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miintsprigz · 9 months ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering if I could ask for the Demo, Engie, and Heavy for the fear-punch prompt if that's okay. Thank you!

FINALLY WRITING THIS. I appreciate your patience so much, Anon. It means the world to me.

GN!Reader fear punching the Mercs, part 2

Characters: Demoman, Engineer, Heavy (Team Fortress 2)

Warnings: uh some stuff relating to anxiety/panic attacks, cuz fear response.

Part 1 can be found linked below!

Demo ⚔️

You finally had the base to yourself, or at least, you thought so. Everyone had been all up in arms lately, it was just exhausting. Having fixed a cup of your preferred hot drink, you went to walk back to your room.

A door suddenly opened loudly behind you, and with your free hand, you swung, not even registering what you were doing until your fist made contact.

“Hey—oof!”

Your mug clattered to the floor, breaking and spilling everywhere.

“Demo!?”

“…oh! Did I scare ya there? Sorry ‘bout that!” His eye caught the mess on the floor as you tried to catch your breath.

“…now, that won’t do—”

“Tav, lemme—”

“No, no; I scare you, you drop it, tis only fair that I clean up the mess—”

Stumbling over to the closet to grab a broom, mop, whatever else he might need—still a little hungover—Tavish got to taking care of it in no time. He worked with surprising efficiency.

“Now, we oughta replace that drink o’ yours.”

“…Tav, I’m sorry.”

“Wha? Whatever for?”

“…I punched you…” Your voice shook a bit. The guy had only just woken up, and you’d socked him in the face.

He seemed confused at first, then touched the side of his face that you’d struck tenderly, realizing.

“Ah…that ya did.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Oh no, no! That’s alright, luv. Sometimes ya just get spooked. Used to do it to me mum all the time.”

“Really?”

He smiled in a somewhat tired sort of way. “Yup. Ya’d think I’d be more careful, especially cuz she couldn’t see me, but I guess I sorta forgot m’self there.”

Demo gave you a pat on the back, gentler than the usual. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’ve definitely knocked a few lads on the floor m’self, so trust me, I get it.”

“Thanks, Demo.”

“O’course, mate!” Your hair was lightly ruffled, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Want me to help ya replace that drink though? Heh, maybe I’ll make one for me, too!”

“That might be good. Do you want some ice though?”

“…nah, nah I think I’m good.”

Engineer ⚙️

It had been such a long day. You were more exhausted than you’d thought you were capable of being.

So when you arrived back at home base, you basked in the peace and quiet and decided to kick back and read for a bit.

Hearing sudden rapid, thundering footsteps, however, your adrenaline skyrocketed again, and so when the “intruder” inevitably entered…your adrenaline did the work.

The Engineer bursted into the room, clearly quite excited about something he was working on.

“Ah, (Y/N), c’mon, I gotta show ya—agh!!”

Your eyes locked onto him, staring daggers in fright as he rubbed at his jaw, wincing.

“Now what in Sam Hill—oh. Oh no.”

Those wide, terrified eyes told him all he needed to know. He didn’t even realize how suddenly he’d come flying in…

“…oh, darlin’. I scared the daylights outta you…”

“A little…” Your voice came out as a squeak, and all at once, everything became all too much. Tears flooded your field of view.

“Honey, I’m so sorry…”

“I, I didn’t mean to hit you…”

“Shh shh shh, I know…I know, I’m okay… lemme just…”

Offering open arms to silently ask first, Engie wrapped you in a hug when you stepped closer, petting your hair softly. He didn’t say anything really, aside from the occasional coo of reassurance that it really was okay.

There was a slight sway to him as he held you, trying to soothe the sudden rush of anxiety he’d accidentally triggered.

You knew, but between the fright and the guilt you felt for socking him in the face like that when he was just excited about something…you couldn’t help but cry for a minute or two.

After a bit, he pulled back, looking almost as though he could cry himself.

“I’m…sorry about that. I wasn’t thinkin’. I know ya had a long day, I just…”

“You were just excited to show me something.” With one last sniffle, you smiled over at him. “It’s okay.”

“…would ya still wanna see? I get it if uh, you’d rather have some time alone…”

“No, no! I’d love to see…”

That warm smile returned to his face once again. “You promise you’re alright?”

“I promise, Dell.”

With a nod, he took your hand sweetly. “Well alrighty. I think you’ll really love this, (Y/N), I’ve been tinkerin’ with this new feature for weeks, and I think I finally got it down!”

Chuckling, you followed after him, feeling your frantic heart slowing once again as his fingers gave your hand a light squeeze.

Heavy 🥪

You are in the thick of it now—bombs flying all over, a hail of bullets seemingly around every corner.

Truthfully? It was too much. But you had no intention of letting the enemy team know that.

Although it seemed cowardly to you, you ducked behind a corner for a minute to just…exist uninterrupted for a moment.

Your overwhelming didn’t go unnoticed though. Help was on the way…but you were unfortunately not able to fully recognize it.

A tap on your shoulder sent the tension building in your mind over the edge. Your fist made contact with the stiff gray of Heavy’s protective vest.

“(Y/N)! Is only me! Do not be afraid. Am here to help you.” Thankfully, the person you’d struck was basically a brick house. He had hardly felt it. He didn’t look angry…actually, he seemed worried.

“Uh…Heavy?!” “Da, it is me.”

“Well. I punched a friend. Great…” Looking down at your hands as you went to pick your dropped weapon up, they were shaking.

“Hold one moment, (Y/N).”

One huge hand carefully cradled yours, holding it steady.

“All due respect, I am giant man. Is very hard to hurt me. So do not feel so bad, okay?”

You tried to breathe, and it caught in your throat. Carefully setting Sasha to the side for a moment, Heavy looked down at you. Even with the chaos nearby, his eyes were so soft when he looked at you.

“Take deep breath.”

You followed that direction as best as you could.

“Very good. Again?”

It got easier.

“Perfect. Battlefield can be scary place…I know that too. Is okay to be afraid.”

He gave you a quick hug—it seemed he really was full of surprises today. His hand practically covered your shoulder as he gave it a pat when you pulled apart again.

“You need minute? Heavy is here! Giant man is on your side, remember?”

Now that you thought about it, maybe you’d be a little more prepared if you had a minute or two to yourself. “…could I just take a second back here out of range? I know it’s kinda chicken of me—”

“Not at all, (Y/N)! What do you think I carry sandvich for! Even big strong man need break. Smaller strong one like you no different.”

To your surprise, he actually handed you half of the tasty treat in question.

“Here. Enjoy, eat, and do not worry.” Picking up his minigun, Misha gave you a determined smile. “Heavy and Sasha will crush anyone who move too close until you are ready.”

If you weren’t where you were right now, it honestly might have made you cry. “Thanks, Heavy.”

“Of course, (Y/N). You are very important to me, you know that?”

A bit of warmth rushed into your face as he gave you one last grin before walking back out from behind your little shelter to face the opposing team.

“That’s right, I AM BACK! YOU MAY NOW RUN AWAY! HAHAHAHAHA!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you took a bite of the sandwich and breathed easy, knowing nobody would get within range of you anytime soon.

Whew! I hope that was good, Anon. I had fun writing it. I’d love more Heavy, Demo, and Pyro requests! I don’t write for them much but they’re a lot of fun!

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pablitogavii · 1 year ago

Text

Secret weapon

You were giving Pablo a silent treatment..why? Well, because you've asked him to put the dishes into the dishwasher this morning only to come back home exhausted from work to find them all piled in the sink.

When you confronted him about it while he played his stupid video games, he just called you 'dramatic' saying he will do it now. You just stayed quite stomping into the bedroom without another word.

After you took your shower and went to make yourself some stress relieving tea, you saw that all the dishes were placed in the dishwasher and that Pablo was walking towards you with a pout on his face. Not gonna work this time Gavira!

You sat on the floor placing tea on the table as he walked by you touching your arm gently before sitting behind you and trying to pull you close but you refused pulling away quickly. That made his groan in annoyance.

"Amor..I put the dishes away" he said but you just ignored him getting up and sitting on the bed instead grabbing your phone. He sighed getting up himself sitting on the table in front of you.

"I know you're angry I called you dramatic preciosa.." he said and you nodded your head completely forgetting that you were supposed to completely tune him out.

"But you have to agree this is such a silly think to fight about" he added and now you were pissed once again. Why couldn't he apologize like a normal person!?

"I really want to go to bed and cuddle now.." he added but you would rather die than give him what he wanted now..not without a proper apology Gavira!

"Princesaaa! I'll even let you play with my hair..how does that sound??" he said and although it was a good enough bribe you stayed cold and composed.

"Oof you're a hard one to crack aren't you?? But I know how to make you fold.." he smirked moving closer and you felt yourself getting nervous wondering what he had in mind now.

"Do you want me to show you my secret weapon cariño?" he smirked more and you looked into his dark orbs that were now filled with lust.

"You sure you can handle it preciosa...?" he whispered into my ear before kissing my cheek making it blush bright red in response. Damn it! He was getting exactly the reaction he wanted!

"So I happen to know one of your biggest weak spots mi anjo precioso...one thing that makes you melt into my hands like a precious little puddle" his hand rested on your knee as he spoke and you felt a shiver move down your spine in response to his warm touch.

"Hm..you know it's been awhile since I've had you preciosa" he said his voice becoming so deliciously low while hi hand moved between your thighs now massaging teasingly while you gulped.

"I can tell you're slowly folding.." he said after a few minutes of massaging your thighs so nicely that you closed your eyes completely engulfed in the feeling.

But when you heard his confident words, you suddenly closed your legs but one of his hands quickly snuck between them opening them up again and now your panties were ruined.

"Ah ah now you don't want to be bad anjo..or I might have to teach you a lesson?" he said moving even higher this time and you couldn't help the moan escaping your lips which made him very satisfied.

"Damn it!" you finally speak and he smirked nodding his head before standing up and pulling you up as well and you were face to face with each other now.

"I'm sorry I didn't do what you asked amor..and for calling you dramatic..but you have to admit my secret weapon works" he said raising up your chin smiling when he saw you blush harder.

"Maybe un poquito.." you whisper and he smirks nodding his head before leaning down and capturing your lips into a sweet and passionate kiss. The he told you to jump before carrying you to bed definitely making it up to you properly ;))

Ik it's ben awhile! I'm sorry! I've been so busy lately :))

#pablo gavi x you #fc barca #fc barcelona #fc barça #gavi #gavigif #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi #pablo gavi icons #gavi x vini #gavi x yn #gavi x reader #gavi x you #pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavira #gavira

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anonymous-dentist · 1 year ago

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It’s a cold night in the Order, and Cellbit, as usual, is alone.

Roier is asleep at the castle and Richarlyson is… gone, so Cellbit is all by himself in his not-so-secret base finishing up some detailing in what’s going to be the hospital room. It’s just him and his music and the voices in his head, but that’s fine. He likes the (relative) quiet; he isn’t an extrovert like his husband is, he’s fine with spending the early hours of the morning by himself.

Cellbit digs through his bag looking for his copycats- it’s always the goddamn copycats getting lost, or maybe he gave them to Roier? Both? Damnit.

Sighing and giving up and moping his way to the cold floor in a dramatic flop, Cellbit lets his eyes slip shut just for a moment, and he relishes the silence.

And then he’s startled with an ‘Oof!’ as three stacks of copycats are dropped onto his chest from above.

Cellbit shouts and scrambles to his feet, sword in hand and eyes nervously darting about the room. The copycats tumble to the floor around his feet.

Silence.

Warily, Cellbit asks, “Guapito?”

Because who else would be visiting him this late at night? Not Richarlyson, not at the moment. Not Bad, he’s been sleeping earlier now that the kids are all missing. So… Roier.

But the room is empty. A hesitant peek into the hallway reveals that it’s just as empty, somehow even more so with the way his voice echoes around him as he calls out for his husband again.

No response.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles, sheathing his sword and stepping out into the hallway and starting the long process of checking every room in the Order. “Hello?”

