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minkdelovely · 4 months ago

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I AM A WRECK! A JUMBLED PILE OF BONES THAT CAN ONLY DREAM OF BEING PUT BACK IN ORDER AGAIN.

HAZEL, MY GOD 😩♥️

There’s so much yearning and wholesome desire that I honestly don’t know what to do with other than greedily devour it to the best of my ability. But I fear I have become an overflowing cup, each new sentiment pushing me past the brink to join the puddle of my feelings on the table.

How you manage to make us care for with this man in new ways every chapter is something that should be studied, if I’m being honest. So know that at the very least that’s what I’m doing, even though my notes below don’t always convey how seriously I’m taking this 🥲♥️

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

His fingers would make little circles and pattern eights along your shoulder blade. Your gaze out and forward, his intently focused on the ceiling fan; then and there.

Occasionally he’d spell a word across your skin to see if you were paying attention. Today: B R E A K F A S T ?

He didn’t want to interrupt the sounds of the radio on the dresser with the half hearted question.

GRIPPING MY CHEST ALREADY AND WE’VE BARELY GOTTEN STARTED

You both tended to enjoy the back porch, but he felt an urge for novelty.

HOW MANY TIMES MUST I BEG YOU TO STOP 🥲

“Can I take you to the water? We could fish. I’m in no rush today.” You were unsure, tilting your head a little. He had offered before but you admitted you didn’t know how. “You’ll have time to shower before work.” His index finger came over and waited for yours to hook into his.

THE FINGER HOOK WILL GET ME EVERY. FUCKING. TIME.

As a child he often ran through the woods of his home and played pretend, and as he got older and his imagination shifted he would fish for his mother. When his friends began to date and pair off, he’d hunt animals in a parallel kind of chase.

They took home gals, he dragged in rabbits.

I SAID… stop 🥲

But then her silhouette was gone. And the cricket’s song became one of loneliness. The walk to the house now a chore, a thing he had to do to get from Point A to Point B.

I have a lot of feelings about this and refuse to spoil anyone else’s experience with my crazy sad brain so sorry if any of these start to feel vague 🙈

Alastor wasn’t loquacious as it were, but when he did feel like talking he talked.

the whole paragraph is a joy, but THIS. As someone who would consider themselves to be long-winded and chatty, this just made my heart SWELL. I’d listen and talk to him for DAYS 🥺

“The fucker has spikes!” He said it like he was introducing a villain, “I grabbed one once and it flexed these spines and I dropped it. I broke a pole trying to beat one to death once because I was too scared to pick it up again.”

I’M CRYING. THIS IS JUST SO ADORABLE AND HUMAN OF HIM.

Easily they were worth more than three dollars a piece. He bought two of them… when? The thought brought a silly, crooked smile you couldn’t contain.

S 👏🏻 T 👏🏻 O 👏🏻 P 👏🏻

Oh, right… Alastor had friends in a sense, but never had he really had someone he introduced you to that was remotely important. No one he lit up for, no one he invited over, no one he completely relaxed his put-on smile for. You had to wonder where they'd all gone.

GODDDDD

He shook his head, “He has a life now.”

I CAN HEAR HIS SOFT LONELY VOICE OH MY GOD 😩

He didn't look at you, which was the loudest indicator he wasn’t fond of the question. He cast out his own line, waiting to reply until he could settle, “Sweetheart, do you really think I’ve been living a life compatible with his? Or any of them?” He pulled back on the line a little to feel the tension, “Wives get uncomfortable inviting over single 40 somethings like myself. And I can only stomach so many surprise female dinner guests at such things.”

OUCH OUCH OUCH OUCH I WANT TO HOLD HIM SO BADLY 🥺

Being a single man at his age, with a good job, a car, and land, made people uncomfortable. A lifelong chosen bachelor is fine, a rake is expected, but someone who seemed to be disinterested in dating and in fooling around? You could imagine the looks on their wive’s faces, asking questions that were thinly veiled insults.

GOD IT’S TOO REAL — IT HURTS HERE AND MY NEED TO CONSOLE IS THROUGH THE ROOF

Alastor cackled, doubling over at the memory. “I threw out my line and as it flew through the air, a gull passing by grabbed the worm. It fought me for a minute before managing to get loose.” He ended up squating, blue jeans rolled up at the ankles and covered in spurs you just now noticed. “It looked as confused as I was.”

how do I become more and more charmed by him?? It’s honestly ASTOUNDING. Also him in blue jeans?? Stabbing me would be kinder at this point 😩♥️

The morning was spent reveling in new and useless information about each other. Your fear of dogs, his fear of armadillos (someone told them they had the plague).

I FUCKING SAID STOP PLEASE 😭🥲🫠

“I’m fine”, just embarrassed, you assured him before picking up your shoe and throwing it, “I have to go home and change out these shoes.” Leftie smacked against the tree with a soft pop.

I ALSO would have thrown the shoe in this instance, my temper/shame would demand it

“Bring over a few pairs, if you have them. I’m sure a pair of mom’s could fit you, you can wear them home. We could toss these into the river. Shoot ‘em. Run em over.” He retrieved the thrown shoe before kneeling to remove the other one. He touched your ankle, eyes shooting up to monitor your face for any pained expressions. “Burn ‘em.”

he’s so silly and adorable and also he still has his mom’s shoes and I’ll never be normal again (if I ever was)

You warned he didn’t have to do that and he flashed you a look, his smirk alone called you a hypocrite and made you go silent. “You can’t perform with tattered feet or a rolled ankle.” He laced them tightly, “I know where the stickers and ant hills are, I’ll be fine.”

I’M WRITHINGGG I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE THIS AAHHHHH

“Ah, apparently not. He left before I was born,” Alaster fidgeted with the straps of your shoes. “He hadn’t considered,” every word was measured, “the realities of,” you could see him searching for the words in real time; this was a conversation he had never had before, “of being with my mother before knocking her up.”

The ‘family planning’ conversation on the kitchen table fluttered back to you.

OHHHH MANNN I AM UNWELL. I NEED TO HOLD HIM FOR A YEAR AT LEAST AND NEVER LET GO 🥲

“He left her the house and the land before going. Kept his promise to help take care of me, in that sense. So, no. I think indifference is fair enough.” He grabbed your fish by the tail and placed it into the bucket. “Kinda funny though, had he stuck around he’d have seen how the only thing I got from him was his biggest worry: my complexion!” A joyless laugh, “But I’m just like her in all the ways that matter.”

OUR BABYYY. This is such a refreshing take on his feelings towards the father we all don’t know.

You wondered about ‘family planning’. In their age it was nothing short of guessing and lamb innards. It was impossible to pretend you knew what his father would have lived through had he stayed. But you knew very well what Alastor lived through because he left. New Orleans was different than many other parts of the country when it came to mixed children, but the attitude was less acceptance and more a baseline tolerance for their existence.

HAZEL YOU JUST NEVER FAIL TO REALLY HIT THESE POINTS HOME 😭✨

He led you until the clearing, he knew the land was flat there, and slowed down to let you walk a little bit ahead. The view of the house was much more inviting with you in it.

WEEPING AGAIN

As promised, a shower. Originally alone, Alastor sitting on the toilet seat talking to you about dinner. Then he got quiet. He startled you a little when he peeked behind the curtain but everything settled when he got inside and his hands wrapped around your waist. Kisses for kiss’s sake. Skin on skin just to feel closer than you were before. A hum buzzing his chest as you hugged him tightly and wasted some water. Well, ‘wasted’ is subjective. The warmth radiating off his stomach rivaled the shower’s spray. You knew there wasn’t time for a nap, but the comfort was so deeply rooted you worried you’d fall asleep in his arms then and there.

THIS WHOLE THING IS A PROVERBIAL BASEBALL BAT TO MY HEART

“Throwing them away seemed a waste. Glad they could be of use.” He said it so casually but it was more than that. When she died he packed away her items and forgot about them. He couldn’t throw them away. It still felt like her house, after all. Who was he to change anything?

OH ALASTOR 🥺 HE’S DOING HIS BEST TO BE SO STRONG HERE

You quickly buried the sincere sweetness of the moment with a joke, “Finally this long con is paying off!” What else could you do, threading the strap of your beau’s dead, dearly loved mother’s heels? It was like being on cloud nine with lead shoes. Confusingly wonderful and supremely daunting. You were literally walking in her shoes. The irony made you squeeze your arms to your sides to make sure your sweat pads were in their place.

EXQUISITE AND SO IMPACTFUL JESUS CHRIST HAZEL 😩

He knew it was a joke, but had it been true he’d build a home on his land and fill it with shoes and dresses and whatever else you asked for. A stage all your own if you wanted. He’d clap and throw flowers at your feet nightly. If you’d let him.

Maybe he could do that anyway. Every night, praise you with his mouth in all the ways he could imagine you’d enjoy.

AND WE’RE RIGHT BACK TO WRITHING — OH MY LORD

He knew exactly what he wanted it to be and knew very well what you didn’t want. So, letting sleeping dogs lie, he instead considered what you were actually getting out of the arrangement as it stood now.

MY HEART IS ACTUALLY IN MY THROAT AND IT ACHES

You’d made it clear your thoughts on marriage (“I won’t be bought by jewelry and promises of a pretty cage.”) though he did consider what could ever make you want that legal lock.

I literally put my hand over my eyes and put my phone down for a second (not hyperbole, this really happened) — I can’t fucking handle this oh my god…

And if he was aware of their preferences, they could still enjoy their love lives as they always had tried to before marriage. Alastor had considered such an offer before. Seriously considered it. It seemed to solve all of the problems he and his lady friend had.

UGHHH THE HEARTACHE JUST CONTINUES TO GROW

His hands twisted around the steering wheel. He knew, deep in the marrow of his bones, he was always going to be alone. But the tiniest speck of desire to have someone love him and share his life remained buried in the viscera of his reality. So he turned down the sham marriage. What if he met someone inconceivable? Suddenly he would be an adulterer. Which was just hilarious to him. Such a thing could lead to a loss of employment and social shunning.

Plus, his mother would shake her head if he opened her very deserved home to someone purely existing to make a pleasant lie for the world. Disappointment could leak straight from her grave and into the floorboards.

YOU’VE OFFICIALLY RE-DECLARED WAR ON ME. I THOUGHT WITH THE MARRIAGE WE HAD MOVED PAST IT, BUT THIS IS WAR???

His mind conjured images of you sitting pretty in your trousers in Beth’s. Moments like those, before he knew you, you had all of the things you wanted and seemingly needed. It made you upsettingly attractive to him.

FUUUUCKKK I’M SO CLOSE TO TAPPING OUT BUT I REFUSE

As the car rolled over the bridge and you both made your way into the city proper, his thoughts wandered back to the notion of rings. His mother never had one, so he had nothing to hand down. Would you wear gold, like the necklace you hung on the mirror in the guest room? Or silver?

MY SOUL IS DESPERATE TO LEAVE MY BODYYY

“Excuse you, you’re not welcome here.”

oh fuck, the jaws theme is playing again… and I think I know who for

Brady’s hand gripped your shoulder and pulled you around, something slipping around your wrists as a uniformed cop came around the corner of the atrium. You struggled to get away from him, shouting general protests to being suddenly manhandled. Your voice erupted, the first cannon shot of the war as women and men began to swarm and berate the detective.

KENNETH!! WE MEET AGAIN

“Prostitution.”

WILLIAM!! I FUCKING KNEW IT!! I KNEW HE HAD BAD VIBES

A beat of silence as the room collectively gasped. Ruth was the first one to truly lay her hands on him, snatching his hat off and smacking him across the head.

🗣️ RUTH: DISRESPECT THIS MAN!

“Hush. You confessed to it already, no point crying now.” The cop’s voice was harsh, his disgust barely hidden. His palms were calloused and scratched at the exposed skin of your arms.

HIS MASK IS SLIPPING BIG TIME

You didn’t feel yourself begin to cry, it was a reaction to the fact you hadn’t blinked since you became aware Brady didn’t seem too interested in your reaction to this.

This wasn’t an arrest. It was a trap.

MOTHER. FUCKING. KENNETH. AND THAT LITTLE BITCH BILLY. I SWEAR TO GODDD 😩

A Doe in Fall (part 11)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught �� (this bitch is getting long)

Horny? Not this story yet but….Don’t worry, just wait a couple days… 👀 💦

Part 11 Caught

Taking time to cast out the line and wait for the big one to take the bait.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, jaws theme plays, fishing, sweet as fuck, and then not sweet, prostitution yelled into a crowd, rough hands, I won’t say the word ‘paddy wagon’ because the history seems to be targeted at the Irish in America so it’s called a wagon here」

Minors if you violate the MDNI I will toss you back into the river lie the pinfish you are 💥 🎣

Peaceful. Your head on his chest. Even breathes, strong heart. Corporeal. Real. There with you. A ritual to whoever brought you into his embrace, every morning you lied against him and you stared out the window. Past the greenhouse, where the woods were allowed to run wild and you knew the animals therein were safe to exist as they were meant to. Everything and everyone in their element.

His fingers would make little circles and pattern eights along your shoulder blade. Your gaze out and forward, his intently focused on the ceiling fan; then and there.

Occasionally he’d spell a word across your skin to see if you were paying attention. Today: B R E A K F A S T ?

He didn’t want to interrupt the sounds of the radio on the dresser with the half hearted question.

He carried your plate out onto the front porch, the swinging bench as much a perfectly suitable place to eat as anywhere else. You both tended to enjoy the back porch, but he felt an urge for novelty.

As you nibbled, he stared at the car. He didn’t really want to leave, but he wanted to go somewhere with you.

“Can I take you to the water? We could fish. I’m in no rush today.” You were unsure, tilting your head a little when he asked. He had offered before but you admitted you didn’t know how. “You’ll have time to shower before work.” His index finger came over and waited for yours to hook into his.

Alastor was beyond smitten watching you and your trousers bound down his steps. Hand in hand, in the early morning breeze of the impending fall, he led you through his property to the water’s edge.

A small cup of earthworms he scrounged up while you changed, two poles from the shed, and a bucket he hoped would have fish soon enough.

They took home gals, he dragged in rabbits.

And when his mother died, and the food he brought home was more than he needed, he stopped venturing past the clearing. That trek home to a bright house, his mother waiting on the back porch surrounded by the chirps of crickets was something he cherished.

But then her silhouette was gone. And the cricket’s song became one of loneliness. The walk to the house now a chore, a thing he had to do to get from Point A to Point B.

Pulling you by the hand past the field and its tall grass, into the shade of the trees where the air was so cool it bordered on wet, he wasn’t so worried about the return trip. No tedium in the navigation now.

Alastor wasn’t loquacious as it were, but when he did feel like talking he talked. He could, and did, name every species of fish that lived in the river. The ones he liked to eat, the ones he liked to look at, and the fish he didn’t care for much at all. His mother’s favorite was bluegill, and he said it was the scariest fish when he was young.

You’d never fished. Not because you didn’t care for it, it just wasn’t what you did. Your mother didn’t take you to rivers or the sea. You stayed in buildings and parks near people. You could see the water, just never really interacted with it. Luckily, Alastor was ecstatic to teach you.

He saddled up behind you and explained how to cast out. It took a few tries to get it right, the release of the line a little tricky to get down at first. You could see the shine of the reels and could tell they were expensive and unused. Easily they were worth more than three dollars a piece. He bought two of them… when? The thought brought a silly, crooked smile you couldn’t contain.

“A friend accidentally hooked his own back once.” You watched the way his gaze seemed to soften as he was looking into the distant past.

“I hope he’s gotten better at it.”

Alastor shrugged.

Oh, right… Alastor had friends in a sense, but never had he really introduced you to someone that was remotely important. No one he lit up for, no one he invited over, no one he completely relaxed his put-on smile for. You had to wonder where they'd all gone.

“Do you ever see him?”

He shook his head, “He has a life now.”

Your chuckle wasn’t meant to be cruel, but it came off a little too incredulous, “Do you not have a life?”

You felt like an ass.

What do you do for fun?

Is it difficult to find respectable dates when you work in jazz?

So, you’ve never been married, is that right? Not even close?

A mood change. You waited a moment to let silence kill the topic and asked, “What is the catch you’re most proud of?”

He thought for a second before a lopsided grin spread and you felt your heartbeat relax. “A gull.”

“A gull?!”

The morning was spent reveling in new and useless information about each other. Your fear of dogs, his fear of armadillos (someone told them they had the plague). The time you accidentally walked into a stranger’s home, the time he startled an old woman because he was standing too still in a store and she thought he was a mannequin.

Moments of intimacy intermittently interrupted by a tugging of the fishing line and excited easing in of the prize.

The fuckers did have spikes. You reached out for your first successful catch and the barbs pricked you. With a hurried step back, your short heel sank into the dirt and you lost your balance. Your ass hit the ground hard, and you needed a breath before you could reply to Alastor’s worried questions.

“I’m fine”, just embarrassed, you assured him before picking up your shoe and throwing it, “I have to go home and change out these shoes.” Leftie smacked against the tree with a soft pop.

“First my stockings last week and now my shoes? You’ve gone fire-happy.” You wiggled your toes for his peace of mind, “It’s okay, I don’t have many shoes. We’ll reconcile someday.”

Alastor sat down properly on the grass and dirt of the river’s edge and took off his shoes and socks. You thought maybe he was trying to commiserate somehow, until he shoved the socks into the toe box and slipped one onto your foot.

Your eyes wandered over the bucket of water and fish, the worms in their cup, and his bare feet on the grass.

“Who taught you to be such a well rounded gentleman?” A rhetorical question, mostly.

“My mother, of course.”

“Your father didn’t worry you’d be too soft?”

The ‘family planning’ conversation on the kitchen table fluttered back to you.

“Oh, can I have permission to hate him?” Always the easiest emotion.

He clicked his tongue, hands busy looping your shoes together by their straps and then attaching them to his belt loop.

It came out before you could think it through, “He didn’t love your mother?”

He winced. “Cowards can love just fine, I think. Maybe they love the hardest actually.” You nodded, knowing this wasn’t a philosophical debate where your opinion was needed. “I mean, what kind of man just gives away his only assets?” Alastor leaned over to fix the collar of your blouse, “A scared idiot in love, of course.”

The conversation, and shoe change, brought a natural end to the morning. Alastor helped you up, taking the opportunity to brush off your backside.

He led you until the clearing, he knew the land was flat there, and slowed down to let you walk a little bit ahead. The view of the house was much more inviting with you in it.

His mothers shoes did fit, a pair of her black double straps with a nice wide heel replaced your T-straps and their damned thin one. The offer and action of presenting them to you was bigger than could be acknowledged. It was clear in how he wiped them clean with drilled in focus and set them in front of the bed for you like the main course of a fancy meal. The way they’d been kept packaged and neat in the guest closet.

It was a little surprise to himself when he offered them to you. It seemed natural at the moment but as he said it his calm heart backtracked. Was that okay to do? Was it disrespectful to his mother? Was it rude to offer you a dead woman’s things? Would you be uncomfortable?

The little strings of worry all cut loose though when you did the straps and said, “I’ll return them in perfect condition.”

He had thought you’d take them forever. But no, that was better. “I’ll buy you your own just like them.”

Alastor thought if all you were getting out of this was a pair of shoes, you were definitely coming up in the red.

Negative.

Losing out.

