shawn on one knee. Behind him was a tree strung with lights that were glowing, and underneath the tree was champagne and a radio playing your two’s song, Turning the Page (Yeah, we know it’s from Twilight, but that doesn’t stop it from being any less romantic). He was kneeled on a red and white picnic blanket, the typical one you’d see in catalogues for fall. On the blanket were rose petals scattered.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), you have changed my life for the better. The moment you saw me in the E.R., and had to take care of my broken hand, I knew you were just as kind and gentle as you looked. Once you let me in, and take you on that shitty first date, I got to see the real you. The you that cries during every Disney movie, the you that would bring me breakfast in bed when I had a rough day, the you that would rescue a damn pigeon off the street because it looked sad. You are the most sincere, selfless, and intelligent woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I don’t want ever want to stop or slow down. You have become my life and my rock, I’m completely lost without you. I am utterly in love with you, (Y/N). I want us to have a family, I want to make an album for you, and everything in between. Will you please marry me?”

You shuddered awake, looking quickly at your blaring alarm from the end table. Picking it up and turning it off, the time read 4:25 A.M., signaling it was time to get ready for work. You got up, and went to open the blinds to your bedroom, watching the snow fall steadily. Slipping on your socks and bathrobe, you shuffled to the kitchen to get a cup of tea brewing before you hit the shower.

Mornings like this weren’t incredibly tough anymore, once Shawn was gone on tour. He face-timed you once a week because of tour, sent you letters and packages from your favorite cities, and even had roses delivered on your birthday. And of course, he always said, “Lemme see it. I wanna see you wear that pretty ring. There it is, there she is, soon-to-be Mrs. Mendes.”

Slipping in the hot shower, you played some of his songs, some of your regular playlists, and when you were throwing on your outfit, your two’s song. You missed Shawn. He had missed your two’s favorite holiday, Halloween, where you two always did the cheesy couple costumes. He missed your birthday, but he sent his family in place. He missed Remembrance Day, because in Europe that wasn’t a thing. And tomorrow is Christmas, where he has no sign of coming home whatsoever. That’s fine, though, because you took the long shift at the hospital.

When the song came to an end, you threw on your coat and snow boots, grabbing all the food and equipment you would need for a 12-hour and began to head out. Shawn sent you his daily vlog and you watched that on the shuttle. Once that was over, you got to the hospital where you would forget about your slightly more aching heart. After work, the routine would basically go in reverse. Commute home, get back into your pajama’s, drink some tea, get dinner, and go to bed, where you would have a restless night in an empty bed.

“When do you think we should have the wedding?”

Shawn looked over, a piece of popcorn hanging onto his lip like a lifeline. His cheeks were flushed and he still looked a little sweaty from the show he just played at TD Garden. He knew you were doing the planning to keep yourself from descending into madness (well, not entirely, but you only brought it up when you really missed him). “I think we should do a summer/fall sort of wedding, like when the leaves are red but it isn’t freezing by 5, ya know?”

You hummed in agreement, a smile picking at the corners of your mouth. “I completely agree. Do you want it to be outdoors then, because of the leaves?”

Shawn took another few things of popcorn from the bag and popped them into his swollen lips, he always licked them when he was frustrated by how a show went, or just when his mind was reeling. “I think we should get married outdoors, and then have the reception indoors. Kind of like-”

“Twilight...”

You both looked at the screen and snorted, sending both of you into fits of hysteria. “Shawn, we really base our relationship off of those books, didn’t we?” He looked over, licking his lips once again. “Explain, babe. I get a little bit, but our whole relationship?”

You shuffled in the bed a little bit, “Hear me out, Shawn-y boy. We met when you were hurt and I had to save you, or more-so your career. Edward saved Bella from the car, right? Right. So, there’s that. Then that girl who you worked on the album with tried to get you on the few dates, but that was long after we were official. Boom, Jacob plot line. Then you leave me for your first tour, which I get 100%, so don’t be upset over that. But the girl you worked with saw you kind of sad and made it her mission to befriend you and then attempt to change your mind over me... And our song is the one from their wedding, and we want an outdoors-y wedding.....”

Shawn looked at the screen, then back to the popcorn leaking butter in his hands. “Damn. So you’re saying that I’m Bella?” You began to shake your head, cheeks turning red. “Maybe I meant that wrong, but-”

“No, no you’re saying I’m Bella. Does that mean I get to wear the dress? I cannot wait to get married with no emotions and then have the ugliest CGI baby in the history of cinematics. Aren’t you so excited for that, my love?”

“Absolutely thrilled.”

The alarm on your phone blared once again, pulling you from Shawn. You picked up the phone, getting a few “Merry Christmas” texts from family and friends. You assumed Shawn was out partying with his crew mates, plus it must’ve been a busy day altogether. Turning off the alarm and standing, you pulled on the slippers and followed your routine again.

Once it got to 6:07, and still no text from Shawn, you decided to call him. Immediately, you were sent to voicemail. With a sigh, you waited for voicemail.

“Hey bubs, Merry Christmas! I miss you more than ever, it’s snowing here pretty rough. I know you’d probably go outside right about now and insist to make a snowman or some angels, so that might be a mission for me after work. Um, I wanted to let you know that I love you so much, and I hope you’re having fun on tour... The apartment isn’t the same without you here, especially around this time. You’re probably having fun with your friends and I don’t wanna intrude on that, so I’ll hang up. I love you Shawn, be careful. Stay safe, come back to me soon. Bye.”

Wiping the tear that fell down your cheek, you stepped outside your apartment, hopped into the elevator and began the commute to your shift. You got to work on record time, beginning your patient rounds and vitals, then celebrating with the coworkers. Working 6:30 AM-9:30 PM would be a tough one, but whatever to keep you under that roof. Plus, double-time because of the holiday.

Once it hit 9:30, you booked it out of the hospital and onto the shuttle. Your eyes were barely open as you saw the texts from Shawn.

(Shawn) 7:59 AM: Hey babe, I’m so sorry I didn’t answer your call! I can’t wait to see your face tonight, you still up for FaceTime?

(Shawn) 9:26 AM: I bet you’re busy, but I’m gonna be in a few conferences and doing press so I won’t be able to talk for a while. Love you!

(Shawn) 3:14 PM: (Y/N) I don’t think we can FaceTime tonight, I have to do something for a fan and it’s really important. I am so sorry.

(Shawn) 8:44 PM: Are you mad at me or are you still working?

(Shawn) 9:32 PM: Something is waiting for you at home, it’s your gift. I hope this can make up for the call!

You hopped out of the shuttle, heart feeling extra heavy as you walked into the apartment. The string lights and streamers along the walls were taunting you as the elevator brought you to your floor, and you tried to compose yourself until you would get inside. Stepping up to your door, you looked for the present, to no avail.

(Y/N) 9:45 PM: Shawn I don’t see a package

(Shawn) 9:45 PM: Mom must’ve brought it inside, I’m sure it’s there.

With a huff, you shoved the key into the door, and walked inside. Chucking your purse and coat onto the hooks, while flinging off your shoes, you composed yourself enough to look for the package. If he got it express-shipped it had to be good. Checking the kitchen was no luck, and the living room looked normal.

(Shawn) 9:48 PM: Bedroom, babe

With a gasp, you quickly buzzed to the bedroom, and laid your hand on the door. You stopped, hesitant to what was behind the door. What if it isn’t him? Taking a deep breath, you dismissed the negative thought and opened.

The room was filled with lit tea lights, rose petals on the bed and the floor, and Shawn. He was standing there in that chunky-white knit sweater you loved, with flushed cheeks and watery eyes, holding a bouquet of flowers, and your favorite song playing softly in the background.

You gasped, running into his arms with a squeal and sob, him mimicking the sound. He held onto the small of your back, and one hand on the back of your neck, and you felt his tears falling onto your skin. “I missed you so much, (Y/N). You don’t even know.” He pulled back slightly pressing his lips to yours in a soft embrace.

After a minute of kissing, you pulled back. “Merry Christmas, Shawn.”

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

#shawn #shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfiction #imagine #love #christmas #lumineshawn

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fictionalabyss · 4 years ago

Text

No crusts.

Pairings : Beta!Ash x Omega!Reader

Word count : 1,621

Written for : @spnabobingo

Square : Love at first smell

Warning : preschool for part of the fic, love at first smell, Au where your mate smells like your favorite memories, baby Ash is super shy. Drinking, playing pool, mention of a supernatural murder & missing person, a bit of fear, Ash feels the need to be protective. Double break is a big time jump.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

SPN A/B/O Bingo Round 5 Masterlist.

He remembers it like it was yesterday. He was, what? Four, maybe five years old the first time he smelt it. He hadn’t wanted to go, fought his parents the whole way, wanted to stay home with his mom. They were standing at the gate, tears in his eyes as he begged her not to make him go inside, and then suddenly the tears stopped. He could smell something, something like he’d never smelt before from another person.

He looked around, searching for it. A girl skipped past him, the smell of fresh baked cookies and peanut butter and jam sandwiches filling his nose as she did. His two favorite things. Her eyes were big and bright, her smile wide as she let go of the hand she held and hurried through the gates without a look back at her parent, and he couldn’t tear his eyes off her.

“Ash?” He looked up at his mother, her knowing smile softening her face. “You ready to go in now?” He nodded. “Go on. I’ll be back to pick you up later.” He started for the gate when she called out to him again and he turned. “There’s cookies in your lunch bag, in case you want to share them with someone special.”

“Thanks mama.” he grinned with a wave before rushing past the gate, into the yard and towards the door.

Inside the building, he saw her again, putting her bag in her cubby. He stood where he was, just watching her. Her scent lingering in his nose. She smiled at other kids who said good morning to her, and he found himself wanting to talk to her too, but not knowing what to say. Then she turned to him and smiled. His whole damn heart melted.

“You must be Ash.” A voice from above him grabbed his attention and he looked up at the woman who stood there with clasped hands and a friendly smile. “I’m Miss Emily. I’ll be your teacher.” Ash looked from his new teacher to the girl he couldn’t stop watching, but she was turned away again, skipping her way into the classroom. ��Come on. I’ll show you where you can put your stuff, and then we’ll go inside and meet everyone. I’ll even let you pick the first activity we do today, how does that sound?”

“Do you have clay?” he asked softly.

“We do.” She smiled wider seeing him open up just a little. “Do you like working with your hands, getting them dirty?” Ash nodded. “Then we’ll start with arts and crafts today.”

When lunch time rolled around, Ash wasn’t sure where to sit, until he saw an empty seat next to the one person he’d wanted to talk to all day. Quickly, but quietly, he moved to the seat and sat in it before anyone else could, not that anyone else seemed to be running for it like he was, but he had to be sure. She looked up at him and smiled again, and Ash ducked his face away, blushing profusely.

She just turned back to her lunch.

It was quiet as she ate, Ash too shy to even look at her. He opened his lunch box and smiled seeing his favorite, peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off.

“You don’t like crusts either?” Ash’s head snapped up, surprised she was talking to him. Then he looked down to the sandwich bag that had torn crusts in it. “I told my mom, but she keeps giving me crusts..”

Ash was quiet again, surprised she’d spoken to him and unsure what to say. He looked down at his lunch again, at the snack bag tucked in next to his juice box. Home made chocolate chip cookies that his mother had made last night to cheer him up about going to school. He remembered the words she’d said to him before he went inside.

He slid the small bag over, and she looked up at him again. “My mom made them.” he whispered quietly. “D-do you want one?”

“Really?” Ash nodded. “Yeah!”

The way her face lit up, the way she moved just a touch closer to him, Ash was done for. He happily opened the bag and gifted her the biggest, chocolatiest cookie he had. He watched as she disregarded the rest of her sandwich and bit into the cookie, quick to tell him it was the best cookie she’d ever had.

It was in that moment that Ash decided this, this girl was his best friend in the whole world.

And if he ever took a mate and married, it would be her.

He’s not sure how many PBR’s he’s knocked back at this point, as Ash leaned over the table and lines up the shot, breathing a moment before taking it. The person he’s playing against grumbles and he laughs as he reaches for his beer. “You should have known better.” he teased.

“Though you were drunk enough to beat this time.”

Ash is about to take another swig when the smell hits him. It smells like home, like his childhood. All his best memories and the past he’d long ago moved on from. The bottle comes down, and he swallows down nothing in particular and turns, eyes on the door. It stands open and he's frozen watching the person standing there.

“You sure you’re in the right place, sweetheart?” someone calls out from a corner table, and Ash feels the need to go over there and deck them when he sees the way you duck your head to hide your face. He’s scared you're going to leave.

“Can I get you anything, sugar?” Ellen calls from the bar, and he’s grateful at the way you look up with mild relief before heading over and take a seat in a stool. He sees the way you hesitate to drink the beer she hands you.

He hasn’t seen you in so goddamn long that he’d almost forgotten. How beautiful you were to him. How great your scent was. The Omega of his damn dreams. He needs to do something, say something, before he loses you again.

“Ellen.” he starts forward, getting the older woman's attention. “It's on me. Her drinks, they’re on me.”

“I can pay for my own drinks.” you try to interrupt, but he just gives Ellen a look, and she nods, walking off down the bar. You’re looking at him now, really looking at him. “You look familiar..”

Ash smiles. “We went to school together once. Kinda had a crush on you.” he chuckled awkwardly.

“Pb&J!” Ash’s smile fell, as he watched your face. “Pb&J and cookies, every day, right? That’s you! You, wow you look so different.” you chuckle. “Ash, I think, right? What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” he smiles. “Well, and live here..” he casually glances around, and he feels almost ashamed at the state of the place. It’s not dirty, not at all, but it’s not exactly pristine. Probably far from what you’re used to.

“That’s cool.”

“What are you doing here? This place ain't exactly your usual dive bar..”

“I-” He sees the smile fall from your lips and you look away. “I was told I could come here for help…”

“Help with what?”

You swallowed. “My dad.. So-something killed my dad, and my brother.. he’s missing.”

“That’s something you should call the police about-”

“No!” you looked at him, fear in your eyes. “They don’t believe me, they think I’m crazy! It wasn’t a person! It was… I don’t.. I don’t know. I’m scared.. I’m so scared.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He tried to soothe you. “Dr Badass is in.” he gave you a reassuring smile. “I think I know who can help. Best of the best. I’m going to make a call, okay?” You nodded, and he left you to your beer. He was back a few minutes later. “They’ll be here day after tomorrow. You got somewhere to stay?”

You gave him a small nod. “Motel in town.” Ash nodded. “I uh- I had a crush on you too, you know.”

“What?”

You nodded and smiled. “You gave me cookies. How could I not like the boy who kept feeding me the best cookies in town.” He smiled softly at that. “What happened? You just stopped hanging around, you vanished on me.”

“You were an omega.” He shrugged. “I ended up being just a beta.”

“The best smelling Beta I ever met.” He gave you a confused look. “You smelled like smores over a campfire.” you smiled at him. “And root beer. God, I loved root beer.” you chuckled at that.

“You smelled like my lunch.”

You furrowed your brow at that and laughed. “Like your lunch?”

He nodded. “Peanut butter and jelly no crusts, and cookies fresh from the oven.” he smiled. “Reminded me of home, of mom, all my favorite things. I’ve been in love since I smelt it that very first time.”

You chewed on your bottom lip for a minute before pulling a receipt out of your pocket, checking to make sure it wasn't something important, then asked Ellen for a pen. Once you got it, you started writing.

“What’s that?” he asked, when you held it out.

“My room number. And my phone number.”

“Right, for when my friends get here.” he takes it and looks down at the paper, committing the number to memory.

“Or, in case you ever want to share cookies with me again.” As scared as you were about everything that had happened in your life in the last few months, it felt so good to see him again and have your nose filled with a scent that had always made you smile.

*If you like this, please consider supporting my work*

Tagging : SPN - @sandlee44 @just-another-busy-fangirl @mrswhozeewhatsis @deanandsamsbitch @deans-baby-momma @thebescht @67-chevy-baby @supraveng @musiclovinchic93 @holyfuckloueh @ksgeekgirl @hobby27 @maddiepants @roxyspearing @onethirstyunicorn @fandom-princess-forevermore @kalesrebellion @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies

All tags - @sorenmarie87 @artemisthebadger @winchesterprincessbride @iflostreturntosteverogers @akfonkin @rebelminxy @foxyjwls007 @onethirstyunicorn @shaelyn102 @supernaturalenchanted @kazkingdom @babypink224221 @emoryhemsworth @ilovefanfic86 @pie-with-hunters @anaelsbrunette @lazinessisalliknow @feelmyroarrrr @letsdisneythings @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose @xostephanie @ilovedeanspie @defenderrosetyler @amandamdiehl

#spnabobingo #love at first smell square #ash x reader #beta!ash #reader insert #ash #ash fic #spn #spnfic #supernatural #supernatural fic #a/b/o #alpha beta omega

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bitchin-beskar · 4 years ago

Text

Choices

Rating: T (This rating will be increasing to an M in the coming chapters)

Word Count: 8.2k

A/N: Whew. This took longer than I was anticipating, but I’m pretty happy with the result! This is a ClanLeader!Din AU, inspired by @magichandthing‘s amazing artwork, and also inspired by the 2017 remake of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. This will be a multi-chapter fic, and while I hope to get the next chapter out in a week or so, I make no promises! I hope you guys like it! Comments/Reblogs are more than welcome, it makes me so happy to know what you guys think!

Tags: @chibi-liz05

If you want to be tagged in any future chapters (or any other works) just let me know!

“Will you open the stall today?”

You look up as you hear your father’s voice calling from outside in the garden. You wipe your hands off on your apron, the streaks of white flour maring the blue fabric. Stepping out into the sunlight, you see your father standing by the door, his medical bag slung over one shoulder.

“One of the children in a nearby village is sick, so I can’t go into town today. Will you go in and open up the stall for a little while? I promised some of the children that I would have new toys for them today, but I likely won’t be back before sundown.”

“Of course, Papá. Go! I’ll be fine.” He grins at you, kissing your forehead as you step forward to hug him. “Be safe!” You wave as he climbs into the speeder and drives off in the direction of the neighboring village.

You head back inside to clean up the mess in the kitchen. You were going to spend the day baking, but now that you’ll be in town, you’ll have to save the baking for tomorrow. After you quickly clean up, you grab your father’s toy satchel, filled with all of the new wooden toys he’s carved for the children of the village, and head into town. The walk isn’t far and it’s nice out today, the suns shining down, causing the morning dew to shimmer on the leaves of the trees and the blades of grass.

You stop along the path to pick a few wildflowers, tucking them into the pocket on your apron. Old Nan loves them, and you figure she can put them in a small vase in her home, or on display at her stall. She mostly sells knitted things, but occasionally she sells jam and honey, and she’s always willing to trade some with you for a few pretty flowers.

As the village comes into view, you see a few of the children running about and playing in the fields. You wave, and they come running over excitedly. The children of the village love you and your Papá, unlike most of the adults. They love the toys your Papá creates, and they don’t mind that you prefer reading and baking to finding a husband. Children do not judge others for their choices, their innocence bright and refreshing.

“Miss! Miss! Are you going to open the stall?” One of the children, Atleah, gasps excitedly, her little hands clutching at your skirts. She has many little toys and wooden gadgets from you and your Papá, and she always wants more. “Please, please, please open the stall! Eddarth said you had new toys!”

The boy standing next to her, her brother Eddarth, grinned unashamedly. You smile softly, pressing a hand against the soft hair on Atleah’s head to calm her. “Is Eddie telling tales?” You remark aloud, and you fight back a giggle as Atleah frowns. “I cannot remember if there is anything new for me to put at the stall…” You trail off, and Atleah tugs you along behind her as she practically drags you into the village, towards the marketplace.

“But Miss!” She protests, tugging on the straps of your satchel. “Miss, you have the toy bag, so that must mean you have new toys!” She reasons, expression pleading, and you’re unable to keep up the facade.

“Oh! I do remember! Papá made a few new toys, some speeders and ships I believe.” Atleah squeals in excitement, and doubles down in her efforts to drag you to the stall. You’re laughing by the time you arrive, surrounded on all sides by excitable children. They wait impatiently for you to open up the stall, unlocking the cases and placing your wares out on display.

Atleah immediately finds the toy she wants, a small replica of a sand crawler, complete with little Jawa figurines. You’d lived your whole life here on Roon, but your father had grown up on a moisture farm on Tatooine, and the children loved to hear stories of a planet covered in sand, so unlike the planet they’d been born on.