A thought strikes him as he checks the meeting room. There are entities on the island capable of teleportation and invisibility.

He takes his sword back out. After a moment of consideration, he pulls his knife from his backpack and attaches it to his belt. Just in case.

“Cucurucho?” he hesitantly asks. It shouldn’t know about the Order, but-

Cellbit jumps as he hears a light thunk from behind him. He spins around and just barely keeps himself from swinging his sword, and he sees a sign. Plain, brown wood. Unremarkable. Currently being written upon by a floating black crayon that has to go over each letter several times to make an impression.

Cellbit swaps his sword out for an empty-ish notebook immediately.

“Hello,” he says in English, voice softer than intended. It isn’t an egg, it can’t be, but- “Shouldn’t you be in bed right now?”

The crayon disappears just in time for Cellbit to get a hard punch right to the stomach. He doubles over and grunts in pain, watches the crayon get back to work.

Right. Not an egg, then.

He scribbles that down, making a mental note to craft some new pens later, his current one is almost out of ink already.

He watches the crayon, pen at the ready, and then he nearly drops his notebook because he swears he recognizes that handwriting.

In Spanish, on the sign: “It’s too cold down here”, and then a >:( .

“Oh my God,” Cellbit whispers.

He’s quick to say, louder and in the best Spanish he can, “Sorry, I haven’t gotten around to putting in the heating yet. Do you want a blanket or anything?”

As he’s saying that, he’s already pulling off his jacket. He awkwardly wiggles it in the spirit’s direction, and he tries not to flinch as the spirit takes it and pulls it on. The sleeves drag on the floor, because the spirit is so, so very small. It always will be.

Another sign, the crayon starts moving.

Cellbit should… he should call Roier, right? He’s asleep, but he would want to be woken up for this, right?

But…

The sign: “You stink”

And then the jacket, and the spirit wearing it, stomps into the hospital room.

Cellbit follows after a moment of trying, and failing, to compose himself. He’s immediately greeted by another punch to the stomach and a sign telling him he was too slow.

“Sorry!” he wheezes, hunched over and trying to catch his breath. He waves a hand in the spirit’s general direction and offers it a smile. “You’re very strong, you know that, right?”

He can’t see the spirit’s indignant nod, and he can’t hear the spirit’s, “Of course!” But he gets the impression that that is what the spirit is doing, the little shit.

Fourth sign, this one reading: “What are you doing? Go to bed, old man”

Cellbit rolls his eyes. Some things never change.

Stooping down to scoop up a stack of copycats, he answers, “I’m building a hospital. I’ll sleep when I’m done.”

Another punch, this one to the side, and lighter, almost as if the spirit was worried he’d break Cellbit like he was made of glass. (Which he wouldn’t be able to, by the way. He’s just a kid, and Richarlyson hits harder than his brother ever could.)

A sign: “Aren’t you supposed to be married?? Go kiss your husband and shit, wtf is wrong with you”

Cellbit just places down a copycat in response. “Roier can come find me if he wants me. He knows I’m down here.”

A pause, and then the copycats on the floor are being scooped up and placed on the walls randomly, jacket clearly weighing the spirit down because Cellbit can see the jacket moving up and down as if its wearer is jumping to try and reach.

Wordlessly, Cellbit places a row of wooden blocks down in the spirit’s general area. For reach. He’s thanked with a grateful, light slap to the face.

A sign is placed on the wall by the hospital bed: “Go home when we’re done or I’ll kill you”

“Sure,” Cellbit lies. “Just follow what I’m doing.”

And he and the spirit get to work.

Cellbit talks. He turns his music off, and he talks. He talks about the wedding, he talks about Richarlyson finally learning how to ride a bike, he talks about Jaiden permanently dyeing her hair blue. He says that Roier got adopted and that he finally has a family again. He says that there’s a beautiful city being built along the river by the wall complete with a Costco. (The spirit was very happy about that one.)

And then, just as Cellbit is placing the last of his blocks in the copycats, he’s nudged. He looks down at the sign placed by his feet.

Written in smaller handwriting than he’s seen all night is: “But where is Richarlyson?”

And Cellbit’s heart breaks for the millionth time that week alone.

He looks away, blinking the tears out of his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “But I’m going to find him.”

He looks around the room. “It’s why I’m working so hard on the Order, actually. We need… it’s someplace for everybody to work together to try and find the other eggs.”

“You’re literally alone idiot”

“It’s just. Late at night. There’s usually more people here.”

There isn’t. It’s so quiet outside. At least the castle has Roier in it for Cellbit to share his solitude with.

He sighs and offers the spirit a tired smile. “Don’t worry, I’m a great detective. I’ll find them soon.”

He might not, but he hasn’t even admitted it to himself yet. How could he say that to a child?

The spirit is clearly unhappy about something, but he just wiggles Cellbit’s jacket’s sleeves like a bitchy jellyfish and hops off of the blocks. He marches across the room and then…

Cellbit sniffles, eyes squeezing shut as he feels two freezing, ghostly arms wrap around his middle. He’s never been hugged by a ghost before, but he’d always dreamed of it. He just wishes it was any other ghost, because he never got this kind of hug from him when he was alive.

He swears he hears a voice, but-

Cellbit’s startled awake as someone storms into the room with a laugh.

“What the fuck, man?” Roier grins. “Why were you sleeping on the floor?”

He immediately flops down onto floor next to him, anyway, immediately taking Cellbit’s head and pulling it into his lap.

Cellbit can’t help but smile despite his unease.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. He reaches up and cups Roier’s cheek with one hand. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“Yes, and you’re supposed to be asleep with me.”

Cellbit winces. “Sorry.”

Roier waves the apology aside easily. “No worries, it’s fine. Just come home now, okay? I’m sleepy!”

He pouts dramatically, and Cellbit is about to argue that he needs to finish the detailing, but.

But he tears his eyes away from his husband’s face and sees the walls decorated just as they were in his… dream? No signs in the room, but Cellbit’s jacket is laid across him like a blanket, and there are still a few wooden blocks placed by one of the walls.

Oh, God.

A cold draft rolls over both Cellbit and Roier, causing Cellbit’s hair to raise on end. Roier, however, doesn’t seem to notice.

This is… a problem for the morning.

Sighing, Cellbit says, “Alright, let’s go.”

He stands, and he pulls Roier up with him, and, as they make their way out of the Order, Cellbit swears that he’s being watched.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#oh look! a canon-set fic!#who knew I could do those lol

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trolllsss · 6 months ago

Text

So @deliciousdefendorinternet asked a great question and made me so so happy cause it's the first question I've ever gotten. The response ended up being pretty long so I thought I'd share it here too.

The question was what I wanted to see from a Brozone reconciliation.

To start with, they need to give a proper apology. Not a "hey I'm sorry, I was a stupid kid. I didn't mean to." It sounds too much like an excuse and it puts the responsibility on Branch to be understanding.

Then I want to see effort from them to spend time with him. They come to him. They do things he likes. They realize that they're practically strangers and take the time to get to know him.

I think John Dory will have the hardest time with this. He's stuck in this mind frame of wanting to pick up where they left off and wanting to minimize anything bad that happened.

On the fluffy side of things, I want Branch to get to really meet Bruce's kids. He was so happy when he learned about them. I also want Bruce to accidentally slip into Dad mode with him too. Stuff like, "okay, it's getting late. Time for bed." Or "hey, it's okay to feel angry and to need space. I just need you to tell me. Help me help you." At first Branch thinks it's insulting because he feels like he's being treated like a kid, but then Bruce treats him like an adult in other situations and he realizes that thirteen kids build some hard habits to break. That Bruce loves his kids, and he's treating Branch a lot like them.

I'd love for Clay to give Branch a copy of the first sad book he ever read. He's kind of hesitant, because even though Viva appreciates sad books, she doesn't always ENJOY them. And his brothers never liked them at all.

But Branch loves them the way he loved sad country songs. He's the newest member of Clay's book club, trolltopia division.

They also go over Branch's safety measures for the village, most of which were implemented without the village's knowledge, and swap notes.

Floyd. Oof. People go really easy on Floyd. I think it's because he was so hurt after the movie and acknowledged that Branch had grown up. But Floyd had the benefit of not being there to fight. I could see him being so desperate to avoid conflict that he'd brush over problems or Branch's feelings to try to keep the peace.

Anyway, for him I want Branch to be helping with his recovery, along with JD, and they catch him on a Grey Day. His fur is grey again and so is his attitude. Usually he locks himself in his bunker on days like that, then Poppy will inevitably come find him and stay next to him still he's feeling a bit better.

I'm a firm believer that being grey for twenty years has consequences and I want Floyd and JD both to see some of them.

JD and Branch go camping! JD will go to do something to show off for his baby brother only to turn around and see that Branch had already done it. He's forced to acknowledge that Branch has grown up. Without him. And that that was his own fault. They end the trip with a healthy amount of mutual respect and plans to go camping together once every other month.

#trolls #trolls band together #trolls branch #dreamworks trolls #branch trolls #trolls 3 #trolls floyd #trolls brozone #trolls poppy #trolls jd #trolls john dory #trolls Bruce #trolls world tour

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lightlycareless · 7 months ago

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How could you break my heart on Valentine’s Day??? Waaaahhhhhh, it makes sense but it still hurts. You’re gonna give me a part three or else 🔫

Seriously though it was really good! I loved it. I calculated and rounded up how much Naoya paid Mei Mei in U.S. Dollars and this dude really paid her around $17,500 and that’s not including all the gifts he bought Y/N. If I was Naoya’s parents, his debit card is getting confiscated. That is INSANE. I can’t imagine if they somehow managed to force out what actually happened to learn he spent all that on a girl that didn’t even RECIPROCATE his feelings like oh my god. I can’t imagine the earful poor Ranta is gonna get especially since this was kinda his idea for Naoya to confess his feelings(Although I don’t know if Ranta thought he’d go about it like this).

I wonder though if Y/N would reconsider Naoya’s feelings if she read his letter. Oof but now I’m thinking about what she’d do if she learned Naoya was the reason why she didn’t receive any gifts. I don’t know how long he’d stay on her bad side after that.

Hello anon!

Gee this is surely a really late response, but I still hope you know I appreciate your lovely words about my work!! Thank you so much 🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I'm sorry that I broke your heart on the 14th haha it was kind of unexpected ngl, but that's just where the characters took me 🤭 though it's not all sad... if you know you know.

AS FOR THE MONEY HAHAHAH poor Naoya, he definitely got an earful from his parents, or more like the people in charge of the finances, I doubt Naobito cared enough to scold him (shall I make Tomoko involved? IF SHE WAS AROUND THOUGH THINGS WOULD'VE TURNED SO DIFFERENT) Damn I need to write a small drabble explaining what happened there, but in the meantime, it kind of went like this:

Ranta: What happened Naoya?

Naoya: nothing. *doesn't talk to anyone for weeks*

Ranta: That bad?

Naoya: :(

(he doesn't regret spending all that money on you. it's like a hobby of his lol he loves it.)

But anyways, I keep thinking that the third part for this series I would like something like an epilogue, a peak into the future…

Warnings: none. Fluff. A happy ending 😊. (By the way, this is the oneshot anon is referring to. Highly recommend reading this first!!!)

Happy reading!

“—And that, dumpling, was your papa’s and I first valentine’s day together! Kind of, not really, but it was the first time I got gifts from him. It was certainly different from what I expected, but if you look really closely, it was very sweet, and now, I’m able to look back on it fondly!” You smile; truly, who would’ve thought that you’d end up marrying that awkward, somewhat intense kid? And having a beautiful daughter too?

Though you could see in Naomi’s tense chubby face that this wasn’t exactly the romantic story she was hoping to hear, and you do not blame her, Naoya’s approach had been nothing short of alarming and unexpected, just enough to scare you off from ever considering something more from him!

But his subtle persistence, the small gestures he’d still give you even when openly denouncing he’ll never seek you again, is what eventually persuaded you otherwise.