Maybe he could do that anyway. Every night, praise you with his mouth in all the ways he could imagine you’d enjoy.

The analogy carried through as he drove you to work. What was the price of admission and had he managed to afford it yet? Again, he fretted over what he was giving you in all of… whatever exactly this was.

He’d met women who just wanted a home to pretty up. You had your own space you seemed keen on so he doubted that was it. Sometimes women pursued him for his obvious disposable income. Images of you swiping the hundred off the hotel bar played across his thoughts. No, you seemed capable enough to earn more than your job paid. If anything you seemed to enjoy chasing down marks.

You’d made it clear your thoughts on marriage (“I won’t be bought by jewelry and promises of a pretty cage.”) though he did consider what could ever make you want that legal lock. He’d had friends who would have liked the safety a husband lended their image. Women who didn’t have any need or want for men in general. But things like banking and ownership were easier with a husband. And if he was aware of their preferences, they could still enjoy their love lives as they always had tried to before marriage. Alastor had considered such an offer before. Seriously considered it. It seemed to solve all of the problems he and his lady friend had.

Everyone wants something, though. He wanted to be seen in his entirety and accepted as he was.

You?

Well. All the things you seemed to want you had. Autonomy. Adoration. Attention.

Alastor didn’t want to be needed by someone, he wanted to be wanted by someone who already had everything.

He suppressed an embarrassed chuckle, he was getting ahead of himself again. Daydreaming while he drove like he always did. But this time you were in the car with him.

You caught him blushing, asking if he got too much sun by the water earlier. Alastor’s eyes went wide and he laughed a forced ‘ha ha ha!’, punctuated by a flat and low “No!”

All you could do was laugh in return when he didn’t elaborate. The way he was gripping the steering wheel made his knuckles go pale through the thin skin of his hands. But the wonky smile he had told you he wasn’t angry.

He gave you a peck outside the theater’s side door, promised to swing by yours after work so you could grab some shoes, and drove off.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Excuse you, you’re not welcome here.”

You heard it but didn’t really register what that implied. Sometimes people tried to sneak in who’d been banned, but it was…not common. The list of people was quite short. You didn’t stop to think of them all, regardless.

You made a habit of calling Ruth by her stage name as early in the work day as you could remember, to avoid any slip ups. So when you called out to her as you worked the room after your performance, she knew to answer.

“Skye, could you bring me some water?” Leaning on the bar you watched her make her own drink, flashing you a wink. She always got tipsy and ended up behind the bar when she was in a good mood. Which was most nights. The staff didn’t mind, the real money to be made was in liquor and whatever could be passed off as beer. So the extra pair of hands was appreciated.

“You’ve been especially happy lately. Good sex?” The glass was slid to you. All you could do was nod. You’d hadn’t actually had sex in awhile, but that wasn’t anyone’s business.

Your smile barely had a chance to slip off your face, your senses too quick for your body to keep up. The awareness that something was wrong hit you fast and hard, but only milliseconds before you felt someone grab you.

Brady’s hand gripped your shoulder and pulled you backwards, something slipping around your wrists as a uniformed cop came around the corner of the atrium. You struggled to get away from him, shouting general protests to being suddenly manhandled. Your voice erupted, the first cannon shot of the war as women and men began to swarm and berate the detective.

Barely a shocked laugh could be choked out from your tightening throat.

“You’re under arrest!” He yelled it, looking at you for just a moment before announcing it to the audience. An actor to his crowd.

“For what?!” Johnny pushed Brady with two fingers to the chest.

“Prostitution.”

A beat of silence as the room collectively gasped. Ruth was the first one to truly lay her hands on him, snatching his hat off and smacking him across the head. The other dancers moved like a school of fish, tucking Ruth into the safety of their numbers with a simultaneous jostling of the detective.

The cop leading you away stopped, “Just her? I thought-,”

Detective Brady dusted his hat off with the back of his hand and shooed the man away. “Just her.”

Before you had reached the glass doors of the theater, you tensed and pulled back. “What the fuck are you doing, Mr. Brady?”

But Brady wasn’t looking at you. He was scanning the room. Staring into the small but fierce roiling mass of regulars, dancers, and staff filling up the doorway in front him and flooding the atrium.

Johnny sized up Brady, getting nose to nose with him, “Show your face here again and we’ll need an ambulance, not a wagon!”

Brady leaned into the confrontation, “Now sir I’d be careful. That almost sounds like a threat.”

“Sure as shit is!” Someone hissed.

“Hey! Brady!” You tried again in vain to get his attention.

“Hush. You confessed to it already, no point crying now.” The cop’s voice was harsh, his disgust barely hidden. His palms were calloused and scratched at the exposed skin of your arms.

“Someone! Someone call-,” Ruth snapped her fingers as the syllables teetered on the tip of her tongue.

Goosebumps rose across your shoulders like little tombstones. Your autonomic nervous system came to a crawl. The grip on your arm tightened as you had to be wretched forward and out of the front doors.

Her eyes lit up, “Alastor! Does anyone have Alastor’s work number?!” Ruth was met with confused faces and shrugs from the others.

You didn’t feel yourself begin to cry, it was a reaction to the fact you hadn’t blinked since you became aware Brady didn’t seem too interested in your reaction to this.

This wasn’t an arrest. It was a trap.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

#I STAY DISRESPECTING KENNETH #<- but it’s all in jest… i know he’s just trying to do his job but…#THESE PEOPLE ARE IN LOVE!! LEAVE THEM ALONE 🥲#alastor x reader #human alastor x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel fan fiction

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rishi-eel · 4 years ago

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thinking (yet again!) about the differences between the bad batch story reels and the season seven arc and like... some changes just blow my mind because all it did, really, was make the bad batch less likable.

lets star with the whole “reg” thing. if i remember correctly, in the originals “regs” is said twice. the first instance is by crosshair when taunting jesse in the LAAT. the second is said by hunter: he tells tech (who’s hacking into the cyber center) that he and wrecker are going to “go get the regs” (i.e. rex and jesse). that is, hunter only used it among his squad when the others were not present (much like how cody informs that the bad batch are defective clones out of earshot. these words are descriptors, but there’s also an offense associated to being referred to by them). the idea that hunter has restraint referring to regular clones this way in their faces connects, i think, to how hunter was a tad more apologetic to jesse in the original script. “he means regular clones. don’t take it personal. it’s just that we don’t always follow protocol” carried an actual sense of hunter trying to convince jesse that it’s nothing to do with him.

it’s interesting, i think, that in a context where you have clones and defective clones, that the bad batch (as defective clones) would find a way to talk about other clones in reference to themselves in a way that normalizes their own existence. it also introduces the idea that the bad batch experience a level of disconnect, and even animosity, in regards to other clones. all that can be conveyed by only using the word twice. the season seven episodes added three more instances, and in all of them the bad batch members comfortably throw the word around the clones who “are regs.” the sense of separateness (which, again, was already established/achieved by using it just two times) is only made stronger (thus more needs to be done to portray a sense of reconciliation or coming together. the reels succeed this to an extent because that barrier wasn’t built up as high).

so yeah in the original... wrecker didn’t say “we always get shot down when we travel with regs,” he kept quiet as he helped people out of the wrecked gunship (in fact, wrecker lost a lot of subtlety going from the reels to the final eps, which i’ll get back to). hunter didn’t fake-compliment rex with a “not bad, for a reg”! and oh boy crosshair’s comment implying that echo is worthless and expendable because he’s a “reg”... yeah that was not in the reels either. in fact, not only does crosshair not call echo a reg, the meaning of his original dialogue was completely different.

in the original, after hunter voices his suspicions echo might be dead, crosshair suggests that if alive echo could be cooperating with the enemy, making him a traitor. rex takes this as an attack on echo’s character and crosshair explains that no, he’s not intending to insult echo, by saying: “oh i don’t blame him, if i were left for dead, i wouldn’t be so loyal.” and like!!!!! that’s such a radically different line of dialogue because crosshair seems to blame rex for having left echo behind, actually. if you betrayed the republic to survive, or even out of spite, i don’t blame you even if you now present a threat to myself and my family, is such an interesting, empathetic sentiment. and that contrasts with the lack of regard given to rex, making it read like he’s condemning rex for leaving someone behind. crosshair doesn’t seem to understand, as an experimental commando clone, the pressures rex as a legion captain is under, because he’s seen a less expandable (they’re a specially trained four man team, if one dies that’s 25% of the unit gone. is there a replacement for that member? you get the idea). so you’ve got a clash between different povs, but also crosshair being shown as having a set of morals, chief among them being that you do not leave anyone behind. so remember when rex says to move out and crosshair goes “commander cody is in no position to move” yeah i’d say that’s crosshair making sure cody isn’t being left behind. when crosshair saves anakin? that’s because he saw anakin go off on his own and followed him. because you don’t leave people behind. and like... the idea that yeah crosshair is an asshole. he’s unpleasant and that’s deliberate. he doesn’t care if people like him and he’s not trying to be liked. but that he values the lives of other people and looks out for them? that makes an interesting, flawed and multifaceted character. that got lost in the dialogue change because its no longer suggested that crosshair holds these values.

as for what i said earlier about wrecker: he lost subtle, nonverbal moments through the addition of lines that are either anticlimactic or only serve to make him seem loud or ditzy in an exaggerated fashion. he didn’t laugh when the LAAT came down. he was quiet as he helped people out of the downed gunship (no comment about regs!). he didn’t say “boom” when the ship exploded in the background after he flipped it over (the difference? a character moment that’s actually cool and impressive vs something that’s corny). when wrecker comes to crosshair’s aid by picking rex off of him, there was no quippy one liner. there was no need for anything to be said for it to be understood that wrecker is acting as a barrier and it trying to intimidate rex. when he’s afraid to get onto the elevator? that’s conveyed visually through camera angles and through hunter picking up on the fact that he’s scared. he doesn’t scream (if you can call a comical “aah what is that thing oh no its going to get me” a scream) when the organic decimator almost gets him. when they walk across the pipe? wrecker doesn’t whimper or talk to himself for comfort. he is scared of heights, that’s already been established, but he’s also a grown man and a soldier like he’s keeping that to himself? like we see wrecker hesitating to walk on the ledge but doing it anyway because he has to. in a piece of dialogue that was cut, tech said “does anyone want to know the odds of us making it across alive?” to which wrecker (who’s you know already having a bad time) interrupts with “don’t even think about it, tech” (if ur curious, this exchange was replaced with: wrecker: “keep walking tech!” tech: “that’s fine, but if you fall don’t take me with you” which???? uuh weird exchange). also, the fact that wrecker was mostly dealing with his fear silently means that when hunter tells wrecker to hold on because they’re almost there... that’s because hunter knows he’s scared and is checking up on him. basically... any kind of serious moment was cheapened by having wrecker talk in them. now i don’t want to say that DBB is a bad voice actor, but his expertise is making animal noises. he’s not able to do a realistic, deep voice, meaning that whenever wrecker talks he kind of sounds like a joke. it’s fine when wrecker is actual being lighthearted and jokey, but otherwise? the emotion just does not come across as genuine, which breaks the stakes or weakens credibility.

and god the whole plot point about the bad batch being suspicious of echo was nonexistent in the reels. the “don’t worry, echo says he’s got a plan”/”that makes me feel so much better” exchange between rex and tech is in the original, but tech’s sarcasm isn’t from doubting echo’s allegiance, it’s because they’re planning to land on admiral trench’s ship and echo having a plan (that he himself doesn’t know) doesn’t exactly soothe his anxieties. rex acts like tech’s being a big joker and playfully shoves him, telling him to get on board. which is an interesting interaction because these characters are kind of starting to bond?? as for tech and echo, they kinda become nerdy friends really quick. like when tech warns echo not to send the signal right away because he first needs to make it look like it’s coming from skako minor, echo’s like “oh yeah good thinking tech.” and when echo figures out a way to shut down all the droids at once tech is impressed and lightly shoves his shoulder. again there is none of that “oooh maybe echo’s a traitor maybe he’s with the techno union” shit. like i understand that the writers wanted to up the stakes but it falls flat because the idea of echo being a traitor isn’t credible. it does not seem like an actual risk or possibility. so all it did was make the bad batch seem like assholes, cutting away at some very nice character moments.

ok this is a long post and you might ask yourself “but tumblr user rishi-eel, why do you care so much about the story reels, this stuff isn’t canon now” and there are a couple reasons, first, i think it managed to tell a better story overall. so the question is: why is that? because you would expect that writers reworking the plot would add improvements and not downgrades. and to be fair, the s7 episodes had a bunch of upgrades, but not when it came to the characterization of the bad batch. another thing to consider is that changes were made in the context of setting the bad batch up as future protagonists of their own spinoff series (something the original arc was not intended to do because there were no plans for a bad batch series). were the characters made flatter and more archetypal to add to marketability? was the reg/defective clone rivalry (and dichotomy, even) amplified because this separateness serves a narrative in which the bad batch are heroes and the other clones villains?

#long post #clone force 99 #the bad batch #it's late and i haven't proof read so there might be typos and stuff but. here are my thoughts #rishi-outposts.txt

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sleeping-on-cracking-ice · 4 years ago

Note

Y/N gets attacked and Chishiya is sure she will handle everything but when he sees her later there's blood everywhere, later he finds out that attackers actually cut her cheek really deepy and she will probably have a scar. He feels guilty and try to make it up by bringing something special (like cute pictures of cats bc he remembers when she quietly told Kuina that she loves cats) and from that day he is always trying to make sure that Y/N is doing fine. (2/2)

Of course! Here you go!

A Ginger Cat | Shuntaro Chishiya

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Characters(s): Chishiya (ft. Kuina, OC, Ann)

Summary: You get hurt during a game, but Chishiya thinks that you can handle it yourself. Later when he discovers that you were injured more worse than he thought, he brings you something to cheer you up

Warnings: swearing, blood

Word Count: 4.6k

*reader is female

The registration room had an eerie aura, you swore you could’ve heard a pin drop in there. Nothing was moving except the occasional piece of dust flying past in the breeze. You stood with your back to the wall, glaring up into the bright florescent light that had seemed to become an all too familiar ongoing theme of these homicidal games.

The wall was cold and rigid along your spine, but you put up with the small sharp pain. There was nowhere else to wait, besides on the disgustingly dirty floor. You had to gain as much rest and strength before beginning the game.

Kuina sighed heavily to the right of you, glancing at the game phone she had picked up a few minutes prior and rolling her head back against the wall in boredom. Chishiya stood next along from her, earbuds lodged in his ears and blasting loud music while he held his gaze strictly on the ground in front of him.

“Come on,” Kuina groaned, stretching her hands above her head. “When is this game starting? We’ve been here for a solid half an hour.”

She walked to the entrance of the registration room and peeked her head out the door. “I’m surprised no one else has come. Maybe it’ll be just us,” she suggested, turning back to you and Chishiya.

“That sounds great, until it’s a game of hearts,” you bluntly stated, fiddling with the fabric of your shirt. Chishiya and Kuina both turned to you, sudden concern on their faces at your accusation.

The room fell quiet once more, until a familiar voice echoed through the room from all your phones simultaneously.

“Registration is now closed,” it spoke. “Game: Mice, Cats and A Dog.”

You frowned at the strange game name, having heard nothing like it before. You felt a feeling of relief wash over you as a five of clubs card conveyed itself on your screen. You were anxious you had accidentally manifested it to be a hearts game with your sly comment earlier.

“Rules: Players are the Cats. There are three live Mice to catch, each hiding in different areas around the building. Once found, the Mice must be killed using your own preference of weapon that is available on the table in the registration room.”

All three of you glanced towards the small table positioned next to the phone table that was scattered with small weapons that would hardly be enough to hurt a human. You had been wondering why they had offered such shitty weapons.

“Although, you must avoid the Dog’s gaze, for it will kill the Cats on sight.”

Your heart dropped at that last statement. You were to be hunted.

“You have an hour to kill all three Mice and return to the lobby with the bodies. If you fail to do so, all exits around the building will be closed and several more Dogs will be released and finish off the remaining players. You have ten minutes to position yourself in the building before the Dog is released.”

The list of rules on your phone screen shifted to a timer for ten minutes, already beginning to count down. You turned to Chishiya and Kuina.

“Any strategies?” Kuina asked, looking between you and Chishiya.

You pursed your lips in thought. “Split up. That seems like the most logical option. It will be quicker to find the Mice then,” you proposed, crossing your arms over your chest and scanning over the small map nearby that disclosed the layout of the deserted hotel the game was taking place in.

“But then the “Dog” will have more of a chance to find us if we split up,” Kuina argued. Kuina always focused on the safer route to ensure everyone’s survival rather than the easiest.

“No, it will be worse if we’re together, cause it can kill us all at once,” you retorted, walking over to the weapon table and starting to scan your options.

“I agree with Y/N,” Chishiya spoke up, pushing himself off the wall and strutting over to stand next to you and help pick a weapon. “I played a game very similar to this one. The best option is that we separate. Only then do we have a chance of finding the Mice in the time limit.”

Just as he said it, the phones all announced you had nine minutes left until the hunter began searching for you.

“One mouse each, and if you find yours early, keep searching so we can speed up time.”

You nodded at Chishiya’s command, snatching a small hammer and a pocket knife from the table for your weapons. You all walked out of the registration area (the front desk of the hotel) and into the empty lobby, watching as the hanging chandeliers glistening against the moonlight shining through from the obnoxiously big windows.

If anything could have gotten worse, you had to find tiny mice in a huge hotel in the complete darkness of night.

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

You took to the upper bar.

The area in itself didn’t seem that big. But when you found it, you realised that it would be incredibly hard to find a single mouse in the cracks and small spaces between all the furniture. The eerie aura didn’t help much.

You sighed in frustration after searching underneath yet another couch. “What the fuck is this game? How the fuck am I supposed to find a rodent in a huge place like this?” you whispered angrily, flopping down on the couch dramatically.

It had been around forty-five minutes since the “Dog” had been released, but you have always been quite confident in your escaping and hiding strategies, so you weren’t too worried. The only thing you were concerned about was finding a mouse. Chishiya and Kuina had to have caught theirs by now.

A small scuttling noise cut you from your thoughts. You snapped your head towards the bar, where the sound was emitting from. A wave of excitement filled you, becoming hopeful that the noise was the mouse you were searching for.

You stood from the couch and quickly walked towards the bar, making sure not to make too much noise in case you alerted the rodent. The noise seemed to have come from behind some bottles beneath the counter. You crouched down on your knees and looked along the shelves, scanning for any sign of movement.

“Come on little mouse,” you taunted, becoming frustrated. When you noticed the flash of illuminated eyes staring holes into you through the glass of a tequila bottle, you quickly snatched the neck of the bottle and pulled it from the shelf, locking eyes with a desperate mouse with it’s back half stuck in a mouse trap.

The mouse shook violently against the trap, letting out small squeaks of pain and glaring at you with fear in it’s eyes. Although, it’s most noticeable feature was a large cross that almost seemed burned into it’s lower back. The cross had no fur or skin along it.

“This has to be one of them,” you reassured yourself, reaching to pull out the small pocket knife.

You picked up the mouse trap and hissed as the mouse managed to nip a part of your finger in defence. “Little shit,” you muttered, before pressing the point of your knife against the mouse’s back and pushing in harshly to kill it.

You hoped that you would just end it’s life and that would be that. But of course, the game had to throw in some sort of twist.