You allow the children to pick their toys, bending down so each one can whisper their secret into your ear as payment. You watch amused as the children settle in the grass not too far from your stall, already coming up with games that they can play with their new wares.

The children were usually the only ones to visit your stall, although occasionally adults would come to request your Papá’s medical skills for their families. The adults of the village didn’t like you or your Papá all that much. You were tolerated, but that was about it. You knew what they thought of you, that your Papá had allowed you too much independence, that you’d never settle down and become the good little housewife that was expected of the women in the village. They thought your Papá a touch mad, a little crazy because he preferred to make toys and gadgets all day, instead of using his skills as a medic to become rich.

Old Nan wandered over to your stall, one of her knitted shawls wrapped tightly around her bony shoulders. She was half blind, but she enjoyed holding your Papá’s toys in her hands, feeling the carvings and details with her old fingers. As she approached, you pulled the bouquet of wildflowers out of your apron, tying them together with a spare piece of string.

“Oh, dear girl, you shouldn’t have.” Her voice was warm, filled with affection as she accepted the flowers from you. “You spoil this old lady so.” She gently brought the flowers to her face, breathing in the scent.

“I like to think of it as a fair trade,” you offered, grinning. “A beautiful bouquet of flowers for a beautiful woman, in exchange for a little bit of delicious honey and jam.” Old Nan swatted at you playfully, her lips pulling back over her teeth in a delighted grin.

“You’re such a charmer, dear girl, how have none of the boys in this gods-forsaken village swept you off your feet?”

You’re about to answer when a large hand slams down on the wooden surface of your stall, startling the both of you and knocking some of your Papá’s creations over.

“She likes to play hard to get, spinster. Isn’t that right, my treasure?”

Glaring at the hulking figure before you, you straighten the toys he knocked over. “I am not your treasure, Gallan. I do not belong to anyone, least of all you, and I never will.” You smack his hand away as he tries to touch you. “And it is rude to refer to your elders in such a manner. Apologize.”

He grunts an apology that both you and Old Nan know isn’t sincere, but you take what you can get. “I don’t understand why you keep turning me down, treasure,” he drawls, grinning even as you grimace. “There’s no finer husband on all of Roon than myself, surely your fool of a father can see that. It’s only a matter of time before he agrees to give me your hand.”

“I am not a possession to be bartered for, Gallan. My Papá has agreed that I do not have to marry if I do not wish it. And even if I did wish to marry someone, it wouldn’t be you.” Turning so your back is to him, you attempt to begin a conversation with Old Nan, hoping Gallan would just leave, but he is not so easily dissuaded.

There is suddenly a tight grip around your wrist, and Gallan roughly yanks you back, spinning you around so you’re facing him. You tug uselessly against his grip, cringing back as he runs a finger down the side of your face.

“You’ll give in to me eventually, my treasure. There’s no other woman in the village who can compare to your beauty. I won’t accept anyone else as my wife. You will be mine,” he all but growls, bringing his face closer to yours. You try to turn away, but his grip is too tight. You know none of the other villagers will step in to help you. With the exception of Old Nan, they all love Gallan, and many of the women are jealous of the attention he lavishes on you, unwanted as it may be.

“Let go of me!” Your voice is loud, angry, but he only laughs as you try to escape him. “Gallan, let me go!”

He laughs mockingly. “Who’s gonna make me?”

“She said to let her go.”

Gallan is startled by the harsh voice behind him, and he whirls around, unfortunately dragging you with him. Standing in front of your stall is a Mandalorian. Your eyes widen in shock. You knew there was a Mandalorian covert not far from the village, but they rarely ventured into town. When they did come to buy supplies, they came in twos, and never the same ones as before. You thought it might have something to do with diversion tactics, never allow the enemy to know how many are in your command or something similar. You knew the Mandalorians were a warrior race, so it wouldn’t surprise you.

Your Papá had traded some medical supplies with the covert a couple of times, so you’d seen some of them the few times they’d appeared on your doorstep, but almost never in the town square or marketplace. You did not fear the Mandalorians, like many of the other villagers, but even you had to admit the one in front of you was intimidating.

He–well, you assumed it was a he, it was hard to tell–stood close to six feet tall. His armor was made of beskar, gleaming silver in the sunlight. It covered his chest, back, arms and legs, and where he didn’t have armor, he had thick canvas fabric leaving his skin completely covered. He had multiple blades strapped all over his body, along with a pistol of some sort holstered at his side. He had some type of contraption on his back–in addition to the weapon that looked to be some kind of long range rifle–and it looked to you as though it was a jetpack. His arms were crossed and his helmet gave nothing away, but you could tell by the tilt that he was focused on Gallan, not you.

“You have no business here, Mandalorian,” Gallan spat, his grip tightening around your wrist, and you winced as you felt the bones creak under his grip. “Go back and hide in your dingy, damp little caves. No one wants you here.” Gallan had a sneer on his face, and you wondered how any of the girls in this village could find this man handsome.

“I believe the young woman wants you to let her go.” The Mandalorian did not move, and he certainly did not sound at all intimidated by Gallan. “So let. her. go.”

Gallan’s grip slackened just enough at the hidden threat in the Mandalorian’s voice that you were able to yank your wrist free. Cradling your quickly bruising and sore wrist to your chest, you rubbed the tender skin as you backed away from Gallan. Emboldened by the presence of a Mandalorian, you spoke once more. “Leave, Gallan. Do not speak to me again.”

He looked you up and down, a lewd, lecherous grin stretching across his lips. “I’ll be back, treasure. One of these days, I’ll wear your father down. Make no mistake, you will be mine.” You glared at him, angrily watching him leave, before turning to your savior.

Before you could speak, the Mandalorian stepped forward, holding his hand out. “May I?” He asked, when you didn’t move. Blinking, you placed your hand in his, watching as he inspected your wrist. “Did he hurt you?”

Old Nan grumbled, and you started, nearly having forgotten she was there. “That boy has got some nerve,” she huffed, shuffling forward, uncaring of the big, hulking Mando. “Grabbing you like that. How many times has he done that, dear child?”

You sighed. Old Nan was perhaps the only adult in the village who didn’t dislike you or your Papá, and while she may not have approved of Gallan, she was the only one. Everyone else seemed to think you were blessed to have his attention, or some other such nonsense. “He seems to think I am his property, just because he’s decided I’m the prettiest girl in the village,” you grumbled to Old Nan, and she tutted disapprovingly. “He’s never been all that violent, just… aggressive in his affection, if you can call it that.”

You had a feeling the Mandalorian was looking at you incredulously, although with his helmet you couldn’t know for sure. “He nearly dislocated your wrist.” He finished inspecting your hand before lowering it slowly. “This has happened before?” You nodded.

“He’ll leave bruises on my arms from grabbing me too hard, and once he shoved me against a wall so hard I had a bump on the back of my head.”

Old Nan gasped, and you winced, you’d forgotten she hadn’t known about that particular incident. “Why?” Her voice was quiet, and she had tears in her eyes.

“Um, well…” You trailed off, grimacing. “I may have… laughed at him when his mogo threw him while he was trying to show off.” Old Nan snorted, trying to stifle a grin.

The Mandalorian shook his head. “He should not have harmed you, even then.” You shrugged, fiddling with one of the toys your Papá had carved. “How much for those?” This Mandalorian was giving you whiplash with the way he seemed to jump from conversation to conversation.

“Do you mean the toys?” You asked, and when he nodded, you eyed him up and down critically. “Depends on who they’re for. I’ll sell them to travelers and tourists, but I have a bartering system set up with the village children. Why?”

He sighed, and the harsh static of his vocoder crackled with the noise. “Will you come with me?” He raised his hands up, palms facing you in a gesture of peace. “No harm will come to you, I swear. Bring the toys.” You contemplated for a second, before the pieces fell into place. You nodded, and after you placed them carefully in a satchel, he began to lead you out of the village, but not before you bid Old Nan good day. You walked at his side, relishing in the fact that for once, the villagers were staring, but it wasn’t because of you.

As you began to leave the village behind, he stopped, before turning his helmet towards you. You stopped as well, and waited for him to speak. “May I blindfold you?” You weren’t all that surprised by his request. From the little you knew of the Mandalorians, you knew they were insanely private. While you knew of the existence of the covert, you knew very little about it. You had no idea how many Mandalorians there were, although you suspected at the very least there were children, due to his request about the toys.

Nodding, you watched as he produced a strip of black fabric, and you allowed him to gently wrap it around your face, covering your eyes and causing your vision to go dark. “Can you see anything?” You shook your head. “I’ll need to fly us there. May I…?” You could hear the unspoken question in his voice, and you nodded. You were nervous about flying without being able to see, but it would be rude to refuse now.

You felt one of his arms brace against the small of your back as his other slid beneath your knees, pulling your legs out from underneath you as he stood, cradling your body in his arms. You can feel your face heat up under the blindfold, even though nothing he’s doing could be considered inappropriate or indecent–unless you considered that it was customary for husbands to carry their wives from the altar to their homestead in such a manner, and you’d never imagined you would experience it–although if your Papá saw you now you were sure that he’d have questions.

He’s about to take off when you think of something. “What should I call you?” As he stays silent, you elaborate. “It doesn’t have to be your actual name, but I feel rude just referring to you as Mandalorian.”

You don’t think he’s going to answer you, but then he speaks, just before activating his jetpack. “Din. My name is Din Djarin.”

You don’t have a chance to respond before the jetpack fires up, and then you’re airborne. You clutch at Din’s armor as best you can, although with how tight his grip is, you’re pretty confident you won’t fall. The wind whips your hair around your face, and you tuck your chin, turning your face into his chest to protect your skin from the harsh, biting cold from being so high up.

The wind combined with the noise of the jetpack makes it too loud for conversation, so he flies in silence, although admittedly not for very long. You can feel the change in the wind as you begin to descend, and before long, your body is jolted as Din lands with a soft thud.

He gently lowers you to the ground, and you’re somewhat surprised at the gentleness of his movements, in spite of his size and the bulky nature of his armor. Once you’re standing on your own two feet, you sway slightly, disoriented due to your blindfold and the–admittedly short–flight. His hands on your arms steady you for a moment, before turning you and gently leading you forward.

You stumble along next to him for a few moments, but then he pauses, and slowly the fabric is removed from over your eyes. You blink rapidly as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting surrounding you. You’re underground, or at least, it looks like you are. The walls are some kind of smooth stone, and the hallway stretching out in front of you is lit by gas lanterns hung from the ceiling. The lanterns are the only source of light, but it doesn’t feel dark and oppressive, like you imagined a cave might feel. The walls and floors are clean of any moisture, and you feel a vicious sense of pleasure that Gallan had misjudged the Mandalorian covert’s home so spectacularly.

“Are you alright?” You turn to look at Din, and with your eyes still adjusting, it takes you a moment to find his helmet, so that you could look at him.

“Yes, I’m fine. This is where the covert stays, I take it?”

He nods once. “I’ll be taking you straight to the children. The adults will likely be cautious, but the children less so.”

You shrug. “It’s a dynamic I’m used to,” you offer as you begin to follow him down the hallway. You think you hear Din say something, but his voice is too quiet to make out any distinguishable words.

“I need to warn you,” he says, pausing before a huge metal door, turning towards you. “Inside the covert, things are a bit… different. We wear our full beskar out in public, but in our home, we’re more… relaxed.”

You nod, before fear grips you. “Wait, do they know you’re bringing me? I don’t want you to get into trouble, bringing an outsider into your home–” Din cuts you off with a chuckle, his leather-covered palm resting squarely in the middle of your back.

“Sarad’ika, calm down. I wouldn’t have brought you here without making sure it was alright with the Clan Leader, don’t worry. He knows you’re coming, and he’s fine with it.” You nodded, your heartbeat calming slightly. But then you paused.

“Wait, what did you just call me?”

Din chuckled once more. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. It’s just what the others call you. One of the clan members saw you with a flower crown one day, and so the children began to call you Sarad’ika. It means little flower.”

Nodding a little distractedly, you watched as Din opened the door. The covert had a nickname for you? You could count on one hand the number of times you’d met a Mandalorian, so you were a little shocked to learn they all seemed to know who you were.

As you followed him into what turned out to be a large circular room, your eyes widened in shock. Near the ceiling, natural light streamed in, basking the weathered walls in warm sunlight. There was a large common area in the middle of the room, with tables and chairs and rugs of all shapes and sizes. There were multiple doors lining the walls, some open, some shut. Din led you into the middle of the room, towards a small group sitting on one of the rugs. When one of the beings turned, you could see that it was a child, no older than Atleah or Eddarth, wearing a beskar helmet. You heard the gasp as the child saw you, and you were suddenly surrounded on all sides by children, not unlike this morning in the village.

“Sarad’ika! Sarad’ika!” The children chanted as they surrounded you. One child tugs on your hand, leading you towards the rug they’d just vacated, pulling you down to sit with them, and the one adult Mandalorian, who had stayed seated. The children are wearing clothes similar to the children from your village, which makes sense you suppose. But the adult Mandalorian isn’t wearing full beskar, like Din is. She has her helmet on, but she’s wearing a pair of leather trousers and a soft-looking tunic, with her arms completely bare all the way up to her shoulders. She has tattoos covering every inch of exposed skin, thick black lines in sharp patterns that stand out against her bronze skin. She nods to you as you sit, and you think you hear her chuckle when one of the children plops down in your lap.

You feel the air rush out of your lungs as the child falls into your lap–sweet heavens the child is bigger than they think they are–but you hide it well. The helmet tilts up at you, and the sweet, innocent voice that floats out is only slightly marred by the vocoder.

“Sarad’ika, did you bring the toys? Din said he was gonna ask!”

Even though you can’t see his face, you can imagine the expression on it clear as day, pleading, bright-eyed and hopeful. You tap your chin thoughtfully, and look around at the other children all waiting eagerly. “Perhaps. But I can’t just give toys out for free you know. They’re going to cost something.” Your words don’t deter the children at all, if anything they seem even more eager.

“How much?”

The question comes from a little girl to your left, her small hands resting gently on your thigh. You smile. These children are no different from the others you’re used to. It’s nice to know childish innocence and wonder are universal.

“Oh, you can’t buy these toys with just any money.” You lean in conspiratorially, and the children are captivated. “I like to deal in secrets.” You can tell the children are confused, so you continue, your voice low. “In order to buy one of my toys, you must first tell me a secret about yourselves. Something no one else knows.”

There are gasps all around, and you can tell they’re excited. “I’ll go first, so you know how it goes,” you offer, and the children shuffle even closer. “Sometimes, when my Papá is asleep, I’ll get up and dance around the kitchen and pretend I’m a queen in a fancy dress at a grand party!”

There’s giggles all around and the children begin to tell you their ‘secrets’ one by one. Braan, the little boy in your lap, likes to draw the constellations from memory. Tehra, the little girl on your left, likes to use sticks as staffs and pretend she’s battling invading armies. Quantra and Quentyan, twins, like to sneak to the kitchens some nights and try to wheedle snacks out of the cooks–which only works every other day or so, they inform you–to bring back to their friends. Cleolyta likes to design different styles of armor, and Nekhan loves to balance different and oddly shaped rocks to make the tallest–and coolest looking–towers.

As the children tell you their ‘secrets’ you pull toys from your satchel, allowing the children to take the ones that draw their attention. Within just a couple of minutes, each of the children are holding wooden toys carved by your Papá’s hand. They’ve quickly become distracted by the toys, and most all of the children move off a little ways to begin playing.

“Secrets are an interesting form of payment.”

You look up at the Mandalorian who spoke to you, seeing the woman with tattooed arms has moved closer, and is now sitting directly across from you. It’s hard, you realize, having a conversation with someone when you can’t see their face. It’s difficult to judge emotions, and you hadn’t realized just how much you relied on facial tics and expressions until now.

She continues, since you haven’t responded. “Do you normally deal in non-traditional forms of currency?”

“Only with the children.” You’re making a conscious effort to not fiddle with your apron, to not show your nervousness. “Tourists and visitors from other villages have to pay in coin.”

“Why?”

You shrug. “Not all of the children in my village have the spare coin to be able to purchase frivolous things such as toys. By bartering with secrets, they are still able to receive toys, without feeling as though they’re just being given handouts.”

“Hmm.”

The Mandalorian is silent for a moment, before she speaks again. “I never thought I’d see the day we allowed an aruetti into our covert. Many of the others were against allowing you to come. They can’t go against the Clan Leader directly, but they weren’t exactly subtle about their displeasure.”

You don’t know what aruetti means, but you can guess it’s not something nice. Din had told you not to worry, that their Clan Leader had given permission for you to be here, but if everyone else didn’t want you here, it would probably be best if you just left–

“Not me though. It’s nice to meet someone outside the covert. I’m Jeyenha, Jeyenha Torrva, but everyone calls me Jeye.”

Your eyes flick up to stare at the visor in front of you, before falling to the outstretched hand. You cautiously place your hand into hers, unsurprised at the firmness of her handshake. Her sudden mood shift is a little startling, but you don’t have any other choice than to run with it.

You offer your own name back, and the two of you sit once more in silence, observing the children playing around you. It’s enjoyable, watching them play so eagerly with your father’s little wooden creations that you’re once again surprised when Jeye speaks.

“Your wrist. What happened?”

Her helmet is tilted down, focused on your hands, which are folded in your lap. You look down, unsurprised to see how dark the bruise has already gotten, the individual finger marks clearly visible. You wince, already wondering how you’re going to hide this from your father.

“Some shabuir in her village doesn’t understand the word no, apparently.”

There’s a quiet thunk as Din sits down next to the two of you. Even sitting, his armor makes him look huge, almost to the point of being comical.

“What?” Jeye’s voice was a low hiss, emphasized strongly by her vocoder. “Someone in your village did this?”

You nodded slowly, surprised at the venom in her voice. “There’s a man in my village who’s determined to make me his wife, and he doesn’t care that I don’t wish to marry him.”

Din scoffs. “Saying he doesn’t care about your wishes is an understatement. He acted like he could force you into marriage, like he would do so even without your father’s blessing.”

When you don’t say anything, Din falls silent. Jeye leans forward, placing her hand on your knee.

“Sarad’ika–”

Din barely finishes saying your nickname when you look up, tears in your eyes. “He could. Gallan is one of the richest men in the village. The villagers don’t respect me, and they only barely tolerate my father because he’s a decent medic. Soon Gallan’s going to tire of hearing no, and there’s not one person in my village who would be willing to try and stand up to him.” You brush roughly at your tears, laughing bitterly. “They’ll likely drag me to the altar themselves, all while saying it’s such a blessing that Gallan would even pay attention to me.”

Din growls, the leather of his gloves creaking as his hands form into fists, and Jeye breathes a quiet “No…” at your words. You take a few steadying breaths, shaking your head.

“It’s not happened yet, and I doubt it’s going to happen soon. For right now at least, Gallan respects my father enough that he’ll wait for his blessing, although my father would likely die before doing so. The best I can do is keep my head down and try to convince him that one of the other women in the village would make a better wife.”

It’s clear that Din and Jeye don’t know what to say. You doubt that a Mandalorian woman would allow a man to speak to her the way Gallan speaks to you, and you doubt a Mandalorian man would ever try and claim a wife against her will.

“You’re welcome here,” Jeye offers suddenly, and you look at her, confused. “I’m sure Din, or Paz, or one of the others wouldn’t mind bringing you here whenever you aren’t busy in your village, and it would decrease the amount of time that mir’osik could hassle you.”

Before you can say anything, you see Din nodding solemnly. “If bringing you here every day stops him from pursuing you, then I’d be happy to do it.”

You feel tears well up in your eyes, but for a different reason this time. These two wonderful people are offering you an escape, offering up the security of their home so that you might be able to feel safer. “I–I don’t know what to say…”

“Say yes, Sarad’ika. Just say yes.” Din’s voice is insistent.

You find yourself nodding, before you’re struck by a stray thought. “W–Wait, would your Clan Leader be okay with this? I don’t want to impose or cause any more trouble, and–”

Jeye holds up her hand to stop your rambling, chuckling. “Don’t worry about him.” She seems to glance at Din for a moment before continuing. “I can’t imagine he’ll have any problems with you staying. But it’s getting late, you should be headed back.”