Through his attentiveness when you were out on a mission with him, making sure that you were neither too cold nor too hot, either through offering you something to drink or his own sweater to wear.

Quick to save you from a curse that got too close, or a fellow student you were not in the mood to entertain.

Whenever you needed help with jujutsu—either a term you didn’t quite understand just yet, or plain practice. Naoya had much more experience than you, so it was only natural that you’d seek him; that wouldn’t change even with that awkward valentine’s interaction…

But above all, what made you see that Naoya might be the one you were waiting for all along, is the fact that he remembered all the things you liked, the ones that made you happy—from sweets, food, to even your favorite characters…

If his emotions weren’t genuine, he wouldn’t have done such a thing!

Perhaps your only regret is ever giving him the idea that you couldn’t come to appreciate him, or that he wasn’t deserving of love.

But that was long in the past, and after a few dates, and getting to know each other… you two fell in love.

Unfortunately, Naomi wouldn’t come to see it that way.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin? This isn’t the story you expected?” Naoya asks with a smile, enjoying the way she huffed in response—though that satisfaction wouldn’t last long.

“No, papa, you were creepy.” She pouted, and her mama could almost hear his heart shatter.

“Oh.” Naoya doesn’t even come to wonder how she knew of such word, undoubtedly from his cousins, but that would be a matter to tend to later after he mends his broken heart.

“Well, he’s done his due! Papa loves us very, very much and would never do anything to scare us!”

“Thanks, Y/N.” Naoya responds sarcastically. “That makes me feel much better.”

You giggle.

“Why don’t you leave us alone, pumpkin? Papa and I need to talk a bit.”

And Naomi obeys immediately after, not that it took much for her to do so, for her disappointment rapidly pushed her to seek something better, a bit more entertaining—like Mai and Maki’s daily occurrences, more ways to annoy her father and such.

Once alone, the two are able to freely look back on that fateful day…

“What I did back then was messed up, wasn’t it?” Naoya sighs.

“I wouldn’t say that necessarily.” You add.

“But nothing happened after that.” He says. “Things didn’t change until much later.”

“Well, I did get to see a new side of you, one I didn’t think you had.”

“What did you think of me…?”

“That you were… bold. Arrogant, a bit snobby too…” you say, Naoya’s face reddens out of shame.

“Don’t—Don’t say anything else.” He frowns. “I get the idea loud and clear…”

“But that you were sweet too.” You smile, taking his hand. “I’ve never been lucky enough to have someone hold such strong feelings for me… thought it to be something out of a fairy tale—Until I met you—someone that harbored so much love to give but didn’t know how to express it.”

“You make me sound much nobler than what I really am—I don’t know how you do it, Y/N…”

“It took me time to get there, love.” You laugh. “But it’s only because you’re so cute that I eventually thought otherwise.”

“Cute?” he huffs, ready to retort otherwise, until you lean in to kiss his cheek, gesture enough to have him willing. “Alright—but only you can call me that.”

“I better be the only one.” You warn. “Although I was hoping our dumpling would do so too when I told her our story…”

“…Well, I can’t blame her, it must’ve sounded crazy for her.” Naoya sighs. “…If someone dared do the same thing to my daughter you can be sure I’d send the kukuru to get rid of him! No jerk is going to impress her!”

“I don’t think that’ll happen; Naomi didn’t seem amused by us either way.” You reassure him. “And she’s too young to be worried about that too! All she cares about right now is when will her papa get her that kitten he promised her…”

“I’m working on it!” Naoya frets. “It’s just that kittens aren’t born until later in the year…”

“Well, let’s hope that you aren’t too late, something tells me that my sister might be already on the lookout…”

“NO, she’s not.” Naoya breathes. “I will never forgive her if she does!”

But you just shrug playfully, not really giving Naoya much of an opportunity to not worry about spoiling his daughter, fearing that he might lose the position of favorite human in the whole wide world against your sister! A rank Hinata has been coveting for as long as he could remember, competing with the rest of your family too…

A tough endeavor, though he’ll have something else to worry about now.

“By the way… I’m aware of what you did with with the gifts.” You say, he freezes.

“Ho—How?” he blinks.

“Shoko told me. Mei Mei wasn’t that… fond of keeping secrets that were too juicy to hide.” You reveal.

“That woman… she told me that—!” but he goes silent, understanding there was a much bigger issue at hand. “…Are you angry with me?”

“Yes, so angry, that I’ve decided to personally torment you for the rest of our lives!” You tease, at the mischief of your voice, a weight is lifted from Naoya’s shoulders. “I was angry, but… it didn’t last long, considering that some of those gifts were from people I didn’t really want to be involved with… so, you kind of did me a favor… though I did have to go through a whole day thinking I didn’t get anything…”

“…I’m sorry—I might’ve gotten ahead of myself trying to impress you…”

“Well, for all the chocolate I missed back then, you made up for me, tenfold!” you grin, wrapping him in your arms and placing kisses all over his cheeks until you could no more. “I love you, Naoya—you and all of your bold, extravagant, though a bit silly, ways. So don’t worry about that anymore, not when it was the reason that brought us together.”

Naoya blushes, letting himself be consumed by the incessant demonstrations of your affection and the acceptance of your words, for there was honesty behind them—even when a rocky start, it ultimately fated the two together.

What was once nothing but a dream, one that seemed so far away on the day you rejected him…

Now was his everyday reality—if not better, for it brought along a small bundle of joy that made both of your lives happier, although there were moments where she didn’t feel particularly the same, unamused by her parent’s antics from time to time…

But even then, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

They got their happy ending nonetheless :') Really, that day was only the beginning for them. It was enough for Y/N to finally set her eyes on him!! And the rest is history 🥺❤️

Thankfully I do plan to write a bit more of this HS AU, you know, the simple things like them slowly falling in love 🥺 ajfghajkghajghjkas this has to be one of my favorite au's (if not the favorite haha) can't wait to write them in time.

Now, thank you so much for your support and patience 🥺❤️❤️!!!! I'm really glad you're liking my work!!!

Take care, and hope to see you soon!!

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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five-rivers · 2 years ago

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Buried in the Woods

@snops Hello! I'm your Truce gifter this year! I went after your 1st and 3rd prompts. Cryptid vibes and Corpse AU. Enjoy! >:)

They’re waiting for him, this time.

They don’t, always. Usually, he’s faster than they are, and sometimes they can’t make it at all. A few, very harrowing times, he couldn’t make it.

But here, now, they’re waiting, each one leaning against a tree trunk. The hillside below then is dotted with charred and broken tree stumps that rise straight from the ground like monuments. The moon is high, white, and sharp, cut from the sky with a razor. Everything is cold, still, quiet.

Sam raises cupped hands to her mouth and blows through them, ignoring the dirt on her fingers and under her nails. It’s not any worse than digging in her garden. The shovels are a bit bigger, that’s all.

Tucker has taken out his PDA again. He shouldn’t. Not here. The screen is bright, and someone might see it. But he can’t help but check the time, again, squinting through the fog of his breath to see the numbers. It’s late. But that’s not going to change in a hurry.

Almost as one, they look down the hill, their attention drawn taught. Something is moving down there.

Surreptitiously, Sam puts a boot on the blade of her shovel, levering it up and into her hand. Tucker reaches out for his, fingers brushing the smooth wooden handle, not yet pulling it free of the ground.

They wait, still and cautious. No matter how many times they do this, they’re never entirely at ease.

Then two spots of green, bright and alien, flare up at them from the dark. If either of them had been carrying a flashlight, the green could have been mistaken for an animal’s eyeshine.

They weren’t. It wasn’t.

Slowly, the thing in the dark comes up the hill. It walks slowly, ponderously, its gait uneven. Every once in a while, that green flashes again.

The clear cold light of the moon provides a silhouette, eventually. A black hole in the night. A human-like figure, a body thrown over one of its shoulders, a shovel propped on the other. It is stooped, slightly, under the weight, but the way it moves could tell anyone it had done this before. Its eyes are flat, green coins.

Sam blinks once, twice, three times. Tucker just waits, still as stone. Reality shifts. No longer is the thing in front of them a shadow cut from nightmare, but their friend, Danny. Normal, human, puny, blue-eyed Danny, who, for some reason, thinks it’s acceptable to wear a t-shirt in this weather and at this time of night. He looks exhausted, and perhaps a little embarrassed. Nothing frightening here.

Other than the fact he’s carrying his own corpse over his shoulder.

“You didn’t need to bring your own shovel, man,” says Tucker, compulsively pulling his PDA out again. “We already got everything dug.” He sounds worried.

Danny cringes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait that long.” He drums his fingers on the shaft of his shovel and adjusts his grip on the body.

“It’s fine. Let’s just get under cover.” Sam turns and walks back, into the less-burned part of the forest. She can hear Tucker following her. Danny is, as always, silent.

“Oof,” says Danny.

“Huh? Something wrong?” asks Tucker.

“Just walked over my own grave, that’s all.” Danny offers them a smile that could have been made from the same fabric as the moon – although with a far less steady hand.

The response is a groan, as loud as they dare.

“We’re going to have to change locations, soon.”

And isn’t that the truth? Accidentally digging up one grave was one grave too many, and it isn’t as if they could mark them. What they are doing is illegal, both in the ‘this is literally against state, federal, county, and municipal law’ sense, and the more metaphorical ‘this is an affront to the laws of nature’ sense.

They reach their handiwork of the night before much longer. The grave isn’t nice and rectangular, but they gave up on that early on. It’s deep, and big enough to take what Danny’s been carrying. That’s enough.

Danny promptly drops his corpse into the hole. The sound of a corpse hitting the ground like that—It isn’t exactly indescribable, and it isn’t exactly unique, but…

It sure is a sound.

They stare at it, for a long moment. It feels, even after all this time, that they should say something, do something, to commemorate the moment, to lay the body to rest.

But they don’t.

Danny hefts his shovel and starts the work of pushing the dirt back in. Shovelful by shovelful, the body is hidden from view. Covered up. Tucked in.

“Well,” says Danny. “That’s that for tonight.”

They go back, down through the trees. Sometimes, when he steps into the shadows of the trees, Danny goes dark again, his eyes green and glowing, but those moments become fewer and further between as they leave the fresh grave behind. As they leave Danny’s latest death behind. As Danny becomes more alive.

“Who was it tonight?” asks Tucker. “Or was it more of a what this time?”

“Ember,” says Danny.

“That was fast, for her.”

“She wasn’t here for a fight, this time.” Danny shrugs. “Convinced her to ride my death back across the line pretty easy. It’s almost as if—”

He stops, tilts his head to one side. Shadows strobe across him.

“Danny?” asks Sam.

“Something’s here,” says Danny, his voice flat and empty, and then he's gone.

If there is one thing that is impossible for Sam and Tucker to get used to, it is the sight of their friend dropping dead.

Sam hisses through her teeth and crouches down. “He couldn’t even tell us who it is first?”

“It can’t be anyone too strong,” says Tucker. “He wouldn’t risk wasting a death.” He thumbs open the timer on his PDA. Six minutes. On average, a human death held a viable door open for six minutes.

Sam shoots him a skeptical look and he winces. There is, on occasion, a wildness in Danny's eyes beyond the green.

But it’s too late to talk about that now. The moon-cast shadows undulate across the ground, twitching and fluttering like living things. It's ink and blackness and the trees bending away from the sky to reveal stars that were both too close and too green.

The dark isn’t the only thing there. There's something artificial, a presence the forest resists. An intruder. An outsider. A predator, stalking, hunting, not looking for them, but it doesn’t care about collateral damage.

Sam curses under her breath. “Skulker.”

The two ghosts clash and writhe, dead, unmade things in a place they should not exist. They give the body, the corpse, a wide berth, Skulker not willing to get close enough to the body and the door for Danny to push him through, and Danny clearly not wanting Skulker to get too close to Sam and Tucker.

The problem with Skulker is that he’s always been out for blood. Danny is his current prey, but that isn’t a good thing to count on.

“Do you think Vlad let him through again?” whispers Tucker, his words standing stark against the silence.