As you stabbed the small rodent, a impossibly loud screeching sound emitted from it’s tiny throat, making you drop the creature in shock and cover your ears.

The animal screeched and screeched, pain dripping from it’s cries that echoed across the room angrily. You began to panic, realising that there’s a chance the hunter could hear you. But maybe that was the point.

“Shut up!” you yelled over the mouse’s cries. You pulled the knife swiftly from the mouse’s fur and continued to repetitively penetrate it’s skin, mercilessly making it shut up while blood splattered across your angered face.

You breathed heavily once the room had fallen silent once again, staring down at the mutilated dead rodent. For a short moment, you felt bad for ending it’s life so unpeacefully.

Your head snapped up to look over the bar when sudden heavy footsteps made their way down the hall outside the bar. Your heart leapt to your throat and you turned to press your back against the bar, keeping your head down so whoever it was couldn’t see you.

You cringed as you picked up the remains of the mouse, holding it tight in your hand so you wouldn’t drop it. If Chishiya and Kuina had finished their halves, all you had to do was get to the lobby and you would be fine.

You placed your spare hand over your mouth to quieten your breathing, listening to the footsteps of the stranger who brought themselves into the room. The rapid movement of their feet made you anxious. You had never encountered a hunter that could run as fast as that.

You heard them flip a few tables over, hearing glasses smash against the walls aggressively. You closed your eyes tightly in realisation. The attacker was trying to make it harder for you to leave quietly if you were in there.

When the room fell quiet, you slowly peeked your head over the top of the bar. You managed to catch sight of the hunter themselves.

They seemed to have resembled the body of an older male, fit and tall. They had long, baggy pants, a black t-shirt while holding a machete that easily was as long as your arm. But most oddly, they wore a mask that conveyed a snarling German Shepherd.

The hunter was preoccupied over by the lounged area, looking behind the back rests of the couches and underneath coffee tables.

‘If I stay here any longer, they’re guaranteed to find me,’ you thought to yourself.

You decided you were going to attempt to leave. You had more of a chance of surviving by running than hiding.

You lifted your legs and trudged towards the edge of the bar, ducking underneath the table that was placed at the end before slowly rising to your feet. A quick glance down at your hand was enough to reassure you that you hadn’t dropped your ticket to a few more days of staying alive.

You kept your eyes locked on the hunter, making sure they didn’t turn their back as you were trying to leave. You thought you had almost made it before you miscalculated your step and tripped over a shattered glass on the ground, making you stumble forward and a loud noise erupt from the impact from your shoe to the glass.

As soon as you regained your balance, you didn’t even bother checking if the hunter had heard, you knew they did. You immediately took off running, holding your pocket knife in one hand in fear. You weren’t even halfway down the hall running towards the lobby before you heard the Dog’s footsteps behind you, trailing close and fast.

“Chishiya! Kuina!” You screamed out, picking up your pace and holding the body of the dead mouse close to your chest to make sure you didn’t drop it.

There was no way they were going to help you now, especially against someone like that. You were on your own for now, so you put faith in your own legs to carry you all the way down to the lobby.

Your heart was racing as you almost fell down the flights of stairs, so desperate to get away. At some point, you glanced upwards and saw your pursuer on the flight above you, making you feel sick.

“Fuck,” you gasped out, quickly scrambling down the darkened stairs. The blood of the mouse’s corpse seeped through your fingers as you held it in a tense fist, dripping down your arm grotesquely.

As you neared the ground level of the hauntingly big hotel, you stumbled as you jumped the few remaining steps and saw a sign that had an arrow labeled “Main Lobby” pointed to the left. You took in that direction, glancing behind you to see the “Dog” hot on your tail.

But unfortunately, you took too long to look at the sign. The “Dog” quickly caught up, grabbing an aggressive fistful of the back of your shirt and yanking you backwards towards them. You were too scared to scream. The air was forced from your lungs as you were pulled back, landing on the ground with the “Dog” suddenly standing over you, feet planted on either side of you.

Before you could even think, their machete plummeted down towards your face, making you flinch your head to the right, narrowly avoiding the blade. Although, the edge of the sharp metal managed to graze your cheek, creating a long gash along the side of your face.

The “Dog” continued to attempt to stab you in the face, stumbling above you as you attempted to kick their legs out from underneath them. In a sudden desperate attack, you kicked with all your might at their locked knees and they let out a yelp of pain as their knee buckled harshly backwards. You took the opportunity to run, not even giving them a second glance. You knew they’d already be back on their feet, after you again.

As you neared the humongous room that was labeled the lobby, you saw Chishiya and Kuina by the big doors that led inside. They seemed to have been banging their fists against an invisible force, separating you from them. The game must have locked them in when they placed their dead mice in the box that was located in the centre of the huge hall.

Their faces changed their hopeful expressions when they saw your pursuer, the blood running from their cheeks, making them pale. As soon as you entered the lobby, passing through the invisible force with ease, they followed behind you quickly.

“Hurry! Throw it in!” you heard Chishiya cry to you desperately behind you. You glanced back to see him slowing down, holding out his taser towards the “Dog” in case they managed to reach you. The electric light of his taser lit up significantly in the darkened room.

Once you reached the small white box placed on the table in the centre of the room, you shoved the disgusting remains of your victim inside, watching as it landed on top of two other mice.

Everything froze. The “Dog” immediately stopped running, dropping to their knees and face-planting onto the ground in front of Chishiya. All three of you stopped in shock, heavy breaths filling the air. Had you done it?

“Game Clear. Congratulations.”

The collar around the “Dog’s” neck exploded, blood splattering the walls and coating the gorgeously patterned carpet with it’s own artwork. You had seen it many times before. Once more couldn’t hurt.

“Took you long enough,” you heard Chishiya smartly remark. You glanced towards him, raising an eyebrow. He looked smug, as always. Not a single scratch on him.

“Give me a break, I had to face someone three times the size of me,” you remarked, rubbing your face tiredly. Your adrenaline had calmed, and now the pain of your deep gash on your cheek settled in. You hissed as your palm grazed it, pulling back and looking at your hand to see blood across it.

“Shit,” you rasped out, wiping your hand on the material of your pants.

“You okay Y/N?” Kuina questioned, walking over to you. You shook your head, dismissing her. “Yeah I’m fine. Just a small gash. It’ll heal soon enough,” you reassured.

“Are you sure? That looks quite deep,” Chishiya commented, strutting over and using his hand to push your chin to the side so he could look more closely at it. The feeling of his hand placed so gently on your skin made your heart suddenly race, and you panicked and pulled your head away before he could even see your wound.

“No, it’s fine,” you insisted, attempting to hide your embarrassment. “Let’s go back. It’s getting late, and I’m tired and hungry.”

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

You stood in your bathroom, attempting to wash your clothes that you wore at the game earlier. You were soaking and scrubbing them in the bathtub. No matter how much blood seeped from the fabrics, it never seemed to be clean enough.

You grunted, annoyed and tired. Kuina said she was going to spend some time out nearby the pool with Arisu and talk to him about his game. Chishiya didn’t say where he was going, but you assumed it would be the roof or something away from everyone else.

A wet feeling along the side of your neck made you suddenly flinch and hit your skin, worried it was a weird bug of some sort. But your eyes widened when you brought your hand back and saw the concerning amount of blood spread across your palm.

You stood up from the side of the bathtub and leant against the sink, looking to the large mirror. “For fucks sake,” you sighed out as you caught sight of your large gash again. “This has been bleeding for hours. How do I make this stop?”

You winced as the moist towel you used earlier was once again dabbing along the skin of your face, collecting up the annoyingly large amount of blood percolating from your cheek. You were becoming afraid that it wasn’t going to stop at all, but you were too stubborn to go to Ann for medical help.

You’ve seen her weird dissection obsession, so you felt uneasy putting the trust of your health into her hands.

The blood dripped quicker the more you attempted to clean it up. Soon, there were miniature blood puddles scattered around the sink as you kept trying to clean them.

*********** “Hey Usagi, have you seen Y/N?”

Chishiya was making his way around The Beach searching for you. He usually liked spending his late nights having a drink with you in a quiet corner of the ground floor pool. Although, he hadn’t been able to find you and he was getting worried. You usually were either down in the lobby or with Kuina after games.

“No, I haven’t. Sorry Chishiya.”

He huffed annoyed, thanking Usagi and walking away from the dance floor. He thought he should check in your room as a last resort, but if you weren’t there, that’s when he would really worry.

He slowly made his way up the multiple flights of stairs, passing by a few people on the way. During the walk, he zoned out in his own thoughts, his mind filing with you.

How would he ever tell you how he felt? He believed you only saw him as a friend, an annoying one at that. Especially since you happen to banter a lot with him. The thought made him smile, he loved that you didn’t take his bullshit seriously and treated it like a game.

‘How do I let her know that I truly do care for her?’ he asked himself, fiddling with the drawstrings of his white hoodie as he strolled down the brightly lit hall. He hadn’t ever been the best with emotions, so how could he show that he was genuine about his romantic feelings towards you?

When Chishiya reached your room, he lifted his fist to knock on the rotting wood, freezing suddenly. Why was he hesitating? He’s done this so many times before, why was he suddenly nervous? He shook his head, embarrassed for catching himself in these thoughts. He had worked himself up again.

He knocked on your door loudly three times before calling out to you. “Y/N? You in there?” The silence that followed his call made him anxious. He knocked again, this time more persistently.

“Coming!” he heard your muffled voice call through the door. He stood back from the door as you opened it, giving you a small smile. But it soon disappeared from your face when he locked eyes with the bloody tissue that you held to your cheek.

“Hey Chish,” you groaned out, lazy eyed and turning back into your room, leaving the door so he could come in. Chishiya rushed to you quickly. “Wait, Y/N. What’s going on? Why are you hurt?” he asked frantically, pulling on your shoulder to get you to look at him.

You brushed his hand off of you. “It’s fine. Just a small gash from the game earlier. It started bleeding again,” you said, giving him a stare.

Chishiya shook his head and cupped your face, avoiding your cut, to have a closer look. “No Y/N, that doesn’t look okay. It’s bleeding way too much.”

You stayed still as he replaced your hand holding the tissue on your face with his own, being as gentle as he could as he cleaned the blood gathering around the gash.

“Here, sit down on the bed,” he muttered, indicating towards the end of your bed. You both shuffled over and sat down, Chishiya still holding the tissue on your face.

You could feel his hot breath against your lips as he examined your wound. His dark eyes glistened in the dim light of your hotel room. He looked ethereal. But he took a quick glance towards your eyes, snapping you from your daze. You hissed as he caught a bit of the gash on the tissue. “Sorry,” he apologized, moving his hand to your chin to readjust your position.

He then sat up and walked towards the bathroom, walking quickly so the blood of your injury didn’t drip too much. As he was there, you heard a soft gasp. He probably had found the blood-covered sink and towels.

He returned back with a clean towel that he found in your bathroom cabinet. He held a somewhat annoyed expression on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me this? If I knew it was this bad, I would’ve helped you out.”

You shrugged your shoulders. To be honest, you weren’t too sure why you didn’t tell Chishiya or Kuina. It just didn’t seem that big of a deal.

“You’ll need some stitches,” he concluded, holding a clean towel underneath your cut. “Also, stop using tissues to clean the blood. They flake easily and can stick to your injury.”

You nodded, looking down in embarrassment. You wish Chishiya didn’t find you like this. You hated making anyone else worry about you when it wasn’t entirely necessary.

“Look at me,” he demanded, bringing your head up with a gentle hand on your neck. Your breath got caught in your throat as he wiped around your cheek, cleaning up any excess blood.

“Come on. Let’s get you to Ann,” he said, standing up and holding his hand out for you.

You took his hand and he pulled you up playfully, making you almost stumble into him. You glared at him. “Wow. Even when I’m injured you’re still a bully,” you teased. Chishiya smirked and winked at you, making you roll your eyes.

And yet, the whole way to Ann’s medical room, you didn’t let go of his hand.

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

You woke as the sun hit your eyelids, illuminating your room with bright rays of light. The sun was strangely gorgeous that morning, so you woke up in a good mood.

You sat up and stretched, letting out a large groan as your bones popped in your back. Although a wince made its way onto your face as you yawned, making the skin of your treated gash stretch.

Chishiya had told Ann to place a protected medical patch on your cut, since he thought it would be better than just leaving it in case of it getting infected or worse during your next game. So for the time being, you had a flat piece of cotton taped on your face. Ann said to only leave it on until it had certainly stopped bleeding through, as well as to change it around two or three times a day.

When your eyes finally adjusted to your surroundings, your sight landed on a strange scene in front of you.

At the table on the end of your bed, there was a small plushie of a ginger kitten. The makeshift fur on the stuffed toy was slightly dirty and it was missing a bead for an eye, but it still remained strangely comforting.

You crawled to the end of your bed and reached out to grab the plushie, bringing it close to you and looking over it for anything. Who knows? Someone could have put it in your room as a trap.

But it was proven safe when you noticed the small, neat writing on the end of the kitten’s tail, which read ‘Chish’.

You chuckled at the childish toy, realising Chishiya must have snuck it into your room while you were asleep.

“Idiot,” you laughed, “Can’t tell me he likes me as his friend but he can put enough effort into finding a stuffed cat in the Borderland for me.”

It felt special, because you knew Chishiya would have had to go into deserted Tokyo to find such a gift for you. You looked on the table and saw a small piece of paper. You frowned and reached out for it and opened it.

‘Here’s a stupid plushie for your troubles. Kuina said you liked cats so I thought you’d feel better with this xx’

You laughed at his half-hearted message. Chishiya never was that good with words, but he didn’t have to be in order for you to understand how he felt towards you.

Although the plushie was a bit beaten and battered, it still brought such a sense of home to you.

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

You sat in the lobby, watching everyone scuttle around. Your usual drunken party group passed through every now and then, which was always good entertainment.

You jumped as you felt a pair of hands suddenly grip onto your shoulders, quickly moving to your eyes and covering them.

“Guess who?” the stranger asked cheekily, making you relax when you recognised their familiar, cocky voice.

“Get your hands off me Chishiya,” you giggled, pulling on his hands and turning around so you would face him. His face held a big smile across it, which was so unlike his usual neutral expression.

“What’s got you so happy?” you questioned, raising your eyebrow. Chishiya pulled away from your face and jumped over the back of the couch so he was then sitting beside you.

“Nothing, I’m just happy to see you,” he admitted, laying his head on your shoulder comfortably. His boldness was rather prominent then more than you had ever seen.

“How’s your cut?” he asked, looking up to examine the patch on your cheek. You shrugged it off. “It’s fine, not too bad now.”

Chishiya smiled, and suddenly leaned forward and left a lingering kiss on your good cheek, making your eyes widen at his action. “That’s good,” he gushed and continued on like he didn’t do anything.

“Yeah. Um...” you muttered awkwardly while rubbing the spot on your face where he kissed. “I wanted to say... thanks for the gift earlier,” you said, placing an arm around his shoulder comfortably.

Chishiya beamed happily, but tried to hide his blush by turning away from you. “No problem,” he mumbled out, trying to sound like he didn’t care.

You laughed at his response. Chishiya may have not been that good with words, but he didn’t need to be for you to notice that he really loved you.

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years ago

Text

Day 26, Post #1 by @cheesyficwriter

Title: The Greatest Chapter

Author: cheesyficwriter

Pairing: Harry/Ginny

Prompt: Moving in together

Rating: T

Trigger Warnings: None

Prompt: Moving in together

The Greatest Chapter

At age 10, I had the most embarrassing schoolgirl crush on Harry Potter. I'd see him and run in the opposite direction, painting the perfect image of me as a young girl who lacked the confidence needed to formulate words — any words — around someone I liked.

Before getting to know Harry for who he really was, I was so infatuated with the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived. I wanted so desperately to be going to Hogwarts with Ron before I was old enough, knowing that Harry Potter would be there too.

The way Harry took on a basilisk to save my life during my first year did nothing but solidify my growing feelings for him. My crush never really went away but instead transformed into a casual friendship based upon our shared experience in the Chamber of Secrets, a friendship that I was willing to accept at the time because I just wanted to be around him.

As we grew up, I started to relax more in his presence. We gained a mutual respect for one another, exchanging laughs in the Great Hall and sharing in-jokes during Christmases at the Burrow. Those little moments, in between all of the chaos and turmoil of what used to be, helped me learn a few things about Harry that I wouldn’t have discovered otherwise — not even on the front page of The Daily Prophet.

When I was younger, I admired Harry because I was under the impression that he possessed traits that I didn’t. I never imagined that I could be as brave, or courageous, or charismatic as he was to me. What surprised me the most about our developing friendship at Hogwarts was that there were far more similarities between us than differences. We shared the same wicked sense of humor — that I like to say I inherited from my plethora of brothers — yet could still hold my own during quick-witted battles, and I often found myself looking at Harry whenever something made me laugh, just to see if he was laughing, too. My stomach always spiraled when, more often than not, I found him looking back at me. We used our shared humor to our advantage, and I was thankful for that small respite in the midst of so much darkness.

We shared the same values, both of us realizing the importance of family, friends, and love above everything else. It’s what we fought for every day, even when it seemed like we were too young to really know what love was.

As our friendship continued, my romantic feelings for Harry were buried deep down in a place where I was once convinced they would stay. I decided to throw all of my energy into school, developing my skills as a witch, thus growing the confidence I needed along the way to put myself out there with other, more available boys.

For years, we were caught up in our own lives, and it shocked me more than anyone to have captured Harry’s attention when I least expected it. From the first moment he kissed me, I never hesitated. All of those feelings I had attempted to bury came rushing back to the surface, like revealing a galleon that I had stashed at the bottom of my trunk.

I will never forget those few stolen weeks we had together when I was 15 and he was 16. He described it as something out of someone else’s life, and at the time, I had thought that was all we would ever be. Time was fleeting, and there wasn’t enough of it.

Harry had no choice but to dedicate his life to fighting for the wizarding world, and I was always determined to be right there beside him, up until the point where I couldn’t. I was smart enough to understand why he didn’t ask me to come with him. It was his mission. His, Ron’s, and Hermione’s. I didn’t often miss the times the three of them carried on by themselves, engaging in secret conversation and disappearing without the faintest clue of their whereabouts until much later.

On that fateful day that Harry broke things off, I already knew what he was so desperately trying to convey to me. If I were to have accompanied him on the Horcrux hunt, it would’ve been me he was worried about instead of finding the pieces of Voldemort’s soul that were crucial to defeating him.

That notion — although tragic in a sense — gave me more pleasure than the feeling of scoring an impossible goal during a Quidditch match.

Regardless, Harry was never far from my mind those long months that he was gone. My childhood crush seemed silly at that point because I had gained so much more than a fleeting romance.

As time passed, and Harry and I found our way back to each other after Voldemort's defeat, it took us a minute to catch our bearings and resume our relationship that we had put on an indefinite pause.

It hadn’t always been easy dating him. In fact, dealing with the fame that Harry carried around with him from being a war hero had been a lot harder than I ever anticipated. But it was always unspoken that we managed, despite what any publishings had to say about us.

I came to love him, not for being Harry Potter, but for who he truly was. His heart. His courage.

As I stood reflecting on my relationship with Harry in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place, I was overcome with emotion. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was the one we were destined to have, and that made every hardship worth it.