You hadn’t realized it, but as you look up at the ceiling, you see the dusky pink light indicative of the sunsets on Roon. Your Papá would be home soon, and he’d worry if you were gone for too long. Din stands, and offers you a hand, pulling you onto your feet. As you say goodbye to Jeye, you find yourself excited at the prospect of returning. You think you might have made two new friends, and you honestly feel more welcome in the Mandalorian covert than you ever did in your home village.

***

Over the course of the next few weeks, you find yourself spending hours of nearly every day in the covert. Your Papá was cautious at first, and he insisted on meeting Din, but after Din assured your Papá that you weren’t in any danger, he was more understanding. Your Papá knew how frustrating it could be for you in the village, constantly having to deal with snide insults and veiled barbs about anything from your body, to your manners, to your personality. The covert became an escape of sorts, and while you really only ever talked with Jeye, Din, and the children, it was much better than spending your time in the village.

You’d not met the Clan Leader yet, although both Din and Jeye assured you that he was fine with your presence. Din always acted strange whenever the Clan Leader was brought up, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why.

You also never saw Din as relaxed as Jeye, although you attributed that to the fact that he had to leave the covert to pick you up and to take you back to your home. The beskar armor seemed too heavy and cumbersome to be taken off and put back on multiple times a day.

And even though you tried to avoid it, you couldn’t deny your growing attraction to Din. Even when he wasn’t carrying you in his arms to bring you to and from the covert, he always seemed to be touching you, whether it was a hand against the small of your back, or on your thigh when you were sat next to him, or even just gently brushing against the wrist that Gallan had bruised, although the bruise had long since faded. You slowly grew accustomed to his touches, although you still felt as though your face was on fire every time he did.

You couldn’t tell if he knew what he was doing to you–damn helmet–but you assumed he could. He always seemed to touch you even more whenever you got flustered, almost as if it was a joke, or a game. One time, when he was guiding you into the covert while your eyes were blindfolded, he’d laid his hand against the side of your neck, his thumb pressing gently, but firmly, into your spine where your head met your neck. You swore you felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your body at his touch, and the man had the gall to ask if you were alright, all while his other fingers pressed into the skin right above your collarbone. You’d nodded jerkily, and his thumb had begun to rub soothing circles against your skin. It had felt so good, you’d almost whimpered when he removed his hand.

Despite the firm touches and the subtle flirting–because seriously, what else could it be–you managed to not make a fool of yourself, and you grew to like your new routine. Din had become a protector of sorts, and it made your insides feel light and floaty, the way you felt the first time Din flew with you. Life was good. Gallan left you alone, your Papá continued to carve toys, and for the first time ever, it felt like you’d found somewhere that you were wanted. So, of course, everything had to change.

It was about a month into your visits to the covert that this change happened. You were in the kitchen one morning when you noticed that there was a Mandalorian walking up the path to your home, but it’s not Din. You dry your hands and step outside, an anxious, gnawing feeling in your stomach telling you that something’s wrong. Din has been the one to pick you up every day, and you’re terrified something’s happened to him.

Before you can even open your mouth to voice your concerns, the Mandalorian is speaking. “Everything’s fine, Din just had some business to attend to, so he sent me.”

You cock an eyebrow, a little wary of how fast this stranger assessed your emotions, but you’re grateful nothing appears to be wrong. He stands there, silently, and you get the impression he’s waiting on you. You duck back inside the house to grab your bag, locking the door behind you. The Mando in front of you is just radiating this awkward energy, and you feel bad. You’d grown so used to Din, you didn’t really know how to react to a different Mandalorian.

“Um, so…” You trail off, grimacing at how awkward you sound. “Do I just–” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “I’m sorry. What’s your name?”

The Mandalorian was silent for just a moment, but then he answered. “Paz.”

Your eyes widened, recognizing the name. “Oh, Din and Jeye have both mentioned you before. It’s nice to meet you.”

Paz shook his head. “Of course they did.” He chuckled. “Jeye is my wife.”

Your jaw dropped. Whenever Jeye had talked about Paz, she’d never mentioned that he was her husband. You were so going to give her shit for this.

After Paz finished laughing at you, he tied your blindfold and scooped you up in his arms, taking off into the air. The entire flight, you couldn’t help but compare Paz to Din. Paz was a good deal bigger than Din, although you weren’t entirely sure how that was possible. His arms were big and strong, like Din’s, but being carried by Paz didn’t set butterflies loose in your stomach. You tried to ignore it, but your brain refused to stop trying to compare the two men.

You were tense the entire ride to the covert, and you nearly sighed in relief when the two of you touched down. Paz set you on your feet, leading you into the cave system. He removed the blindfold when the two of you were standing in front of the main door, and he let you adjust to the lighting before he pulled the door open.

As he led you into the main room, you were surprised to see a large group of Mandalorians gathered where you usually sat with Din and Jeye. You were even more surprised when Paz suddenly stepped in front of you, his arm out slightly, keeping you behind his considerable bulk. You gently touched the back plate of his armor, silently communicating your confusion.

“Stay behind me.”

You suck in a breath, fear gripping you as you try to make yourself smaller behind Paz. You’re not sure what’s going on, and you don’t want to take any chances. You take a small measure of comfort from the fact that Paz is built like a goddamn tank, and that he could easily protect you if things turn violent, but you hope it doesn’t come to that. You can hear all the raised voices, but it takes you a moment to make out any distinguishable words, everyone is yelling too loudly.

“SHE’S A DANGER TO OUR TRIBE!”

The booming voice cuts through the others, and you barely peek around Paz’s arm to see a Mando you’d seen a couple times before–one who always seemed to be glaring at you, despite the fact that you couldn’t actually see said glare–toe to toe with another Mandalorian.

“She poses no threat to us.”

The other Mandalorian is calm, although his voice is hard with anger. With a start, you realize that this must be the Clan Leader. His chest is bare, although he’s adorned with multiple beaded necklaces. You can see a thick fur cape draped across his shoulders, but it’s his helmet that truly catches your attention. It’s made of beskar, like all the other Mando’s helmets, but attached to each side are two thick ivory horns, coming out and curving around towards his face, ending in wicked sharp points. He’s taller than nearly everyone else in the group, and his stance is commanding and powerful.

“LEAVE HER WITH HER OWN TRIBE. WE DON’T WANT HER HERE, SHE ENDANGERS US, OUR WAY OF LIFE, OUR CHILDREN–”

You squeak when the Clan Leader moves, his bare hand coming up quickly to wrap around the other Mando’s throat.

“You think I would endanger the children?” His voice is cold, emotionless. “Do you truly think so little of me? After everything I’ve done for our tribe, every battle I’ve fought, you still think you have any right to question me?” His voice isn’t rising in volume, but you can hear his mounting anger. “I am the Clan Leader. What I say goes. If you don’t like that, we can take this to The Pit.”

Paz sucks in a breath, and you’re about to ask what The Pit is when a hand lands on your arm. You whirl around, your whole body tense, but you relax somewhat when you realize it’s Jeye. Paz looks at her, and they seem to have a silent conversation before Paz nods, and Jeye takes your arm, leading you back and through one of the doorways behind you.

She gestures for you to stay quiet for a moment, before leading you into a room you’ve never been in before. There’s a fire pit in the center of the room, with separate areas sectioned off with curtains for cooking and eating. She leads you further in, around one set of curtains, and your eyes land on the large bed that dominates the space. She gestures for you to sit, and once you do, she sighs deeply.

“What was that?”

You’re ashamed at the way your voice shakes as though you’re scared, because you’re not. Not really. It was unsettling, seeing the argument, which you’ve realized by now was about you, although hearing the Clan Leader defend you so vehemently left a warm feeling in your belly.

Jeye sighs again, and begins to pace. “Some of the tribe still has reservations about you being here. We’d thought they’d gotten over it, but apparently not all of them have. Doric decided that today was a good day to confront Din about it.”

You look up at Jeye in confusion. “I didn’t see Din in there. Is he okay? What happened? Is the Clan Leader mad?” Your voice is growing more frantic, as you imagine what could have happened to him.

Jeye stops pacing, her helmet turned towards you. “Wait, what? You… you don’t know? Din never–” Jeye scoffs. “No, of course he hasn’t told you.”

“Told me what?”

There’s silence.

“Jeye. Din hasn’t told me what?”

There’s more silence, and you open your mouth to repeat yourself a third time when she speaks.

“Din is the Clan Leader.”

Your mouth snaps shut, your eyes widen comically. You open and close your mouth, trying to find the words to say… something, anything about what you’re feeling in that moment, but all your traitorous brain can focus on is how heart-stoppingly attractive Din looked without his armor on.

Before you can say anything, you hear the door open. Your eyes fly to the opening in the curtains, and lo and behold, there’s Din. He pauses, clearly taken aback that Jeye is here, but he doesn’t speak. Jeye nods twice, once to you and once to Din before she brushes past him and leaves the room, not staying around to try and explain the bombshell she’s just dropped on you.

Din stands in the gap between the curtains, just staring at you. You’re trying to look at his helmet, but his current state of dress is extremely distracting. His chest is golden and tanned, marred here and there by scars of all shapes and sizes, but it doesn’t make him any less beautiful. You can’t help but notice the trail of dark hair on his abdomen, leading to his belt buckle, which prominently features a Mudhorn, the signet of his clan. He’s wearing canvas pants, tucked into a pair of sturdy boots with a fur trim, a fur trim that matches the one on his cloak. His gloves cover his arms up to the elbow, but they’re tight enough that his muscles bulge through the fabric.

You can feel your face burning as you take in the Mandalorian before you, so unlike the one you’ve gotten to know for the past few weeks. The small infatuation you'd been harboring only grows as you look at Din now. He moves into the room, and you marvel at how he can move silently, despite his size.

He stops in front of you, his gloved hand coming up to grasp gently at your chin, pulling your face up so that he can look at you. Lacing your hands together in your lap seems like the best course of action, because otherwise you might just reach out and touch him, just to see if he’s real, and you’re not sure he’d appreciate that.

Din’s thumb rests against your cheek, stroking softly as his helmet is tilted down, looking at you. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” His voice is quiet, apologetic, and you wonder how come you didn’t recognize it when he was arguing with the other Mando. “I promise, most of the tribe doesn’t feel that way.”

You grin, or at least, you try to. “So, when you kept saying that the Clan Leader was fine with me coming here–”

Din nods. “Truly, I am more than fine with you coming to the covert every day.”

You snort, your own hand coming up to rest against Din’s, which has moved to cradle your cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You turn your face into Din’s palm, placing a gentle kiss against the warm leather. You hear his sharp intake of breath through the vocoder, so you do it again.

“I–I didn’t want you to treat me differently,” he offers, taking your hand and pulling you to your feet. He was standing so close, and now that you’re standing, you’re practically chest to chest. “I wanted to get to know you, without you feeling… obligated to treat me like a leader.”

“Why me?”

The words leave your lips before you can stop them, and you feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment. You look down, your hands absentmindedly fiddling with the worn fabric of your apron.

Din’s hand reaches out and gently grasps yours, and you can’t help but notice that his hand can easily encompass both of yours. He curls his fingers under your chin, bringing your eyes back up, forcing you to look into his visor.

“You’re so strong, Sarad’ika.” His hand slid from underneath your chin, his palm moving to cup the side of your neck, his thumb gently resting against your beating pulse. “When I saw you arguing with that shabuir in the village, even though he could easily overpower you, you weren’t afraid.”

The intensity in his voice is doing funny things to your stomach, the feeling of butterflies increasing in strength so much so that you’re worried if you open your mouth they might escape. Your skin tingles where his hands are touching you, and you’ve never felt this before, with anyone.

“I–I’m sorry that my presence has caused trouble–” You quickly plow on, stopping Din from brushing aside your apology. “I know you said it’s okay, and that you’re fine with me here, but I know not everyone feels that way, and I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

He sighs, and it’s very hard to not look down and watch the way his chest rises and falls with his breathing. He moves his hand so that he can intertwine his fingers with yours, bringing your combined hands up to rest on his chest, directly over his heart. You suck in a breath, and his thumb gently presses against your pulse point, slowly dragging back and forth over your skin in a soothing motion.

“I don’t care what they think, Sarad’ika. They know I would not needlessly endanger the tribe, for them to even suggest such a thing is unacceptable. There will always be those who do not like me, but they are few, and their voices are not as loud as it would seem.” Din gently leans his head down, careful of his horns, and rests his helmet against your brow. “I informed the tribe of my intentions. They will not dare to protest your appearance here, not now.”

Your brow furrows in confusion, although you are enjoying having Din so close. “What are your intentions, Din?”

He chuckles softly, and you can feel it reverberating through his chest. “Is it not obvious, Sarad’ika? You’ve come to mean so much to me over these past few weeks, and I will confess that I do not want to let you go.”

Your heart is racing at his words, and you feel unsteady on your feet, similar to how you felt after your first time flying.

“I know that Jeye has explained how our tribe works, and that the Clan Leader is held responsible for the continuation of the tribe.” You make a small noise of agreement, and wait for him to finish. “In times of peace, it is… customary, that the Clan Leader takes a riduur, a spouse.” Your mouth goes dry, and your eyes widen.

“Sarad’ika, know that I am not asking this of you lightly. I understand that you may wish to say no, and that is your choice, and I will respect you no matter your decision.” Your breathing is shallow, and your heart is beating so fast that you’re not sure you’re going to survive the next words to come out of Din’s mouth.

“But if you’ll have me… I would take you as my wife.”

#Mandalorian #Din x reader #clan leader!din #Din Djarin #Reader #reader fic #fic #masterlist #no use of Y/N #inspired by Beauty and the Beast #fanfic #multi-chapter fic #chapter 1

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queenofallwitches · 3 years ago

Text

an update and primer:

so the last winter was weird. I had a complete breakdown, went into psychiatric hospital for 40 days in total. two seperate times.

learnt a heap of new things, met a tonne of cool people and had amazing conversations and few fights but overcome my own demons by that.

brain speaking-I have a scarred brain stem and neurological disorder is not a mental diagnosis, but a neurological disorder, proven by MRI scan, ADHD.

also damage to my basal ganglia, and prefrontal cortex.

neurological diagnosis means ADHD is not a "mental" health issue, as some believe, rather a neurodevelopment disorder caused by structural differences in the ADHD brain.

other neurodevelopment disorders include: Tourettes, Autism, Cerebal Palsy, Dyslexia and other Motor and Intellectual Disabilities. (Which recieve, in my view, a lot of insight, media information and stigma reduction by the advocacy networks surrounding these types of disability).

Over the last few years Autism has been over everything, I've seen mainstream media cover Tourettes and yet ADHD is still HUGELY misunderstood, misconceived and misrepresented in media, be in from the angle of documentaries, personal insight of a "typical" case, films, tv, and other media.

one of the first things my dr told me was "in females it rarely presents as hyperactive red-cordial OD child"

which is what my mother BELIEVES, that is because I have an adopted cousin with the ADHD dx who was that growing up, but the representation I'm told is also divergent for women with a higher IQ score than the average IQ. I come in around 142 and tested 123 at age 3 when I was unable to focus, pay attention and had severe trauma. I tested 142 in grade 8.

I'll share my experience as a female who is intellectually gifted, with higher IQ than average, and an adhd brain:

I've been told gifted and talented "genius" children are harder to diagnose because the symptoms present differently, we hide it better (camouflage) and our focusing can be "faked" by mediocre efforts of academic success.. this is true, I would do the assignment the Sunday night hours deadline, last minute, or have my parents half do it for me, plagiarise it (fuck I've killed my whole academic career now) copied but changed my words

from old 1970s encyclopaedias I KNEW they couldn't cross reference (I went through 15 years of school never studying doing homework or assignments and still had top grades).

I literally did not listen, and spent my classes planning the end of the world survival strategies with my GT friend who, basically helped me with my calculus and hard fucking maths, which was the ONLY 50 minutes of the day I put attention into my work.

now I'm going to be heading back to full-time study in the coming months, I get anxious as the pressure of a Bachelor level degree, and the pressure it takes me to perform, is enough to break me down. I've been advised it might be wise to start light (like a basic vet style diploma) and then build up, which is logical, but I keep thinking I'm meant to be doing my thesis by now. which is the kind of pressure one gets as a kid who is told repeatedly, "your intelligence is exceedingly the average and you can do ANYTHING you want"

I wanted to be an astronaut, a storm chaser, and an architect, a town planner and then a journalist. I always held to being a "FBI agent" or spy (I wonder why). so when I found psychology is really a blend of all these things, I kinda found a niche in a psych and social science double degree. but I'm thinking my academic career is LIFELONG, and due to the fact I also want to work in my field alongside my many written thesis coming, I'll be in academics for a long time. I may fail a few things, which I have to come to terms with. I do not fail easily, or readily, but I'm a perfectionist type-a academic who will put my whole life on the line to achieve "merit". I get exams, I get assessments, I read journals super-easy, I talk the talk and walk the walk so well psychologists who are at masters level compliment me on my "knowledge".

when it comes to mental health and trauma, I will always have the personal attachment, called lived experience, which will make failure and burnout, 100 percent realistic. I have to boundary up, bootstraps on, and prepare that yes, my personal "bias" will probably be entwined in this.

which is why I'm looking at the social science for the statistics and thesis writing side of things, and the counselling for the trained therapist side. either way, the degree of counselling requires so much self-insight, and then the social-science will back me away from personifying it. the other choice is criminology, which leads to forensic psychology, which is eternally fascinating. my main concern is the pro-pedophile content Ill be up against, which will look at the anatomy of a shoplifter akin to the devil, and leave the pedophile in the DSM-5 dx "paraphilia" box.

I'm not joining or jumping to anything.

either way I've got 2 year of credit, a heap of pathways and a lot of "academic momentum" from all my life being aimed to be "academic powerhouse". I went through my files and found a lot of awards I'd won in my high school, and top place in the competitions we would be entering in. I remember feeling so sad if I had a "credit" vs a distinction or high distinction, only to see now, a credit in university maths in year 9 is a skillset I don't have anymore so, good on me. or a credit in English, or Science at that age was pretty impressive, considering these tests were random and not studied for.

just a general skills assessment only the top 30 kids in the year were to take on a year by year basis and put out to vet from the top universities and taken by other kids in the same grade around the state.

it puts so much focus on my intelligence, because it's primed to be that way, I know that is true. I know I feel good being academically successful and it gives me a feeling of "achievement" but is it really for me?

I also found 2 letters from my local politicians offering me job placement, work experience and I was 1/4 kids in my 10th grade graduation tom get the letter, and due to my behaviour I pissed ALL the idiots who bullied me off. I was "too pretty to be a nerd" "too smart to be pOpUlAr".

so I made a group of misfits, who are all highly intelligent, creative and my group had the ONLY gay male in the school AND THIS IS BEFORE YOU FUCKING RETARDS MADE IT "COOL". he was bullied badly, so fuck you, you fucks claim "liberalism" but I bet you were the type of idiot who bullied guys like him in high school while you pretended to like my chemical romance and fake cut yourselves. I hate you all, forever.

my grade was full of idiots who were fake emo, who left the scene the moment the scene changed to dub-step and club music. I was there, watching you all, like sonny Moore, went from FFTL to that dubstep skrillex shit he started in 2009.

I dated you, hooked up with you and I went to your gigs. I know who was real and who was fake. I met some of you years later and realised the more emotive ones were the less "alternative appearing".

I can say 1/10000 emo guys from the 00s were genuinely Into the music and scene for the right reasons based on my dating history and this can and will be analysed statistically using SPSS one day to prove a lot. I've had too many relationships from each sub-culture and I have had 4-11 males at a time per public "output" of my energy pursue me over life.

I'm not being cocky when I say I have a long line of "suitors" and its banked back about 50 men. it's been a thing I've avoided as it seems to grow based on my body shape, attitude, appearance, so I am currently out of touch with dating scenes, no interest to try that ANYWAY, given the fact that I have had so many LONG TERM relationships ANYWAY. I can't see another one going well, and at this case, I'm living with an ex but we never went on conventional and now our families label this 3 things: "asexual", "polyamorous" and "open relationship". I'm also "bisexual" but this all to humans outside, looks ridiculous on paper. (wild orgies and lots of swinging or some stupid sex magick probably is what J brother literally thinks we do).

bc humans are intrinsically designed to need to label things they don't understand. we share a lease, not a relationship, and fucking polyamorous, I WISH. there are no girl-girl-guy 3 some, or orgies, or sex magic parties.

this has changed the attitude and perception of this "relation' which Is non-romantic, non-sexual. he can date and likely, will, as can I , and I likely won't date.