It’s probable. There aren’t enough human deaths in Amity Park to justify how often certain ghosts return. Any death can make a door, even a plant’s, even an animal’s, but those doors are usually too small and too brief for ghosts like Skulker to get through, if they aren’t called to them specifically. But someone like Vlad or Danny can die again and again, as many times as needed.

Tucker sees Danny’s body twitch and he yelps, putting a tree between him and it. Sam is more proactive. She brings the flat of her shovel down on its head. The ghosts that leak out are stripes of neon against dark grass. The light is swallowed by the empty places between the trees.

“How much time?” she asks Tucker breathlessly.

“Three minutes,” he says, holding up his PDA.

“We need to get out of here.”

“What? But—”

She grabs his wrist and hauls him into the dark.

It isn’t only black in there. Star-flashes and moonlight twinkle and strobe as they run. There are eyes, green and uncountable. There is sound – gunfire swallowed by snow, the twang of bowstrings, the last gasp of prey, devoured. The trees slide by them, studiously avoiding their path. Soft mounds of earth flicker with gentle stars, the ground beneath them a mirror of the sky above. It is like running between two mirrors.

This landscape, Sam realizes, a little late, does not favor Skulker very much at all. Not here, in Danny’s own personal graveyard.

And the shadows retreat, pulled away like ink being absorbed by a napkin.

Sam and Tucker look back, over their shoulders. Two green eyes stare at them from what isn’t, in retrospect, very far away at all. Danny’s body lies on the ground below, barely visible. The eyes do not leave them, even as the shadow they are in stoops to pluck the shovel from the limp hand of Danny’s body and start digging.

The shadows beneath the trees don’t seem very dark anymore. The moonlight is almost blinding.

The timer on Tucker’s PDA goes off, loudly. He hisses at it, annoyed that, somewhere along the way, he’d turned the volume on.

“Heck,” says Sam.

“Yeah,” agrees Tucker, vehemently. “Where’d my shovel go?”

They find it before too long. There aren’t too many places it could have gone. They join Danny in digging. Two graves in one night are really too much, but they’ve done more, and they’ve done worse. They aren’t like Vlad, can’t just let them build up until it’s efficient to dispose of them, or whatever he does. Something tells them that whatever is probably worse than they’re imagining.

Between blinks, Danny is himself again, and the grave is finished before the moon starts to set.

It is late. It is early. It is time to go home.

The thing about three teenagers with shovels walking the city streets at night is that they’re noticed. Amity Park isn’t New York, but any city worth its name stirs in its sleep. Midnight flights to the airport, inadvisably long bachelor parties, late movies, insomnia, homelessness.

Tucker’s been monitoring the ghost hunting and cryptid forums for a while, and he’s emailed Danny links to each one that mentions him. Sam has clippings from the paper about calls to animal control about something with green eyes, about something that couldn’t possibly be human. Then, of course, there are the calls to the police about something dragging or carrying bodies from all sorts of places.

There had been an investigation at one point. There had to be. But nothing had been found. There hadn’t been anything to find. No missing bodies, no mysterious disappearances, no deaths. Just a green-eyed shadow and its mysterious companions.

Sam knows her parents, at least, think the whole thing is a prank. Tucker’s think it is people seeing things when there was nothing there, like bigfoot. The less said about what Danny’s parents think about it, the better.

Sam’s house is furthest from the center of town, and they drop her off first, the shadows on the trellis giving her a boost when she climbed. Tucker and Danny then have the typical argument about whether it’s better to bring Tucker or Danny home first. Danny, Tucker argues, has just fought not one, but two ghosts. Tucker, Danny argues, cannot come back from the dead. Danny wins, as usual.

That leaves Danny, real and not, alive and not, to wander home. He waves cheerfully at a drunk who watches him pass with wide eyes and turns onto his street. He breathes in, deeply, tasting the ash that still flavors the air all these months later. He opens his eyes just in time for the winter sun to beam through the skeleton of one of the buildings that bracket the crater that was once Fentonworks.

No one lives here anymore.

No one is waiting for him.

Danny walks down into the darkness and disappears.

#danny phantom #winter truce #snops #prompt fill #corpse au #cryptid vibes

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kitstoleurjob · 1 month ago

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Day 6. Cuddles (lee!Mishima ler!Joker)

Mishima X Joker Meant to be read as romantic

Side Note: LET ME BE SELF INDULGENT please. Also I personally prefer Akira over Ren so I'll be referring to Joker as that. Anyways I'm Yuuki Mishima's #1 fan and uhhhh I push these two together like Barbie dolls. So uh Happy Tickletober!!!

THIS IS A SFW TICKLE FIC!!!

"Mishima, you've been on the Phansite all day. Come and just chill for a bit." Akira patted the spot next to him on his bed, motioning for Mishima to sit down. The other had been hunched over the stair railing for about an hour and a half now, filtering through comments on his forum.

"I will..! Just, give me a second. There's been these annoying trollers all day and they just won't quit it. Like seriously, give it a rest! Although they underestimate my devotion to the Phansite." Mishima explained, continuing to fuss over his forum. After a couple minutes though, he decided to take a short break and wandered over to Akira, flopping down on top of him instead of next on the bed, earning a small 'oof'.

"Oh- uh, this works too." Akira shrugged, readjusting him and his partner into a comfortable position. He wrapped his arms around Mishima's torso, along with intertwining their legs. "You comfy?"

"Mhm..." Mishima nodded, holding Akira's arms with his own. A few minutes later, however, he was back on his phone continuing his moderating duties, much to Akira's dismay.

"Really? Y'know I'm sure the Phansite can wait, Mishima... Take a break from it, just relax." Akira insisted, worried about his boyfriend. The teen had mentioned to him in passing about how he's been losing more and more sleep fretting over the community he made.

"I wish I could, really! And things are calming down again..! Just, give me a few more minutes, okay?" Mishima stressed, typing away hurriedly on his phone.

"No, Mishima. C'mon, you need a break, okay?" Akira pled, trying to nudge the phone out of Mishima's hand. In the process of doing this, however, he accidentally pressed into Mishima's stomach, causing the boy to giggle. "Oh~? I didn't know you were ticklish." He let out an amused huff.

"Ehe- well I didn't think that was something you needed to know..! Just- just uh- give me another minute, okay!" Mishima begged, trying to get out a couple more messages.

"Hmm..... nope! I say it's break time. The online world can wait." Akira winked, even though he knew Mishima couldn't see his face. Without any further notice, Akira pulled Mishima closer to him, who let out a small surprised squeak. He squeezed Mishima's sides, causing the other boy to let out what could probably classified as the cutest giggles on earth.

"Gah- nohohohohoho! Wahahahait!" Mishima shook his head wildly, trying to kick his legs out. His hands, however, were still gripped to his phone, shakily typing.

"Oh no no no~ Break time, love~" Akira gently pushed the phone out of Mishima's hand, it gently plopping to the floor. "There we go. Rest your eyes." He gave Mishima a small kiss on the forehead before resuming his attack.

"Ahahahahakira! Nahahaha! Ihihit tihihickles!" Mishima giggled, pushing himself against his boyfriend.

"Aww, I know it does~ Here, how about this? You stop worrying about the Phansite for the night, and I'll stop, m'kay?" Akira tried to persuade. Unfortunately he wasn't very successful, since Mishima was trying to reach down off the bed for his phone. "Well, you asked for it." He pulled a fake evil chuckle before drilling his thumbs into Mishima's hips.

"WhahahAHAHAHAT? NAHAHAHAH AHAHAKIRA! IHIHIHI'M SORRY! I'LL TAHAHAKE A BREHEAK JUHUST NOT THEHEHERE!" Mishima shrieked, bucking in Akira's hold. Thankfully for him, though, Akira's hands slowed down to a stop. He sucked in a couple breaths before flipping over, pressing his head against Akira's chest.

Akira rubbed Mishima's back as the other hummed contently. "It's already pretty late, y'know. You need me to walk you to the train station?" Akira asked, but he got no response. He looked down at Mishima to see the other teen fast asleep.

He chuckled, reaching over Mishima to grab his phone and plug it in before pulling a blanket over the two of them, drifting off to sleep.

#kit talks #sfw tickling community #kitstoleurjob #sfw tk community #tickletober #tickletober2024 #augtickletober2024 #persona 5 tickle #lee!mishima #ler!joker #ler!akira #sfw tickle fic

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iameliseposts · 2 years ago

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Hello! Just stumbled in to your blog and I love your style so I’m here to ask:

Can you please write a scenario in which Epel and MC (gender neutral) are play fighting and it ends with a soft cuddle session? Pillows, blankets, and a whole lotta fluff please :)

This Means War - Epel x MC

Thank you for requesting anon and sorry for the wait! I hope it has as much fluff and crack as you wanted! I hope you enjoy!!

And I think this is my last late request! I have a sequel to write and then no more. If any of you have any requests, especially Valentines themed ones, send them in!

“Do you know what this means Epel?” You looked at your boyfriend intensely. He looked weak and frail upon first glance, but you knew better. He returned your stare, eyeing you down, “Oh I know. Do ya know what this means?” “Of course. This means war!” And you swung your pillow.

Epel jumped out of the way, somewhat gracefully. Huh, Epel’s beauty and grace lessons with Vil are paying off. But now was not the time to be mesmerized because Epel was about to attack! He lunged towards you swinging his pillow, but luckily you blocked it with your own. You currently stood on your chair while Epel was on ground level. Where should you go next?

Epel swung again and you jumped out of the way and onto the floor. Quickly, you escaped to your bed, standing tall. You pointed your pillow at Epel menacingly. Thank the stars for Ramshackle’s high roof.

“It's over, Epel Felmier. I have the high ground.” Epel merely grinned like the gremlin he is, “You underestimate my power!” You dramatically gasped, “Don't try it.” “Oh I will!” And he booked it towards you.

You nearly shrieked as he jumped onto the bed and tackled you down. You felt a hand come behind your head to protect your head as you both fell onto the cushy mattress. It makes your heart flutter, to know how he’d always save you.

Epel pins you to the bed with his two arms on each side of your body. He completely trapped you with no escape… “Got ya! What was that about war?” Epel grinned ear to ear and you didn’t know if you wanted to punch that victory smile off his face. So you did. You punched his lips. With your lips. Gently.

You caught Epel off guard with your attack. It was a lot softer than he imagined and he didn’t mind in the slightest. He reciprocated with the same vigor, loving and passionate. And you got him where you wanted.

You pulled him, catching him off guard and wrapped your arms around him. With an, “Oof!”, he collapses on top of you and is stuck underneath your tight and devoted embrace. When he looks up, you give him a bright smile, “You might have won the battle, but I won the war!”

Epel puts his hands up as much as he could in defeat. “Yeah yeah ya got me.” You gleam in the pride of your victory, “Then as the victor, I want an endless supply of cuddles!” Epek mock gasped, “Endless? And miss school?” “Do you object?” Epel shakes his head with a hearty laugh, “Not a chance!” He shivers a bit, “But isn’t it a bit cold?” Oh yeah, Ramshackle has barely, if any insulation. Dammit Crowley, he couldn’t do one thing for the Ramshackle prefect, could he?

The good thing about Ramshackle was you had it all to yourself and this includes the pillows and blankets from the other rooms. You had cleaned them all prior and shoved them in your closet to snuggle with later. Man were you thankful you decided to be responsible, so could use them now.

Shoving Epel gently off you (to his dismay), you prance to your closet and grab the first few blankets you saw. You go back to the bed and pull the chair towards the bed. You drape the curl the blankets around the bottom of the bed frame. “Whatcha doing?” Epel asked, but you kept working. You made a knot, twice on the bedframe and twice on the chair. Putting another blanket overtop and horizontal.

Going back to your closet, you pull out a bunch of pillows you’ve also crammed into there. “How much bedding have you shoved into there?” Epel deadpans. You tossed the pillows and extra blanets inside your little tent. A makeshift fort, made of blankets for your beloved. You crawl inside, lying on the pillows and blankets. “Tada~ I have constructed a fortress and I’m taking you hostage!” Epel grinned from ear to ear, the grin you’d die for. He slips inside the blanket fort and cuddles next to you. “Oh no, I guess I’m stuck!”