The room housed a large window overlooking the street, a charming — albeit dusty — fireplace, and ornate fixtures. For a person who just moved in, I felt like the house itself could have been in worse shape. Harry did an exceptional job keeping the place organized, especially for someone who, up until just a few days ago, lived there by himself.

That’s not to say I hadn’t already spent plenty of nights at Grimmauld Place over the last couple of years. In fact, I probably spent more nights there than I did at the Burrow once I returned home from my final year at Hogwarts.

It was during those nights that I discovered just a fraction of the pain Harry went through. He’d always been intensely emotional, and so many nights I spent shaking him from his residual nightmares of the trauma he went through, despite the wizarding world being in a much better place. I comforted him the best I could in those moments, determined to make it clear to him that I’m never letting go — not this time.

I smiled to myself as I took a seat on the piano bench, observing the peeling paint from one of the large, cracked walls. We had a lot of work to do, but moving in together was a proper next step for us.

"Gin? Are you home?" Harry’s voice carried through the dusty walls.

Before I could respond, Harry was already standing in the open archway, head tilted to the side with curiosity etched across his face. “Were you just staring at a blank wall?”

I crossed my arms, determined not to let him know about my extensive reflection into our past. “So what if I was, Potter?”

He looked as if he wanted to question my retort further but instead joined me at the piano, bumping his shoulder with mine.

“It’s a lot of fun coming home to you,” he admitted, the rich, melodic sound of the piano filling the open space from his fingertips pressing against one of the keys.

“You know that’s practically how we were before, right? When was the last time we spent a night apart?”

Harry shrugged, and it was clear he never really thought about it. “Dunno, but it was one night too many, I reckon.”

I sighed, wanting to ask a question that had been weighing on my heart. “Do you find it odd that we’ve never really argued? I mean, even when you broke up with me-”

“Why must we go back to that?” Harry interrupted, a pained look crossing his face.

I gave him a playful pat on the arm. I wanted our past to be something positive we could look back on and didn’t fancy dwelling on the shit times.

“Shush. I’m just saying, even though it hurt a lot to not know where you were for almost a year, I always understood your decision. You had to go.”

Harry’s eyebrows knitted together, clearly still trying to work out the point of the conversation. “Where are you going with this?”

“I just-I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I rubbed my temple to ease my stressed-out mind. “I’m actually worried that we will never fight.”

“Oh, we’ll fight.”

I turned towards Harry, who was too busy fiddling with the piano keys to even look at me. He responded straight away, like he didn’t even have to think about it. “How can you be so certain?”

Harry snorted. “I’ve witnessed you get all hot-headed when you disagree with other people.” He sent me a dazzling grin, reaching out to trail his fingers through my stray ginger strands that hung loose from my ponytail. “You’ve got that fiery red hair. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Hey!”

“In fact,” Harry smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I think you’re the most problematic person I know, Ginevra.”

Harry yelped when I pinched his forearm. “You prat.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to pull me closer. “In all seriousness, though, we’re going to be fine.”

I stared at him in awe but leaned into him. “You are so sure of yourself.”

He grabbed my shoulders, pivoting our bodies so that we were facing each other on the bench. “You wanna know how sure I am?”

Before I could respond or even react, he kissed me full on the mouth. He growled as our kiss intensified, and all at once, our positions shifted as I felt a sharp pain in my back from my body making contact with the piano keys with a resounding trill. I was left dizzy and breathless, snogging Harry as a wave of happiness resonated through me.

When he pulled away, his fierce emerald eyes locked on mine set my mind ablaze. “Does that answer your question?”

I decided his question didn’t require a verbal response, so I simply attached my hand to the nape of his neck before dragging his face back to mine. We didn’t talk much for a while after that.

I knew, perhaps more than anyone else, how much Harry desired moving forward from the past. I’m ready, too, to start the greatest chapter of our lives.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #hinny #harry x ginny

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marjansmarwani · 4 years ago

Text

maybe, I’m afraid

3.8k || ao3

Episode 2x06, but with Carlos (as it should have been)

Just me here again to give Carlos the screen time he should have had.

A little late to the party maybe (I have no idea how you all manage to get fics up within 24 hours of the episode, I am in awe of that ability) but I still felt the need to make my contribution.

--------

Most days Carlos was pretty sure that after 7 years on the force he had seen everything there was to see.

Other days he got a call to respond to two teenagers trapped in a homemade minefield and he was forced to reevaluate that sentiment.

It doesn’t take long to figure out all there is to know, including just how bad it really is, and by the time the familiar ladder truck pulled up (because of course it was the 126) he was waiting outside the passenger door to give Owen the rundown.

“Officer Reyes,” he greeted when he saw him, “I’m surprised to see you. I thought this would be a little out of your jurisdiction.”

Carlos shook his head, “Just barely within it, another half-mile and the sheriffs would be handling the call.”

“But you managed to snag it, lucky you.”

“Can’t say I would have been too upset if I had missed out on this one,” Carlos agreed drily.

Owen hummed in agreement as he surveyed the scene, “What are we looking at, exactly?”

It was a bleak picture: two brothers, trapped. One injured, both scared and stuck in an active minefield without a map. And the bomb squad was at least 40 minutes out. He saw his concern reflected on Owen’s face as he considered the situation and all the implications. If they waited, the boy would die. If they went in, he would be possibly sending some of his people to die too.

And yet Carlos knew what choice he was going to make before he even opened his mouth. He had learned so many things during his time with TK, and one of them was that in so many ways he and his dad were a lot alike. If it were his call, TK wouldn’t have been able to leave those boys in there either. So when the instruction came, he wasn’t surprised.

“We’re going to need the heaviest duffel we can find and spray paint - the brighter the better.”

Carlos locked eyes with TK briefly as he and the rest of his team turned to start gathering supplies, giving him a smile and hoping that it conveyed everything he wanted him to know: it would be alright, no matter what.

He almost believed it too.

All was calm at the start, the 126 functioning like the well-oiled machine they were. In no time they were prepped and Owen was striding back towards the ambulance, asking the new guy if he was ready to go. The discussion quickly transformed into an argument and Carlos couldn’t help but glance back over at the minefield and the brothers. Every moment they argued was one less moment these boys had. Carlos was considering stepping in when a new voice entered the discussion, effectively bringing the escalating argument to a halt.

“I’ll go.”

And Carlos froze because he knew that voice. He would know it anywhere, it drew him like a moth to a flame in any room. He turned slowly to find TK standing slightly apart from his crew, stance relaxed but jaw set in determination.

“I was a dual function FD medic in New York,” he explained, voice calm and firm, “all my certifications are up to date. I can do this.”

Carlos didn’t need to be looking at him, didn’t need to see where his gaze shifted to know that those last words were directed at his dad. The knowledge made Carlos’s heart ache. The fact that his boyfriend still felt the need to prove himself to his dad after all this time and all he had accomplished killed him, but the thought of TK willingly walking into the minefield killed him even more.

But it wasn’t his choice to make and when Owen nodded, he felt a cold dread spread throughout his body. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. Today was not supposed to be the day he watched his boyfriend walk into an active minefield. That day was never supposed to come, and yet here it was.

He walked over to where TK was switching out his gear, struggling with a strap that was twisting over his shoulder. He reached out for the strap without a word, smoothing it out and snapping it in place. They didn’t speak as Carlos stepped back, surveying the harness and gear for any other twists or issues.

“It’s going to be fine, Carlos.”

TK’s voice, soft and reassuring, broke the silence and Carlos met his eyes sharply. He wanted so desperately to believe him, but there was a field filled with explosives that had already claimed one life today behind them and he was finding it hard to be optimistic.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked instead.

TK pulled his helmet on, his steady gaze never leaving Carlos, “Of course I’m sure, the kid’s going to die if we don’t go out there, Carlos. I need to help if I can.”

Carlos reached down to grab his medical bag and held it out to him. He didn’t like the thought of the man he loved purposefully putting himself in harm’s way, but he also knew TK. As much as he might hate it sometimes, this was TK: always ready to help, always willing to put himself at risk if it meant saving someone else, and there was nothing Carlos could do to change that. And he wouldn’t want to - it was a part of TK that made him who he was: someone that Carlos loved with all his heart.

When TK reached out to take the bag from him, he didn’t release it immediately. He let his grip linger for an extra moment as he studied TK, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Just, be careful,” he told him softly. TK gave him a small smile, and Carlos released his grip on the bag, allowing TK to walk away, towards the minefield. He was still watching as he ascended the ladder that would drop him out onto the minefield when he felt the presence of others appearing at his side.

“He’ll be okay kid,” Judd said quietly, eyes never leaving the sight of the two Strands climbing to the end of the ladder.

“You don’t know that Judd,” Carlos responded just as quietly, already feeling his fingernails digging into his palm as he clenched his hands at his side.

“No,” the older man agreed softly, “I don’t. But I do know they’ll be as careful as they can.”

Carlos nodded, eyes tracking every movement desperately. They had reached the edge of the ladder now and he watched as Owen tossed down the duffel, as they both reeled back in preparation for an explosion. He could feel his heart skip a beat and his breath catch in his throat as they waited, but there was only silence and after a moment, he allowed himself to breathe again.

“I don’t know if my heart can take this,” Paul lamented from his left, “that was nerve-wracking and they still have a long way to go.”

Carlos nodded wearily, but caught his retort before it slipped out of his mouth: if they made it that far. He didn’t need to release that idea into the universe and the others didn’t need to hear it. So he swallowed it and continued watching. Each and every movement they made was agonizing to watch, but each and every thud of them landing unharmed gave him a moment to catch his breath, a brief reprieve for his heart to beat normally. They had settled into a rhythm, and everything was going smoothly.

Until it wasn’t.

The sound of the mine exploding filled the air around them and worked its way into Carlos’s soul. It sent shockwaves through his body as he watched, desperately trying to see through the haze of smoke and debris. He couldn’t see him, he didn’t know if he was okay.

That fact was more than enough to bring on the fear. It attacked him with a vengeance, freezing him to the spot. He felt as if the whole world froze in that moment; suspending him in the terror of not knowing, trapping him with doubt and fear.

And then he heard TK’s voice, and he could breathe again. It might just be the most wonderful thing he had ever heard.

When Owen’s voice sounded across the radios, confirming that they were both in one piece, time picked back up at its usual pace. He felt himself sag in relief, grateful for the knowing and supportive hand on his shoulder from Judd. He spared a glance at the others, seeing his relief reflected on their faces and in their stances.

Marjan let out a long breath, “That was…”

“Intense,” Paul agreed grimly, “let’s never do that again.”

They all nodded, and Carlos couldn’t agree more.

If there was an upside to that moment it was that the path forward was now clear and the two Strands made quick work of the rest of the journey, closing the distance between them and the boys in seconds. Carlos watched in awe as TK slipped into medic mode the moment he reached the boys’ sides, calmly managing the scene and taking care of the patient. It was a wonder to watch. He handled it all with focus and compassion, quietly reassuring the boys even as he gave instructions to his dad and administered care. He was cool and steady even as he delivered the lifesaving compressions, forcing the teen’s blood to pump through his veins with his own hands. It was only minutes before his voice sounded over the radio, announcing that the injured boy was stable and no amount of fear or worry could have stopped the intense pride Carlos felt in that moment.

“Kid’s got some skills,” Judd observed with a fond smile and Carlos could only grin.

Paul nodded, “Looks like someone’s been holding out on us, that was pretty impressive I must admit.”

“Badass is more like it!” Mateo exclaimed and Marjan, standing next to him, laughed even as she placed a hand on his arm.

“Steady Probie,” she reminded him, “they still have to get out of there. Let’s not jinx anything.”

Her words tempered the celebratory mood of the group, but even though Carlos had never let go of that fear (he knew he wouldn’t until TK was out of the minefield and at least 2 miles away) it felt different from before. It was wrapped in that pride now, and even as Carlos watched them prep to move and the bomb squad moved out to locate and detonate any mines along the path, he couldn’t shake that. It was almost stronger than the fear now, this pride he felt for TK. That was his boyfriend; the person who had just saved two young brothers in the middle of a minefield was the man he loved. Just when he thought that he had come to know every bit of his body and soul, he managed to surprise him all over again.

It took every ounce of restraint and professionalism Carlos had to not rush over to TK the moment he cleared the edge of the minefield. He forced himself to wait, focusing on his own job while keeping a watchful eye on TK as he reported back to Captain Vega, as he got an exam from the new paramedic. It wasn’t until he headed back to the ladder truck that Carlos broke away from the crowd, meeting him at the side of the engine. TK looked up as he approached, a smile on his face and a greeting on his lips, but Carlos pulled him into his arms before he even had a chance to speak.

He held him tightly, savoring the feeling of his breath on his collar and the faint sound of the beating of his heart. His familiar scent filled Carlos’s head with each breath and he closed his eyes. He would have been happy to stand there forever, feeling this and just being them and while he knew they couldn’t, he was determined to have at least a few moments more before the world interrupted. If nothing else, the universe at least owed him this.

“I’m okay Carlos,” TK said evenly, his voice muffled against Carlos’s shoulder.

But you almost weren’t. The words rang through his head, but he didn’t speak them. Instead he pulled away just enough to see TK’s face as he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” TK assured him firmly, placing a steady hand on his chest, “the new medic looked me over but I could have told you anyway, I’m fine. Not injured, my dad and I both made it out and so did the boys. This was a win Carlos, I’m more than okay.”

And he was, Carlos saw as he studied him. He was beaming; enthusiasm pouring out of him. His eyes were alight with something Carlos couldn’t name and he was practically vibrating. Despite everything, Carlos couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was still worried, still terrified by all the ‘what ifs,” but seeing TK like this gave him a lightness he couldn’t have imagined feeling even a few minutes before.

He shook his head, trying to mask his smile with little success, “I am glad you’re so pleased with yourself, considering you almost gave the rest of us a heart attack.”

He had been going for a joke but he instantly regretted it when TK dimmed, “I’m sorry,” he told him sincerely, “I didn’t mean to scare you guys, especially you. I just knew I could help…”

Carlos interrupted him, moving his hands so they were on each of TK’s shoulders, “You have nothing to apologize for Ty,” he assured him firmly, “you did the right thing. You saved a kid’s life and you did amazing. I am so proud of you.”

TK’s smile returned, softer than before but still glowing with pride, “You are, are you?”

Carlos leaned down to place a soft and tender kiss on his forehead, “I am. So incredibly proud. You’re a pretty impressive guy, you know that?”

TK’s smile could have lit up the world and Carlos would have been happy to let it. But they were both still on the job and decidedly not alone, as they were suddenly reminded when Paul peaked around the side of the engine. He smirked at them before calling over his shoulder, “Yeah, they’re decent back here, you guys can come around.”

Carlos rolled his eyes at his friend while TK casually flipped him off. Paul crossed towards them, completely unfazed before reaching out and pulling TK into a hug of his own. “You can’t keep scaring me like that man,” he told TK when they pulled apart, “I’m getting too old for that crap.”

TK rolled his eyes at his teammate and Carlos chuckled. He looked behind him to see the rest of the team materializing.

“That’s my cue,” he told TK, “I need to get back to work and get this scene wrapped up anyways. I’ll see you at home later?”

TK nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand, “I’ll be there right after my shift.”

“Think you can make it until then without nearly dying on me again?”

“I’ll do my best,” TK assured him and Carlos smiled.

“That’s all I ask,” he responded, “I love you.”

“Love you too, Carlos.”

Carlos smiled at that, the warmth he felt every time he heard those words from TK rushing through him. With one last squeeze of the hand holding his own, he stepped away, letting TK’s team get in their time. As he reached the corner of the engine he looked back, still feeling the whirlwind of emotions deep in his chest.

But TK was safe and happy - he couldn’t ask for anything more. So he turned the corner and returned to the task at hand.

----------

“You know, that call today? It felt good, really good.”

Carlos looked up from his dinner sharply to see TK idly playing with his, his focus clearly elsewhere. “Please don’t tell me this means you have decided to become a real-life minesweeper, I am going to have some objections to that,” Carlos deadpanned.

TK laughed lightly, shaking his head, “No, not quite.”

“Thank god, I don’t think my heart could handle that.”

TK shook his head fondly at Carlos before his expression grew more pensive, “I didn’t mean the minefield, or even the danger or adrenaline. I meant the saving the boy part. I know I do that all the time as a firefighter, but there’s something different about doing it as a medic. I haven’t had the chance to really do any medical calls since moving to Austin, with the way the department is structured.”

“You’ve never really talked about it before,” Carlos noted, “I’ve seen you do medical stuff in the field, but before today I didn’t even know you were dual certified.”

TK shrugged, “It just never really came up, I guess. It’s pretty typical in New York, but their firehouses are structured differently. I guess once I made my peace with being down here I never really thought about it again. It’s not like I could do both the same way I used to.”

His tone was almost wistful as he turned his gaze down to his plate, but Carlos had a feeling he wasn’t really seeing the food on it. “Sounds like you miss it,” he ventured after a few more moments of silence.

“Sometimes I do.”

“So why not go for it?”

TK looked at him sharply, but Carlos just shrugged, “What? You’ve spent most of the past hour talking about it and you mentioned how the new guy quit and there’s an opening on the paramedic team within your first 10 minutes of showing up tonight. I know you and I know you’re already thinking about it, so why not try it?”

“Even if I applied, there are so many other candidates. There’s no saying she’d pick me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. She knows you and how dedicated you are to your job. She saw you in action today, willing to take the risk that someone else wasn’t in order to save a patient. You did the job well and you did it under insane pressure after months of not doing it. If I were her, I’d be wondering what you’d be capable of on an average day.”

TK looked startled at the efficient takedown of his doubts, but Carlos just raised an eyebrow, “Next?”

He would dismantle his boyfriend’s doubts with logic one by one if need be. Whatever it took for him to start believing in himself the way Carlos did.

“I’d have to leave the team,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t be working with them anymore. We’re like a family, I can’t just leave them.”

Carlos reached across the table to take TK’s hand in his own, “It’s not like you’d be leaving the station,” he reminded him, “you’d still be in the same building and on the same schedule. And they’re not going to feel like you abandoned them, Ty, they’ll still be right there. And right here,” he added with a laugh, gesturing towards his living room, “we’ve fed them, I don’t think we are ever going to get rid of them now.”

That pulled a smile out of TK, but there was still so much doubt in his eyes that it hurt Carlos to see it.

“What do you think they would say, if you told them it was something you wanted?” he asked instead, “Do you think they would tell you to forget about it? To stay with them because it was more comfortable?”

“No,” TK said quickly, “of course they wouldn’t.”

“So why are you worried about them? They want what’s best for you and they always will. Unless,” he hedged when TK’s expression didn’t clear, “they’re not the ones you’re worried about.” TK pulled his gaze up from the table and Carlos saw all the confirmation in them that he needed, “Your dad?”

TK nodded, and Carlos sighed. “TK…”

“It would be a big change Carlos,” he said softly. “Except for my probationary period, I have always worked with my dad. I don’t want him to take it personally.”

“But it is a little personal, isn’t it?”

He was careful to keep his tone even, non-judgemental and he watched TK closely, waiting for his response.