I would say 14/15 have had ADHD, or other mental illness and or trauma. which means to me, nothing at all.

I think this "open book" non romantic relationship style of "friends and roommates" not sexual.

attachment is misunderstood by others but works well fro my adhd, meaning I'm not expected to marry, or be a wife in any capacity. he is free to do what he wants, as I am, and open communication is a novel frontier I brought into this in the start, and stayed with for the duration. we fight, but I fight with a lot of people in my life over many petty things. also down to my adhd, I believe, I have rejection sensitive dysphoria, which makes me hypersensitive to rejection, perceived or real.

im not sure if this is trauma or adhd or both. but

I have used sexuality as a weapon in many relationships but it cannot or will not be used here, so I have had to resort to uncovering parts of myself which I never knew, which will stay with me even if he decided to marry and wife up in 5 years, which I'm okay and expecting him to do, and I would much rather that then be trapped in a situation where I cannot be that "wife/mother archetype" as I'm too "femme fatal/other-woman/sex-laced seductress and siren" a "FWB, unicorn, drug buddy, hook-up where im a therapist" or "intellectual and cognitive mind-bender work-study obsessed woman".

both at once and many types of human, including one who is a full-time ceremonial magician of 7 years. I will drink, drug, fuck, fight like males and still be more feminine and high maintenance than 89% of women. I grew up a tomboy and don't mind getting into fun, adventure based situations, like hiking, or anything adrenaline, I would only be reluctant to eat weird shit.

I also have many "neurological" issues including ADHD, and trauma which causes a rupture in the average human and I dating.

I'll tell you how many men have said "you are the unicorn" and then realised what that means, I went as far as canvasing the PUA world back in 2014 after reading the game, a book on PUA, which is essentially, pick up artistry, based on NLP and hypnosis. I did this after reading the copy my ex in 2008 handed me before we dated saying "I gave this up for you". it took me years to open the book, buy when I did I truly believed the only way I would fall in love again, was through PUA. that failed in so many ways but gave me a training foundation for men who were candidates for that, I have trained up J, and the way that sounds is BAD. I know, but I got a lot of value myself, I just don't see it how I wanted to see it.

but that was my original intent, and I achieved this he knows that, knew it was happening and evolved for the best self.

I am thinking we can modulate this into a business model for how I was operating in the BDSM world was mainly psychological, not physical.

I get told all of is incredibly intimidating (I am told) to women and men.

I don't really care anymore, because people have always seen this part of me in the wrong way ANYWAY, but I own who I am NOW. which is what I needed ANYWAY. so it cannot be stolen again, and sexual healing has come from abstinence ironically.

I also don't care what or who is trying to tear up my relations, toxic or not toxic, all people around me will be on a healing journey by default, or cut out of my life, for I am radiating that energy so brightly its impossible NOT to feel that pull.

I will drag your shadows into the light, and make your secrets spin from your lips into my consciousness. its not what I do but its what is design.

I make your weaknesses mountains to climb over. you cannot hide from these in my presence, I won't be this controlling or obsessive female who wants 24-7 attention as I have a life full of meaning without love or sex. I don't want to be wined, dined or expensively gifted, unless specially requested.

I don't want love letters or romantic declarations, this isn't some femnazi bullshit, but it triggers me. I appreciate the efforts and won't make you feel bad about your insecurities, for mine are probably 30 x more pronounced.

I appreciate small things, that most males won't or don't know how to do. like remembering things I've said and being thoughtful. or knowing my silence isn't personal, or a game, but a protective wall. I've had songs sung too me, guitars played, songs written, or things made in ways that are heartfelt. but I've always had them used against me too. so it is the context. I value time, energy, conversations of depth and reciprocal exchange. I also value trauma understanding, my alters and fragments being accepted and valued as me as a whole and a person who is not afraid, or scared of stupid stuff like sensitivity, emotions, feelings as raw as my own. men feel intensely too, lol.

but will only give oral sex 100 times before I don't recieve it, I can communicate now so that wouldn't happen.

but I won't be a bitch about this stuff. I am extremely feminine and care in ways other people, do not, I forget nothing people tell me, so it can be a reward or reverse uno card pull in a fight, but I am not evil or deviant in my relations. I react, depending on how you treat me. I don't need your money, or providing source of income to be okay as I am my own queen, however sharing resources is okay to build something. I don't need to be seduced, but will need to be shown a person is trustworthy.

few cross that.

that will always be time-endurance and testing. there are ground rules I don't play with, or play games. or like being forced or forged into something I'm not. I know abusive and I know safe, and I am a psychology expert, trained psychotherapist and study humans for fun, so I'll always be analysing things.

and I know red flags and I know ego, I know how to placate and please and pleasure, but will only do so, for a bigger and better reason than the mere act of seduction. which is without value and transactional to someone like me, I won't lie.

and I know every tactic in the book, for the book was written by someone like me, many lives ago, and my karma is being burnt for that book.

in terms of walls, I have many, may it be called a maze. or labrnyth.

I will teach you things you never thought you'd know, and change your life in ways you won't ever be able to go back to before. I will blow your mind, sexually, emotionally, intellectually, on all levels, and I'll make your friends and family love me.

I'll bring your walls down and you won't be able to understand this, because you don't understand me, and thats ok.

but I'll always understanding you and make your life better because thats what I do anyway, and people talk to me about things I will never share, as I keep secrets. I am jealous, of everything but, only because I am attached in a disorganised way, and working on that.(I won't even mention how man women or men don't know basic psychology of themselves). I also am a therapist , for my friends and family too.i should not be , but I am. I care, I listen, If you think I'm not listening, I'm still listening. sometimes I interrupt, because I have ADHD and I am horrible at resolute planning, or being "normal". but I don't want to be normal anyway. I need you to recognise and understand my shit, for that is what I do for everyone in my life, and I have helped more than I receive.

I'll probably accidentally give you therapy, but thats fine, because you will uncover your depths and find meaning in this. it's not something that goes bad unless you are fundamentally, evil, even the most abusive relationship I was in, was benefited from this process. yes he's still narcissistic, but he is self-aware. and did I benefit, never, just know the anatomy of self-proclaimed narc and I still can't hate him. will get my civil claim one day.

I will fuck your mind without meaning too. but thats because I fuck my own mind. but the meaning is made in the man- some find this highly offensive or personal (its not). I fuck minds by my own overthinking, or over perception on many levels of reality. so join the ride, or don't come along at all. because once the rollercoaster is in motion, I have no control of what may or may not happen. it's purely experimental.

I am experimental.

and the women who are judging me, are not any better.

look within, and shut the fuck up. self-improve and quit this jealous divide and conquer bitchiness. I HATE gossip, bitches, snitches and fakers.

I look to other women who are intellectually, physically and spiritually "individual". and find value in superior status to my own, which is something my narcissistic ex taught me.

I look for mentors, and teachers and people who will teach me how to improve myself, which I am fearful to reconnect after something is amazing and I can't give anything back of positive value. I am sorry I am working on that.

I won't devalue those below me, but I also need to be mutually benefiting from a relationship.

I dont drag people down, I may disappear if I feel I am doing this by mistake. I am flakey as fuck, and sorry for that. its anxiety and lack of perfectionism, so I am wrong and bad for this. I can change. will change.

if you can find value with my relation, personal professional or romantic, we can move into a symbiotic beneficial agreement based on mutual "terms". but many won't or cannot see this, nor do I impose my bullshit into the lives of randoms at this age.

I don't care if this is cruel, it's real.

I value loyalty, compassion, self-insight/awareness, someone who understands all parts-spirituality, metaphysics while still having intellectual & logical & analytical brain-sight.

I enjoy music, magick and learning new things.

I do not care about appearances I dont think ive dated based on one time. I do value connections and chemistry which is far-few between, I hate fakers. I smell insincerity miles away. but I do respect women who are well-presented, or beautiful, with hair beauty and makeup, I can't do this shit well, so I look up to those who are in professions who do it like art. I find them to be genius level queens who scare me.

I call out bad behaviour and make people uncomfortable if they are repressed. I will change you without even meaning too, I don't even need to date you. its just my presence, over time, amplified by the intensity of the dynamics.

I don't want simplicity, but I also don't need over complexity.

I value passion, independence, creativity, curiosity, problem-solving, deep-disscussions, shared adventures and some occasional risk-taking (lol), sensuality and sexuality for a common cause beyond physical pleasure. I like being taught but not micromanaged. I need my own independence, and need to be trusted with that. I hate being scolded for that like a child, or being pushed to change my ways to conform to societal values. which I will push back and refuse to do. which is not healthy. I don't adult like many others do, but I try to proceed in other ways. and learn to adult like normal people, accept me.

I also value myself, and how I can be celebrated, enhanced and improved vs. the opposite.

I give space, and have boundaries, and understand human psychology, sexuality and relationships in ways few others unless they are trained, can do.

I value MY time. so you can have space to value YOURS. I dont need to be in anyones pocket for a long time. I love being alone, and being around people who are stimulating, but draining people will be drained out of my life quicker than I intend. I am sorry for the people who felt I disappeared, when I was only trying to be 'fair', if I feel I'm a bad influence, I will work on myself until I'm not. I'm still working on it.

I also use this psychology awareness, to enhance communication, connection. you may or may not become an accidental guinea pig. I will be upfront that I am experimental, but that is part of the buy ticket and take the ride. lets work together. not apart.

I am coming from a place of love, and love is what I feel for my animals, which you will be adopting as children.which I want to stop experiments being done on. I love love, in all ways, but hate cruelty of animals and children, violence and suffering. I dont advocate justice, because I find life is fucking cruel, unfair and unjust. by default, so I focus on myself. what can be changed, and what I am able to do in my own locus on control. I will always find myself drawn to the outsiders, the misfits, the vagabonds, the misunderstood. I want to help people who are society, or socially, disadvantaged by trauma and mental illness, but only when I have ability to help myself.

it's a journey.

I will not date anyone who is cruel to animals, outside of specify magical sacrifice, there is not any place for that. nor will I date or fraternise with anything or anyone linked or associated with pedophilia. I won't judge anyone on anything that are outside animal cruelty and pedophilia. I don't and haven't. I keep on good terms with every ex, bar 1 whom I only apologised too this year. it felt good to do that. I change my behaviour.

I am open, but also highly attuned to both logical, factual, empirical , scientific worlds, and spiritual, intuitive, psychic and the "collective unconscious". I walk in both these realms, and I am "conventionally attractive". which puts a lot of pressure on me, to be "stupid". I am always dumbing myself down to fit into normality, but I look ridiculous if I do that so I peacock my intellect.

only to be misconceived.

I give up because I no longer care how anyone but MYSELF can see ME. I won't dumb myself down , but I can enhance you UP. prepare yourself for graded education, evolution and self-growth on mass scales.sorry not sorry.

that sucks for the people who want to be living vicariously through me, for making up to lost trauma years, for family who sold me out for the success I'd bring home, or fake trauma enmeshed friends, or whatever they want or need from me. I value my time and energy, and have given that in abundance, and if you want to be with nut only "one part of me that is alters". I can't provide that now. not sorry.

I have to work on something or not be in a dynamic at all.

I no longer can switch on demand to adapt for you, it will not be effective and that upsets a lot of people. especially now I'm sober. harder to handle this, as I see the world for its ways and why it is, more vividly. I haven't had alcohol for almost 2 months, although, I could drink, I haven't.

I can't do it, anymore. it, being, faking, my selves fronting to impress. I can't. I have no more left to give, and I'm expected by everyone to be a way I can't do it in the way they want.

I will go to another year long outpatient DBT, followed by 10 weeks of A-C-T therapy, and however many ECT OR TMS may or may not help. I'm told it won't (ect) work. but TMS, is something I am open too. but I am telling you, none of this psychotherapy, that will be based on dbt skills, day therapy, intensive skills training, recommencing my studying, and resuming "life worth living" will or can wipe the traumas I've "recovered" memories for.

I will also shut the fuck up, and tell nobody about this if you leave me alone, I told that to my family, and this is open letter to the watchers, stalkers and perps who read this openly as I track the hits on here and have 200+ visits a day every day for the last month. globally. no idea how or who you are but I think its the same people who called the police for the "ayreon song lyrics" seen to be a suicide not last October.

thanks for that wake up call, I have shut the fuck up, since December, more so now. I will burn the journals, or lock them up.

my recovery is not linear, not yet fully integrated and I trust nobody so I don't think my psychotherapy will be deep, I focus on things like ADHD AND my EDNOS. and dbt skills. I won't be talking about sexual traumas.

enjoy the update, and thanks for the "attention".

I have my goals, my work, my meaning and what my life should and could and will look like, but I will not share that with anyone. that means everyone right now.

I've been tested, traumatised and terrorised to the point of not-tolerant of anyone who may bring that back, and banish the fuck out of my sphere every moment I need.

take me as I am, or watch me as I go, which I will go, where I am not wanted I will remove myself, but I will find where I am celebrated because I create that.

I will rise up against all adversity every time but that is survival and that created a resilient and brave woman, in me. who will not be destroyed or decomposed by humans who are fundamentally fucking evil.

I gift you my truth, in progression, and give up the pain of the past.

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the8thsphynx · 4 years ago

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p,,, p l e a s e ? I mean, please don't feel pressured to tell us about Herc either though!!! but if you want to ramble about her I'll very happily listen,,,,, as a greek mythology buff with fate brain rot your Herc makes me,,,, very happy,,,,, 🥺

HECC YEAH!

Alright, so as a disclaimer, she looks Like That(tm) because I’ve had Heracles as an OC since I was like an 11yo, so LONG before I even knew Fate existed and I’m not planning on changing the way she looks to look more like FSF/FSN Herc.

I also think that the armor I already have designed on her looks closer to Achilles/Jason/Asclepius/Odysseus’s more mecha-centered looks for Fate Greek Servants.

Next, I’ve established that the reason she is female is two separate reasons, and this has to do with compatibility for Roleplay:

When I did roleplay with others, I just had it set that she was from Musashi’s timeline and she isn’t actually the Heracles/Alcides of our timeline.

For my personal writing, it’s like an Artoria situation where history chose to remember her as a man because misogynistic Ancient Greece being like, ‘well there’s no way a woman could be a child of Zeus and this powerful and skilled at being in charge, so you must actually be a man’.

Second Disclaimer: no one has permission to take my designs and recreate them or use them for RP or fanfics.

SO listed below are the major points about her history in this verse and also how she currently operates as a Servant!!

In her history:

Same song and dance as the beginning where her powers surfaced at a young age, so Chiron found her and took her in to train her to be a hero. However, the change-up here is that Zeus gifted Heracles a portion of his power when she was born because he had the intention of this child being the hero that would guide Greece into a new age as his tickcet for his bet with Hera (this was in the 12 Trials original writing). Basically she never had a choice on whether or not she would be a hero.

When she traveled to Thebes in order to attempt to enter the Thebian Army, a whole situation happened with a coup and an attack with a hydra from Lernaea that got lured to Thebes from a nest by the people doing the coup... It was an entire thing. Heracles defeated the hydra and helped identify the traitor guards, so she was able to prove herself to Queen Eurydice and King Creon, who immediately had her married to their son Megara (below).

(he may have been in line for the Thebian throne and an incredibly skilled warrior, but he was THE Malewife.)

A bit before she moved to Thebes, when she was staying in Athens, Eurystheus met her and fell in love with her, but when she rejected his feelings that was when Hera came to him and ‘chose him as her champion’ so she could start her dirty ass scheme.

Heracles had a happy and loving marriage with Megara and they had one daughter and two sons. She would frequently go out with the Argonauts, but always came home to them as soon as she got back on shore.

When the Hera Snake Shit(tm) happened, Heracles was... broken. After the fact, the shock and grief made her go mad all over again until she dragged herself to Thebes and tried to convince Eurystheus to execute her, but because he was in cahoots with Hera he forced Heracles to the 12 Trials instead to ‘redeem’ herself... and this shit lasted 12 years, btw. So that’s 12 years of retraumatizing herself by being forced to do these impossible feats to be forgiven for the murders she was forced by Hera to commit... on top of Hera also sabotaging the Trials wherever she could.

When Heracles completed the initial 10, Eurystheus tricked her into two more, and after completing those two she snapped and nearly killed him, screaming at him to free her. It was then that Eurystheus bitched out and confessed everything to Heracles; Hera’s hatred, her whole plan... all of it. Heracles then stormed her ass out of Mycenae and Thebes and never returned.

She spent the rest of her life until her death by Nessus being cruel, cold, and tyrannical. Heracles had 1 (one) last biological child that she left with a king who would eventually raise that child to found Sparta (Leonidas’s ancestor), but the rest of her very numerous children were all actually orphaned or less fortunate children that she adopted so they could claim the title of ‘child of Heracles’ to help themselves get ahead in life (this is where the Heracleidae came to be). Even so, she usually left them on their own and didn’t open herself to them as a mother-figure.

Her life as a Servant:

She may have manifested as an Avenger class, but this is because of Megara becoming a part of her soul and manifesting with her as the manifestation of her hatred for the gods; he’s made the active choice to turn himself into the arrow meant to kill Hera.

If it weren’t for Megara bonding with her Spirit Core, Heracles would qualify for Grand Berserker class. Because of this, Heracles still has a Madness Enhancement factor that will kick in when she encounters a god. Very similar to when Penthisilea goes buckwild at the mention of Achilles, except it only activates and makes her black out when she is face-to-face with and aware that someone is a god.

Despite being an Avenger, she has an incredibly sweet disposition, especially towards kids. A habit from her life that stuck with her as a Servant is that if she sees a child (Heroic Spirit or not) who has no parents or awful parents, she WILL adopt them and start calling them her child, and no, not in the creepy weird m*mmy k*nk way, foh. In some cases, she’ll just adopt someone because they look like they could be her child. One fucking hilarious instance of this is that she has adopted Archer Emiya even though he gripes all the time that they look the same age physically. Does she care?? NO, that’s her son, babey!

Her Noble Phantasms are the almost the same as FSF Archer Alcides, especially Reincarnation Pandora and King’s Order... and Reincarnation Pandora is actually the reason why she would up contracting with Goetia. But she also has the manifestation of all 12 Trials, albeit in a different form than what Archer Alcides can bring them forth as, and this is because by some handiwork by Daedalus, Heracles can alter the King’s Order to adapt to whatever situation she needs them for.

ex: Cerberus can become a motorcycle aside from also being a three headed hellhound and the famous Lernian Hydra can turn into a Mercedes Benz aside from also being the fuck-off giant Kinghidorah.

Daedalus messing with Heracles’s Noble Phantasms is the most shown in her (Daedalus is a woman in this verse bc fuk u) alteration of Nine Lives to be a multi-adaptable weapon with nine different functionalities that Heracles can flip them to at a moment’s notice. These alternate forms include: bow, twin swords, double-ended spear, polearm, long barreled rifle, twin short arms, bludgeon, battering ram, and can even conform to the braces on her arms and become gauntlets (yes, her and Ruler Martha would vibe).

(I realize that this isn’t the best design, I’m still working on drawing weapons)

Oh, I almost forgot about her other non-combatant quirk: she fucking LOVES blond men. If a grown dude is a blond and NOT a Greek-- regardless of anything else about their physical appearance-- it cranks their attractiveness scale up by at least 2 points for her. Goetia, Fionn, Arthur/Artoria, Gawain, Kintoki, Gilgamesh (he’s on thin fuckin ice), Jekyll, Goredolf... none of them are safe.

She also very much loves modern era fashion and dressing up. Heracles quickly befriends a lot of the female Servants/staff and goes on periodic ladies nights out with them.

#Anonymous #fate oc #my ocs #heracles #the8thsphynx

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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

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Passchendaele WW2 Extension - The Unfamiliarity of Familiarity

September 12, 1945

Elizabeth came to the heartbreaking realization that her son wasn’t going to be coming home. Evelyn dealt with the concept that her brother wasn’t going to be coming home. Daniel ignored the fact that he even had a son to keep from destroying himself over the fact that he wasn’t going to be coming home.

As summer was moulding into autumn, Britain was rebuilding itself. Life in the first months post-war was busy as buildings in the cities were needing to be rebuilt and grief was fresh on the families who lost loved ones but the nationalism of the victory in Europe was unbeatable. Freedom and safety. And yet looming emptiness.