“Yeah you are!” You preened once more. “But…” Epel wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest, “I think I won the war.” You giggled as you nuzzled into him,

“I can’t say I mind.”

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jawllines · 10 months ago

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OMG THE LATEST PART OF Y/N DOESN’T WANNA BE AN OMEGA ❤️❤️❤️❤️ SORRY IM LATE OMG I GET SO GIGGLY AND GIDDY FOR THOSE TWO WOW EVERY TIME.

Harry’s chest heaves with each breath against her, but he’s kissing all over her face. Peppering little pecks around her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her forehead, her mouth, until she’s giggling and turning her head every which way, “Stop, stop!” She laughed.

NO YOU STOP IT MISS JAWS I’M BLUSHING—I CAN FEEL THE HEAT IN MY FACE AND IT’S NOT OKAY.

The way she gets so insecure and jealous but doesn’t have it in her heart to take an opportunity from him 🥺 people always write jealousy as obvious or amusing or tension-building (which I love) but in my personal real-life experience, it’s painful—like this. It’s brutal. Faking a smile so well, that nobody knows. Go on, miss jaws. Twist the knife. Go on, then. Fuck.

THE WAY HE KNOWS AND CAN SMELL WHEN SHE’S UPSET AND SHE’S TRYING SO HARD TO PLAY IT COOL OMG I’M—🥺 and she bundles in Niall’s bed giving herself 10 minutes to wallow and then pull herself together. So real. But then he goes and finds her 😭 “you think I don’t know when you’re upset?” SHHHH SOMEONE QUICK I NEED A SHOULDER TO HIDE IN 🥺 he really sees her 😭

Also “This doesn’t look like using the bathroom” —that cheeky mf. He’s such a great balance of cheeky/sweet. Oof. That’s a sweet spot. Like scratching a really good itch.

The way he keeps calling her cute 😭 brb. Ordering my tombstone.

The way she compliments his alpha “nest” and he’s all smiley. This gets me every time, either role reversed. When someone is complimenting the nest and they bristle proudly in response. It’s just the absolute cutest. And she’s trying to give him all that love back 😭

When he giggles at the noises 🙈 he’s even teasy in his rut? He really is the best alpha. I will accept no one but him.

Her panties are still on but Harry buries his nose against her, chuckling deeply when Y/N squeals, jumping just a little bit from the sudden stimulation. His nose flicks her clit back and forth as he rubs into her, breathing in deep, and she feels her body flush with embarrassment.

“Ah – Harry,” she giggled a little breathlessly, “That’s embarrassing.”

I mean it. Stop it. Stfu. Stop.

He’s such a pleasing boy and even his filthy talk is so damn sweet.

The smut was just so 😵‍💫

Subscribing to your patreon is the best $5 I spend every month. You. Are. Appreciated.

Also, just another daily reminder that you’re adorable and I have a crush on your brain. (Yes it’s me again hi)

CAN I JUST SAY I LOVE MESSAGES LIKE THESE SO MUCH WHERE YOU GO THROUGH SPECIFIC THINGS YOU LIKED!! THE WAY IM GRINNING THE WHOLE TIME IM READING IT JUST MAKES ME SO HAPPY

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! IM SO GLAD THAT YOU LIKED IT :-)

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sukunasun · 4 months ago

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I finished the "Say It's Here" sequel and gosh, I'm bowled over! I feel like your understanding of each character's psychology has been heightened since the original was published and It's so impressive! I particularly enjoyed how economical you were with the descriptions according to each character's personality, motivation and dynamic with the protagonist

Also, my god, not higuruma hiromi being the highest quality rebound ever???? Currently obsessed with him and it's kinda funny/sad how many parallels people draw between him and Nanami, understandably, but I LOVE that you flesh out their distinctions here too. Not quite a cameo but he feels more fully realised and real(?) in his short scene than in some entire pics revolving around him that I've read! I quiver to consider what you'd unleash upon the world with a full fledged fic for him (with a different reader character ofc)

But Srsly how does she keep hooking such hotties

Higuruma's "ruthless" rationale and observations is rather kind in its own way, and I thoroughly enjoyed how accurate it felt and also that the reader doesn't mistake it for anything affectionate or coddling. I find that clarity extremely appealing about him, plus it must feel so ridiculously refreshing to the reader character after all the guesswork and her ordeal with nanami

I also think that's one of the more satisfying distinctions you make with their portrayals; nanami (initially) employs logic as a coping mechanism, whereas it's hiromi's basis for functioning, a bit like a bug versus a feature?

At least in accordance with canon events, I think that mindset translates well, nanami's response to traumatic incidences in his formative years whereas hiromi had this rationality inform his life's work?

Especially when ambiguity is often the fulcrum for romantic tension (will they/won't they), my mind short-circuits and a little shiver goes down my spine at the thought of Hiromi instead bluntly telling someone: Us? Sure, Why not?

And then calmly proceeds to decimate every excuse one tries to tank their own dating prospects. You can't filibuster flirting with this man, he's so fucking direct (and vice versa 🤭, sometimes a gal just wants a classic Dom yknow. God, i need help)

A N Y

W A Y

Nanami feels more than he lets on in this story, Hiromi is exactly what you expect - which is such an interesting lesson or refraction for the reader character in managing her expectations and self-doubt

Nanami's grovelling feels mostly earned, maybe because it's been a while since I read Say It's Here his interiority is a tad more obscured, or cause the sequel more heavily focuses on reader's POV, which is really well assisted by suguru's commentary/probing/ribbing. Special shoutout to satoru's point blank shit stirring (he and hiromi would be fabulous frenemies)

Also love the open ending because ironically it feels better than emotional closure??? Or probably the finality of her rejecting nanmi again, oof. It's such a satisfying coda oddly i (almost) don't want this story to continue. What a magic trick!

There's such finesse in all the characterisations here, even without my massive bias for higuruma I'd be rereading this a dozen times!

;__; im so sorry this response is so late but thank you so much for sending this in. i'm so glad you got to read the piece!

i care more for the opinions of nanami stans for being able to write/understand him and his appeal in a way i can't. still, i try my best to offer something worthwhile. the open ending was more because i couldn't decide the best outcome for the reader and nanami. there were moments i thought about writing an epilogue to hint at the possibility of them getting back together but i've decided it's best to leave it up for interpretation. after all, nanami comes off to me as someone who wouldn't need a 'yes' right away.

also re: higuruma— gahh i was so uncertain if i did him justice, so thank you for noticing that distinction. often i'll write and delete and write again because i worry if it wasn't clear enough. to me, he's very different to nanami. not even the same sides of a coin. still, i get the comparison. both have been strung into the dilf narrative so often i forget that nanami is literally three years older than me.

#thanks for reading and leaving your thoughts!! <3 #ask

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all-the-things-2020 · 10 months ago

Text

Further Along the Way - Chapter Nine

Summary: Ad’ika is being a brat, Din gets some bad news, and Mariana gets some good news.

Rating: PG

“Seriously?” Mariana asked Ad’ika as she tried to coax him down from the top of the wardrobe. He giggled and waved his pudgy little hand at her. Just a week or two ago, she’d been able to hop up on a chair to reach him when he managed to get up there, but now her belly was too big and he knew it. He plopped down on his bottom and pulled out a bag of sweets she swore she’d locked in the kitchen cupboard.

“How? How did you get hold of that?” She shook her head. He’d been getting worse with each passing day, finding new ways to cause mischief. Din thought it was funny, of course, but he wasn’t here every day dealing with a Force-sensitive toddler.

“Fine. Just don’t fall off and hurt yourself,” she said, flopping down on the bed. Her back hurt and her feet were swollen after spending the morning sweeping up all the dirt Ad’ika had tracked in after “helping” her repot the plants on the patio. It didn’t help that the baby was being rambunctious today, kicking her every other minute and turning somersaults or cartwheels or whatever he or she was doing in there.

She slid off her shoes and let herself almost doze off. Ad’ika got bored and clambered down to join her. He never really fell off anything, using his Force ability to gently lower himself to the ground, but she still worried. She felt his tiny body alight on the bed and toddle over to her. He sat down against her hip and started patting her belly. “Vod,” he said softly. “Vod, Vod, Vod, Vod.”

“Yes, that’s your sibling in there,” she said sleepily. “Don’t encourage them.”

“Buir.”

“Yes, ad?”

“Da?”

“Daddy’s at work. He’ll be home in a few hours. It’s his late night.”

Ad’ika stood up and walked up to her head, then plopped down next to her ear. He offered her a sweet, which was sticky and rather disgusting after being clutched in his hand for so long, but she accepted it. They were his favorite, some purple-blue fruit flavor that Mariana found rather bitter underneath the sugar, but then again, he liked to eat frogs so there was no accounting for taste.

“Let’s take a nap, okay?”

In response, he started messing around with her hair and poking his fingers into her eyes. “Stop it,” she said, pushing him gently away. “You’re all gross.”

He laughed and jumped onto her chest, forcing all the air out of her lungs. “Oof!” She scooped him off and sat him on the bed beside her. “Why are you being such a stinker today?”

His eyes slid toward her belly and then back to her face. “Oh, have I been ignoring you?” She had been paying more attention to the child in her belly lately than to him, come to think of it. She rolled onto her side as best she could and cuddled him close. “I’m sorry, ad, but your vod is kind of hard to ignore these days.” She sighed. It was only going to be worse once the baby was born, of course, but she’d cross that bridge when they reached it. For now, she could give Ad’ika a little more attention.

“Nap time?,” she asked hopefully. Ad’ika snuggled down in her arms and nodded. Thank the stars, she thought, stroking his fuzzy ears and letting herself drift off.

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

“Got a minute, Din?” Garrick called from the doorway of his office as Din was walking through the admin building on his way home.

“Sure.” He often stopped to chat with the lieutenant on his way out, though never on the days when he held his after school tutorials. Something must be up.

Garrick shut the door once Din was inside the office, which raised even more suspicions. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing yet,” Garrick said. “But I wanted to give you a heads up just in case.” He sat down behind his desk and folded his hands. “The Republic is stepping up action in the Danda sector and we think they might be asking us to send some troops in the near future.” He sighed. “Which means we might have to call up the reserves … and even pull some cadets for routine duties.”

“I see,” Din said. There were enough third and fourth year officer cadets to form a squadron, according to the protocols of the Thantosian military. And they were all Din’s students.

“If — and it’s still a big if — this happens, the Colonel is probably going to ask you to go with them,” Garrick went on. “He can’t order you, since you’re a civilian, but he’ll ask. And I wanted to give you time to think about it before he puts you on the spot.”

“I appreciate that,” Din replied.

“If they call me up, I have to go,” Garrick said. “But you have a choice. I want you to make the right one, for you and Mariana and the kids.”

“You think I should tell the Colonel no,” Din said, softly.

Garrick nodded. “I can’t tell you what to do, but if it was me …” He shrugged. “The Colonel can be persuasive, and I know you feel an obligation toward your students. Just weigh all the options before you decide, okay?”

Din nodded. “I will.” He already knew what his answer would be, but it warmed his heart to know that his friend would take the time to worry about him when he was facing the possibility of leaving behind his own family. He clasped Garrick’s hand. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Any time.”

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

Mariana was ready to jump out of her skin. Din was only a few minutes late, but she was so excited to share the news with him. She swept Ad’ika up in her arms and danced him around the living room. “Oh, Daddy’s going to be so surprised!”

When Din opened the door, however, she could see from the expression on his face that maybe this wasn’t the best time. “What’s wrong?,” she said, setting Ad’ika down and rushing to Din’s side.

“Nothing,” he said, forcing a smile and kissing her on the cheek.

“Don’t lie to me, Din Djarin,” she demanded. “Something’s going on.” Her own news was forgotten as she steered him toward the couch and sat him down. Ad’ika clambered up beside them and gave his father a stern look.