“Maybe a little, yeah,” TK admitted. “I feel like this would be a way for me to really see who I am without him right there. It’s not like this is a reaction to him or any news he may have shared recently,” he added hastily, “I would hope I’m past the ‘blowing my life up to piss off my dad’ point, but it is something to consider. And…”

He trailed off, but Carlos had a feeling he knew what was going to come next, “And you’re worried he might take it personally?” he suggested.

TK nodded and Carlos sighed and set down his fork, reaching across the table again to pull both of TK’s hands into his own, “Look,” he began, “what’s important is why you’re thinking about this. So, what is it? Why are you thinking about becoming a paramedic?”

“Because I think I’d love it,” TK said without any hesitation, “because I feel like it’s the best way I can help people.”

Carlos smiled at him, squeezing the hands in his grasp softly, “Then I think you have your answer. You should do this because it is what you want and because it is right for you. That’s all that matters. Everything else - and everyone else - will fall into place.”

“And if they don’t?” TK asked softly, and Carlos felt a pang in his heart at the sound of so much doubt in the other man’s voice.

“They will,” Carlos assured him. “Nothing ever stays the same, remember? And your dad knows that. We all know that. And,” he added, leaning forward in his seat to close some of the distance between them, “I will be here for you, every step of the way. No matter what.”

The smile TK gave him warmed every inch of his body. They sat in companionable silence for a while, intertwined hands connecting them across the table until TK spoke again.

“If you really mean that,” he began with a grin, “I could probably use some help with my resume.”

“Anything for you,” Carlos quipped back, but even as he said the words he squeezed their clasped hands. He meant that, in every way possible. He would be here for resumes and job interviews and everything in between, as long as TK wanted him to be.

Judging by the way TK met his eyes, and the soft ‘thank you’ that fell from his lips, he had a feeling he felt the same way too.

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loserchildhotpants · 4 years ago

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Another destiel prompt from Twitter; say they’re dancing together, still trying to hide their feelings for each other, and because of that, avoiding eye-contract, the best the can, to ensure that the other character doesn’t notice how attracted they are to them (from this prompt list)

“Did you just turn her down?” Dean asks incredulously; Sam is busy sipping champagne next to him, but his eyebrows convey that he would also like clarification on whatever social interaction it is that Cas just had.

They’re all dressed to the nines, stuck at a posh wedding service until they solve this rogue Cupid case; it’s a low-risk case, but a case is a case, and they’ve got it well in hand.

Dean’s not been this dressed up since Bela stuffed him in a monkey suit, and he’d wager the same applies to Sam, but this is certainly the first either of them have ever seen Cas in anything other than his cubicle-life uniform.

Cas’ suit is sharp, pressed, striking, and he’s wearing a cerulean blue tie that has everyone meeting eyes with him coming up short. Predictably, he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, so he mostly apologizes awkwardly for those he seems to startle and thanks the handsy old ladies that liken him to long dead husbands.

With two flutes of bubbly meant for Dean and himself, Cas crossed the great hall, seemed to be stopped by a gorgeous young woman with dark hair, in a low-cut dress and a very promising smirk, but whatever exchange happened left her dejected.

“She asked me to dance,” Castiel tells Dean, passing him his flute, “I regretfully informed her that I don’t know how.”

“You can’t manage a simple little box-step for that hot piece? She was practically drooling, lookin’ at you!”

“We’re on a case,” he says, as though it’s a valid excuse.

“Nuh-unh,” Dean answers, shaking his head and putting his drink down on a nearby table, “That’s - that was a travesty, what I just witnessed. Babes are fuckin’ wasted on you, Cas.”

“She’s a fully grown woman, Dean,” Castiel corrects him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he brings his glass to his lips, “Besides, I’d only be wasting her time. I cannot dance, and I’d not be amenable to having relations with her, so it’s better I -”

“Not amenable?” Dean chokes out disbelievingly, “Who the fuck are you holdin’ out for?! Angelina Jolie?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“It’s a shame you don’t know how to dance, though,” Sam interjects, seeing by the vein throbbing in his forehead that Dean is about to start shouting about beautiful women and Cas’ ineptitudes, “I could teach you, if you want.”

Castiel slants his mouth at Sam, and Sam smiles gently back at him, “I know it doesn’t sound like fun, but, honestly? It’s a good skill to have, and worst case scenario is that you brighten someone’s evening.”

Appealing to his kind nature is the right call; Cas can’t argue that point, so he puts his champagne down and walks up to Sam.

“Very well. Where do we begin?”

“Oh - we’ll probably wanna go somewhere more private, so we can move a little more freely.”

At Sam’s behest, Dean and Cas follow him across the great hall, out onto a spacious balcony, out of the way of most everyone. Double glass doors lead out to it, and flowers line stone railing; no moon is visible from where they are in the mansion, but the sky is bright with stars, and that’s light enough.

While Sam does a fine job of teaching Castiel, and Castiel is a very quick study, they struggle with their height difference while Dean tells them about their height difference, unhelpfully and repeatedly.

Eventually, Sam turns to Dean, and says, “you should step in, man.”

“What? I’m not short,” Dean pouts grumpily.

“No, but you’re at least shorter than me - it’ll make leading a little easier for him.”

Rolling his eyes as though he’s actually put out, Dean peels himself from the French window he’d been leaning on, and takes Sam’s place.

Even and paced, Castiel and Dean take a few turns around the balcony, and Sam is impressed, informing Castiel that it took him a full week of practice to stop tripping over his own feet.

“To be fair, you were still growing into them at the time” Dean jokes.

In a rare moment of familial levity between them, Sam laughs, and Dean smiles at him - all of that makes Cas smile too, and then Sam’s phone rings.

“Oh - it’s Natalie,” Sam lets them know, “She wants eyes on the dance floor for a minute - I’ll take care of it - Cas, you’re doing great, don’t stop practicing!”

To both Dean and Cas’ surprise and humor, Sam appears genuinely bereft to leave the lesson. They both seem inclined to respect Sam’s wishes, though, so they take another turn.

“You gotta stop glancing down,” Dean commands.

Flashing his eyes back up at Dean, Cas mutters, “it’s reflexive. I apologize.”

“Nah, it’s fine, man. You’ve got it,” Dean assures him, “Now that you know how to, you gonna ask that girl to dance?”

“Perhaps,” Cas tries to shrug, determinedly keeping his eyes up, “I feel certain she has moved on in her pursuits, but if I pass her again, I will offer a dance.”

“You know how?”

“Now, yes.”

“No, I mean do you know how to ask a girl to dance?”

“Is there a particular ritual involved?”

Exhaling a laugh, Dean brings them to a stop, and explains, “okay - I’m gonna show you how it’s done, alright? Then I’ll lead.”

“Understood,” Cas tells him with serious conviction, studious and militant.

Dean steps back and away, and they wait for the band’s dreamy rendition of The Way You Look Tonight to end before proceeding.

As The Book of Love begins, the live orchestra swells from inside the hall, Dean bows just a little at the waist, with his right arm crossing his chest, but his head up, and he inquires politely, “Castiel, may I have this dance?”

Tilting his head curiously, Castiel needlessly replies, “yes, Dean, of course.”

Smiling his most winning smile, Dean straightens up, offers his hand, and nods approvingly when Castiel all but glides into step with him.

He keeps the tempo slow, but incorporates making circles, turning them ‘round and ‘round the stone and marble balcony, up and down it’s length; Cas follows him easily, trusting Dean’s direction, and always operating on a similar wavelength - Dean thinks that maybe they dance together well because they fight together well.

“This is nice, Dean,” Castiel remarks softly.

A dusting of rosiness rises up in Dean’s face; he pulls Cas a little closer to better obscure his face from scrutiny, clears his throat and makes some noncommittal noise that could be agreement or indifference.

“You’re the one who taught Sam to waltz,” Castiel surmises conversationally.

“Yeah,” Dean answers.

“How is it that you came to learn it?”

“Eh, you’d be surprised what you learn on the job,” Dean replies easily, pulling away enough to spin Cas, and then move close in again.

“... you just spun me.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Dean jokes, smirking proudly down at Cas; “Don’t worry, when you get to be a seasoned pro like me, you can snazzy up your waltz too. Maybe next you can learn to salsa or tango.”

In a moment of silence between them, Dean follows Cas’ eyes to their clasped hands; Dean’s not sure what Cas is seeing, but whatever it is, it’s making Dean nervous.

“See now what that lovely lady wanted? Feel bad yet?” Dean prompts.

Castiel’s electric eyes refocus on him, startling him with their intensity just as they had the wedding guests that were strangers to Cas, “I do understand now. However, perhaps it’s the soldier in me, but I find I much prefer following than leading.”

“Ah, that’s just ‘cause I’m a great lead,” Dean teases playfully.

“Yes, you are,” Castiel reinforces, eyes flickering between Dean’s, “You do know I would follow your lead anywhere, don’t you?”

“Christ, Cas,” Dean swears, trying to politely move his too-warm face out of view.

“Really, Dean,” Castiel adds, squeezing Dean’s hand where they’re clasped; when that doesn’t work immediately, he takes advantage of a circling turn to near their faces - their noses almost bump, and Dean has no choice but to look into Castiel’s eyes, “I want you to know. You do know, don’t you?”

Swallowing roughly, feeling possibly feverish, Dean down, then away, “... you gotta stop saying shit like that, Cas.”

“Why?” he wonders, “It’s only the truth.”

Clearing his throat again - a nervous tic he didn’t realize he had until right then - he mumbles back, “yeah, well… I talk big, but I’m flyin’ blind, so maybe don’t follow me everywhere.”

“I’m a soldier, Dean. A Commander, actually. When I delivered you to the convent where Sam and Ruby were against the wishes of Heaven, I chose you. I pledged my allegiance to an Earthly King over an absent God, and I knew what I was doing when I did,” their steps slow down as Dean takes that in, “All I knew was that… I had faith in you.”

At that, Dean stops moving altogether, his hand slides down from Cas’ shoulder blade to the cinch of his waist, and he allows their joined hands to wilt a bit lower, but he doesn’t let go.

It seems then that Cas is the one having trouble keeping Dean’s gaze.

He looks to some faraway place over Dean’s shoulder, and rasps, “I still do. So, yes, Dean. I will follow you everywhere you lead, for however long you allow me to. I don’t mind flying blind if I’m flying with you.”

“Cas…”

With difficulty, Castiel looks back into Dean’s eyes, and Dean feels his heart thud in his ears. He wonders to himself if Cas can hear it, or feel it, but all Cas does is stare intently back at him, maybe waiting for Dean to confirm or deny something.

“Guys!”

Dean practically jumps away from Cas, frightened as if he’s been caught doing something untoward, but Cas is unbothered.

“I think I found our guy,” Sam announces, none the wiser, “And I think he brought a friend.”

“Yeah,” Dean affirms gruffly, “Got it.”

Sam turns back around first, through the glass doors, back into the busy hall, and Dean starts after him, a hand already twitching toward his holster, sparing Cas a look from over his shoulder.

The Angel is standing there alone, unmistakably ethereal with a backdrop of twinkling stars and lazy fireflies illuminating him; he’s examining his hand as though Dean may have left a mark or a message on him somehow.

“You comin’, Swayze?”

Cas’ eyes snap to attention again, and his forehead wrinkles, “... I don’t understand that reference,” but he follows after Dean anyway.

He doesn’t seem to notice how Dean clenches and unclenches his corresponding hand, but Dean wouldn’t be able to explain it if he did.

#destiel #deancas #my stuff #fluff #pining #mutual pining #idiots in love #dancing #pre-slash

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nanasparadise · 4 years ago

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“Dream Invader” Yan! Abbacchio x gender-neutral reader (Soulmate AU)

Hello everyone! I hope you are doing fine. I don’t know if you have read my previous post, that talks about a dream I had, but I decided to turn some elements of it into this piece of writing. This fanfiction is set in the soulmate universe. I really hope you enjoy it, because I decided to write this instead of studying for my French essay I have tomorrow (please wish me luck, God knows I need it) :D. And for the requests: I haven’t forgotten you, please remain patient. T-T I’ll write my last test on Thursday, after that I have holidays, so I’ll definitely catch up on them!! Thank you for sticking around. <3

Summary: Your soulmate keeps visiting you in your dreams, but you don’t feel comfortable around them…

TW: noncon touching, toxic relationship, angst, reader gets hurt physically, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Word count: 2626

It had happened yet again. You had dreamt again of this man, one of many countless dreams. Breathing heavily, you abruptly opened your eyes and wiped away the sweat that was accumulating on your forehead with the back of your hand. “Does that really mean…?”, you mumbled softly. Most people would be happy to find out they had a soulmate and finally had met them. But most people’s match certainly wasn’t someone, who conveyed a deep obsession and possessiveness towards their beloved. Still mentally in your dream, your body started to tremble slightly. What were you going to do now? At first, you had brushed off the dreams, convincing yourself that they didn’t mean anything. But you knew the gist of it. You knew that when a certain person kept infiltrating your dreams, that they were your soulmate.

Sighing deeply, you turned around in your bed, your left cheek resting on the soft pillow. The clock on your bedside table revealed that it was 4:30 a.m. You certainly couldn’t fall asleep again, but it was still too early to wake up for work. So you remained there in the quiet, your shallow breaths being the only sound in the dark room. Despite your efforts, your racing thoughts kept returning to your dream. “Who is this man?”, you whispered as you looked down on your fingers, which seemed to still hurt.

Every time he had shown up, he had never revealed his name to you, wanting to keep it to himself. “I‘ll tell it to you once we see us in real life, amore”, he had told you, a certain spark igniting his admittedly gorgeous yellow and purple eyes. Truth be told, your soulmate was nothing short of beautiful. Long white hair with a purple hue graced his stoic face. His athletic body was adorned with a dark bodysuit, accentuating his muscles. All in all, he reminded you of a vengeful Greek god, breathtaking but dangerous. Dangerous… You began to feel threatened by the presence of your mysterious dream visiter. Since he had never offered you his name, you hadn’t given him yours either, sensing there might be something off about him.

Still, he had found it out. This night in your dream, you two had been on the flower field you had met for the first time. You had felt dizzy, as if your head had been caught in the clouds. This light atmosphere had convinced you that this had been truly a dream, since a sense of haziness always accompanied your nocturnal adventures. The summer sun had been setting, turning the sky into a colourful spectacle of orange and pink. This would have been a picturesque and maybe even romantic moment if it hadn’t been for the feeling of dread building in your stomach. A small smile had formed on his purple lips when he had perceived your form. Quietly, nearly inaudibly, the stranger had murmured your name into the warm summer breeze: “Y/N.” Immediately, goosebumps had formed on your arms.

“How do you know my name?”, you had replied, visibly shaken. Had he somehow managed to get some information on you?

“It’s such a fitting name”, he had mused contemplatively, ignoring your question. “Y/N…” His unique eyes had been fixed on you the whole time, analysing every detail of your face. Fear had started to take over your body. The slight shivers had transformed into noticeable trembling. Your breath had shortened as you had desperately searched for a way to get out of that dream.

„Why are you doing this?”, you had shouted out, panic manifesting in your voice. “Why do you keep entering my dreams, just to behave like a creep? How should I trust you when you don’t even tell me anything about yourself, yet you somehow know my personal information?” The man in front of you had sighed at your outburst. Sparks of sympathy had danced in his eyes, making them appear even brighter. Slowly, he had reached for your hands, holding them in his larger ones. You had tried to pull off from his grasp, but your fighting had been futile against his stronger form. So you had been forced to remain there, listening to the dream man’s words.

“I know this is confusing for you,” he had said while rubbing circles on the back of your hands with his thumbs, “but I can’t give you any information yet, my job makes it hard. I need to see you in real life and I promise, I’ll tell you everything then.” Tears had pricked in your eyes, clouding your vision. Why had he assumed you two would meet? The thought of the stranger knowing your address had turned your initial dread into hot anger. No matter if he was your soulmate, you were still your own, independent person! He couldn’t just stalk you, talk to you as if you were a couple and leave you in the dark about his own identity. The dream man still had held your hands, expecting some kind of reaction from you.

“No”, you had simply answered, refusing to meet his intense gaze.

“No what?”, he had replied, impatience swinging in his voice. He had been in your dreams endless times, reassuring you of his love and loyalty for you. Why hadn’t you been reciprocating his feelings? He was your soulmate after all!

“No,” you had repeated while your eyebrows had furrowed, illustrating your resistance,”we’re not going to see each other.” The grip on your hands had suddenly become stronger and hurtful, nearly crushing your fingers. For a second time, you had tried to take away your hands from him but without success. The stranger’s orbs had fixated you, darkness swirling in the iris of the same colour as the flowers on the field. Terror had made itself visible again in your body and mind, amplified by the man’s sombre look on his handsome face. Yes, he looked just like a statue of Ares, so enchanting and yet so enraged. And dangerous…

“So you don’t want to meet your soulmate?”, he had stated calmy, which only had increased your anxiety.

“Please, let go, you’re hurting me”, you had pleaded despairingly. The man had squeezed harshly one last time your hands before he had eventually released them. Protectively, you had cradled them against your chest, trying to soothe the pain by softly rubbing your fingers. “What kind of person would do this to their soulmate?” you had thought in disgust and fear. Hesitantly, you had looked up to him, his face remaining a stoic façade.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Y/N”, the dream man had said coolly. The fact that he had addressed you with your name again had put you in a state of fear once more. Nevertheless, you had gathered all your courage to reply to him.

“No, I don’t. Someone who hurts and stalks me can’t be my soulmate, no matter if they enter my dreams. And even if you are, I still don’t want to be with you. Please, I’m begging you to respect and accept that.”

The Italian – you had guessed that this was probably his nationality since he called you Italian pet names – man’s gaze had immediately softened at your words. He had known he’d got carried away with his rage. Of course, your words had pained him more than any weapons ever could, but he had to be patient with you. He could only imagine how he had come across to you, especially now that he had hurt you. No, he couldn’t pain a loved one again, not you…

“I’m sorry, cuore mio,” he had said remorsefully, regret manifesting itself, “I really shouldn‘t have hurt you. I promise it won’t happen again. I just want to see you, really see you, and hold you in my arms. I know, I might not be the best man to have existed.” His face had abruptly twisted into a pained grimace. This had been the first time he had ever been that sincere to you. Your feelings had begun to transform into a mix of sympathy, fear and confusion. He had really appeared to feel bad about his actions, maybe he had lived through a trauma to react that way? Your pondering had quickly come to a halt. No, you really couldn’t start to show empathy for the man. After all, he had stalked you, hurt you, crossed too many lines. Nonetheless, your dream invader had kept up with his speech. “I don’t know if I deserve your love, but I really want to believe in it. You are my soulmate and I am yours, we can make it work out if we try. Please, give me a chance and I will do everything in my power to show you I am worthy of you. Just don’t reject me already.” He had paused for a moment, a slight tremble in his voice making itself visible. You had stared at him with big eyes, not knowing what to do or how to feel about this situation. “I’ll be truthful with you. I’ll tell you everything you want to hear.” The man had tried to grasp your hands again but had immediately stopped when he had seen, how you had flinched away. His lips had formed into a thin, bitter line while seeing your reaction. Was he a monster? “I see that my words don’t seem to get through you” he said stoically. “I’ll show you what I mean, that might help. We’ll be seeing each other soon enough.” His last sentence had sent you a cold shiver down your spine. You had had the feeling that he hadn’t referred to another dream… An expression of horror had slowly crept on your face.