Without the fear of war, Daniel was starting to recover day by day. His PTSD from his time fighting had never been as bad as it was during the prior six years and Elizabeth was silently grateful that she didn’t lose him too. She had lost count over how many times she had metaphorically taken the gun from his hand since his own homecoming in 1915. She was only thankful that hints of her once sweet-hearted Daniel were coming back…even if it meant he refused the memory of his eldest child.

He let himself touch her again and she treasured the soft kisses in the kitchen and gentle brushes of his hand over her shoulders at the vanity or the feeling of him holding her close in their shared bed long into the night. Her heart ached for her son but it beat for her husband. The sense of somewhat normalcy was nice after years of trauma.

If you asked Daniel about his family, he would always reply with a statement about his generous wife and his angelic daughter but his voice would catch in his throat for a moment before he ended his reply with an abrupt stop. Ignoring it was better than dealing with it and if he accepted the fact that his son might have been very well dead, he might not have ever recovered.

Daniel sat on the porch in early afternoon on a particularly sunny day. He was tired from a romantic sleepless night with his wife the evening before and from constantly having to suppress feelings and memories for his own sanity. He was a grown man now – not the same nineteen year old who saw the horrors of humanity under the Belgian rain – one who now only fought to keep the worst of life out of his mind.

Evelyn had found her own place in the city that summer and she was working in a clothing store that she always admired growing up. At nearly twenty-five, Evelyn was a blossoming young woman with a whole life ahead of her and she came out of the war stronger than ever. In her small London apartment, she had a photograph of her big brother sitting proudly on her mantle. The ones that filled the Seavey’s mantle back home were still turned to face the wall every morning like ritual.

Lunch had just finished – Elizabeth had made Daniel’s favourite – and she set him out on the porch to wait as she cleaned up the dishes and started on tea. He read quietly, holding the old worn book in his hand that once belonged to his brother. He had taken up more of an appreciation for reading as he grew up…it always made him feel like Christian was with him. The late summer air was crisp and warm and the breeze made the windchimes sing a pretty song.

Their small town seemed to always be quiet – quiet in fear during the war and quiet in calmness after it. It was serene and familiar now; the same little front walk that Daniel and Elizabeth walked up together the day they got married…the plentiful grass where Evelyn would host little tea parties with her dolls…the long driveway where Charlie learned how to ride a bike. Daniel didn’t think of it much but all the memories were there whether he wanted to remember or not.

He busied himself with his book and waited for his tea.

Their street didn’t see too much traffic as it was tucked away just outside the main town admits the trees and land so the car making its way down the gravel road urged Daniel’s eyes to glance up over the top of his book. He ignored it and went back to reading.

The car approached closer, crunching the gravel under the tires as it drew closer to their house. Daniel waited for it to pass by, trying to read the same word over and over again.

The crunch of gravel stopped and the steady drone of the engine had Daniel glancing up again as the black taxi turned into his very own driveway. It was a long driveway framed with trimmed green grass on either side and Daniel watched as the car finally stopped near the middle. There was no movement. He watched curiously; the book still held lazily in both hands as he waited for the visitor to emerge from the car.

Finally, the back door opened and a man stepped out, carrying only a small bag in his hand. The man thanked the driver quietly and closed the door and the car pulled backwards out of the driveway.

Daniel stared at the man standing on his lawn, book held in the air and eyes narrowed in concentration towards the figure. He was tall and had slightly unruly brown hair with a bit of scruff lining his jaw. He was grown-up and tired and his broad frame appeared near frail and almost delicate, cheeks slightly hollow and yet there was a presence about him that made it seem like he was meant to be right there. He wore a freshly pressed air force uniform and cap, his gaze downcast.

Daniel blinked, letting his book close on his lap as he waited for the young man to speak…to declare himself…to explain his sudden appearance. But the man looked up towards the small porch, staring back at Daniel with his brother’s very own face and his very own eyes. Daniel’s breath shuttered in his chest with realization and he let the book fall to the ground as he stood on shaking legs. He didn’t believe it. He didn’t believe who he was staring at…what trick his mind was playing on him.

The young man’s eyes were brimming with tears and he dropped his bag to the ground weakly, taking a small step towards the porch. He was almost unrecognizable to his father after six years of fighting and a few months of his father shamefully ignoring his pictures at all costs. He was grown now, a young man of twenty-seven, but when realization set in, all Daniel could see was his innocent five-year-old son standing on the lawn.

Daniel didn’t recall even touching the front porch steps or the front walk and before he could even register his next breath, he was engulfing his son in a hug. The Seavey men both let out equal sobs at the same time, clinging onto each other so tightly that it appeared they were never going to let go again. Daniel smelt like home…like childhood…like familiarity and Charlie wept into his father’s neck until he was soaking himself in his tears. Familiarity was something so foreign to him now.

Daniel could feel everything; his son’s hands clutching the back of his shirt and the thin frame that nearly had him disappearing under his crisp uniform and each shuttering breath he took. Faith had dwindled over the years – after a near lifetime of loss and sacrifice you can’t really blame him – but Daniel held his son and looked up to the sky and breathed out an honest, “thank you”.

Elizabeth was inside making tea, finally letting it steep long enough to pour and she filled two mugs before glancing out the window to find the porch empty. Her concern for her husband rose in her chest and she moved to the front door to peer out to search for him. She froze in place at the sight on her lawn; her husband wrapped up in an embrace with who she could easily place as her son. Charlie’s eyes rose from his father’s shoulder to his mother as she stepped out onto the porch.

He only cried harder, reaching for her with a strained and sickeningly innocent, “Mama.”

Elizabeth nearly tripped down the stairs in her rush for him, taking her son’s face in her hands and showering him in kisses as her own tears fell and she shifted around his other side to join their hug.

“Oh my gosh, my darling boy.” Elizabeth cried, petting her hand through the ends of his shaggy brown hair at the back of his neck.

Stuck between his parents in their familiar embraces, Charlie sobbed himself sick, clinging onto both of them until he could hardly hold himself up and he doubled over and vomited onto the grass. A few of the neighbours were watching with concern from the moment they heard the crying and they stared at the family pitifully.

“Come on, darling. Let’s go inside.” Elizabeth spoke as strongly as she could, picking up her son’s back from the ground and set a hand on his back.

Charlie was choking over every breath, his relieved and yet sorrowful sobs echoing down the street as his parents led him up the front steps. He leaned on Daniel the whole way inside and Daniel didn’t dare let him out of his reach, joining him on the couch as soon as they got into the parlour and letting him curl up into his side.

Daniel knew his pain well – or at least part of it – and he let his son cry out his emotions in the comfort of his arms until his tears were streaking his shirt in dampness. Elizabeth brought over a pot from the kitchen in case he was going to be sick again as well as a glass of water and she sat on his other side. She helped Charlie take a sip of water and took off his cap and unbuttoned the top few buttons on his unform to help him breathe a little better.

“You’re safe.” Elizabeth whispered, petting her son’s hair as he cried in his father’s arms. “You’re home now.”

Daniel kept his wide eyed stare between his son and his wife, his heart hammering in his chest. Only a few minutes earlier he was living life as a father of one and now…his son was returned to him and sobbing out his terrors in his arms. It was so sudden that they hadn’t had a chance to even wrap their minds around the fact that he was home now, all they could offer was their familiar presence and the love of a parents’ touch that Charlie had been deprived of for six and a half years.

#✉

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jcmorrigan · 4 years ago

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001 - Tales of Zestiria?

Favorite character: It's a tough call between Maltran and Symonne, and Lunarre is trailing right behind both. I tend to call them the "Heldalf Squad," but make no mistake, Heldalf himself isn't part of it. I just like his swagalicious minions. The dry and sarcastic political manipulator, the sadistic and wordy theater nerd, and the flamboyant cannibal who hates everything. Yes. LOVE. But I have to give a shout to my boy Dezel on the hero side! Angsty/stoic characters are very hit-or-miss with me, but Dezel is the flavor I love - obvious soft spots and quirks, and slowly he builds from being antisocial to showing how big his heart is. When he stops the woman from leaping off the Guinevere tower...that's one of my favorite scenes in the entire game, because you can see when the switch flips, when he realizes that he CANNOT stay aloof any longer when there's a stranger's life on the line. He's still a grump about it but a compassionate grump.

Least Favorite character: Heldalf. His backstory is really clever, and I like the curse on him. But he himself just feels like Ganondorf but more boring. I kinda hate that he's so vanilla when his three lieutenants are in my arsenal of pet villains from the vastness of fiction. Also shout-out to Chancellor BART in the opening Ladylake act, because I distinctly remember liveblogging this to a friend, and I played Zestiria *after* Berseria (I'd loved Berseria and that's why I eventually sought out Zestiria) so here I am just comparing up the corrupt church in Ladylake to the Abbey's suave rogues gallery like "Yeah no BART has nothing on Lady Teresa Linares." Thankfully BART was never seen again.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): DezeRose, SorMik, Symonne x Coco Atarashi (The World Ends With You), Alisha Diphda x Sergei Strelka, and...I swear you have to bear with me here...Zaveid x Anna (Frozen). I also kinda wanna note a couple ships I'm on the fence about for my other favies - those being Maltran x Ebony Maw (Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel Ultimate Alliance) and Lunarre x Arkham (Devil May Cry).

Character I find most attractive: Dezel. It is a scientific fact that guys with pointy teeth are just hotter.

Character I would marry: Maybe Dezel, maybe Sergei. I wouldn't want to take them from those I see as their wifeys, but at the same time, they are husband goals, both of them.

Character I would be best friends with: Catch me clinging to Maltran's train and she drags me along annoyedly as I yell "PLEEEEAAASE LET ME HANG OUT WITH YOU GUYS" and Lunarre is losing it laughing while Symonne rolls her eyes

a random thought: So I toyed around with basically every accessory I picked up, and I decided to put the sideburns on Rose because fuck gender roles. Well then I just got used to seeing her with facial hair in every cutscene where her 3D model was used, and now I headcanon that she does get it. Maybe nonclassical CAH intersex? Like, I don't necessarily see her as trans (but I support everyone who hc's her as such) but moreso "a cis woman, but I grow this stupid damn facial hair like a dude and I don't get why." And this is why you shouldn't let me play with customizable accessories on RPG characters because I can and will abuse my privilege to headcanon.

An unpopular opinion: That this is actually a very good game. Listen, I think I get it - the initial marketing promised something far different. And that's disappointing. But coming back to it several years after its release, after the release of its PREQUEL, when I never had that hype building up...it actually exceeded my expectations. I held off from it for a while because I thought Eizen's fate would make me too sad, but that didn't end up the case at all. I actually had just come off playing a more recently-released triple-A game that was hyped up for years, and I completed it to my satisfaction in 20 hours. $80 for 20 hours. Zestiria gave me my money's worth in comparison; it took me about 60, and I loved just how MUCH story it had to offer me. I honestly like Rose better than Alisha anyway (Rose was one of the biggest aspects that interested me about playing it in the first place). I've also seen complaints that the characters weren't well-developed enough? Which I just kinda take to mean "They didn't angst enough." Listen. There are PLENTY of games out there if you want angst and sad stories. I don't really like sad stories in my games. I like adventures where the party is a goofy foundfam that jokes around with each other and helps each other work through shitty situations, and that's EXACTLY what I got. (And Berseria really worked on me too because it kinda started at the bottom of the angst barrel, then worked its way up through "The edgy and tortured protag has gained a party of idiots and oh noooooo she's learning friendship and happiness.") Dezel's death is one of the few game deaths that just made me SATISFIED to watch instead of depressed because of the closure he got and the themes tied into his final moments and sacrifice. I loved going on this adventure, I loved the idiots who I went on it with, and I loved seeing what Glenwood had to offer me in world design the further I explored.

my canon OTP: There's not much for canon romance in this game, come to think of it. Just subtext and some flirting. So I'm blanking on if there actually were any canon couples at all.

Non-canon OTP: DezeRose! Which maybe can be considered almost-canon based on the amount of subtext, but still. It's adorable. (And it's the exact same dynamic as EiRoku except M/F and a thousand years later. I need these four to double date...the dual-wielding goofs with their edgy, grumpy Reapers...)

most badass character: Rose! Not only able to wield the Shepherd's Armatization powers, but also to be a dang good assassin on her own, able to hold her own against Heldalf before she even had her eyes opened to seraphim! Though a shout-out goes to Edna because her armatization was my favorite to play with. There's something just satisfying about bashing the enemy in front of you with a pair of GIANT FISTS

pairing I am not a fan of: RoseAli. To be honest, it was at one point something I kinda enjoyed as a third-tier ship for Rose (Dezel first, then Lailah in second). But then...Alisha's Story. I didn't actually purchase it, thank goodness, just watched it on YouTube, and it was the most grating addition that anyone could've made to this game. First of all, I can sum up the issues with Alisha's Story by reminding everyone that it canonized a secret entrance to Camlann that was much easier to get to and wasn't protected by Muse's sacrifice. But the real thing that hurt to watch was how far down they had to knock Rose and Alisha's friendship to get them to rebuild from scratch. Rose claiming she was never Alisha's friend because she's grieving Sorey? The two of them getting into a PHYSICAL FISTFIGHT over it? Nope nope nope. That's not my Rose. Even less my Rose is that whole scene where she...you know...pounces on Alisha to dress her in the silly noblewoman's dress, and it's framed like...let's just say it's really uncomfortable to watch if you don't know the punchline is just a silly outfit. Even though Alisha's Story isn't canon in my head, it still really killed any buzz I had for RoseAli. I will also say I'm not a big fan of Eizavie - first of all, EiRoku or bust in this house, and second, I have a little bit of a hard time seeing Zaveid as mlm due to how much he goes on and on about The Ladies(TM). (Though I could see Eizen as having a tiny crush on him, though. Just like "Oh no he's hot but he's connected to Aifread's disappearance help")

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Mostly just in Alisha's Story. I was mad about the aforementioned Rose stuff, but also...like...they undid Lunarre's original cathartic death, they did so to team him back up with Symonne and then do a whole fakeout that they had Maltran with them too, but Maltran is just an illusion and immediately after this, Lunarre and Symonne just decide "Yeah, we're not gonna work together anymore, have a nice life." Why does Maltran need to stay dead if LUNARRE somehow survived EXPLODING? And just...look to next question for more clarification:

favourite friendship: I just want to imagine that Maltran, Lunarre, and Symonne were weird evil friends. The kind who'd take artistic selfies and caption them "Murder and mayhem with my besties!". Maybe they even had a sibling dynamic. They were all pretty dang jaded, so I like to think they sat around sometimes talking about the things in this world that did them wrong. The reasons they were drawn to Heldalf. Heldalf himself wouldn't have cared, he would've kicked them around like disposable tools, but the three of them were too entrenched in his dogma to see it. Maybe if they met up again after he was off the board...then they'd sing a different tune. Realize they're all three better than this, and now they're gonna do things THEIR way, because remember when they made a three-point attack on Glenwood and Sorey was barely able to keep up with them wrecking Lastonbell AND Pendrago AND Glaivend? Remember when Lunarre and Symonne had each other's backs the night Dezel died? Now they can do what they want on their terms! And I just - I have many MANY feelings about these three.

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: Okay silly self-insert time but the thing is, Archibald Snatcher (The Boxtrolls) and Roman Torchwick (RWBY) are my two favorite parental f/o's (and also my OTP to end all OTPs), and I have this thing about how they'd be PERFECT crime dads to Symonne in particular because she's like a little, more theatrical Neopolitan. So there's a universe in my head where Symonne is basically already my little sister, and I look out for her - well, okay, she's a seraph with powerful Artes and I am a powerless mortal so really she looks out for me because "I suppose SOMEONE has to make sure you don't die" and I am grateful to her for it.

#tales of zestiria

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ldrmas · 4 years ago

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Part 2

A Pirates Life for Me: A Beetlejuice Pirates of the Caribbean Part 2 Part 1 Here - https://ldrmas.tumblr.com/post/647682697685237760/part-1 Character sheet for those who have questions - https://ldrmas.tumblr.com/post/647688946637324288/pirates-characters

- Please leave a comment or a reblogg telling me what you think. Again if there is dialogue that is a repeat of the movie I am not taking claim to it, I’m just admitting I’m not smart enough to come up with something better. Obliviously this whole plot and lines do not belong to me, they belong to the mouse, I’m just commandeering them for the story, savvy? But still enjoy, me hearties! -

“Come here, boy!”

“Come on please.”

“I have a nice juicy bone for ya.”

“Come here.”

Beej rolled his eyes as he leaned against one of the walls of his cell. One of his arms was across his chest while the other was what he was using as a cushion since the stone of the prison was unforgiving with its icy bite and he had already been cold enough today. “You lot can do that forever and the dog will never move.”

“Forgive us for not giving up and resort’ng ourselves to the gallows ‘ust yet.” One of the prisoners scoffed before they went back to calling for the mutt who held a large ring of keys within his jaws. Beej huffed at them before settling back against the wall. He couldn’t bother with them, though he did wish for some peace and quiet so he could think of an escape of some sort. He wasn’t looking forward to the gallows either, not that the lads behind him had to know that.

“There you go, Miss.” Barbara said as she slid the bed warmer under the several blankets that were tucked over the lady of the house. Lydia had been escorted home after Commodore Strong had asked her for the millionth time if she was alright. A bath had been immediately drawn for her and only when she had four cups of tea in her did her father cease his fussing. It was when he left the manor to return to the fort, did she feel that she could finally breathe.

“It was quite the day for you for sure.” Her maid went on and Lydia put down her book as she leaned back against the pillows. She merely smiled as the day flashed about her thoughts before she hummed.

“Well truth be told I suspected the Commodore to propose, but I still wasn’t entirely prepared for it.” Literally and figuratively, apparently. The more she thought of it, the more she was convinced that her body had been waiting for him to ask the question before she had lost consciousness, just so she wouldn’t have to answer. It made her laugh as she was sure that wasn’t the case, but she couldn’t help wishing it was just that.

“Miss, I meant you being apprehended by that pirate, it sounds dreadful.” Barbara added as she shuffled along the blankets making sure they were secure around her Misses. Lydia’s face fell as she suddenly remembered that she had indeed been in the arms of a pirate today.

“Oh…” Lyds commented as she nodded recalling the roughened hands pressing into her skin. His honey tone of mockery echoing in her pierced ear. Then those eyes. The description she had read about had failed to mention how haunting and beau- “Yes, it was …it was dreadful.” It wouldn’t do to finish that thought it was better to let the thoughts go.

“But the Commodore proposed!” Barbara gushed excitedly. “Now that’s a smart match, Miss, if it’s not too bold to say.”

“It is…” Lydia replied as she settled against the bed, but her eyes didn’t hold any excitement, nor did any part of her. She sighed as she realized she would eventually have to give Berthold an answer, if she could even figure out an answer to give. “He’s a …well he’s what every woman should imagine to marry.”

“Well, if I may,” Barbara hummed as she double checked that the lantern was good for the night. “…that Dominic Orion, he’s a fine man who fancy’s you as well.”

“Ha,” Lydia giggled as she rolled her eyes and good naturally shook her head. She closed her book losing disinterest in it as she fixed her maid with a dispassionate gaze. “Yes, Dominic is kind, but I don’t feel what he feels for me. He’s more my brother than anything. If those two are my choices of who is supposed to take my hand, then I rather not make the choice at all.”

“Yes, Miss.” Barbara nodded letting her misses have her thoughts despite how innocent they may be. She would have to marry at some time, and it might do her better to marry the fellow whom she considered her brother than a man she had no feelings for at all. It wasn’t her place to say so instead she left the room after bidding the lady a final goodnight.

Once she was alone Lydia sighed and plucked at the gold coin she was still wearing. She fiddled with it as she recalled the pirate had an interest in it. Why? Why did he care about a thing that was surely small compared to untold treasures he had seen in his life? He had looked he might have ripped it right off her neck had he been given the chance. She didn’t understand it and that made her all the more curious about what had happened today.

She suddenly resided from her thoughts as she realized the light was flickering. Her eyes traveled to her lantern that was indeed filled with enough oil for the night but as she squeezed the pendant in her hand the flame went out as if someone had purposely blown it out. There was no explanation for it and the air ceased in her lungs as an eeriness fell over not only her but the whole of Port Royal.

Well, that couldn’t be good.

The Commodore and Governor Deetz slowly walked along the walls of the fort. The Governor had returned for he wished to let Bert know that Lydia was indeed alright, also to continue talking with him for he hadn’t many chances at the party earlier that afternoon.

“Has Lydia given you an answer yet?” Charles casually asked with a gentle smile.