“It may be nothing,” Din admitted. “Or it might be something.” He told her what Garrick had told him on the way out that evening, about the possibility of pulling up reserves and even cadets if the Thantosian military had to send troops to aid the Republic in its efforts to clear the last Imperial remnants from the Danda sector.

“What will you tell the Colonel?,” she asked. “If he asks you?” She knew what his answer would be and her heart sank. Din had been raised by Mandalorians and she knew his sense of honor and duty ran deep. He’d go with his students.

“I’ll tell him no,” Din said.

“What?” Mariana was shocked.

“You think I should go?” Din replied, looking as shocked as she felt.

“Well, no, I don’t, but I thought you would …” she babbled. “These are your students. You have a duty to look after them.”

Din raised his hand and pressed a finger against her lips to quiet her. He shook his head slowly. “The only duty I have is to you, cyar’ika, and to our aliit. I promised myself that after Gideon, I would never put you through that again. I will not leave you.” He leaned forward to press his forehead against hers.

“Are you sure?,” she whispered.

“This is the Way,” he replied. And that was that.

They sat quietly for a long moment before he sat back. “And anyway, it’s all just speculation right now. It might not even happen,” he said. “So, why were you and Ad’ika dancing when I came in?”

“Oh! We were just celebrating, that’s all.”

“Celebrating what?”

Mariana couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto her face. “I got accepted into the distance learning program at Chandrilla University,” she said.

Din’s face lit up. “What? Oh, Mar’ika, I’m so happy for you!” He crushed her in a fierce hug that only ended when the baby kicked so hard they both felt it. He pulled back, tears in his eyes. “This is wonderful.” He turned to Ad’ika and swept the child into the embrace. “This is amazing! Your mama’s going back to school, kiddo!”

Ad’ika nodded and laughed. “Vercopa,” he said.

“Yes, ad,” Din said. “It is a dream come true.”

Mariana shoved all thought of the cadets going off to war out of her mind. She was going to enjoy this dream while it lasted.

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

Mando’a words:

vod = brother, sister

buir = mother, father

ad = son, daughter

cyar’ika = sweetheart

aliit = family, clan

vercopa = wish, dream

#the mandalorian #star wars #grogu #baby yoda #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x original female character #din djarin fanfiction

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awesomesaucem · 1 year ago

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About-Face

Chapter three of The Wanting Comes in Waves (19,651 words)

Marianne stumbles onto more questions than answers as she unwittingly falls into a new routine. Stranger and stranger still, she pries at pieces of this puzzle she didn't want to be a part of in the first place.

Word Count for Chapter: 6,878

Woof what a break! I have returned once again with this fuckery. Also remember that post I made about having at least 10k words this chapter? Yeaaahhhh sorry. Just go ahead and redact all that.

Anyway, I did kinda rush this at the end so sorry if there's some awkward moments here or there. I currently do not have a beta reader (nudge nudge, wink wink) and chatgpt is down so I got zero feedback on this update. Hope its ok oof.

a/n for chapter: me months and months ago: hmm i think i can update on a weekly basis... me now: LMAO BITCH YOU THOUGHT Many apologies and thanks for patience with me here yall. I am alive and well for the most part. Work is painful. School is painful. You know how that goes. To make up for it, you see that handy little chapter number update? yeahhhh shits plotted OUT. So much is planned for this fic it's not even funny anyway BUCKLE UP. THE ANGST WILL BEGIN MOMENTARILLY enjoy, babies. And as always-thank you for reading :)

The clang of workers’ routine stole Marianne from a sleep she wasn’t aware of falling into in the first place. Rattling of pots and pans; scrubbing, scraping. Singing. Nothing like the morning before where there were only leering eyes and sinking feelings. Slicing open the padding beneath her, she slid her knife between the hay and silently prayed over it once again. It’s gone through quite enough with her already, but their knowledge of her treasure could very well mean death. Her breath clouded for a moment, deciding the blanket should join her for the day; not only as extra warmth but she would take all the layers of protection she could get. Still unbound and unwatched, she tried the door only to be met with the raised fist of Steph seemingly about to knock. They both stared in an abashed beat of silence.

“The Captain sent me,” she offered as explanation. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

“All day?” She looked around outside at the hard working crew. “I guess I slept a little late, huh?”

Steph's gaze hardened in both confusion and concern. “You mean you’re just now waking up? We all had lunch a few hours ago. Someone brought you some, but they said you weren’t hungry,” she recalled. Her tone shifted immediately into something more urgent. “Did no one come to check on you? Who did you speak to?” Nearly each word was punctuated with a heavy step forward pushing them both into the room.

“Uh, I-” Marianne was more confused than intimidated by the rapid interrogation. “I’m not sure.” She thought briefly to her dreamless sleep, not noting any visitors of significance. If someone had spoken in her room, she wasn’t aware of it. “I don’t remember, I'm sorry.” Steph snatched her wrist in hand and led her to the bed. In the other was a bundle of jars and rags with some metal instruments thrown into the mix as well.

“Girl’s sorry,” she grumbled under her breath. “Beaten and slept for days, not eating, and she’s sorry.” Her calloused hands lightly tugged the hem of Marianne’s tunic. “Up. I need to look at you.”

Stunned, she shot a glance to the open door and back to Steph in a silent plea. Without even looking behind her, her boot clanged against the wood and shut it with a click. Her brows shot up. Better? they ask.

Her own shaking hands gripped the edge of her tunic in response and pulled upward to reveal mottled purples and yellows from the days prior. Any scrapes from Roland's boots or the dirty floor were mostly cleaned during last night's bath. Marianne knew time and rest were needed to heal the hurt beneath the surface, but Steph had to make sure. She was expecting far worse if her supplies gave indication, but Marianne meant nothing to her; this was most likely an order from the Captain. But then again, she was a prize to be hand delivered. If she was broken on arrival, someone would surely pay for it. Without a legitimate reason to argue, she allowed her wounds to be dressed.

Steph worked in trained concentration. Softly yet methodically she prodded at the watercolor of blood beneath skin searching for anything more dire. Mostly she worked in silence except for the occasional hiss from Marianne at a particularly harsh poke which was met by an apologetic hum from her surveyor. Wraps of cloth soaked in liquid smelling strongly of rum and menthol were drug across her ribs and chest, wretching a muffled cry from Marianne as it seeped into any weeping lesions it found. The harsh burn subsided into a warm sting as Steph finally deemed her attentions enough and bound her sternum in fresh cloth.

“That should be enough for now. Nothing I haven’t seen, nothing I can’t mend,” she chatted, packing up her supplies. “You’re tougher than you look, you know,” she added.

“I know,” she retorted, keeping her eyes downcast at their hands.

Steph scoffed at her cockiness, nudging her knuckles lightly against her chin to tilt her gaze skyward.

“Oh, I know. Quite the tiger you are,” she laughed. “Got the Captain worked up for sure.”

That caught her attention.

“The Captain,” she began precariously. “Who is he? I mean who is he really?” The silence that followed was uneasy for the both of them. Cocking her head, she searched for any answer she could find in the stoic woman’s eyes. “You know something. Tell me.” It wasn’t a question. But if there was a time for answers, it would be now. She was tired of being left in the dark. Steph’s cordial demeanor soured immediately into forced professionalism.

“He is our Captain. What more is there?” A single heavy palm braced the mattress to steady herself as she excused herself from the bed to take her leave. For as strong as she was in a fight, she seemed to turn away from conversation. “Try not to sleep on your right side, girl. Nothing’s broken but you’ll be feelin’ it for a while.”

Marianne nodded, ignoring the defensive change of topic and busied her hands with whatever scraps that ended up left behind. The quick muttering and shuffling at the door caught her attention once more as the very same Captain was at the threshold exchanging knowing looks with Steph as she stepped around him. The tension, unfortunately, stayed behind with Marianne.

“So, er,” he scrambled for words at Steph’s leave. “I take it you’re faring much better, then?”

She rubbed at the phantom twinge of chains that have long since sunk into deep, murky waters and hummed low in her throat.

“I am.”

As watched as she felt, she made sure to observe in equal measure the ferine creature whose kindness shown in the decimation of men and possession of their wives.

“You gave us all quite the scare. I know this is less than ideal, but my will toward you is not unkind if you’ll believe it.”

Loitering uncomfortably, he continued.

“Roland joined us today as well. Asking for you.”

Fear and anger alike bubbled in her throat.

“What words in any of the realms would I have to exchange with that wretch -”

“None,” he yielded a hand to interrupt. “The last thing I need is two extra bodies on board who can’t control themselves. Now get dressed. You’re due to pull some weight around here unless you’d rather join him in the bilge.”

___

Before she could even think, a week went by. Then another. Day after day of choring, hearty food, and good conversation passed by in a comfortable blur. As it turns out, they were remarkably self-sustainable. Nothing was wasted aboard the ship and everything had a use. They also were thoroughly prepared from the chickens living below deck to the seemingly endless potable water that never refrained from surprising her. Scuppers were even plugged up to collect any rain water and sheep's pelts hung alongside the sails to catch morning dew each day. This plus the two months of fresh water they started with granted them surplus amounts for bathing, washing, or cooking. Much to Marianne’s satisfaction, someone let slip that the Captain was indeed from the mountains and used heavy blocks of ice to immensely extend the lives of their perishables until they melted and joined the stock as well. There are only so many uses you can get from the same water, however. If she wasn’t as exhausted and filthy as she was her first night on board, she would have realized the thin layer of cooking oil that went unnoticed among the soaps before she sunk into it. But she was clean despite any impurities of the water. And more importantly, she was grateful.

Since it was made very clear she would have a purpose on board after she was able, they wasted no time at all putting her to work. The little experience she had doing work of any kind limited her options of positions, yet they made do with her. Peeling potatoes isn’t exactly skilled labor. Mending and sewing were also available tasks and those too required the skill she was thankful to have. Those less fortunate with the knowledge muttered swears and hisses during their feeble attempts at stitching and took her back to a time when her fingers were also as bandaged up as her newfound friends’. While Brutus wouldn’t mind a needle, his hands weren’t exactly dainty nor dextrous.

As the days turned into nights, her unease gradually dissipated and without her permission she became as tamed as a mangy stray with a full belly. As her aches and pains left, so did her ferocity. One of the shiphands even taught her to play some obscure, backstreet card game where they played for extra pieces of meat and scraps of fabric. She still didn’t quite understand the rules in its entirety, but she seemed to be winning. The other players traded knowing glances which is when she realized they were letting her win, the bastards! They want to play shady? Marianne could play shady. Hamming it up, she trashed a few bluffs and discarded some wilds completely by accident, oh my! and snuck a few more winnings into her pile. This only seemed to egg them on more. If she actually paid attention to the rules, more winnings was actually not how to win, if you would believe it, and she walked away with nothing after all. Her own fault for not expecting pirates to play dirty, really. Grumbling, she pushed away from the crate-turned-table and excused herself to her quarters. One of the more skilled players snuck her a snack or two as she left as thanks for keeping them entertained for a moment or two. Nothing too indulgent. They were known for sneaking a piece of crusty bread or salted meat into their pockets now and again, but she appreciated the gesture all the same.

She supposed it was time to give these brutes their deserved grace as she’d harshly misjudged them from the start. The very same group that tore a military vessel entirely to pieces was the very same group that looked on her scars and snuck her little things to sink her teeth in. Each passing day became that much more comfortable. That much less spent anticipating the next disaster. Falling into routine proved easier than she could have predicted when she wasn’t constantly fearing for her life.

More and more was she fully content to stay in this dream and never wake. No more tutors or disapproving glances from her father. No more wondering who she’ll bribe next to let her sneak out night after night. Whether she meant to or not, she had found a funny kind of freedom here at sea. But then again there was still a warm bed at home waiting for her. It was fun to dream, but what happens when the other shoe drops? You’re still a prisoner here. Nothing has changed. Just as a stray never forgets its fight no matter the hand that feeds it, Marianne never forgot her blade still hidden and discrete.