“What do you mean?”, you had blurted out loudly, “you mean in our dreams, right? You don’t know where I live, do you?” But the stranger had cruelly decided to stay silent, staring at you ominously instead. Suddenly, the light atmosphere around you had changed. Heaviness had taken over you, the scenic landscape had turned black as you had woken up.

You took another look at your clock. 5:15 a.m. Did you really spend so much time recalling that dream? Deciding that you already wasted too many thoughts on that man, you stood up from your bed and took a shower, even if it still was early. “Some distraction will do me good”, you sighed, exhaustion manifesting in your voice. Your dreams involving the stranger were always so vivid that the next morning you woke up completely tired and drained. As you entered the shower and felt the warm water hitting your skin, you finally managed to relax a little, even if that tiny voice of fear kept reminding you of the dream man’s words…

Weeks had passed since your last encounter in the dream world with your so called soulmate. A sense of hope blossomed in your chest. Maybe he had finally come to his senses and realised that it would be best to leave you alone? That was at least what your friends had told you. They had reassured you that it happened often, that your soulmate could be invasive, they had heard that before from other acquaintances. But in those cases, it had always ended well, none of the people had been harmed. You had chosen to blindly accept that explanation. Truth be told, you did need comfort right now. Because, what your friends didn’t know was, that you felt a pair of eyes burning holes into your back every time you left your home. Yet, you never saw the person behind the gaze. Foolishly, you clung onto the sense of security your friends provided you with, even if it was but wishful thinking…

As you returned home one evening after your work, you already perceived intuitively that something was wrong. Why was there a light on? You always did turn them off… Cautiously, you entered your bedroom, as that was where the light source came from, with your phone in your hand with the emergency number already typed in. Your palms grew sweaty and your breath heavy as fear flooded through your veins. Only now, you thought that you should have maybe taken a knife from the kitchen as protection. But alas, it was already too late. When you saw the person sitting on your bed, you were surprised to see a familiar face.

The man from your dreams quickly stood up when he glanced at your form. His eyes first landed on your horrified face, then on your phone. Without a second thought, you quickly tapped on the call button and placed the device next to your ear. The man knew exactly who you were planning on phoning. “Please, take the phone away Y/N, I’m not going to harm you”, he said lowly. Even though he promised to not hurt you, his dark expression on his face made you think otherwise. Of course you weren’t going to hang up now. You heard the Italian sigh at your act of defiance. After the second beep sound, a voice appeared on the line.

“How can I help you?”, the person on the other side of the phone asked politely. Before you could reply, an to you invisible force ripped the device out of your grasp and slammed it onto your wall. The screen of your smartphone turned black and cracked into thousand pieces. With eyes as big as saucers you stared incredulously at it.

“I’m sorry for that”, the man simply uttered. Though you couldn’t hear a hint of actual remorse in his voice. “I’m gonna buy you a new one.”

“What do you want?”, you managed to voice, “I thought you had left me in peace.”

“I’ve told you at our last encounter that we would see each other again, fiore mio”, the man replied with softness. “I can’t believe you’re really here physically”, he kept on musing in a dreamy tone, eyes lighting up. He took a few steps towards you, a hand reaching out to you. You instinctively took a few steps back until your back hit the door.

“Please, don’t come near me”, you begged, feeling completely helpless and exposed.

“It’s fine Y/N, really. I promised I’d you show that I won’t ever hurt you again.” He was now in front of you, your faces so close, you could feel his breath fan over your nose. Tears welled up in your eyes and threatened to stream over your face. What were you going to do now? You were scared to react in a sudden way, scared it would trigger the Italian and his dangerous invisible force. Gently, the man shushed you and placed a hand on your cheek. A calloused thumb brushed away the tears that had finally escaped. “I know that I have done bad things in the past,” he whispered quietly to you, “but I, Leone Abbacchio, swear I will fix it. I will be a better person for you, Y/N.” Your eyes widened at the revelation of his name. Abbacchio basked in your innocent reaction. He took a mental note to replay it with Moody Blues later. While one hand kept caressing your cheek, the other one grabbed into his pocket to take out a yellow flower, matching perfectly with the man’s eyes. Your gaze fell upon the plant, recognising it from the flower field of your dreams. Abbacchio softly tucked it behind your left ear while admiring your face. You hiccupped anxiously at his obsessive staring. “We will have a beautiful future ahead of us, I’ll make sure of it” the Italian murmured in your ear.

“After all, we are soulmates.”

#JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo #Jojo Part 5 #jojo golden wind #jojo vento aureo #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere jjba #yandere abbacchio #yandere abbacchio x reader #minors dni #goth tiddy man #tw: yandere #tw: noncon touching #tw: injury #tw: implied kidnapping #tw: angst #tw: stalking

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hops-hunny · 4 years ago

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Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 2

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: None, just more fuel to the fire. Fluff!!

A/N: Honestly this was fun to write, stay on the look out for chapter 2.5 -winks-

“Neville?!”

(Y/n) walked around the boy, taking in his appearance. She almost couldn't believe it was him. The lanky, tall, awkward boy she spent her days pining over had truly blossomed and from the looks of it, turned into a flower truly worth attention. Part of her almost didn't believe it was him but the cadence of his voice combined with the soft look in his eyes was more than enough confirmation. She'd recognize them anywhere.

The boy nodded, a small smile gracing his face as he held his arms open, inviting him into the warmth of his embrace. She accepted it gladly, sighing as she relaxed into them, squeaking a bit as she felt her feet leave the ground. Relaxing a bit, the girl closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around him tighter. 'Just like I remember..'

"Pardon?" He asked, causing her to tense as he sat her down. Had she said that out loud? If she had she certainly hadn't intended on doing so.

"N-nothing!" She started as she made her way back behind the counter, using her distance to admire his appearance. Twyla nudged her, still eyeing up the dangerous looking men.

"Geez (Y/n), and here I was thinking you were a complete prude. Who would've thought that you knew such hot guys!" She said, biting her lip as she eyed up the red head. The shorter girl crushed her foot, glaring up at her employee. She yelped but quieted up, staring down at her boss

"To be fair, I haven't seen any of them in 3 years. And plus, none of them looked like this during our years at Hogwarts." Her eyes drifted to the rings on Neville's thick tattooed hands. "I apologize for it taking me so long to recognize you, Nev. I hope I didn't make things too awkward."

"You're quite alright, petal. I'm not the same man I was when you went to school with me." He sighed, looking out the window into the distance as he adjusted his tie. "I've changed quite a bit."

(Y/n) could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't just referring to his new (but most certainly not unwelcomed) appearance, but he had been through some things as well. As much as she wanted to ask him about the things he had seen and the things he had done, she knew now wasn't the time. Neville had always been private about how he felt, that was another thing that clearly hadn't faded. She reached across the counter, placing her hand on top of his as she offered him a smile.

"So, how's life been treating ya? From the looks of it, I'd assume good?" She asked, watching as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. He went to speak but Twyla cut him off.

"Yeah, you look like you've got money! How'd you get so rich?" She leaned forward, eyes squint as she eyed them all. "What're you like loan sharks or something?"

"Something of the sorts." The redhead responded, nodding as he spoke. However (Y/n) was in shambles, she gaped at her friend, giving her a pissed look.

"Twyla you can't just go around asking people if they're rich!" She hissed out, going to tell her off but stopped as she felt a hand on top of hers. Neville chuckled some, patting her hand a few times.

"It's fine, 's only natural to be curious. And to answer your question…" he trailed off as if he was looking for an answer. "We work a less...desirable form of work. Lots of things people normally wouldn't wanna do."

"Yeah lots of paperwork. You wouldn't wanna hear about it, trust me." The freckled brunette finally spoke up. He held his hand out for the (h/c) haired girl to shake which she shook. "Seamus Finnigan."

"Oh! Your Nev's best friend, yeah? I remember during one of our herbology classes we had to leave because you blew something up." She began to giggle at the memory, trying to stifle some brasher laughter. "I don't know how you manage to do that with a plant. I'm (Y/n)." Seamus stepped back, clearing his throat as his face tinted a dark rouge.

"Oh trust me, we know. The bos- Neville would never shut up about you. Sometimes he still doesn't, going on about how he wonders what you're up to. Maybe running into you like this will shut him up a bit." The ginger spoke up, offering her a nod of acknowledgement. "Ron Weasley."

"Well it's clear who the lover boy here is swooning for but what about you two? Are you single?" Twyla asked, stepping from around the corner. The three of them began to converse, leaving the two former acquaintances to be amongst themselves.

"I'm sorry about her. She's got no filter on her mouth." She said, laughing to clear the stiffness to clear the air. He joined her, his familiar dopey smile on his face.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it, really." He sighed, looking around the bakery. "You got a job in a bakery like you always wanted! I'm happy for you, truly." She could feel the sincerity in each of his words. During her time at Hogwarts, Neville had been kind enough to be the one to sample her baking all the time while encouraging her to follow her dreams. Having him in her bakery was enough to make her heart burst.

The girl felt her face heat up as she shrugged, smiling at him sheepishly. "Actually, I don't just work here, I uh," she looked back at him as he had his focus on her, engaged as every, "I own it."

His eyes widened as he gasped, a mix of happiness and shock on his face. "Really? That's even better!" Neville's eyes wandered along the different treats and such in the display table, looking at them in awe at the variety of things. Each item was different than the other and yet they all worked together. "I see you're still as creative with your flavors. You are a true artist, (Y/n)."

"I-I wouldn't go that far. I'm just doing what I love and I couldn't be happier." She squeezed the man's hand, trying to ignore the burning in her cheeks and ears. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you. Whenever my parents would send me those awful howlers, you'd be right there to lift me back up."

He felt his eyes gloss over but blinked back his tears, clearing his throat as he unwillingly ripped his gaze from hers. "Wait- are those the chocolates? The ones with the brownie pieces in them?! I've been thinking about these for ages!" He exclaimed. If it weren't for the fact she was still nervous, she would've found humor in the giant, tattoo covered man freaking out about her coco brownie chocolates.

"I remember you used to give them to me every valentine's day. We'd take them up to the astronomy tower and share them together." He sighed dreamily at the memory. "You were such a good friend for that!"

Right. Friends, that's what they were if you could even call them that. They rarely hung out with each other outside of school except for Valentine's day. She had originally gifted him the chocolates as a way to show how she felt about him but for some reason or another, he didn't realize the meaning behind them. She didn't correct him either. The way she saw it was any time she got with Neville was good time to her and that's all that mattered.

"Yeah...did you want me to pack some up for you?" She asked, reaching back for an empty box before leaning down, filling the box with the rest of the chocolates. "Here. My treat."

“Are you sure? I couldn’t possibly just take these from you! You’ve got a business to run here.” He responded, pushing the box back towards her. However, she pushed them right back, shaking her head.

“I’m positive! Think of it as an IOU for all those late night cram sessions during 7th year.” she wasn’t really giving them to him for that reason. Saying that though was just easier than saying ‘Hey take these, I’ve been in love with you for 5 years.’ and to be fair, she wasn’t in the mood for rejection. (Y/n) found herself being disappointed that even after all these years, she was conveying the way she felt for him through sweets. Anytime she went to say how she felt it was quickly just replaced with some excuse along the lines of ‘needing him to sample something’ when in reality, she knew her baking was good. But, there was just something so fulfilling from the way he’s eyes would light up whenever she’d give it to him, leaving the heart felt note in her pocket.

“Thank you.” he smiled, taking them in his hands, acutely aware of the way her fingers were on his. He felt his face flush as he looked up at her, finding her eyes were already on his. “Listen (Y/n), I was wondering if you’d like to-” his words were cut short by the sound of a phone ringing. Shortly after Ron came up, whispering something in his ear which caused his soft expression to turn into stone. He gave him a nod, taking the box and ending the contact. “I’ve gotta get going. Duty calls! I’ll see you again soon, yeah?” he muttered something under his breath smiling at her before turning around and leaving the bakery.

“Soo, what’s going on between you and the tall one?” Twyla questioned, sneaking another cookie from the display counter (which didn’t go unnoticed). (Y/n grabbed it from her hands, putting it back in the glass case as she rolled her eyes.

“First of all, you work at this bakery, not eat here. And second, nothing!” the blue haired girl gave her a look that screamed ‘bullshit’ which she simply chose to ignore. “He’s an old friend of mine and…”

“Andd?” she urged, using her hands to motion for her to continue. (Y/n) huffed, crossing her arms across her chest as she looked to the side.

“And my old crush. But I promise the only feelings we ever had in common were platonic ones!” she leaned over the counter, watching as his figure disappeared into the distance. A wave of regret fell over her wishing she had done something, anything to be able to see him again. She knew the reason he probably didn’t ask for her number was due to the fact that during her time at Hogwarts, she didn’t use a smart phone. It was something she had gotten into as of recent. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have asked for his.

“That looked like a lot more than platonic to me.” the green eyed girl sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her chest as she spun around. “Love is in the air with you two! I can feel it, you know I’ve got a 6th sense for these sorta- woah! Look at the tip he fucking put in the jar!” she exclaimed, reaching her hand into the jar.

(Y/n) gasped, eyes widening as she looked at the three hundred dollar bills in the girls hand. ‘I kinda wish I had just let him pay..’ she thought to herself. She grabbed the bills, holding them up in the light to check the authenticity. She knew Neville would never give her fake money but it was almost hard to believe that he had given it to her without hesitancy. When had he even done that?

“I told you they have money! I mean, did you see the ring he had on? The big skull one with the sapphire eyes?” she asked, watching as her boss shook her head. “There’s only 3 of those in the world! It’s a hefty price for one of them. They must be really good at what they do!”

“Since when do you know about fashion?” (Y/n) asked, causing Twyla to let out a dramatic gasp.

“I’ll have you know I went to one of the most elite fashion schools in the wizarding world thank you very much!” (Y/n) eyed her suspiciously causing her to let out a sigh. “Okay I give up, I just shagged a guy who did. However I did steal his books!”

“Whatever.” she giggled out, walking over to hand a menu to a regular that walked in. She knew he didn’t need it but it was still common courtesy. “I just wonder what he was going to say before he left…”

-----------------------------------

As the sun began to set, (Y/n) flipped the sign to closed, closing the blinds. Although Wednesdays were their slow days, that didn’t mean they still didn’t get customers. There was also an unexpected lunch rush due to a conference being held in the hotel a few blocks over. Walking over to a cushion, she sat down relaxing into the softness of the chair. Her eyes shot open at the sound of the backroom door slamming open.

“You wanted excitement didn’t you?” her worker asked, causing her to nod cautiously. “Well get ready. We’ve got plans this weekend! Hope you’re ready for a much needed shopping trip.”

PREVIOUS||NEXT

TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @beewitchedlou @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically

#Neville Longbottom #neville x reader #neville longbottom x reader #neville x you #neville longbottom x you #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader

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drowningbydegrees · 4 years ago

Text

This was supposed to be a Whumptober ficlet, but that is... not what happened here. Instead, I come bearing mostly fluff. Read on AO3

Jaskier makes it a whole six months past Posada before he comes to the inconvenient conclusion that this feeling stretches beyond mutually beneficial companionship. He’d kick himself for not recognizing it, except… Except that while Jaskier falls in love like breathing, it’s never like this. He’s never felt himself drawn in so thoroughly by someone else’s gravity, hopelessly stuck in their orbit. Worse still, he’s rarely loved anyone who so obviously didn’t love him back.

It’s three years after that, almost on the nose, when it dawns on Jaskier that he’s got that last part all wrong. To say that Geralt isn’t particularly talkative is a laughable understatement, but the lack of words aren’t a lack of affection. There are no terms of endearment and from Jaskier that would be quite telling, but means very little where the witcher is concerned. Geralt speaks in the way he unceremoniously dumps his cloak over Jaskier when the cold begins to creep in, in the way he often camps out in the corner of an inn to listen to songs he’s heard Jaskier sing a thousand times, in a hundred other gruff, offhanded kindnesses the witcher indulges in in the most taciturn of ways and never acknowledges.

They’re singing the same song, Jaskier recognizes eventually, but they’re on entirely different sheets of music, and that really won’t do. It’s not a seduction that the bard settles on, at least not in any traditional sense. There’s no lack of attraction (really, Jaskier is continuously baffled by how anyone could look at Geralt and not want him), but it’s background noise. He thinks of this more like finagling the two of them into some sort of harmony.

It should be a simple translation, he thinks, to convey what he means in a language Geralt might recognize. As often happens, Jaskier has a strategy. As also often happens, none of it goes to plan.

Geralt slogs back to camp like he’s carrying the whole world with him. Even from the other side of the fire with his decidedly human senses, Jaskier can tell that this is worse than usual. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Jaskier has set aside his pen and paper in favor of urging Geralt to sit.

Jaskier has often tried talking, conveying his concern or affection in the shape of words because that’s the language he knows. Geralt doesn’t speak it, or doesn’t want to. No matter how wounded he is, Geralt snaps in the face of anything like kindness. Asking to be let in turns out to be the quickest way for Jaskier to find himself pushed away. So, Jaskier doesn’t ask for Geralt to meet him halfway or to invite him to do the things he’s good at. Instead, he works with what he knows already.

Even in the waning light, the dark lines spider webbing across Geralt’s pale skin stand out. Jaskier has long since learned the cadence of Geralt’s potions because it’s always the same. There’s a sort of frenetic energy that seems determined to keep Geralt from sitting still. And then, rather rudely, all the benefits the potion bestows are yanked away. At least, this is how Jaskier imagines it to be from the way Geralt always seems to crash afterwards.

But the witcher knows this far better than Jaskier even, and he’s strategic about it. He gets wherever he plans to be long before the potion wears off. Tonight, Jaskier can already see flecks of gold in Geralt’s pitch black eyes, and so, while the witcher looks to be thankfully in one piece still, he can only assume something went very, very wrong for there to have been such a delay.

“Are you hurt?” he asks as he reaches to unfasten Geralt’s armor. Not everything the witcher hunts draws blood, after all.

“No.” It’s a single word, rough and weary, but more than Jaskier had really expected. Exhaustion is at least a less treacherous issue to deal with than injury, and Geralt really must be exhausted because he barely even glowers at Jaskier’s efforts to help.

Determined to speak in a way Geralt will understand, for once Jaskier doesn’t speak at all. Instead, Jaskier wordlessly tugs Geralt’s weapons and armor from his person far more efficiently than the witcher’s sluggish attempts would have managed. He does not allow himself to be distracted by the endearing flutter of Geralt’s eyelids as they droop only for him to try to blink them open again. He’d like to think it means something that Geralt would be this vulnerable in front of him, but that something is probably just that Geralt is far too overtaxed to fight it.

“Oh no you don’t,” Jaskier chides when he comes back from fetching their rations to find Geralt’s head drooping forward. Much as he’d like to just let Geralt sleep, he shakes the witcher’s shoulder and presses a couple of strips of jerky into his hand. “If you don’t eat something before you pass out we’ll both be sorry for it later.”

“I don’t-” Geralt starts, and it’s probably meant to be grouchy, but Jaskier can see enough of his eyes now to tell that they’re sort of crossed and unfocused.

“Yes yes. I know. You don’t need my help,” Jaskier finishes for him, shoving a waterskin at Geralt. “But you’ve got it, so let’s skip to the part where you stop complaining and let me.”