“No, not yet.” Bert replied as he sighed but returned the smile to the older man.

“Well, it’s been a difficult day for her. This ghastly weather is the fitting ending to such a day, don’t you agree?”

“It is bleak, indeed.” Bert nodded as he took a moment to fall back, glancing out to the dark water.

“What is that?” They both heard a faint whistle not instantly understanding what it was, but Bert jerked the Governor to the ground as a cannon ball struck the fort just behind him. He completely covered Charles’s body with his own and only when it was safe, he sat up again calling out orders to return fire.

“It can’t be…” Beej gasped as he jerked up from the perch in his cell, jumping to the barred window and looking down into the Cove of Port Royal. He was thankful that the window had a perfect view and his lips curled high as he was able to make out the black ship that nearly blended into the ocean that was colored coal from the dark night.

“My Kali…” He whispered as he watched the ship sent cannon shot after shot to the town and the fort.

“It’s the Kali!” One of the prisoners asked before he whimpered the name as he heard the Captain talk about the ship. They didn’t have a window like Beej did but there was nothing from stopping them from hearing the repeated cannon fire. “I’ve…I heard stories, she’s been preying on settlements ‘n ships for nearly ten years. Never leaves any survivors.”

“Ask yourself this, mate, where the stories come from if there be no survivors?” Beej mocked as he reluctantly took his eyes off the ship for just a moment to acknowledge the idiot prisoner behind him.

“Huh…”

Port Royal never stood a chance as the town was blasted to bits from the cannon fire. It hit every building, every structure, everything that was put together was blown apart. Men, woman, children scattered crying out and screaming into the dark night hoping to just possibly survive.

The cries of the town echoed all the way up to the fort where the navy was returning fire.

“Stash the muzzle flash. Stephen, more cartridges on the double man.” Bert commanded, before he stepped to Charles’s side touching his shoulder. “Governor, barricade yourself in my office.”

They ducked as a blast interrupted them before Bert growled. “That’s an order.” Charles gasped in deep fear but then nodded, knowing there wasn’t any way he could argue. He moved across the fort taking refugee in the office reluctantly.

Then it got worse as on the shoreline several boats filled with pirates stormed upon the sandy beach. They were here to raid pillage and destroy while two were on a special mission to find what their captain had demanded. A small shiny, invaluable to pirates despite its size.

Pirates flooded the streets and the ship circled around in the cove until it was further out and raining cannon fire down upon the fort. The people that weren’t lucky enough to get away from the damage of the cannon balls, they were attacked by blades of the pirates.

Dominic ran out into the streets grabbing axes and two swords from the shop, hoping to help. He threw an axe at a pirate that was chasing a screaming woman, it lodged into his back killing him. The pirate crumpled, giving the woman a chance to get away, Dom grabbed the axe before he jumped back into the fray.

Lydia ran out to the balcony of the house seeing the ship and the fort locked in an impasse of exchanging cannons neither willing to give up. She gasped as a lot of pirates stormed at the manor’s gates, having no difficulty with throwing it open and rushing to the door of the home. She ran back inside just as the pirates were knocking at the door. One of the butlers was walking across the foyer and sadly, just as Lydia screamed at him ‘Don’t!’, he already had and a gun went off. The butler landed back deader than a nail and Lydia shrieked at watching him die.

“Up there.” One of the pirates pointed at her. Lydia instantly took off for her room slamming the door closed and locking it. She was about to run into her main sleeping quarters when she ran into Barbara, they both screamed while her maid clutched onto her.

“The-They’ve come to kidnap you, Miss!”

“What?”

“You’re the governor’s daughter.” Lydia’s eyes widened but she jumped as the door rattled, the pirates were about to get through. “They haven’t seen you, so hide and the chance you get run to the fort.”

Then Lyds turned running back along the room just as she did the pirates broke through the barrier tumbling into the seating room and just catching the girl running into the next space. The shorter one gave chase but as he came to the threshold Lydia slammed the bedwarmer right into his face. Barbara ran through the door as she figured she wouldn’t get another chance.

The taller pirate captured the warmer’s handle before Lydia could swing it at him. They struggled until Lydia pulled the mechanism and hot embers fell upon the pirate like black rain. He screamed and jerked about as she dropped the heavy iron object then ran past them both.

“Hot, it’s hot. She burned me!”

“Come on!” The other pirate pulled him so that they both could give chase. One chased her down the stairs while the other jumped the landing trapping her upon the steps. There were other pirates about the home ransacking it for anything of value. A cannon was shot aimed perfectly at the house and it soared through the air hitting the nameless pirate and piles of gold in his arms square on. It was enough to weaken the support of the chandelier, so Lydia bolted passed one of the pirates as it crashed upon the floor, running into the dinning room.

She barred the door and instantly grabbed at the swords plaque that was above the fireplace, only it just decoration. The swords she hoped to use as defense wouldn’t budge so her head snapped around the room and then dove for a hiding place just as the pirates kicked passed her improve lock.

The two marched into the room one pointed at the opening window figuring they would have to chase her through the gardens yet the shorter one grabbed his arm and shook his head.

“We know you’re here, lassie.” He called out to the space. He slowly looked about the room while his friend remained quiet besides him. “Come out and we won’t hurt’cha. You have something that belongs to us, Lass. It calls to us.”

Lydia glanced down at the necklace. This. This thing brought them here. Why what was going on. “The gold calls to us.” Her hiding space went dark and she snapped her gaze up as the pirate was grinning right at here through the crack of the door.

“There ya are, Lass.” The doors opened and Lydia dropped the necklace as one word fell from her lips.

“Parley!”

The shorter of the pirates had pointed a gun to her hoping to shoot her but paused at the word. He glanced at his companion, but his gaze quickly went back to the lass. “How do you-”

“I invoke the right of parley!” Lydia repeated as she stood defiantly against the two, her palms shaking at her sides. “According to the Code of the Brethren composed by pirates Bartholomew and Morgan, you are now to take me before your captain.”

“I know the Code!” The smaller one growled as he was still confused on how a lady such as herself could recite the basic rules of the code as well as an old sea salt.

“Drop your weapon, then.” Lyds added as she glanced at the barrel of the pistol he was holding. “You know as well as I do, you can not harm me until the parley is complete.”

“To hell with the Code, Poppy, let’s just-”

“We must honor the Code, Vince, ain’t that right, Lassie? You want to go to the captain, fine, then you’ll come with us without a fuss.” Lydia complied as they grabbed at her and she could only hope they wouldn’t be hit by cannon fire before they made it to the ship.

“Watch out!” Beej yelled as he jumped from the window to the far end of the cell shoving his arms over his head. A cannon burst through the wall of the jail, shattering the stone wall as if it were simply paper, debris scattering like cockroaches along the floor.

Beej shook out his head, the explosion left a deep ringing in his brain, but dread filled him as he noticed the position of the new crater. The prisoners in the next cell over hollered in joy as one by one they climbed out until there was one remaining.

“You have me sympathies, mate. Better luck next time.” He teased before joining the others and escaped into the night. Beetle sighed as he came up to the small part of the crater on his side of the bars, there was no escaping for him. He couldn’t even put his head through the hole. It was then he noticed the bone on the ground and he rolled his eyes before grabbing at it.

He had to try after all.

“Come on, boy.” He whistled while flicking the bone back and forth. The dog got to his feet coming over to him. “That’s right, it’s just the two of us now. You and old Beetle. Come on, closer. That’s it, come on, you stupid mingy mangled cur.”

The dog was just out of reach, so close but so far, before there was a loud clash at the top of the stairs. The dog then ran off deeper into the jail and Beetle cussed as he couldn’t grab him let alone the keys. His eyes then jumped to the stairs as there was more crashing, then a soldiers body was falling down the steps, and not moving once it came to a stop. There was however two walking down after him, two fellows he knew all too well.

“Hey, Dan, look who we have here.” Leonard sneered as he strolled up to the bars. “Captain Beetle Kreaton.” He spat at the ground barely missing Beej’s arm who glared up at him from the other side of the iron cage.

“Last time we saw you, you were by your lonesome stuck on that godforsaken island, shrieking out like a woman as we sailed away.” Dan chuckled as he eyed the pirate with a grin that belonged on the devil himself. “Things haven’t improved since then have they, Kreaton.”

“Ya know, funny you should mention god, fellows.” Beej hummed as he dropped the bone before pulling himself up to his full height. “Because it’s not someone you’d be meeting soon, the deepest circle of hell is reserved for lot like you, mutineers and traitors.”

A hand shoved through the bars slamming upon his throat, near crushing his esophagus. That wasn’t the worst of it though, the arm that was now squeezing his skin was in the light of the moon and was nothing but bone. Bone and torn up fabric of the man’s otherwise intact jacket. Beej’s eyes widened in slight fright before he hummed.

“So, the curse is real.” He gasped as the skeleton fingers squeezed the skin of his neck. “Interesting.”

“You couldn’t even begin to understand hell, bastard.” Leonard sneered before he jerked his hand against the ex-captain’s neck once again then the two turned rushing back up the stairs from once they came.

“That’s truly interesting.” He hummed as he was alone once again.

She was rushed through the streets. Lydia had saw a glimpse of Dominic fighting among the several citizens but the pirate continued on to lead her through the streets and so she couldn’t tell if he saw her. She was guided to a long boat where they held not only her but countless arrays of goods they had obtained from the town. The pirates didn’t touch her other than the smaller one keeping a crushing grip upon her arm. He warned them all not to bother her since she had shouted parley.

They pulled her up upon the ship. They helped her crouch under the gunwale and take her first steps on board. There was so much going on, men running about, the echoing of the cannons in the air, it was madness. She could only gaze up at a man on the stern castle deck draped in a coat of ashen gray and a large hat perched upon his head decorated with unrecognizable feathers. A capuchin monkey swung on some random rigging before perching itself upon the Captain’s shoulder. He was surly the captain and who she would be negotiating with.

She was all confirmed in her thoughts as the two men who had guided her this entire way began dragging her to the stairs, only to be halted by a towering man with eyes of deep angry blue.

“We agreed, no captives.” He spat glancing at Lydia as if she were a thorn in his side.

“She invoked parley with the Capt’n.” Poppy barked as he tried to push past Sandy Marte, but the Lady got out of his grip, stepping closer to the First Mate instead.

“I’m here to ne-” A resounding slap echoed over the entire ambiance, silencing it and all the men stopped what they were doing to watch. Lydia yelped at the sting, covering the impact with her palm. She wanted to say something further, yet words died on her tongue as her eyes widened in slight fear.

“You’d speak when you are spoken too!” Sandy growled keeping his hand up just as a threat to hit her again before a hand soundly landed upon his forearm and long unkept nails dug into his skin.

“And you...” Sandy made to flinch and gulp as he listened to that chilling voice. “…will do good to remember that no harm is to come to those under the protection of parley.”

“Aye, sir.” The First Mate agreed retreating his sun kissed arm and backing up among the other lads, allowing the Captain to step forward. Lydia held her ground standing as straight and proud as any noble should. She would not let her fear show, she couldn’t. She eased her hand down as the imposing man stepped closer. He looked her over, down his pointed nose with his eyes of earth brown sweeping about her completely, as if he could read her very soul. His mouth crooked up into a disturbing smile once he looked back into her own hazel eyes.

“My apologies, Miss.” He said in more of a whisper, as if the whole crew wasn’t listening to their every word.

“Captain Brightman…” Lydia stated the name slowly, showing him the respect he deserved, despite what she thought of him, yet there was a growl to her tone as she continued. “I am here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Port Royal.”

“There be many long words in that, Miss.” The Captain quirked his lips before he began chuckling at her, in fact the whole crew was chuckling under their breaths. “We be humble pirates, so one more time, what it be that you actually want?”

“I want you to leave then never come back.” She out right demanded, never once breaking her gaze from the captain even as now the whole ship broke out into amused laughter. Her fists curled at her sides, doing right to keep her trembling at bay. She wished to silence them all, but she knew it be better to ignore them. Her focus had to be solely on the Captain, or she would lose her nerve.

“I am disinclined to acquiesce to such a request.” Brightman at last replied, his smile blooming into a full grimy toothed smirk, especially as he hunched by leaning forward right into her personal space when her face pinched in confusion. “Otherwise known as ‘No’.”

“Right, then.” She jerked the necklace off her neck then stormed over to the railing of the ship. Her hand shot out the chain dangling from her closed fist before she turned her eyes back on the captain with a glare. “I’ll drop it.”

“That small bit matters nothing to us while our hold overflows with swag,” Brightman casually chuckled as he moved closer to her eyeing the pendant with disdain though his face fell as his eyes returned to hers. “Why bother with the threat, Lass?”

“You’ve been searching for this, have you not?” Lydia questioned as she glanced about the pirates, knowing they needed this but wondering why they weren’t stopping her. “I know I’m not mistaken, you are the pirates that I saw after you all attacked the ship eight years ago when I crossed from England. I’d know this ship anywhere.”

“Oh, do you now?” The Captain taunted while he hid his surprise. Lydia glared at him as he seemed to be mocking her. She could easily play his game if need be. She sighed glancing over the pirates once more before shrugging.

“Very well, if it’s worthless then there is no point to keep it.” The necklace chain lengthened slightly in her hand, the coin slid closer to the water. It was an instant reaction. Every single person other than her jerked forward reaching out for the gold and her. Brightman had the reaction she strived for the most, he yelled out for her to stop, the desperate ‘no’ falling from his chapped lips sent a pleased smile upon her own.

He then laughed before gliding closer to her not stopping until he was invading her space once again. She pulled her hand back clutching the coin in her palm now. She made not to move back as his eyes swept about her again as if she be a puzzle he couldn’t understand. This close she could tell his eyes had a hint of yellow mixing in with the white, but it didn’t deter from the coldness of his brown irises boring into her. “You got a name, Miss?”

“Lydia…” She caught herself from saying her true name and dropped her head in a bow. “Lydia Orion, I’m a maid amid the governor’s staff.”

They should have realized that she wasn’t a maid by the state of her dress alone, but they were too focused on her name. “Miss Orion.” Brightman echoed so that all of his lads could hear the name as true as a bell. Murmurs burst from the pirates, all them now sporting smirks or grins, ones they knew to be filled with deep relief. Lydia pinched her brows as she heard the two pirates that had escorted her here in the first place.

“Doomed Doomie.” The shorter one had said to the other, who slowly turned about to gaze at her with more intrigue than before.

“Now,” Lydia snapped her eyes back to the Captain who was once again smirking at her and ranking his eyes over her completely. “how does a maid come to acquire such a thing? Perhaps passed down from a family member?”

“Are you inquiring I have stolen it, because I have not.” She questioned in reply. It seemed to be the answer he was willing to accept because his smirk fell into a simple grin as he held out his hand.

“Alright then, hand it over, and you have my word, we’ll put this town to our rudder and ne’er come back.” She reluctantly handed over the shiny, easing it into his hand. He passed it to the monkey who had been upon his shoulder the entire time. The monkey gripped the necklace before jumping up and disappearing along the rat lines. When she could no longer see the creature, her eyes went back to him before they settled in a harsh glare.

“We have a bargain?” The Captain said nothing just turned about on his boots nodding to his first mate. The man instantly called out the orders for those who were still on shore to come back and for the guns to cease fire. The Captain was walking away from her, but she was immediately at his heels calling out for him to take her to shore.

“You have to take me back for according to the code-”

“Firstly,” He barked as he turned about catching her against him as she bumped against his suddenly stopped body. She almost yelped as his body was unnaturally cold and his voice was mockingly ringing in her ear. “You didn’t request to be returned to shore, so I don’t have to do nothing. Secondly, for the code to apply you must be a pirate and you are no such thing, then lastly, Lassie, the code be more guidelines, not official rules. So welcome aboard the Kali, Miss Orion.” He released her and she stumbled back into the arms of the two pirates who had cornered her in her own home. They dragged her away to the Captain’s cabin, locking her within the room before joining their fellow mates to help with making sail. Captain Brightman stood at the helm where his companion jumped back upon his shoulder and he held the necklace once again.

After all these years, they had the final piece and even better the blood to be paid, once they cleared of this port they would finally break the curse upon them all. He shuddered as he guided the Kali out of the cove and a smirked curled his lips high. Oh yes, he could nearly taste it, freedom at long last.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice pirate au #beetlebabes pirate au #beetlejuice x lydia #beetlejuice pirate fanfiction #beetlejuice the animated series #beetlejuice cartoon verse #beetlejuice cartoon #potc #pirates of the caribbean #beetlebabes #musicalbabes #pirates of the caribbean fusion #lydia deetz #charles deetz #potc cotbp #curse of the black pearl

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ewdaviddd · 4 years ago

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folklore think piece

for a lower case album such as this, i will be writing a lowercase think piece on the subject. i will not explain why. you get it or you don’t.

the 1: i have never been in love or any type of romantic relationship that left me with lasting feelings of any kind. but, on my fourth listen through of this song today, what once was just a promising and fun intro to this peasant girl summer gut punch, brought me to actual tears as i sat on the toilet in my lime green childhood bathroom as if i were mourning the one that got away (another great song). however, i am an expert on being hung up on the past, the “what could have been”, and made up hypotheticals. this song also introduces the film motif seen a lot in this album. i think dating an actor has really gotten to her. anyway what a killer way to begin, top notch stuff. how can a song be so fun and so soul crushing at the same time?

cardigan: when did taylor wear black lipstick? this is important to me. an old cardigan is an inherently bisexual article of clothing. that is not an opinion. i read it somewhere today and i believe it. this is the tip of the queer-coding ice berg in folklore, never fear. another reference, “tried to change the ending / peter losing wendy”. this year i wrote a movie script where both peter and wendy were both gay. coincidence? probably. basically this one is classic taylor poetry on every level and it being one of a trio in a larger story makes it that much better. yet again, high school romance is not a universal experience (like for me for instance) but haunting my “what-ifs” is going to haunt me for a long time. and the thought of someone saying i was their favorite cardigan makes me want to scream into a pillow.

the last great american dynasty: my favorite ts songs have always been the ones with detailed characters and stories and this one introduces the trope of the “mad woman” who comes back later on as well a long with many fun character details. at first this song is just cheeky and cute, very visual, a fun world to jump into. but then this particular stretch of lines makes your heart drop into your chest and reminds you why taylor isn’t just always fun and always cute and always creative, she also holds the ability to nimbly sock you in the gut when you least expect: “fifty years is a long time / holiday house sat quietly on that beach / free of women with madness, their men and bad habits / and then it was bought by me.” my jaw is still on the floor. and i’ve never bought a house myself. but i’ve spent numerous christmases having a marvelous time ruining everything (so i’ve been told) so this song still applies to my life.

exile (ft. bon iver): i’m gonna be honest. for as long as i can remember i have strongly disliked bon iver and i never remembered why. it is a matter of principle at this point. i just don’t trust him. but then taylor announced she wrote a song with him which filled me with tremendous anxiety. but i can rest easy. much like “the last time” this song is a ts and male artist collaboration i can get behind. also the film motif again: the only time i’ve left a theatre when i didn’t like a movie was never because movie tickets are so expensive and if i’m shelling out 11 dollars to sit in a chair, i’m staying the whole time no matter how bad the ending. but i probably would have left my sister’s keeper if i had seen it before if i’m being honest. so i get it. thats why i read spoilers for everything i watch before watching it, because the anxiety of worrying about how it ends make me not enjoy it in the first place. the end of this song: the call and response felt… ethereal? i felt like i was watching a broadway musical from the splash zone seats, crying as i was spat on.

my tears ricochet: this song is what i picture stepping outside in the middle of the night when an inch or so of snow has just fallen and i can see the flakes fall in front of a street light sounds like. or the scorned secret ex lover throwing themselves onto the coffin demanding to know why they weren’t enough. which is to say it feels like a sign from some sort of god. yet again, haunting is brought up, an overt reference to the fact that this album will live in my brain rent free for eternity. for some reason this song reminds me of the relationship between hamilton and burr when burr kills hamilton. that could be because i just watched the disney+ recording last week. one lives, one dies, but neither survive, both pay for it. Which is a super romantic and understanding view on murder. both musical experiences equally chilling and moving. if i die under mysterious circumstances this will for sure be played at the funeral.