Her trek back to her chambers was interrupted by clattering somewhere down around the bilge. She wasn’t allowed down in that part of the ship as that was where supplies and Roland of all things were kept, but she didn’t care to explore around the filth anyway. There were only so many potatoes you could look at. The clanging grew louder, drawing the attention of the rest of the crew. Suddenly everything halted as Roland himself clamored up to the main deck. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

Someone who was so vain about his appearance had never looked more haggard. His clothes were shredded and filthy and plastered to his frame with far too much sweat which showed the awkward angle of his shoulders jutting out from beneath them. Arms bound behind his back, he could do not much else but stare and panic. A long dried trail of blood lined his temple and was flaked away in some places, but held clumps of hair to his face against their will. Bare feet stumbled as he turned, frantically, looking for any last minute hiding places or methods of escape. Resembling more a deranged animal than a Navy Captain, a bitter satisfaction simmered from deep within Marianne. She was a captive, but he was the real prisoner. No one even had the chance to grab him before Boggart slunk out of his quarters to see just what the excitement was all about. Roland went from deranged beast to cornered snake at the sight of the man and instantly regressed to a floundering mess.

“N-n-now Crowley, please, let’s discuss this like gentlemen. I’m sure there’s been some mistake, here. I truly do admire you greatly and sir, ‘n I just don’t understand how I’ve offended you to this point-I really don’t!”

Everyone's attention turned to behind the sniveling rat as Thad, the meek quartermaster, finally caught up with hands on his knees and heaving breaths in between words of “sorry, sir” and “too fast!” Boggart surveyed the broken man and offered him a glance holding everything from anger to disappointment as he stepped forward.

“Mmh,” he grunted. “Not so lucky I found you though, Roland.” Keeping his chin tucked, he tried constraining his words to a minimum clumsily slipping into his false accent without proper warning. Marianne said nothing to indicate the switch but smiled to herself as Roland sagged to his knees in submission.

“Whatever I’ve done, I’ll right it!” He begged. “You’re reasonable, sir. Intelligent and reasonable and, and-”

A click of a pistol silenced his whining as the cold barrel was pressed to his temple.

“That’s quite enough, Captain. My business is my business and you’ll endure. Do you know why that is?”

Roland swiftly shook his head, flinging his sweat-matted hair free from his cheek.

“Because animals endure. And what do we do with a sick animal, men? ” His eyes and pistol remained on the poor bastard at his feet as he addressed his crew.

“We put ‘em down!” Many voices shouted from their various positions on deck.

“We put ‘em down.” His teeth were on full display in all their voraciousness. Roland’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“No! Sir, please!” He pleaded, openly weeping. But Marianne saw through his crocodile tears. She knew this man would only beg for his life just because it was something he could take. There was no value to it, only consequence. Boggart finally turned his cool gaze her way, nearly freezing her along with it.

“What say you, Marianne? Does he live to see another day?”

Rolland turned his wallowing to her as well along with each other pair on the ship.

“I,” she considered. On the one hand, he’ll never exist in her life again. His demanding hands will never touch another living soul; no longer grasping in the dark desperate for tithings. She, and all others, will be free of him as long as they too exist. Yet his teary, snake-like eyes bore into her anxiously awaiting the decision of the woman he owned-at least for a time. Her vows made in lace and satin and glittering things under her father’s scrutinous eye urged for her hesitation. For eternity, she promised. Forsaking all others.

“Come on, Marianne,” he whispered in one last solicitation. The air stilled.

“Girl?” Boggart whispered, urging for a decision.

She too shook her head, almost in a panic, as dread pooled any and everywhere it could worm its way into her from head to toe. The short snapping of the hammer disengaging awarded Roland his undeserved reprise as his own dreadful feelings left him in a breathy and relieved sigh.

“Oh, Marianne! How I adore you, believe me. You know I’d do anything to make this right,” he bowed his head to the dirty floor and blubbered into the planks while Boggart rolled his eyes at the display. Turning to look behind him at the girl who spared such a lowly creature his eyes were uncertain, but firm. Disapproving, yet understanding.

With his back turned, Roland seized his opportunity to lurch up and dart for anywhere other than at the feet of his subjugator. The crew shouted their alarm and scrambled to subdue the man again, but Boggart raised a halting hand in favor of words as well as his weapon.

“Roland, I give you this last chance,” he warns over the noise at the rat zig-zagging through the deck searching for sanctuary. His words go unheard, however, as he darts and weaves behind barrels and crates, trying to find somewhere, anywhere that will grant him a few extra precious seconds of life.

“Please, lad,” he whispers in one last warning, forgetting his false inflection for a breath.

Finally heeding, Roland suddenly whips his head around eyes wide in recognition and stretches his mouth wide to utter accusatory words otherwise interrupted by the unanticipated firing of a gun sending its bullet right between the poor man’s eyes.

Marianne bit her tongue at the viscera as she witnessed the death of her husband for a second time.

Pocketing his handgun, Boggart sneered at the mess while the burn of spent gunpowder dissipates.

“S-sir, he…” Thad gasped meekly from where he stood to the rails.

“I know,” he avowed.

More knowing exchanges eluded Marianne as so much secrecy was had in such an intimate crew. One moment she was jesting along with her shipmates and the next it was like a haze shrouded them, separating her entirely. It was frustrating. It was nerve wracking.

It’s annoying is what it is.

“Thad!” He barks at the still-heaving man. “Clean up this eyesore, will you?”

“Of course, sir,” he pants. “But first you need to see the bilge.”

Boggart sighs, smoothing over his beard very much irked.

“What’s wrong with the bilge, Thadius?”

He squirms under his unhappy Captain’s glare.

“Well, it’s uh,” he struggles for words until Steph wrecks an elbow into his ribs forcing them out.

“Underwater! It’s underwater, Captain,” he sputters. “Roland kicked through some loose boards as a distraction. We need to dock for repairs.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched in disdain, fighting the urge to tear into the small man.

“We had just resupplied some two weeks ago, mate. I didn’t plan for an emergency stop in our schedule.”

“Well, we’re going to have to. At least a quarter of the new chicks have drowned already and that’s not even counting the water we’ve taken on.”

Thinking of any second options, Boggart resolves to stamp past the crew.

“Hoist the mains, gentlemen!” He bellows, forgoing reason. “Ready to ground!”

While Thad did his best not to heave at the blood underfoot, the rest of the crew scrambled to ready the masts and gather everything they needed to ready the ship for land leaving Marianne to process. Luckily the winds were favorable and they found a quaint little alcove far away from any form of civilization in no time at all. Immediately after reaching land, the ramp was tossed.

The ramp leading to the shore was caked in sand from the years of use. Crates and barrels of dry goods and sleep mats were carried arm to arm by meandering shiphands as Marianne watched them all. The chill of early Spring was holding everyone tightly still sending a wave of ice through to her bones and shivering, she looked to the emerging stars in the twilight. Long, winding shadows were cast from the conifer border to the inland. In fact, the treeline wasn’t too far from the shore and looked thick enough to get lost in. She leaned closer over the creaking railing to judge the distance. If she managed to get past the already busy crew, she’d just need to sprint through the brush. Far enough inward and they’d have less and less of a chance to capture her twice. A hand at her shoulder startled her from her dangerous train of thought - it seems her musings caused her to roam perfectly in the way of the workings that reminded her so much of ants. Murmuring an apology, she resumed her positioning off to the side and firmly out of the way.

Each member of the crew had something different in their arms. All crates and containers of sorts but each was meticulously labeled in stark, bold lettering burned into the sides. Dried meats, flour, tools, what have you were passed down one by one. Everyone had a job to do but her. Next, a metal cage with several of the surviving chickens was pushed to the ramp inspiring her. Everyone was busy after all. All she’d need was a distraction and her knife.

___

Sand squished between her toes as her legs carried her as far and fast as they physically could while she ignored the howling behind her mixed with panicked cackling of the startled fowl. Harsh winds whipped and whirled around her, almost guiding her forward as she couldn’t get it into her lungs fast enough. Bobbing and winding through the dense wood, she didn’t dare look behind her, couldn’t afford it. If she had, she’d see the sliver of a thin hand silently halting the rest of his crew as a single man stepped into the trees.

Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she finally slowed to catch her breath in heady gulps. The pounding in her chest matched that in her head, but she was too far gone to stop now. Now was not the time for giving up. Resting against a nearby tree she thought about the stories she would tell Dawn when she finally returned home; the crying they would do. The fear they would both put into their father. She could weep at the almost taste of her mother’s recipes just out of reach. Her bed, her blades, her sister, all seemingly paces away. Did she have any sense of where to go in the heavy foliage? Absolutely not. But all she really needed was to put enough distance between her and the creatures at her back. All she needed was an unfamiliar face and the promise of reward and she’d be home.

A nearby snapping of twigs broke her from the fantasy. Catching her breath somewhere between her heart and her lungs she waited; hands clasped at her lips to not even let the fog of breath escape. Scratching bark to her back shielded her from any searching eyes as she counted the urgent beating of her heart. Rather than haunted by the ever persistent threat of Roland’s men, she was instead hunted, rather, by a fresh threat of her own creation. The wheezing of trapped breath behind her palms threatened to reveal her; remaining calm must take priority. One, two, three, four, five, six. She counted with each stampeding beat. One, two, three, four, five, six. Leaves crunch from behind the nearby brush. Onetwo, threefour, fivesix. A scurrying of something much smaller than her from ahead, frightened. Onetwothreefourfivesix. The shadow of strong shoulders and hooked nose hovered behind her sanctuary and for an instant there was nothing for her to count. Just as he rounded the edge of the trunk, she bolted once more revealing her position but willing her legs to test their limits and ignored the fire in her lungs.

The Captain hollered triumphantly and soared after her, his own legs that were much longer and stronger granted him just enough extra speed to gain on her and close the distance. With a roar that mingled alongside her yelp, his deft fingers gripped the back of her tunic and pulled sending her flying backward and landing harshly on the cold ground. Luckily she kept her breath which she used to scream every obscenity she could recall while he pinned her beneath him.

His breath was hot in her face as she bucked and struggled against his unwavering grasp. She was all nails and teeth and elbows, and she wondered exactly what the rest of the crew was thinking back at the beach. Fallen needles of pine and spruce dug into her back, threatening to pierce the flesh there and she remembered her scabbard that has survived all this time hidden at her hip. She snuck a hand downward to reach for her undetected defenses to at least even out the fight. A flash of astonishment, panic, and something else entirely washed over his face as he narrowly dodged a swipe of the blade and with gritted teeth, placed all of his weight on a knee at her stomach. She cried out once again. His long dexterous fingers held her wrist in a bruising grip only to slam the offending hand in the dirt once, twice until the hilt slipped from her grasp.

“No!” She cried. “Please!” But she was already flipped to her front, face shoved into the dirt beneath them.

“Stupid girl,” Boggart snarled, pinning her arm to her back forcing her shoulder into an arduous position. “Had that with you the whole time, did you? Incompetent Roland couldn’t be bothered to search you over?”

“Fuck you!” Marianne spit behind her only to be met with grit at her lips once more.

“Such a filthy mouth on a pretty thing like you,” he leaned down to whisper, whisker gruff prickling her neck and shoulder. “Now I see why he liked you so much.”

He palms the blade, and with one hand binding both wrists forcefully tugs her to her feet. On clumsy footing, she stumbled to escape his grasp but he whistled low in warning.

“Be good,” he grunted. “Wouldn’t want to spill your own blood on that knife, would you?”

Exhausted from the chase, she hung her head low and trudged onward. She would either be killed here or back at the ship-at least this way she could see one last sunset.