Much to Jaskier’s surprise, they do. Geralt makes a noncommittal sort of sound around a bite of jerky, but otherwise makes no attempt to shoo Jaskier away.

He’d had a plan, damn it, but Jaskier can be adaptable. He’d meant to say it with a hot dinner and maybe an equally hot bath or something. Geralt puts value on so few things that it had always been a sort of nebulous idea anyway. Instead, Jaskier says it with field rations and lukewarm drinking water. He says it with the effort it takes to lay out Geralt’s bedroll and then to bully the witcher into it. He says it by sitting nearby and keeping an eye out while Geralt drifts to sleep.

Geralt is lovely like this, in an eerie sort of way. Bit by bit, the black veins are fading and the chalky pale tone of his skin is warming, and he looks soft in the muted firelight. The frown that so often graces his lips is entirely absent, or perhaps just out of view since Geralt’s nose is all but pressed to the side of Jaskier’s thigh. Messy silver locks that have long since escaped their tie frame Geralt’s face and shoulder, like something out of a fairy tale, and surely, Jaskier thinks, no one could fault him for running his fingers through it.

It’s softer than it has any right to be, especially with the lack of care on Geralt’s part. For once it doesn’t look like someone dumped a bucket of dirt (or worse) over Geralt’s head. More importantly, the gentle scrape of Jaskier’s nails against Geralt’s scalp draws a quiet sigh from the witcher, and honestly he’s practically obligated to continue if it helps his friend sleep. It’s totally and entirely selfless, you see.

That’s he’s entirely distracted from the writing he’d meant to return to is just an unimportant detail. Jaskier might have kept on forever, but very abruptly, Geralt reaches up, trapping the bard’s wrist in his grip. It’s too well placed to be something the witcher did while dreaming or some such, and too firm to be anything but intentional anyway. Feeling rather caught, Jaskier stumbles over an attempt at an explanation. “Geralt. I- uh-”

But there’s no complaint forthcoming. Geralt doesn’t even open his eyes. He only turns his head a little, nuzzling into the palm of Jaskier’s hand. Before Jaskier can wrap his head around that, Geralt hums contentedly and presses a sleepy, feather light kiss to the bard’s skin.

It’s a soft, nothing sort of gesture, and Jaskier smiles to himself as Geralt’s grip goes slack with sleep. He frees his wrist from Geralt’s hand to smooth over the witcher’s hair once more instead. Of course he should have known Geralt was trying to make him understand too.

Message received. Jaskier allows himself a moment to watch Geralt sleep and a chaste kiss to the witcher’s temple. Still grinning like a fool, he gathers up his paper and pen and gets back to work.

Witcher Masterpost

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #gerlion #geralt z rivii #Jaskier #my fic #I'm apparently on the write all the soft things kick at the moment #geralt of rivia

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faulty-writes · 4 years ago

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A scenario where Tamaki's been trying to confess to his crush for literal MONTHS but just can't ever get it out. Since his voice doesn't work around reader he decides to write a letter, penning down his innermost passions and it ends up being REALLY long with flowery Helga Pataki-esque descriptions of his feelings. But he ends up EATING the paper to prevent reader from seeing it when yn almost sees it. Later that dayduring training, his quirk manifest forces him to say everything he wrote aloud.

[ Finally your girl posts something after forever. Sorry guys! Life has been a bit crazy, I got obsessed with a couple role play groups, and of course, school. But, I’ll try to be better with my blog. I hope you all enjoy this Tamaki piece, thank you for the request dear anon! I thought this idea was a very unique take on Tamaki’s quirk. ]

There you go again. His eyes locked on your every move as you walked through the hallway, your friends by your side, and you were laughing and smiling. Making his heart accelerate and his cheeks flush as always. It was true, Tamaki Amajiki. One of the members that made up The Big Three, had fallen for you. Unfortunately, despite trying to confess to you countless times.

It did no good. Honestly, he didn’t know what he was thinking. He’d always be nervous when he approached you, cheeks red, and that stutter of his present. Even when he did finally manage to speak, he’d find his tongue felt like it was swollen, then he’d get more embarrassed and panic. Despite the fact, you would always ask him what’s wrong or if he needed help.

The fact is, he was nothing but a coward. He’d turn and run which didn’t help much with his confidence considering he knew that you probably thought he was some kind of a freak. But, he had to tell you how he felt. He couldn’t stand the idea of seeing you with someone else which might sound selfish. He knew it was selfish but, he didn’t care. He wanted you all to himself and for once, maybe he deserved what he wanted.

But, he didn’t know how to tell you. How could he reveal his feelings to you without looking silly or fearing rejection? There was only one person he thought of asking, “Well!” Nejire’s voice was as bright and cheery as ever as they sat outside a cafe. Nejire had insisted because they had good lattes and Tamaki was never one to argue.

She smiled as she reached over to place her hand over his, the warmth and comfort from that gentle touch put him at ease for the moment. But, still, he needed an answer on what to do and eagerly waited to hear what Nejire had to say. “If you ask me, nothing says I love you more than the words of a love letter!” Tamaki’s expression completely dropped, his eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed.

“W-What?” he questioned, he could already feel his stomach twist. That nauseous feeling of butterflies beginning to bother him, his cheeks grew unusually hot and he shook his head. “I c-can’t d-do that!” he stuttered out as his free hand tightened around the styrofoam cup he held. Nejire looked at him with a cross expression.

“They don’t have to know who it’s from silly!” she half scolded, “Besides maybe it’ll help you sort out what you really want to say to them!” she suggested with a bright smile that made Tamaki groan in response. “I c-can’t! T-That’s so e-embarrassing and w-what if t-they find out the l-letter was f-from me!? W-What am I s-supposed to do?! W-What am I supposed t-to say?” he questioned and Nejire shook her head before slowly getting up from her seat.

“Well duh!” she said before reaching over to lightly knock on Tamaki’s head, something that caught his attention but also made him flinch. He leaned back with a present frown on his face, “D-Duh what?” he asked, growing a little scared as she leaned over. He didn’t exactly like that smile on her face. “Then you have nothing left to hide,” she concluded as she reached up to boop his nose which made him wiggle it in response.

He then looked down, nervous eyes shifting back and forth, “I...I d-don’t know,” he said which had Nejire sighing and she placed her hands on her hips. “Just start with the love letter and see where it goes from there, you may not believe it Amajiki, but you’re pretty brave when you’re determined,” she said before patting his shoulder. “Don’t forget that,” she said, smiling yet again before she walked away.

Leaving him sitting there alone, his body hunched over the table as a gentle breeze came to ruffle his hair. Should he try to write you a love letter? Sure it sounded easy, but what if he got nervous and ended up writing the wrong thing? Was there a right or wrong way to write something as personal as a love letter? Your feelings across paper? Well, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try.

So he purchased a notebook and pen and began to get to work, at first he found it rather difficult. His words were sloppy and lacking the meaningful nature he wanted them to. But, on occasion, this would change. Especially when he saw you in the hallway or in class, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of inspiration and would always write the words that screamed from his heart when he was near your presence.

He often rewrote the confessions he had, longing for them to be perfect. He was almost finished with what he believed to be the perfect love letter and though he was still unsure how he’d give it to you. He was currently sitting in the library, body hunched over the table as he neared the end of his letter. All that was left were those three big words, the words he was too shy to speak.

But, the ones that he longed to scream from the top of his lungs, the ones that could only be used to summarize how he felt about you. His pen continued to glide across the lined paper, prepared to write ‘I love you’ before he jumped. You had noticed Tamaki around and while you knew he was a member of The Big Three, you had never actually had a full conversation with him.

Though you had class together and on occasion, you got the chance to fight side by side with him. He was amazing and you admired him for the heroism he showed, it was almost silly to think he was the same shy boy you saw roaming through the halls. You had always wanted to try and become friends with him, given you knew from past experience he tended to stutter and honestly couldn’t hold up a conversation.

Still, you were determined to try. Of course, you hadn’t expected him to jump when you spotted him in the library and decided to walk over. You noticed he was writing something and couldn’t help but try and sneak a peek at it, looked pretty serious. You blinked before lowering your mouth to his adorable elf-like ear. “Hi Amajiki-san!” the cry that left his mouth ended up scaring you and without thinking.

You stumbled back and watched as his head turned, those precious indigo-colored eyes wide and fearful and his cheeks dusted over a faint red. “Y-Y/n!?” he exclaimed before pulling the notebook to his chest, fingers securely grasping it. Hiding the written evidence of his feelings for you, despite you having no knowledge of his feelings for you in the first place or how he was trying to convey them through written words.

You did, however, know he was hiding something and couldn’t help but smirk. “Hm?” you raised your hand, pointing a finger at the notebook. “What are you trying to hide there, Amajiki-san?” you questioned as you took a step closer, reaching out to grab his upper arm. You tugged on his sleeve and Tamaki let out a soft whine. “N-Nothing! I-It’s nothing!” he stuttered out, feeling his stomach twist into knots.

He hoped he wouldn’t get nauseous, you were so close. You were touching him! “Oh? If it’s nothing then why are you hiding it?” you questioned in a teasing manner as you took a firmer grip and yanked his arm away. “Show me, I’m curious! Is it a project? Essay?!” the questions left your mouth in an excited manner. “I-It’s not uh, h-hey!” you had reached over and snatched the notebook away.

“Oh boo, let me at least proofread it for you,” Tamaki’s stomach flipped upside down and his hand was clutching his chest, twisting the fabric of the signature red tie of his school uniform. He couldn't let you read it! He’d die! But there you were, holding his notebook with his dedicated words of love scribbled across it. “Now then,” you turned your attention to the notebook, about to read the first line just as the sound of a chair falling came.

You jumped and turned to look but before you could react you felt a strong hand around your wrist. “Amajiki-san!” you exclaimed, prepared to activate your quirk or at least find your way out of his grip. But then, another noise echoed through the air. Your attention shifted back to the notebook and your jaw dropped as you realized he had ripped out the single page you were trying to read.

“Amajiki!” you scolded again, “S-Sorry! B-But you c-can’t see t-this!” he said as he proceeded to crumble the paper into a ball. You looked at him bewildered as he then shoved said ball into his mouth. “Uh…” was the only sound that managed to come out of your mouth as you watched him chew and proceed to swallow the paper. You blinked, lowering the notebook.

Jaw hanging open in absolute awe at what you had just witnessed. Tamaki on the other hand had an itchy throat, and when the crumbled paper reached his stomach. He felt a small ache, which prompted him to place a hand over his stomach. His face was completely red, all the way to the pointy tips of his ears. “G-God, that w-was e-embarrassing u-uh…” he couldn’t even bear to look at you.

He did, however, reach out to snatch his notebook back. The action caused you to gasp and you took a step back, your mind still trying to process what had just occurred. Damn, was it that much of a secret he had to eat it? What sense did that make? Still, you watched as he took the notebook and put everything into his backpack before scurrying away. Strange.

You knew you’d see him in just a few moments, given you had class and hero training together. But, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to see him after he pulled such a strange stunt. “Uh...okay, bye then?” you said, clearly still confused despite the fact he was long gone. You placed your hands on your hips and sighed. “Well, wonder if I’ll see anything stranger than that today,” you shrugged and exited the library.

It was almost a nightmare trying to sit through class, much less pay attention to the lesson. It didn’t help that you sat near Tamaki either, but he seemed to give you the cold shoulder. Not so much as dare to take a glance at you, though you happened to notice his hand was over his stomach. Maybe he had a stomach ache, though after consuming a whole piece of paper splattered with ink.

It didn’t surprise you much, if at all. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder just what he had to hide. When afternoon came, you seemed to have forgotten about the strange incident as soon as you slipped on your hero attire. You grinned as you walked alongside your classmates to Ground Gamma, given you couldn’t help but glance over at Tamaki.

He was currently talking to Nejire, but you noticed his face was twisted in some form of discomfort. “Y/n...Y/n!!!” you snapped out of your thoughts before turning to face one of your classmates. “Huh? What?” it was a little shameful you had zoned out, but even so. The teachers had decided that instead of team exercises, you’d be facing each other one on one.

This disappointed you as you rather enjoyed working with your classmates to form tactical strategies and such, but it was important for heroes to learn how to work on their own as well. The who versus whom opponents were randomized as to assure fairness and the element of surprise, you were hoping you’d be one of the first students to show your skills in combat.

But, unfortunately, you weren’t and much like the other student heroes in training, you had to stand back and observe. Though you found yourself growing bored and decided to take a seat on the ground, pulling your knees up to your chest and sporting a dull expression. You glanced over at Tamaki once more, taking note that he was still holding his stomach and Nejire was patting his shoulder.

You assumed she was telling him he was fine. As the second pair of students finished their training exercise, you leaned back and gave a loud yawn which seemed to catch your teacher’s attention. “Y/n,” they said and you turned to look at them with a raised eyebrow, but answered nonetheless. “Yes?” you replied, “Since you seem so bored, I’ll give you a task. Next match, Suneater verse Y/n!” your eyes widened and you sported a dumbfounded expression.

“W-What?” you questioned and your teacher merely smirked at you, was that even legal? You knew your teachers were also pro heroes and as such, should be respected. But, sometimes you couldn’t help but question their teaching methods. Your classmates seemed rather surprised, whispering how lucky you were to be facing a member of The Big Three and how you’d more than likely get your ass kicked.

Tamaki didn’t seem to take the news very well either, in fact, his face twisted into what you could only describe as pure fear. “Uh, I d-don’t think-” he tried to protest, but the teacher cut him off quickly and ordered you two to start at opposite ends of the training ground. You looked to Tamaki and shrugged, “May the best student win?” once you had taken your position among the twisted landscape of metal piping.

You crouched down, going through strategies that could possibly give you an advantage. You wouldn’t let the fact he was a member of The Big Three bother you, even though this all boiled down to one thing. You had to try your best, with that in mind. You decided to lay low and take a running start, keeping your eyes and ears open for Tamaki.

Carefully avoiding those obnoxious pipes in your way before you heard a noise. It was just a small creek, but you knew better than to believe it was just Ground Gamma settling. You stopped briefly, legs bent and ready to make an escape if you needed to. You stared into the abyss of metal before suddenly a tentacle shot out toward you, but a quick dodge saved you from being captured and you took off.

Slithering between big and small pipes alike before you decide to ricochet between two of them, angling your body so you landed on top of a sturdy pipe. You quickly turned on your feet, glancing over the landscape once more. Your eyes searching for any sight or sign of Tamaki, you also had to be aware those tentacles of his could be trouble. With that idea, you quickly looked down.

Ensuring there was no sight of those powerful octopus arms, you then opted to travel above the pipes. Easily jumping from one to the next, your head turning back and forth despite the fact that wind was ruffling your hair and causing your bangs to sway in your face. But, it was quiet. Everything was so quiet which it shouldn’t be, Tamaki’s steps couldn’t be that silent, unless...he wasn’t on the ground.

Your eyes widened at the realization and from the corner of your eye, you saw a single brown feather. “Oh no,” you turned your head as a shadow cast over you. Instantly, your jaw dropped as you saw him. Tamaki, Suneater, the best of the best. Right above you, brown wings spread to their span. His right hand was morphed into long tentacles and his left shaped into a clamshell.

Before you could blink, those wings flapped and the next thing you recalled was a hard hit to your stomach. It threw you off balance and you fell a good few feet before reaching the ground. Pain surged through your person and a long groan escaped you. Every fiber of your being was screaming for you to get back up, but you were too slow. You heard Tamaki land behind you, but he said nothing as he approached you.

Which at the moment, was scary even though he was normally a quiet and reserved person. However, you yelped when you felt those tentacles proceed to wrap around you, binding your arms by your sides. Your quirk was useless without the movement of your hands and knowing that simple fact, you couldn’t help but clench your jaw. It seemed Tamaki had to add insult to injury as you felt the pressure of his enlarged chicken foot against your back.

“I think...y-you’re...done…” came his words, seems he was always a tad braver when he was Suneater which made sense. You turned your head as much as you could, sending a glare toward him. You were usually better than this, but to get bested this quickly. It only reminded you of how much further you had to go before you could truly call yourself a hero.

“Suneater…” you hissed out, flexing your arms as you attempted to get out of his grip. Tamaki however, felt his stomach twist again and his face once more showed discomfort. Maybe eating that letter was a bad idea. It certainly wasn’t settling in his stomach right, and his heart was racing at an unusual speed. But, he felt a strange sense of happiness course through his body as well.

“Y/n, I think you’re my love,” a gasp left his mouth and you felt those tentacles retract. You pressed your hand to the ground, now looking at Tamaki with a wide-eyed expression. “W-What?” you questioned, wondering if you heard him correctly. But, judging by the way he was holding his hands over his mouth and how red his face was turning.

You assumed you had indeed heard the words he had spoken correctly. He took a step back and you noticed his wings were disappearing, was his quirk so consciously controlled that when he was distracted by overwhelming emotions it became faulty? You were more than certain that if the teachers and fellow hero students were still watching, they would be confused as to why Tamaki had let you go.

You slowly rose to your feet, though your body. Mostly your ribs coursed with a dull ache which had you grasping your side. Your eyes were locked on Tamaki as he shook his head and took a step back, his hands tightened around his mouth to prevent it from opening again. But, it was no good. His jaw ached and he couldn’t stop himself, painfully he opened his mouth and more confusing words spilled.

“I...have...been watching you...for so long! I see...you in the...h-halls...and I…” his body went tense as he forced his jaw closed once more, teeth pressing tightly together. What was happening? He had no idea, but he needed to be quiet or else. Oh God, was this because he had eaten the confession he wrote? Your jaw was hanging open, unsure of how to process the words he was speaking.

First, he ate a piece of paper, now this? You took a step back when Tamaki stepped forward, “Uh, T-Tamaki, are you okay?” you questioned before he opened his mouth once more, his eyes watering over which concerned you all the more. “I...f-freeze! You’re the one...p-plaguing...my t-thoughts, my desires…I,” Tamaki’s jaw clenched once more and he leaned over, his hands curling into fists.

“I w-want you...my l-love,” your heart began to pound in your chest, being called ‘my love’ by Tamaki of all people. Well, it was sweet. But, you couldn’t ignore the fact this was clearly not a willing confession. Something was making him speak against his will, maybe his quirk? His voice was strained and breathless which only furthered your assumption he was truly fighting with himself.

“I...long...t-to hold…y-you! My darling...and b-be your hero, to c-cradle and protect...y-you!” his body was trembling as he raised his hand, fingers spread out and palm facing toward you. Your eyes shifted to that hand, eyebrows furrowing together. “Uh...Tamaki,” you said, though you were tempted to take that hand. “I long...t-to be yours!” he stumbled forward, his face was hot and he could feel droplets of sweat fall from his person.

The fact his cheeks were completely red was a good indication he was embarrassed by what he was saying which caused you to frown. You planted your feet on the ground, knowing that you couldn’t exactly run away or restrain him in his current state in order to win. That wasn’t a fair fight and in addition, you knew heroes don’t run from those in need.

However, it seemed even in his...current abnormal state. He was still in control of some of the aspects of his quirk, in fact, before you could properly react. Those tentacles were around one of your arms, the suction cups digging into your skin and taking firm grip. “Amajiki!” you took a step back, trying to pull your arm out of his grip. But, it was no use as you just got pulled forward again.