mirrorball: first off, this is my mom's favorite which is very important. also, it has skewered a very specific but also universal insecurity of mine; existing just to please others and yet miserably failing. it is comforting that ts is not a “natural’ and feels she must always “try try try” because i too lack natural ability, but also rarely “try” even just the one time. the best way i can describe listening to this song is walking through a silent disco where everyone else is listening to some classic lady gaga jam and you are listening to a calming lullaby sung very far away. but don’t let the soothing sounds fool you. it still will have you reflecting on what it means to look and be looked at. a dark rabbit whole, like falling through the looking glass. i’ve never actually read that book though so i could be wrong.

seven: i’m dumb and on my first listen of this song i thought she “hit her peak” at 7 clock as opposed to age seven. but i always saw taylor swift as someone with an early bedtime. also a fun discovery while writing this, “seven” is the 7th song on the track list. clever. although this song is young and innocent and so nostalgic for a time when screaming ferociously was a widely accepted form of expression, it also sounds like a very old secret someone is whispering to me. a love from long ago that lasts beyond the person being in your life, passed down to me and it all just sounds a little gay. not just because of the specific line to hiding in the closet. but that certainly doesn’t go unnoticed. when i was seven i was definitely in love with girls and assumed that was just what friendship was, playing pirates and making plans of running away together.

august: the eighth track for the eighth month. her mind. also my birth month so that’s special. controversial opinion: from what i’ve read most people seem to think illicit affair is the third song in the triage of teen love. i will strongly make the case that it's actually this one. first of all, the subject: a short lived summer fling, which is specifically mentioned later in “betty”. the central heartbreak of this song is liking someone who always belonged to someone else. yes, this song is a window into a different summer, far from pandemic central and the escapist imagery is delightful. but a whole song from the pov of the “other woman” to james and betty is just so much more fun. and there are two more specific lyrics that prove my point. “remember when i pulled up and said "get in the car”” you will see later comes back from the other person’s perspective. and most of all: the repeated line, “meet me behind the mall”? only teenagers make plans to meet up behind a mall. i rest my case. so now we have cardigan and august. two pieces of the puzzle.

this is me trying: i’m glad i now have a succinct message to send to anyone when they ask me what the hell i’m doing at any given moment. this song just sounds like regret and waste in the most self-assured and confident way. this is “back to december” with the training wheels off. i have no apologies for my efforts at wasting all my potential. but in this song, taylor has opened her arms to me in a warm embrace and has forgiven me for all i’ve done wrong and reminds me to not take for granted the “try”. okay mom. i’m crying again, but okay.

illicit affair: this is the kind of thing that makes you feel sixteen, living in a dull suburb, while secretly screwing your 38 year old married neighbor who’s rich but wants to be an artiste. aka like a character in euphoria or something. it’s sexy and dangerous until you think about it and then it's just dingy and creepy. but this song starts and stays beautiful. most importantly, this song is too sad and depressing frankly, to be a part of the trilogy. we could never forgive james for leaving such a mess and making her a fool. you don’t want to be this girl. you want to walk up to her and shake her and yell “you exist and will not be ruined by any dumb man”. and that’s feminism.

invisible string: is it reductive if i say this one’s about joe? all my non-stan friends have asked me which ones are about him. we forgive them and point them in this direction. because it is lovely and beautiful that we are all tied to our soulmate for our whole lives before we ever meet them (because that would in fact mean that there is someone out there for everyone which might be naive or dumb but i am both of those things and whats the point of living if you don’t believe in the power of love). this honestly gives me “begin again” vibes in the best way. it’s red-era level with the wisdom of lover-era tay. sublime.

mad woman: the second mention of the “mad woman” as both taylor herself and the character in the story. as usual, tay stays calling out double standards and the manipulation of women into “going crazy” for expressing reasonable anger. I, personally, wish i could say “fuck you forever” without someone saying i’m “overreacting”. this is my least favorite song on the album and i’d still listen to it three times in a row and need to resist the urge to set a man’s lawn on fire. just girly things.

epiphany: i know she said this one is about her grandfather’s experience in the military but all i imagine is a slow montage of harry style’s character in “dunkirk” on the beach. and it’s beautiful. and much like my sophomore in high school self reading “all quiet on the western front” it evokes a pain from deep inside me that engulfs a loss i could never describe and a sadness too awful to witness. you will listen to this song and feel absolutely powerless to the will of the universe and it’s cruelty. and the faint but steady heart monitor beep in the background… i’ve never seen “grey’s anatomy” but i can imagine why it has so many fans sobbing. and let me end on this: two soldiers in some old war (meaning both men based on dunkirk) watching each other like this and living and dying together…gay.

betty: the first verse was pulled directly out of my subconscious fantasy of being in love in high school and it being so wonderful and painful and dramatic. and taylor riding a skateboard… is a mood. the song has been out for less than a week and it’s already a cold take to talk about how this is her gayest song to date (close runner-ups being reputation’s “dress” and “cardigan”). but of course i will still talk about it. the lyrics embody such authentic awkward gay energy (see the lesbian in booksmart for reference) and having been a 17 year old only three years ago, i can say with reasonably good authority that no 17 year old straight boy could stand in front of a crowd of peers and beg forgiveness from a girl he hurt. it’s just not realistic. these are all awkward, over-dramatic, young girls stumbling through love. and it’s awesome. james is the speaker of this song, and the subject of “august”, the summer fling that was never truly there due to james’ love for betty, the titular role of this song. thus completing the love triangle. and there are so many obvious references in this song to both “august” and “cardigan”. rhyming cardigan with car again makes me want to light myself on fire in the best way. i love it. “i dreamt of you all summer long” is the final nail in the coffin for the girl in “august” who was clearly just a place-holder. totally separate from taylor swift, my favorite word is porch. so the amount of times it appears in her lyrics is wonderful. say it out loud. it just feels nice. anyway, this song makes me want to be young and dumb and in love. the second can really only be tolerated because of the first and third. i hope the story has a happy-ending. if james were a boy i’d wish him the plague.

peace: the coming-of-age movie starring james and betty (and inez) is over. we have come to “the age” i guess. there’s a thought that’s gonna fester. if this song was just the line, “would it be enough if i could never give you peace?” over and over for four minutes it would still smash me to pulp and fill my body with helium gas. i can and will cause a car wreck when this comes on the aux. if this song is what being grown up is like (bare in mind grown up to me is like, 30) then i’m ready to be done coming of age. because i already worry if i’ll be at all enough for anyone and way too much for someone at the same time. but like all good poetry, this song isn’t about what it “means”, but how it “feels”. and this is new york city, the summer, pouring rain, a long walk home, desperately fearing and hoping they are there waiting for you.

hoax: a one-sided conversation between me and my stubborn clinical depression. i too, constantly stand alone on the cliff demanding a reason. one has not yet been presented. it operates both within and and against me. i could be bigger and stronger than it. but instead i tend to it like a prickly plant. (“no other sadness in the world will do”). there is nothing both sadder and funnier then the scene in “avatar: the last airbender” when prince zuko stands alone on a cliff screaming at the sky for lightning to strike him. i don’t know why this song reminds me so much of that. what a way to end such an emotional rollercoaster. it is so emotionally draining that it simply forces me to start folklore again from the top and listen to it all over again. or take a long therapeutic nap.

there are no skips. and it will still surprise you on your 267th listen. proceed with caution.

i knew you, in a past life maybe. i have not met you yet, but folklore has made me believe you exist.

@taylorswift 10/10 good work

@taylornation this had to be shared and i don’t have a twitter so

#@taylorswift #@taylurking #@taylornation #taylor swift #folklore #ts8

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sam-roulette · 4 years ago

Note

Timsasha; angst; a lamp, a fountain, and a map?

(I am going to hurt you I am going to rip your heart out This is just a little TimSasha wedding story!! Hope you enjoy <3)

vows, brittle and old

“My hair looks fine, right?”

“I think the zipper here is getting caught…”

“I can!!! Take those off your hands if you need help-”

“Good Lord, Tim,” Jon said, exasperated, “you’re going to pass out at the altar.”

Tim’s hands fluttered uncertainly in the air in front of him for a moment before he brought them closer to his chest, sheepish. “Don’t think I could fall asleep if the Queen herself commanded it at this point,”

“What’s the Queen got to do with it?” Martin pondered, setting down the last box of tiny decorative lamps. “Seems like she’d have better things to worry about,”

“I don’t know, it just,” Tim gestured somewhat helplessly, “came to mind? You know, commands and orders and whatever are monarchial bull but maybe the shock of seeing some random royal away from a guillotine will do- something,”

“You’re spiraling,” Jon deadpanned.

Tim frowned, “I’m not spiraling.”

“He’s just nervous,” Martin patted Tim’s shoulder sympathetically, shooting a little look at Jon. Tim made a mental note to tell Sasha to double down on the “make sure Martin gets the bouquet” plan they’d been cooking up. “The man’s getting married! Cut him some slack!”

“I will do no such thing.” Jon said, “He’s still in the way,” But Tim could see that he was fighting down a smile. Jon was a lot easier to read than he thought he was, and honestly, if he’d really been as stoic as he tried to pretend to be, Tim might not have made him his best man. But it was plain to see that Jon was happy, and the feeling was infectious.

The lamps had been Sasha’s idea. She and Tim had wandered around the garden all those months ago in the precious first planning stages and found that there was nowhere to feasibly hang the fairy lights he’d thought about putting up for the reception. It’d been a bit of a disappointment, but Sasha came through as always; he wasn’t even sure where she’d managed to find so many little vintage-looking electrical lamps, but they were a marvel, settled on top of the dark tablecloths.

Martin was doing a remarkable job of setting up, of course, but Tim just couldn’t find it in himself to sit still.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t need my help?” Tim asked instead, watching Martin continue to set up.

Martin sighed from where he’d been unloading the lamps, gesturing with a faux rustic-gold ornament. “No, Tim, we do not need help- and you shouldn’t be helping!”

“All you need to do is go and look pretty,” Jon said, “Shouldn’t be hard for you,”

“Oh, Jon,” Tim mock-gasped, “you think I’m pretty,”

Jon rolled his eyes, “Pretty annoying, yes,”

“But. Still pretty, right-?”

“You look very pretty, now please go check on the altar,” Martin cut in quickly, a few notes of red dusting his cheeks after he realized how quickly he’d cut in. Tim grinned. He couldn’t help teasing Martin, when it was just so Easy with a capital E to get him rankled. “P-Please.” Martin added again, belatedly.

“Aye aye,” Tim said, giving a little salute, unable to keep his smile from widening. It was a little soothing, seeing that these two were the same as ever. Definitely helped with the jitters.

“Ah- don’t forget the map,” Martin said, almost offhanded as he pressed the little square of folded paper into Tim’s hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim said, “See you there!”

Tim waved as he disappeared into the little hedge maze of greenery, hoping his cheeks would be alright after today. He still couldn’t stop smiling, God- and sure, it was just the best day of his life which was going to be shared with quite literally the best human being on earth for the rest of their natural-born lives. It was just this life-changing emotional event. But Tim could play it cool. Save all that energy for the hours of revelry or, better yet, the vows.

Even in the relative quiet of the garden, he couldn’t help it. Leaving the sounds of Jon and Martin’s good-natured bickering behind, Tim’s thoughts were just as loud as ever, and the only thing on his mind (always, always) was Sasha, Sasha, Sasha.

Sasha was walking down that aisle in a little less than an hour. God, Tim could feel his heart threatening to leap out of his chest at the thought- abort mission, life’s too damn perfect and happiness meters are so high the whole thing’s going nuclear. Tim was turning left at every hedge with his brain fluffing up like clouds and he, genuinely, didn’t know how anything could top this.

Tim was so in love that it physically ached. He was sure that was just the nerves- it’d felt like an eternity since he’d seen his Sasha at this point!- but the squeeze of his heart in his chest was so profound that for a moment, he needed to pause. Beside him, a wall of pink mandevilla vines towered up, smelling sweet and lovely in the June air.

Wait, Tim suddenly thought, Why do I have a map?

Tim slowed to a stop in front of the flowers, eyebrows furrowing. It’d seemed so normal in the moment that he hadn’t really thought about it, but it was odd that Martin had given him a map, right? Like, that was a weird thing to be given. The garden wasn’t really all that complicated to go through. He just had to…

Hm. He’d thought the venue owner said nothing would be in bloom until that evening.

…

Tim shook his head, frowning to himself. Maybe this had been getting to him more than he’d thought- the nerves, the anticipation of seeing Sasha walk up the aisle, looking like he’d never seen her before… He wished he’d taken a little peek before when he’d had the chance, if only to assuage his nerves. Just the tiniest little peek, long after Sasha had laughed in that beautiful way of hers and kissed him on the lips and said to be patient. Maybe then he’d have room to remember the map.

He unfolded the thing to see what he’d forgotten in the initial daze of premarital bliss. Made sense to, right about then, when he was pretty sure he was in a part of the garden that he hadn’t been in before. The last thing Tim needed was to be late for his own wedding- even if it’d be funny later on, Sasha would never let him live it down!

Maybe that cheerful thought was why it took him a moment to recognize it to be a map of the Archives.

…

… Alrighty then!

Well, mix-ups happened to the best of people. Martin really had been doing a lot to make sure the reception was being set up, so it made sense that maybe he just mixed up the maps somehow. The garden map probably would have looked newer than this old thing anyway- something far different from the rough, rusty lines, looking like the hurried work of someone trying not to be caught…

Tim was just glad he almost certainly had time to make it to the altar. The garden wasn’t very big, even if he was standing by a wall of thoughtlessness, so he’d probably loop his way back around eventually. Gave him time to think, in the end. More time to rehearse his vows.

The flowers by his side swayed lightly in the summer breeze as Tim stood, adjusting his cufflinks and thinking.

“Really Tim,” Jon muttered, even more exasperated than before. That was Tim’s fault, probably- wasn’t a good idea to be pissing off your best man. What was that old trivia fact he’d heard? Something about best men being there to act as bait in case of evil? That was a high enough price for Tim to forgive a little stalking following.

“Sorry, sorry!” Tim said, smiling sheepishly. “I was just- y’know, thinking of the vows,” Which, of course, had to be perfect, because Sasha was going to be perfect and he just knew he couldn’t mess this up.

(Was it weird that maybe he was still trying to parse out whether Persephone or Proserpina would be a more thematic mention? Perhaps, but Greek versus Roman had such different vibes. Tim wasn’t sure about likening himself to Hades or Pluton. Maybe Janus was an option-)

He wasn’t moving because he was apprehensive. He wasn’t moving because he was in love. There was a difference.

Jon understood. Jon was watching him, after all.

“She’ll be walking in five minutes,” Jon hissed out, harried.

“We better get on out there, right?” Tim asked, smiling.

The grip he suddenly had on Tim’s arm was a vice, filled with strength that Tim wouldn’t have expected from the scrawny stick of a man. He’d been so harried lately (about the wedding of course) that Tim was honestly surprised he apparently had the time to keep his strength up.

The brush of pink flowers as they walked directly through the vines barely registered to Tim, who was just so happy that it was finally happening. Here and now, in the garden, surrounded by everyone they loved, he was going to marry the love of his life. (And underneath were others that they loved who couldn’t make it.) Why else was it so hard to breathe but for the anticipation?

The altar was neatly set up, dwarfed by the massive fountain at the garden’s center, rising so high into the air that it felt like something from a fairytale. Atop a stone pedestal sat a tall woman, holding in one hand a simple horn to her ear and in the other, a glassless mirror. The water flowed from the horn and from her fingertips around the mirror and from around her waist, gently sloping into the basin below with crystal clarity and pooling around her stone feet. It had been the feature that sold Tim on the place immediately.

The fountain woman had no face. Tim had tried, before, to find the angle that would let him take a peek at the “hand mirror” she held before herself, trying to find a way to see her face and complete the impression of the art piece, but he never could get a clear shot.

For a moment, Tim toyed with the idea of asking Jon, who was fidgeting by his side and making a bit more of a fuss about the whole wedding, to help him see if the fountain’s face was inside the mirror.

Then, he wasn’t thinking much of anything. Sasha was here. It was starting.

Tim held his breath as from the other end of the aisle, Martin gently held aside the curtain of willow vines and gestured the bride forward. Sasha stepped delicately through, raising her ivory skirt just enough to keep from tripping over the fabric before she smoothed it down.

Tim’s heart stopped dead in his chest, and oh, she was radiant. Even with the pearly opaque veil covering her features, she was a vision, standing taller than he had ever seen her in a dress that swooped low on her brown shoulders and trailed out behind her. The sleeves were embroidered with flowers, reminding Tim of the summer clematis Jon had dragged him through, and her curls were pinned up in an elaborate coif dotted with pearls.

Tim only wished that night would come sooner, so the sky could gaze at her and weep for jealousy- no amount of stars or galaxies could compare. Even through the gloves that slipped into Tim’s hands, Sasha’s hands were warm, and he could feel her smile.

Tim loved her so terribly that it just might kill him.

“You’re beautiful,” Tim breathed, ignoring the preacher’s beginning statements.

Sasha huffed out a little laugh, voice so bright it bathed them in sunlight, “You haven’t even seen what’s under the veil,”

“I don’t need to,” Tim said, feeling happy tears prick at his eyes. He just barely avoided biting his lip, trying to suppress them. He at least wanted to start crying after they’d declared their undying love for each other. If he started now, he might not have been able to stop.

“I love you,” Sasha breathed.

Tim’s heart was beating for the love of it. “I love you too- always will,” With trembling fingers, Tim slowly lifted the veil so he could see her face. The fabric moved fluidly with the motion and, fully exposed to the light of day, Tim saw…

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She stood before him, full lips painted a soft petal pink and parted gently. Dark brown freckles dotted her tawny skin in constellations, all seeming to lead to the beauty mark under her left eye. And what big eyes they were, large and brown and gazing at him with such love that Tim felt faint. She was tall and picturesque, as though she’d stepped off the stone pedestal fully formed, a beacon for poets to celebrate and lovers to mourn for.

Tim looked at her face and his heart sang, I know you, I know you, I know you.

Tim whispered, “You’re not Sasha.”

The woman looked at him in confusion, eyebrows furrowing. Those full lips took on a worried twist. “Tim…? That’s,” She smiled a bit, shaking her head, “Come on now- of course I am! Don’t tell me you forgot your beautiful bride already?”

This woman was beautiful. Possibly the most beautiful woman that Tim had ever seen and a dream come true put in a form able to stand in front of him. He looked at her and was overwhelmed with how much he wanted to take her face in his hands and hold it there, close to him. He asked, louder, “Who are you?” and his brain was spinning on its axis, falling out of orbit.

Why isn’t she here?

What did she do to Sasha?

The woman’s smile was fading. “I’m… I’m Sasha. Tim, we- I’m really Sasha. Are you…?” She was reaching her hand out.

“Where is she?” Tim asked, taking a shaking step back. There were murmurs from the crowd of onlookers, but he couldn’t make out their faces like this, not out the corner of his eye. He might have been able to remember their faces if he or Sasha had any family left alive. “Where is she?”

“I’m right here,” Sasha said, eyes widening. She was pretty- so damn pretty that it made Tim’s chest ache like he should know this like this is irrational or a trick or-

This was a trick. It had to be.

Taking another shaky step back, Tim nearly tripped over himself as he looked out toward the crowd of onlookers, calling out, “Sasha! Sasha, this was- it was a funny joke. Come on, I know you- you wouldn’t just,” His throat caught on leave me.

“Tim, please,” The imposter said, reaching a hand out to him, “This really isn’t funny. You know me!”

“No,” Tim said faintly, “No-” He turned back toward the crowd. Jon stood in the audience and watched as Tim started rushing away from the altar, “Sasha! Where are you, Sash? Come on, it’s- you’re here, right?!”

“I am! I’m right in front of you!” Sasha cried desperately, rushing after him and taking him by the shoulders. Her hands were so warm against his shoulders. The real Sasha was always cold. “Tim, please. Look at me.”

(Sometimes in more ways than one- was he really so surprised to have been left at the altar?)

(He wasn’t moving because he was in love. He wasn’t moving because he was in love.)

The woman asked him, “What do you see?”

Tim slowly turned to face her, searching. She looked at him so earnestly, so desperately that it made him want to believe. Could someone lying look so close to genuine tears? Could someone lying have that much power in her voice, the much fear?

Could Sasha have any of those things? The Sasha he knew?

(He knew the answer.)

“I don’t know,” Tim said. The woman recoiled as though it were a physical blow, her hands jerking away.

“But…” The woman whispered, voice high and reedy, “I thought I was unforgettable?”