She hadn’t recalled how far from the shore she had taken them as the walk back was much longer than anticipated. His hold on her never faltered nor were words exchanged. Just the Captain’s thickly accented mutterings in an unfamiliar language filled the silence their sand dampened steps wished for. Once they reached the shore, the crew’s work became more leisure than anything to sneak a nosy glimpse or two at the both of them as Marianne was shoved up the ramp. There she resumed her struggles of hurling swears hoping at least to hurt him with words rather than blades. Long, spindly fingers gripped her wrist much too tightly while her legs frantically rushed to catch up to his long strides as he drug her through the cavity of the ship. Once they reached her chambers, she was roughly hurled across the threshold, scraping her knees against the wooden floor. Clutching her wrist to her chest didn’t soothe the ache nor the fingertip shaped bruises forming there. In their first meeting, Marianne was spiteful. She wasn’t afraid of death then; she wasn’t afraid of pain. Now with tear-stained cheeks she watched the dreaded creature staring predatory in the doorway and understood they were one and the same.

“Now you’ll be a good little butterfly and think before you try flying away from me again," he scoffed, boxing her in.

“You can’t just keep me here!” She shouted from when she lay crumpled on the floor. “You aren’t taking me to Jones and you’re not keeping me for yourself!”

Boggart turned to meet her scowl, puzzled.

“I’m not your crew. I don’t know what I am to you, but I’m not going to be your prisoner anymore,” she sobbed. Watching her tremble from the watery words and Boggart softened his gaze in something that could’ve resembled guilt. “And don’t you dare touch me again or I’ll-”

He barks out a laugh.

“You’ll do what, girl? Kill me? With this?” He admires her prized dagger in the moonlight, catching the beautiful glint reflecting off the metal and curbing the reignited, unfettered rage in his eyes.

“Not anymore.”

He hums in thought.

“It's a pretty thing, really,” he growls watching the light refract through a quartz embedded in the hilt. Marianne helped Dagda pick out the stone when her cheeks were rose-tinted and her father was her world. “I’d like to think I should keep this; add it to my collection. Much too pretty to be wasted on silly noble girls.” The thought of losing the best treasure sent Marianne spiraling. She scrambled on her hands and knees to try and reclaim it, to try anything, but the blade was instead spun around to press its tip firmly at her throat. The Captain’s hand was steady. No sign of hesitancy shown in his eyes while she wept.

“None of that again. Escaping to the trees with stolen weaponry is so unbecoming of a lady,” he spat. “I hope you enjoyed your little adventure because it was the last free breath you’ll ever draw again.” He withdrew the blade and puffed out an amused laugh to himself. “You know,” he whispered to her crumpled body on the ground and lifted her gaze by the hair, just as Roland had done once before. “You’re a pretty thing too. Maybe I'll keep you as well.” He couldn’t help but laugh at her anguished expression as he closed and locked the door behind him, plunging her into darkness once again.

___

It must’ve been hours. They were still docked, but the laughter and crackling of campfire separated her from the crew she’d grown to care for from where they ate together on the beach. The crew that saw her as an equal. Stupid, she thought. He’d made no move to hurt her until now. None of them did. And now, thanks to her impulse, she was right back where she started. Trapped. Alone. And now she’s lost her only piece of home to her captor. Her skinned knees had long since crusted over, but she was still so incredibly sore from running as she never had to do in life. While impulsive, it was her only chance at freedom after she had already been given so much. Who knows if she’ll ever be allowed to see the sun again? The setting of heavy boots and the unbolting of a lock held the answer for her. Uncharacteristically timid, Boggart crowded the doorway and she couldn’t help but flinch.

“I..erm,” he began awkwardly.

Marianne just stared.

“Brutus found some wild greens and uh, made a stew. Everyone seems to like it.” His words apparently have found him.

Blinking up at him, she held enough quiet for the both of them.

“It’s getting late and you still need to eat, so,” he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I’m asking you to eat. With everyone.”

His hollow laugh that bounced off the trees echoes through her mind as she narrows her gaze.

“You want me to eat with you?”

“With everyone, yes.”

“I thought I was never to draw a free breath again,” she challenged, articulating each and every sound.

Pursing his lips, frustrated, he leaves her a sliver of space at his side to follow him out into the ship.

“And I thought you were able to be trusted to stay manageable in these past few weeks. Especially since you’ve been armed all this time, I half expected you to be as senseless and shortsighted much sooner.” Dramatically, he flourishes his hand to beckon her. “Now would you like to eat or not?”

Against every voice in her mind screaming in opposition, she stands to her feet.

The walk to the beach wasn’t as awkward as she expected. The silence was appreciated by both of them as he guided her to the fire using his own sheer size to lead her without any argument. A few questioning eyes looked up from their drinks, but lingered reticently. Those who chose not to acknowledge them, kept to their comradery and focused on whatever tall tale was being shared around this time. Soup was slurped and ale was spilled just like all other nights back on the ship, omitting the sand beneath their feet. A bowl was nudged into her lap along with her share of ale.

It was a rich looking broth smelling earthy and fulfilling. Having spent all her energy scurrying and weeping, her stomach gurgled urging her to drink. She of course indulged, all but groaning in satisfaction the second the spiced broth hit her tongue. The fats of chicken and walnut melded beautifully with the hearty greens and wild spices that accompanied the charred smoke of the roaring fire they all huddled around. The thick glue of a porridge that Roland fed her was lifetimes away from her now as she guzzled down the stew. Brutus smirked in that pompous way only an artist could while she damn near licked the bowl clean.

The crew continued on with their storytelling's and singings, with the occasional shanty Marianne hummed along to having spent her nights evading palace guards and slumming with her most favorite peasant friends in backwater pubs. Vaguely impressed, Boggart snuck glances at her pretending not to know the words. Eventually, a voice piped up insisting on the Captain’s turn with a song. Boos and cheers rang around the blaze.

“You know he don’t sing,” gruffed one of the men.

“He’s too stubborn,” Steph griped, elbowing Thad sitting to her right. Light jeering erupts, settling at the Captain clearing his throat.

Marianne almost mourned the boisterousness from moments before as a tension settled heavy as a fog over the camp while he sang. Eyes lidded and shoulders stiff, their Captain recited what must have been some ancient lullaby from a time before life made him so cruel as he sang as if each word were a prayer. The melody flowed from his lips like rich wine and enthralled, she managed to only capture the last few lines:

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;

And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips

Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,

Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips.

Solome here, here ’s were called and in the silence that followed his melody, the last of the stragglers retired for the evening bidding goodnight’s and farewell’s leaving just the Captain and his ward.

“Who was she?” She whispered, aching to fill the quiet. “The woman who made you feel this way.”

“Hmm? Oh,” he blushed. “No one.” Dowcast, he tossed a twig into the flames and watched it burn.

“You cannot be serious.” She tried not to smile. “You’re just always this morose?”

“Easy,” he teases. “Yes, I’m serious.” He retrieves a pipe from his breast pocket and lights it with a smoldering piece of kindling, taking a long drag as if the bitter herb could conjure the words for him. “It’s the only memory I have left of my mother before she passed. Sang it to me every night, nearly.”

“Oh,” she somberly replied, not used to being on the other side of this conversation. “It was beautiful, your singing.”

He huffs out smoke.

“Thank you. The crew always wants me to join in on their amusement, but I never oblige. This was my way of telling them all to fuck off.”

Marianne snorts into her tankard.

“Besides, that was a love that was never meant for me,” he continued. “She would dance with my Father in the candlelight after tucking me in. I used to sneak out and watch them every night. Always thought that was the closest thing we had to magic.”

Forcing the change in subject, he reached a hand into his coat to retrieve a wrapped bundle to pass into her lap unceremoniously. Wordless, she unwraps the fabric to reveal her blade back in her possession. Her eyes question him where her voice can’t find the strength to.

“You could’ve had me earlier, you know. Back in the forest?” He coughs, continuing. “If I was just a tad slower you’d have had it buried in my neck quicker ‘n you should’ve,” he laughed. “Quite embarrassing. Glad I had the rest wait for us back at the beach; no doubt you’d be long gone by now.” Not able to bring his own eyes to meet hers, he settles for mouthing at the wooden lip.

“I don’t…” Marianne shook her head at both his admission and gesture as neither made any remote sense to her.

“You’re quite confident with it; from what I’ve seen anyway.” He takes the blade from where it lay untouched in her lap to manipulate the hilt in his hands. “It’s tarnished, but sharp. It’s taken care of, clearly.”

She nods an affirmative. Her swordsmith back home got fed up with her asking to have it sharpened so often that he finally just taught her how to do it herself. She couldn’t ask anyone else for help anyway. Sharpening her dagger became a meditation, but it was also a matter of pride.

“Listen, girl,” his voice came once again much more stern. “There was no sign of you being on that ship with him. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way.”

“How were they supposed to happen then?”

“That’s complicated.”

Marianne scoffs. “That’s a word that keeps getting tossed around and I’m sick of hearing it. Everyone around here seems to know something I don’t.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Well I’m tired of it,” her voice wavers, frustration evident. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to for hell, however long I’ve been here. I’ve washed your damned laundry, scrubbed your damned deck. I think I finally deserve an answer.”

Boggart sighs in indignation. “Aye. ‘Suppose you do.”

He takes a long drag of his pipe, stalling.

“There’s something much bigger than your little honeymoon going on here. It’s been in the works for some time now and,” he sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in it all.”

“Tell me,” she pleaded.

“I can’t. Wish I could.”

“Why not?”

“‘Fraid I can’t say.” His smile never reaches his eyes.

Marianne thinks for a beat.

“Then why did you kill Roland but not me? If I’ve already stumbled into too much, then why keep another mouth to feed on board?”

Boggart chews the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

“Because he’s wronged me and you haven’t.”

“Wronged you how?”

Another drag.

“Let’s just say I’ve been trespassed and invaded. And I’m not amused.”

Marianne grins, taking her blade back from him.

“I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior then.”

“I don’t know if the chickens’ll believe you, but,” Boggart sucks his teeth. “About that. Don’t run again.”

She peers up, puzzled.

“You know too much already whether you believe it or not. And whether you like it or not, you must stay until everything is finished. There’s far too much I’ve gambled to let you ruin it.”

“And why should I trust you? After everything you’ve put me through?”

“Stubborn just like her father,” he spits under his breath.

“You don’t know my father, you filthy-”

“Watch yourself,” he warns. “And do not mistake this kindness for weakness, I knew your father very well,” He sighs. “A little too well.”

“My father is a worm, but he’d never stoop to associate with pirates.”

“Give me some credit please, I wasn’t as cruel then.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“‘M afraid that’s a tale for another time.”

He glances at her finally, grateful for her milding temper.

“Look,” he sighs. “I have no reason to bring any harm to you. But if you run like that again, you’ll be forcing my hand, do you understand?”

Fully heeding this warning, she nods.

“Yes,” she breathes. “I won’t run again.”

He nods in kind, accepting her answer and tosses another log on the fire.

“Good.”

The flames crackle in her brief flash of consideration.

“Will I ever see my family again?” She questions, hoping.

Miraculously, he nods.

“You have my word. I’ll take you to them myself.”

“Good,” she echoes.

Together they finish the night in silence watching the flames lick at sandy logs and flitting smoke dance up, up, up into the sky until it cannot be witnessed by any living thing any longer.

Much later into the night, so much so that it could be considered morning, Lord Dagda is awoken to urgent pounding on his chamber door and only then did he notice the frantic shouting in the harbor below. They all seemed to be swarming, pointing at something in the water. Squinting in the dim light, Dagda could make out the form of long extinguished remains of a ship washing aground in these dark hours. Remains that should not have lasted this long without sinking into the depths. This was something that had seen utter horror and left only tattered flags and charred masts as a cautionary tale. He stumbled out of bed to hurriedly shrug on his robe and join the clamoring as they all gawked and rushed toward what was left of a familiar Naval ship teetering into the harbor.

a/n lol how'd you like that little shit tossed in at the end >:) also the poem featured in this chapter (because I was too lazy to write one myself) is Ode on Melancholy by John Keats stay tuned for me to put these semi-beloved children's movie characters through the absolute RINGER maybe they'll kiss who knows??

as always: thank you for reading, cuties.

#sauces' pirate au #the wanting comes in waves #butterfly bog #marianne x bog #strange magic (2015)#bog x marianne

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