There was something to that. Something familiar. Something-

The world winked out.

Tim awoke in darkness, tears streaming down his face that he didn’t understand. The face of the woman in the dream who claimed to be Sasha but wasn’t was already retreating into the black, disappearing before the first of the tears cluttering along her lower lashes could fall.

And as Tim looked up at the ceiling, more awake than he’d felt since Prentiss, he wondered what had brought this all on, bewildered and feeling even more bewildered when his chest still ached.

He had fallen out of love with Sasha James months ago.

For a moment, Tim peered up at his ceiling and waited for the remnants of tears to dry. For a moment he considered getting up and starting the day early, or at least finding something to eat. In the end, though, he didn’t want to deal with the thought of having to go to the institute later or dealing with Jon outside the window, watching. Always watching.

Tim rolled back over and closed his eyes. He could stand to stay in bed for a bit longer.

#timsasha #tim stoker #sasha james #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #angst #canon compliant #wedding fluff #:)#unreality tw #sam tag

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goodproofingwater · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 16 | Tinder Tommy

Words: 1953 Notes: hello my lovelies, i am so sorry that this has taken so long - i feel like this has literally been months and you deserve better! lots of shit has been happening in my life which has meant that i haven’t really had the focus to do anything but watch brooklyn 99 or peaky blinders for the 500th time, but ya girl is back for now! I hope that you are all still with me and are looking forward to seeing how Tommy works with his new found affection! This chapter pairs directly with @idesiretomhardy‘s Mr Solomons story (in that the dialogue is the same in parts, and the timelines are the same. These stories exist in the same universe. Enjoy!

Taglist (just send me a message if you would like to be added):

@a-dorky-book-keeper @ishoutmarcoandyoushout @idesiretomhardy @theamuz @blinderscaps @peakywriting @justanothershelby @contemporary-mary @auroravipers @moonyscardigans @peakysxshelby @miss-shelby-barnes @vintage-fantasyyy @ly—canthrope @morgan-1830 @i-love-you-green @l0tsofpennies @exploringmycosmicsoul @maah-chan @peakyblindersengland

The journey to Birmingham was almost pleasant. The first class ticket his assistant had scored him came with whiskey and although he couldn’t smoke, the journey was so seamless that he was only craving a cigarette when he stepped into the fresh air of Birmingham new street.

It had always amazed him in the way it only could a local to Birmingham that he could get to between the London office and the place it had all began in a matter of hours. He remembered when he had to call a car to get to the London office when it just started up, when the trains were so shit that he had to rely on his own mileage to get there. But so much had changed since then. He had changed since then.

Tommy Shelby crawled into Small Heath four hours after he had reluctantly left his home in Mayfair, the staff he had in the midlands office a far cry from the suit wearing, polished people in Canary Wharf.

“Good afternoon Mr Shelby,” the receptionist spoke, smiling at him and looking toward the old knocked down wall which led to the rest of what they loosely called the Birmingham office.

The large room had once been three or four terrace houses but had long since been knocked through, a small platform allowed for John to stand by a massive touch screen where he was checking stock prices and the market which was much further from their legitimate business.

The business in the north was far different from the import and export business in the south, and far from legal.

Shelby Company Limited were the first company in history to produce software which allowed the significant players in import and export of illegal goods to check market price, and buy and sell illegal goods on a secure server which was entirely untraceable.

The software was a massive success, and had gained the Shelby name infamy with even the most brutal and violent drug cartels still operating in the 21st century.

“So what was so urgent that I had to get a train up here immediately?”

John stepped aside and showed him the spreadsheet he was working on, and pulled up the share prices for drugs so it sat next to it.

“By all accounts, the cocaine market is following the same pattern as it did 5 years ago”

John didn’t have to go into detail for Tommy to remember the influx of cocaine into the country via a rival London based company, and the price drop which followed due to supply heavily outweighing demand. It had been the main reason Tommy had set up the office in the south.

“Is it Kimber again? Because I swear to god—“

“Not Kimber. His company uses our software now and he called the support team thinking it was a fucking glitch in the system”

Tommy’s brow furrowed as he eyed the prices and the spreadsheet which showed the fluctuations John had been keeping track of since the incident so long ago.

“And uh.. that’s not all” John spoke, gesturing for Tommy to follow him into his office and he did, taking a seat in one of the plush leather chairs which sat on the other side of Johns desk while his younger brother poured them whiskey and placed the glasses in front of them. “As well as the share prices I’ve been keeping track of the weight of the product coming in and going out. It’s been declining steadily for the last week. Not by much, not even enough to alert me at the start but it’s going down an ounce each time.”

“So you’re telling me someone is skimming off the top?” And John nodded, sipping his whiskey as he unintentionally mirrored Tommy’s posture, leaning back in his chair with one ankle resting on the other knee.

Tommy let out a sigh, hating that there was yet another issue that he had to deal with. External problems like share prices and supply and demand came with the territory. Internal problems were not something he had patience for.

“Any theories who it is?”

“You mean except Michael?” The malice in Johns voice was matched only by his expression, his hate and disdain for his cousin clear in everything from his brow to his clenched fingers around his glass.

Tommy responded only by rolling his eyes, Michael’s drug problem being something he was fully aware of.

“Michael pays for what he takes. And he pays double. Any real theories?”

John remained quiet, sipping his whiskey and allowing his silence to speak for itself.

“Fantastic.” Tommy sighed, downing his whiskey in one gulp and plucking a cigarette from the case he had pulled from his inside pocket. “Do we at least know which office?”

“Oh it’s definitely up here. The coke is lighter way before it even touches county lines”

Tommy lets out a sigh with the exhale of his cigarette, smoke billowing from his nose as the prospect of someone stealing and the punishment they deserve runs through his mind.

“Alright. I’ll speak to the managers up here separately and let them know what’s going on, ask them to keep an eye. I don’t want either of us up here if there’s a supply/demand problem in case we get raided. These people will get away with saying they were following orders, but we’re the fucking captains.”

John nods, sipping his whiskey and glancing out of the window, his mind clearly trying to puzzle out who it could be as Tommy did the same.

Later that evening, Tommy slipped into a bar in new street to wait for an old friend. One that he couldn’t quite believe was even stepping foot in the city.

The room seemed to part for Alfie Solomons, the very air around him bending as he walked into a bar Tommy had picked for its proximity to Alfie’s hotel. The older man was one of the few he would make allowances for, and it had been so long that he would rather take a private car the half an hour into central Birmingham than make the effort to convince him to come to small heath and listen to him complain the whole time.

“Thomas” his booming London accent turned the heads that weren’t already staring at Tommy, and he couldn’t help the bemused smile which washed over his features as he shook his hand and settled to drink his whiskey.

“Alfie, it’s been a while,” he speaks, sipping at his glass knowing full well which comment is coming next.

“Yeah well you don’t get to London as much these days,” He catches the bartender's attention, a woman who eyes up Tommy when she comes over to take his order, her eyes only leaving his friend to make Alfie’s drink.

“You could always come here,” Tommy suggests, causing Alfie to snort. His disdain for the northern city clear in both his response and his body language.

“Mate, the only reason I’m in this shit city is cause of that fucking meeting, couldn’t get me here any other way,” he comments, Tommy giving him a hint of a smile behind his glass which only widens as he watches his friend attempt to hide a selfie of all things which had made its way to his lock screen.

“So, how’s the family then?” Alfie asks.

“Arthur got married,” Tommy tries and fails to keep his distaste for Linda from his voice, and Alfie smirks as he relishes in the hate which is so evident to someone who is also quick to anger.

“And I wasn’t invited? What’s she like?” He quips

“She’s good for Arthur,” is all Tommy says, the comments he could make about his brother’s new wife unsavoury at best.

It’s then that Alfie’s phone buzzes once again, and with a second glance at his lock screen Tommy can’t keep his comments to himself any longer.

“Who’s that then aye?” Tommy says, inclining his head towards Alfie’s phone. “Got yourself a girlfriend, have you?”

“Yeah mate, I have. She’s fucking brilliant she is,” Alfie says, rolling his eyes at the smirk that crosses his friend’s lips.

“You’re going soft Solomons.”

“Fuck off,” Alfie says, the smile which splits his face something that was a rarity, and the bashfulness something Tommy had never seen in him before. “She wrote that piece on me for The City Scoop.”

“I wondered why that interview was so flattering, fucked your interviewer did you?”

“Took her out to dinner first mate,” he says with a grin, making Tommy shake his head. “I’m telling you, it’s fucking nice having someone around who wil-“

“Suck your cock?”

“She is good at that mate. Nah I’m telling you, it’s nice having a woman around to keep me company,” he says, and Tommy rolls his eyes.

“Fuck, you have gone soft,” Tommy mutters, shaking his head.

“Maybe so. It ain’t that bad though. Maybe it’s time you find yourself a girl, might be good for you.”

Tommy rolls his eyes, downing the rest of his drink to avoid replying which only causes Alfie’s grin to spread wider his face lighting up.

“Or do you already have a girl Thomas?”

“I’ve been talking with a woman yes,” he offers, though doesn’t elaborate as he orders another drink.

“Talking aye? And where did you meet her?”

“Tinder,” Tommy mutters, fingers itching to reach into his pocket for a cigarette the no-smoking laws the only thing stopping him.

Alfie scoffs, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his beard while Tommy glares at him.

“What?”

“Fucking tinder? Can’t meet a girl the old-fashioned way, aye?”

Tommy clenches his jaw at the insinuation, choosing not to rise to the comment as his hand reaches into his pocket, fingers brushing against his cigarette case.

“Like having a magazine send a journalist to your work? That old way you mean?” He runs the cigarette along his bottom lip and glares at the bartender who moves to tell him that he can’t smoke indoors, piercing eyes daring anyone to test him.

Tommy’s phone lights up and he immediately turns it face down, “besides, easier isn’t it? Haven’t got time to be spending on women in bars or journalists I need to write a good profile about me because I punched someone without thinking.”

The smirk on Tommy’s face tells Alfie that he’s joking, but the bearded man takes a sip of his beer without a hint of amusement washing over his features.

“Never knew Tommy Shelby to be so desperate that he’d turn to fucking Tinder.“ Tommy scowls and takes a long drag on his cigarette

“And I never knew Alfie Solomons to be so soft that he’d have his girl as the fucking wallpaper on his phone.”

Alfie shakes his head, hours flying before he finished what could have been his third or sixth drink, his hand resting on Tommy’s shoulder as he stood.

“I’ll be off now then,” he says, before leaning in to speak directly in Tommy’s ear. “And by the way mate, I was thinking before I punched Sabini.”

Patting Tommy’s shoulder, he makes his way out of the pub turning back to look at his friend.

“Nice seeing you mate, give me a call next time you’re in London.”

What Tommy has failed to tell his friend was that if things went well, he saw himself spending a lot more time in the capital. He suspected his friend might have something to say about his admission that he would want to spend more time away from his hometown, and he had won the battle of who was more whipped. At least for now.

#tinder tommy #tommy shelby au #modern peaky blinders au #its been a long while lads im sorry

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bleedinghearthalstead · 5 years ago

Text

SWAT!Jay / Upstead AU

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH everyone for your lovely comments to my first fic, I’ve been overwhelmed by your positive feedback. That said, it has inspired me to write another one-shot. I will also crosspost these on AO3. Enjoy!

When his wandering eyes land on the front desk, he sees that the desk sergeant is giving him a look. A look that says, "don't you dare give me any trouble". Walking up to the desk, he gives her a friendly smile that slowly but surely morphs into a frown. She's squinting at him, looking him up and down, and granted, it doesn't look great.

With both of their schedules being terribly unpredictable, Hailey and Jay can go a whole week without seeing each other outside of their marital bed, one or the other having to sneak into their home in the middle of the night. So when Jay is given the afternoon off because his commanding officer is planning on adding a new sniper to their rotation and Hailey texts him that they just wrapped the case they have been working on for the last week or so, he decides to pick up his wife from the district.

Stepping inside the big double doors and walking up the front stairs, he takes a look around. You wouldn't really call it a beautiful building, but it sure feels like home. Most districts have been modernized and feel sterile and cold – hell, the SWAT base at Homan Square looks like a rundown storage facility–, but the 21st district has its own personality and you can practically feel the history within its walls. When his wandering eyes land on the front desk, he sees that the desk sergeant is giving him a look. A look that says, "don't you dare give me any trouble".

Walking up to the desk, he gives her a friendly smile that slowly but surely morphs into a frown. She's squinting at him, looking him up and down, and granted, it doesn't look great. Not really thinking about where he was going to go (well, technically, he is on his way home), he had changed into black basketball shorts and a Tool band t-shirt, his baseball cap on backwards. Looking down at his shirt, he realizes he does look like a bit of a tool.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"You must be Sergeant Platt." The minute eye twitch is the only tell that she is surprised he knows her name. She remains visibly unimpressed otherwise – she is wearing a name tag, so that wasn't very hard to figure out.

"Do I know you?"

"No, but I've heard stories about you," he says, conspiratorially leaning in closer.

"Oh is that so?" She narrows her eyes at him. "And who did you hear those stories from?"

"My cell mate at Stateville only had lovely things to say about you." He winks at her. There's that eye twitch again, which Jay counts as a personal victory. Just when he thinks that the woman is going to leap over the desk and/or shoot him, there's a buzzing sound to his right and Hailey is standing at the top of the stairs that go up to Intelligence, looking surprised to see Jay.

"What are you doing here?"

When he sees the sergeant's hand moving towards her hip, Jay throws his hands up. "Hey, babe!" Platt's eyebrows shoot up. His voice comes out slightly higher than usual. "I'm here to pick you up, didn't you see my text?"

Hailey glances between Jay and Trudy, Jay with his hands up and Trudy's hand hovering over her holster, and her eyes widen. "Jay, honey," she says, putting great emphasis on the endearment, "you should've called."

Slowly turning his head from his wife back to the sergeant, Jay carefully lowers his hands while maintaining eye contact, watching Trudy do the same. Ceasefire accomplished. Hailey comes down the rest of the way and goes right up to Jay, standing up on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the lips.

"Hey, babe," he repeats, this time softer – definitely less panicky and high-pitched.

"Hey, babe," Hailey parrots and gives him a coy smile, then turns to Trudy. "Trudy, this is my husband Jay." Trudy is still glaring at him, but at least she has taken a mental step back from shooting this man on the spot.

She raises an eyebrow at Hailey. "So Mr. Upton here is quite the comedian, huh?" Hailey in turn raises her eyes at the ceiling, asking whatever deity is willing to listen what the hell her husband has done this time.

"It's Halstead, actually," Jay interjects, "and yeah, it runs in the family, my brother's a total clown." Trudy waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't.

Hailey rolls her eyes at him, ignoring the last part of his answer. "We were both too stubborn to change our names."

"And there were so many forms." Her husband shakes his head.

Trudy only nods. "Well, I hope you were joking about prison." Jay snorts and Hailey cusses him out under her breath.

"Sorry about that, I couldn't resist." He gives her a bashful smile. "Hailey said you were solid, so no hard feelings, right?" He reaches out his hand and after a second's hesitation Trudy reluctantly shakes it.

"Good to finally meet you, Mr. Halstead," Trudy says while pointedly looking at Hailey.

"Same here." He nudges Hailey in the side. "Shall we?"

"Let me just grab my stuff from upstairs." Hailey hesitates though, seemingly reluctant to leave her husband with Trudy, thinking of the absolutely idiotic things he could and probably would say if left to his own devices.

"Go on then." He shoos her away, then winks at her. "I'll be just fine here with Trudy." Hailey gives him a look telling him to behave himself, then excuses herself and hurries off, trying to give them as little time as possible to rip each others' throats out.

Once the metal gate closes behind Hailey with a clank, Jay leans his elbows on the front desk and gives Trudy a mischievous smile. "So what's the hot goss at the 21st?" Before Trudy is tempted to crack him over the head with the wooden clipboard she is currently holding, a voice next to them startles them both. Not that anyone would've noticed, both of their poker faces immaculate.

"Hey man, what are you doing here?" A patrol officer who has just walked up to the desk is beaming at Jay.

"What's up, buddy?" They shake hands, then Jay points his thumb over his shoulder to the gate that Hailey disappeared through a minute ago. "Just picking up Hails."

The officer hands a bunch of keys over to Trudy, who makes him sign a sheet. "Well, good to see you. I'll see you at the next game?"

"Yeah, man. Say hi to Jenny and the kids for me."

"Will do. See ya, man."

As the two men say their goodbyes, Jay has his back turned to Trudy, who catches a glimpse of the patch on Jay's baseball cap. "SWAT, huh?"

Jay swivels back to Trudy, a confused look on his face. Talk about an unexpected change of topic. At his reaction, Trudy motions at the top of Jay's head, whose mouth forms an 'oh' in realization. He reaches up and turns the visor of the cap to the front, the olive green SWAT patch now on full display. "Oh yeah," he chuckles. "Cat's outta the bag, I guess."

"So it's Officer Halstead, to be correct." It's not even a question, the way Trudy says it.

"Yes, ma'am." And if Jay stands up a little straighter, then that's a total coincidence.

Now that Trudy thinks about it, she does know the man standing before her. Well, knowing him is a bit of a stretch, but a long time ago she heard a story from an old friend of hers at the police academy, how a baby-faced recruit named Halstead tore through basic recruit training like it was a fun day at a children's playground, even showing up the instructors at firearms training. When SWAT got wind of the ex-army sniper, they started grooming him for an assignment with them before he was even out of the academy and even though he still had to go through his probationary period and had to serve three years before he could be officially considered for SWAT. If Trudy remembers correctly, he was occasionally allowed to join SWAT training cycles before he was permanently assigned.

Combining his track record with Hailey's meritorious promotion to detective, they are one hell of a force to reckon with. Trudy is actually impressed. She has to admit that she did misjudge him based on his albeit sloppy attire. Guess you really shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

Before long, Hailey comes bounding down the stairs again, carrying a large gym bag that Jay wordlessly takes from her as soon as she stops next to him, slinging the bright purple bag over his shoulder. "All good?" She skeptically looks between Trudy and Jay.

"Yeah, we're good." Jay smirks. "Right, Trudy?"

Trudy hums. "Quit while you're ahead, Officer Halstead." With that, Trudy goes back to the report she was working on before Jay waltzed into the district.

Glad that no heads started rolling while she was away, Hailey waves goodbye at Trudy before Jay has the chance to make another retort. Jay takes Hailey's hand in his and they walk to the doors.

"Oh, one more thing," Trudy calls after them, not even looking up, "approved."

Hailey frowns at Jay, who is sporting a suspiciously smug grin on his face. He doesn't say anything though, just tries to lead his wife outside. The corner of Trudy's mouth turns up in a half-smile when she watches the younger woman slap her husband's arm and hisses "what!?" at him. The older woman can only wonder what juggling married life between those two elite units looks like, when even she and Mouch barely see each other with their more moderate schedules.

* * * * *

They are driving home in Jay's jeep and heavy metal is blaring over the speakers, but Hailey's detective side needs know what happened. She turns down the volume and turns to Jay who is drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "What did you say to her?" Hailey looks at her husband, who still has the biggest grin on his face.

"Nothing, I swear."

"Did you bribe her!?" Hailey exclaims.

"What!?"

"What did she mean 'approved'? You made some deal with her?" Jay just bursts out laughing. "This isn't funny! Sergeant Trudy Platt doesn't just say 'approved'."

He purses his lips, trying to suppress his laugh. "She figured out I was SWAT, but she didn't really say anything else and then you were back already."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, you're still the only one with the childhood connection to her…" He pauses, then scrunches up his nose. "Unless I missed something." Hailey swears her husband isn't usually this obtuse.

"Alright, fine," she huffs.

When they stop at a red light, he turns to her, his expression solemn. "Babe." He lays his hand on her knee and rubs his thumb over it. "You're cute when you freak out."

"Shut up." Jay's grin is back at full force and Hailey can't help but grin back. He leans over to kiss her on the cheek before the light turns green.

"I'll try to be less embarrassing next time," he promises, then adds, "love you."

Hailey takes the hand on her knee and entwines their fingers. "Love you, too."

#upstead #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #swat!jay au #in case anyone was wondering #i like to believe married!jay is way more chill and goofy and less angsty than the version we know #don't get me wrong he still is a total killer badass but he also has killer jokes ba dum tss #also that is an actual tool shirt and i am laughing way too hard at this #bhhfic #watch me never write any swat action

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