“AMAJIKI,” you warned again, going as far as to reach over and begin to claw at those tentacles. The sound of your shoes scraping against the metal ground wasn’t exactly comforting, neither was the fact you knew you were going to lose this small struggle. “I w-want to be your husband...one day! Scream your name...f-from the rooftops! My love...my one and o-only!” you shook your head, now growing afraid of the shy reserved boy.

Especially when he finally pulled you forward, causing you to shriek. Your hand was out as you collided with his chest and you immediately felt the pressure of his arm against your lower back. His nails digging into your hip which made you hiss. But he continued to speak, “Just let me h-hold you and soak y-your body in! M-Melt together in a beautiful...ember of love and j-joy,” you blinked, trying to jerk your body out of his grip.

But, it was of little use. He leaned over and you shivered when you felt the soft skin of his face bury itself into your hair. “You are...my w-whole world…” he sucked in a breath, still fighting but it was beginning to hurt. His stomach felt heavy, too weighed down. He needed to say everything, “Fear and c-courage, the one...s-sole purpose in my life...i-is you,” the words were mumbled slightly and he lifted his head.

“I won’t g-give up. I’ll f-fight the army that holds m-my love hostage, I want you to be...m-mine,” your eyes widened and you wanted to tilt your head up and look at him, but you were almost afraid to. “My l-love and my heart, the one...I w-wish to worship. D-Drop to my knees...a-and kiss your skin,” he choked out and you could feel those tentacles loosen around you.

“Tamaki…?” his name came out of your mouth in a soft whisper and you finally lifted your head to look at him. His face was still twisted, a painful expression spread across it and you gasped as he leaned close. You were taken back by the intense expression that danced in his eyes and your face began to grow red. “I want t-to set up a s-shrine...pray to your p-powerful aura,” this was just getting weird, but somehow you knew it was the truth which made it even scarier.

You were tempted to run when those tentacles finally retracted, but you didn’t have time to even think about such as Tamaki’s hand now gently took hold of your chin. You felt a lump form in your throat as you found yourself staring into Tamaki’s eyes. “Forever...m-more...until the end of my...d-days...I...” he suddenly stopped and his breath hitched.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. However, you let out another shriek when Tamaki suddenly dropped to the ground. You stumbled back, not having expected such a thing. The sound of his panting filled the air and you watched as he reached up and ran his hand through his hair. Such didn’t help the sweat that covered his person and your eyebrows furrowed once more.

“I...Amajiki, are you...I mean...everything you said...was it…” you were almost afraid to ask and took a sharp breath which caused a shooting pain to course through your ribs. You latched onto your lip to prevent yourself from hissing and Tamaki slowly lifted his head to look at you. His eyes full of horror and regret, “I...I…” he wasn’t sure what to say, what could he say?

He wasn’t entirely sure what made him say what he did, every word he spoke was in his letter. Did eating it make an effect on his quirk? He groaned and covered his face, saying no more before he took off running in the opposite direction. It took you a moment to fully realize the Big Three member was indeed making a run for it, “Amajiki, wait!” you called out, your hand outstretched in his direction.

Your teachers and fellow students who witnessed this odd interaction were currently scratching their heads, trying to piece together what could have possibly happened to cause one of the top students to run with his tail between his legs. But, the fact you were being watched through this whole exercise was the last thing on your mind.

You couldn’t help but run after Amajiki, your feet pounding against the metal flooring of Ground Gamma. While you had lost sight of him, you knew there was only one place he could have gone. To the end of the training ground where the exit was located, though you weren’t as fast as Tamaki which caused some anxiety as you hoped he’d be where you thought he was.

When you reached the location of the exit, you leaned over with your hands on your knees. The sound of your soft panting filled the air before you wiped your brow. Your jaw then clenched as you tried your best to ignore the pain in your ribs, the exit to Ground Gamma was a large hallway with very dim lighting. In a way, it made you uneasy seeing Tamaki there.

Despite being dressed in his hero attire, he was facing the wall. His forehead pressed against it and you could tell he was trembling, you had known Tamaki to do this exact thing. Given the fact he was rather shy and suffered from anxiety, you frowned and slowly approached him. “Amajiki,” you said, your voice was soft. But, that didn’t stop the fact that Tamaki ducked his head.

You reached your hand out, wanting to touch him but you decided against it for now. You took a deep breath, “Um, so…” you reached up, scratching the side of your temple. Where would you even begin? “I’m not sure...what that was but...did you mean it? Everything you said?” Tamaki wanted to smack his head against the wall, your question left his stomach twisting with butterflies.

Honestly, part of him wished his heart would stop as opposed to continue to pound inside his chest. Of course, everything he said was the truth as terribly spoken and previously written down as it was. He honestly didn’t know what he was doing. In fact, he had never written a love letter before and though he had made countless drafts. It seemed he just wasn’t talented enough to write such romantic words on paper.

“Mm…” is the only way he managed to respond to you. “Mm? Amajiki…” you paused and decided to finally reach out, placing your hand on his shoulder. However, he seemed to shy away from your touch. Shuffling to the side, you let out a sigh and lowered your hand. A friendly touch wouldn’t do anything in this case and you didn’t know the other Big Three members well enough to ask them how to properly handle Tamaki when he got like this.

You’d feel bad if you left him all alone, but it didn’t seem as though he wanted your company at the current moment. You glanced down, hearing the sound of wind echo through the open exit way. You turned your head to look around, you knew you couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Else your teacher would begin to look for you or another verse competition would start. “Amajiki…” you said yet again, allowing your hands to rest by your sides. “Regardless if...what you said was true or not, I think we need to leave an-” before you could say anything more.

Tamaki had turned and began to sprint away and it honestly made your heart sink. You watched him disappear from view again and let out a sigh, maybe you’d confront him about it later. But, if what he said was true. Well, you’d need to figure out how you felt about it.

#tamaki x reader #amajiki x reader #bnha reader insert

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azurethevampire · 4 years ago

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Mando’s Lessons to Parenting Special: The Gift

A/N: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

The Mandalorian won the vote for Christmas fic 2020 by one vote so here we are - I hope you enjoy! :)

As there isn't really Christmas in the Star Wars universe I have taken the liberty to play around with Life Day which I see as the closest equivalent to Christmas in the Star Wars universe.

Summary: Life Day is closing in and you are determined to get both The Child and Mando the perfect gifts. The little one's gift is easy enough but the closer the holiday comes the more frustrated you grow as you can't figure out a gift that would be good enough for Mando. But Din Djarin just might give you the best present yet.

Words: 2017

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

"A hundred!?"

"Yes."

"For, for this piece of scrap?!"

The salesperson glared at you at that. "Listen, you aren't happy with my prices-", they yanked the metallic item out of your hands with more force than necessary, "take yourself elsewhere. You're ruining my good day."

You narrowed your eyes and grit your teeth. You had to close your eyes, take a deep breath and force yourself to turn around from the booth - which declared itself as the perfect gift shop - to stop you from entering a shouting match with the salesperson.

How were you ever going to buy a gift for Din Djarin when it seemed every single salesperson in this town had such upscale prices for little pieces of junk?! You didn’t have that much money on you as it was and the last thing you wanted to do was borrow credits from Din. It would have been just plain wrong to use Din’s own money to buy him a gift for Life Day.

“Ugh”, you groaned and kicked a rock out of your path. Why was this so hard now? You had had no trouble finding a gift for the little green monster that you had claimed as your brother. Why was Din’s gift so difficult? It seemed that every single thing that you even considered was either too expensive for you or just wasn’t the right gift.

The sound of something shattering made you look up, eyes widening. Seeing that the stone you had kicked had hit a clay pot in front of a home, you halted and then groaned.

You thought about turning around. It didn't seem like anyone had noticed you had kicked the rock. You could just turn around, run from the scene and continue your gift searching.

But you couldn't do it; even if it weren’t for the hands that suddenly landed on your shoulders you most likely would have gone up to the house and apologized to its owner for breaking their property.

"I hope you didn't do that on purpose, kid."

You craned your neck backwards to look up at Cara Dune whose hands gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"I didn't", you answered honestly, although there was an underlying tone of bitterness that Cara caught on.

The former mercenary turned sheriff frowned. "Alright, kid, we are gonna go up there and pay for the damage in a moment, but first you are going to tell me what's going on with you."

The woman lifted a finger as you opened your mouth protest. "Ah-ah, before you tell me that 'nothing' is going on, I suggest you take into consideration that I know you kid and this is not you."

You huffed and crossed your arms. "Fine." You said. "I can't find a gift good enough for him."

"Who, Mando?"

"Yeah", you nodded. "Everything I even consider ends up being way too over-prized! I will never find a gift for him in time for Life Day by this rate!"

Cara patted your head. "You take this thing way too seriously kid; have you considered that perhaps the best gift to our friend from you would be something self-made?"

"...self-made?" you repeated, seemingly dumbstruck.

How come you hadn't thought about that? Making something to Din would indeed be a perfect gift! What else could be both affordable and show how much the man meant to you?

Suddenly you grinned and were quick to hug Cara around the waist. "Thank you! You gave me the perfect idea, Cara!"

The former stormtrooper grabbed you by the scruff of your neck when you tried to dash away from her. "Kid, as glad as I am to help you, we had a deal, remember?"

You looked up at her sheepishly. "Sorry. I will go and apologize for breaking the vase."

•-•-•-•-•-•

The Mandalorian had never really celebrated Life Day. Never had any reason to do so.

Now he found himself indulging his two charges and especially the older one. He barely admitted it to himself (he certainly was not going soft) but Din quite enjoyed seeing the way your face lit up when you got the permission to hang up some light strips around the Razor Crest's living area along with some other ornaments you and the kid had managed to dig up from somewhere.

Wanting to give the kids something better on this day that so clearly meant a lot to you, Din had made an effort to buy you all a more festive meal. It was no tip-yip but it was the best substitute he could afford. Of course, he would only watch you and the kid eat and would help himself for whatever his two little troublemakers left for him after you would fall asleep.

"Wow! This is so good!" You exclaimed once you were seated around the table on Life Day eating the meal Din had gotten for you. The child across from you made happy agreeing noises as he munched his own food.

"I'm glad you like it, kids."

"Are you kidding, Mando? This's gotta be the best meal I have had for a while", you said. "You gotta try this!" you insisted, pushing a plate towards the Mandalorian.

Behind the cover of his helmet, Din Djarin grimaced.

He knew that you had not meant anything malicious with those words but it struck him right to his heart for two reasons. One, because he was trying to do his best by both of the kids who had managed to sneak their way into his heart but initially he knew that the life he had to offer you was far from the best you and The Child could have with someone else. Two: you jested to him about his helmet most of the time but lately the jabs meant to be light had only managed to make Din feel bad.

He knew how much he meant to you. For crying out loud, you had accidentally called him dad a while ago - not that you seemed to remember and he wasn't about to remind you even if he sort of wanted to.

You two little rascals had come to mean the world to him, so why couldn't he take his helmet off in front of you?

"Okay!" Your voice interrupted the Mandalorian's train of thought. You sounded both excited and nervous as you pushed your now empty plate away from you. "It's time for the gifts!"

Gifts?!

Dank farrik, I forgot about the presents!

You proceeded to take out two messily wrapped boxes from under the table, one being significantly smaller in size than the other.

The Child tilted his head curiously as you passed him the smaller one. "Happy Life Day, brother", you wished and then helped him unwrap the gift.

It revealed a small metallic ball, much similar to the one from the cockpit that The Child loved to play with, Din noticed. And if the happy babbling noises The Child made indicated anything, he enjoyed his gift.

"And uh… this is for you, Din", you said next, obviously nervous and pushed the larger of the gifts towards the Mandalorian.

His hands automatically wrapped around the package but he didn't open it yet, looking at you instead. "Y/N…" he began, somewhat hesitating. What if you got mad at him for not having a gift in return? "I'm sorry but I forgot about the gifts - I don't have one for you."

"...oh", you said, and Din didn't like the fact that he couldn't make out if it was a disappointed 'oh' or a neutral one. But then a small smile appeared on your face. "It's okay, I- you agreeing to celebrate today with us is a gift enough for me."

No, it is not. It shouldn't be, Din thought but said nothing and only bobbed his head slowly.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" you asked with a frown.

The Child also looked at the Mandalorian with a questioning, almost demanding look. Din Djarin let out a chuckle, slightly altered by his voice modulator. "Alright, kids, I'll open it,” he relented.

What the wrapping revealed made Din Djarin’s eyes sting and his vision blurred a bit. It was not the best artwork he had seen in his life but at the same time, it definitely was the most beautiful one.

You had excelled yourself this time. He wondered how long it had taken you to make this.

From behind his visor, Din looked at three self-made figurines with blurry eyes. They were standing on a small round pedestal made of moss and small rocks. The tallest figure wore an armor resembling his beskar one and was holding a bundle of green with one arm as the other was wrapped around the shoulders of a figurine of a little girl.

On the bottom edge of the rock pedestal was carved one word, a word that Din didn't even know you knew; Aliit.

Family in Mando’a.

Was this the your way of telling him that this was how you saw Din? How you saw the three of you?

Suddenly Din realised that both of the children were looking at him. There had been a smile on your face but as the seconds dragged by and Din hadn’t said anything the smile faded.

“I- I can make you a new one if you don’t-”

“No!” Din said, maybe a bit louder than was necessary, startling both of the kids as you jumped slightly in your seats. “No, Y/N”, he said next, in a gentler tone. “... it’s…” he tried to search for a word that would convey how much this gift had managed to move something inside him but he didn’t know such word, and he cursed himself for it. Instead he reached out and took your hand in his, squeezing it. “Thank you, kid.”

The smile returned to your face and Din felt relief wash over him.

This was how it was supposed to be: his kids were supposed to be happy.

Din carefully lifted the group of figurines from the table. “I know the perfect place for it.”

“Yeah, what is that?” you asked, now curious.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, kid”, Din said, his voice having a playful edge to it.

•-•-•-•-•-•

“Thank you, Din.”

The Mandalorian pushed your hair behind your ear. It was nighttime, and the Child had already fallen asleep in the middle of playing with his new toy. After all these months, Din Djarin still marvelled at how it had become a mundane routine for him to tuck you kids in your beds before laying down himself.

“I should be thanking you, kiddo.”

You frowned. “For what?”

For giving me a family I didn’t know I needed, he thought, but couldn’t make himself to say it. “For showing me the meaning of Life Day.”

“Oh”, you said. You pat his armor-covered arm a few times. “You’re welcome.”

No, this didn’t cut it, Din thought. He should be able to give you something. Something that you would - could - hold valuable. But you would fall asleep soon and the moment would be gone.

Then it struck him.

He could give you the perfect Life Day gift after all. Something that you had wanted as long as you had known him.

“Hey kiddo?” You hummed in response as you had already closed your eyes. “Don’t go to sleep yet. I have something for you.”

“Wh-what?” you mumbled, drowsily opening your eyes again. You pushed yourself to sit and let your eyes fall on the Mandalorian.

For a few seconds, Din Djarin hesitated but then his hands moved to the sides of his helmet.

Your eyes widened as you understood what he was about to do.

And Din Djarin removed his helmet for the first time in front of you, letting you see the face that you had so long been begging to see.

“Happy Life Day, kid”, he said softly.

You teared up and all you could do was to stare at him in the eyes you had dreamed to see on so many occasions.

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imagine-darksiders · 4 years ago

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Old-Timer

Chapter 1 - Out of time.

So, this was absolutely inspired by the anon who mentioned a young Eideard. I got to thinking, how can I send Reader back in time and meet this guy? Then it hit me. Phasewalker.

Summary: To keep you safe, Death would tear a hole through the fabric of time and space. Too bad he doesn’t know how to tear that same hole open to get you back....

----------------------

Your eyes fly open alongside an accompanying gasp that tears out of your throat as you lurch upright, pulled from the threads of unconsciousness by some, unseen force.

Bewilderment is what you wake to first, and you spend the first few seconds of awareness jerking your head in every direction, seeking out clues as to where you are, and how in the world you'd even arrived here. Stone surrounds you, from the ceiling overhead to the ground below, even the four walls of the shadowy chamber you find yourself sprawled in are cut from the same, hardened rock.

Gulping down breaths of stale, musty air, you squint hard at the room around you, lit by nothing but a single streak of sunlight that filters in lazily through a wide entrance, beyond which, you can hear the distant whistle of birdsong and rustling leaves. Perplexed, you place a hand on your head and try to think, murmuring aloud, “How the hell... Where am I?”

The memory doesn't hit you all at once. Rather, it bleeds into frame from the very back of your mind, like you're attempting to piece together the segments of a vivid dream.

You were in the Forge Lands.... Yes... More specifically, you'd recently been travelling through Baneswood with -

“Death!” you suddenly whisper out loud, your heart bucking into overdrive once you realise that your grim and mordacious companion is definitely not in the room with you.

The room...

You've... been here. At least, you think you have.

Furrowing your brow, you try to focus.

It would not do to panic now, not least because Death would probably rebuke you for it. The Horseman always maintains that it won't be demons or corrupted constructs that kill you in the end. It'll be your tendency to lose yourself in the anxieties your mind kindly presents to you whenever something bad happens.

'Deep breaths,' you tell yourself, sucking in a lungful of air through your nose and counting backwards from four. As the breath steadily whooshes out of you again, you begin glancing around the room as though it might hold some clue that could answer the jumbled myriad of questions currently floating around inside your head.

Strangely enough, it does.

The whole chamber looks... too familiar – almost an exact replica of the room you last recall being in with Death. Although, for as familiar as it is, there is definitively something off about it as well. The dimensions and stonework might be the same, and yet... where are the holes in the roof? Why isn't the ground coated in a layer of thick dust, and how is it that the walls are suddenly barren of plant life and moss? You would have put money on there being a gaping hole in the ceiling, however when you tip your head back and look up, all you find is a solid, stone canopy standing proudly above you, looking for all the world as though it’s almost newly built.

Something definitely isn't right. Perhaps this isn't the same chamber after all.

Another memory suddenly prods at your mind before it surfaces like the elusive dorsal fin of a great whale, one that you turn all of your attention onto, afraid that it might slip below the waves of amnesia if you look away.

Death had been with you, that much is indisputable. But he'd been... agitated. You remember a pursuit, half a dozen constructs had corralled you both into one of the old, abandoned ruins that lay deep inside Baneswood.

You distinctly recall that the Horseman's gauntlet pulsed and hummed with green light the moment he shoved you behind him and past the threshold. Staggering back, you'd stumbled over an elevated platform at the centre of the room and landed on your rear, blurting out a yelp of shock before you could swallow it down again. Death had instinctively whipped about at the sound to face you and assess the cause of the sudden cry. It was in that precise moment that one of the constructs chose to lurch forwards and wrap its bulky limbs around the Horseman, pinning his arms against his sides.

You had watched, horrified as Death struggled in the stone embrace. Then, a shadow fell across you and to your terror, you looked up to find one of the constructs looming menacingly above you. It had obviously decided to leave its brethren to tangle with the raging Nephilim whilst it opted to pursue a less resilient quarry. The head sitting upon its massive shoulders was utterly devoid of any features, which had unsettled you greatly. No eyes, no nose, no mouth... Nothing but a blank slab of stone that stared down at you while you sat prone on a raised dais in front of it.

The construct twitched its head to one side and you have a memory of seeing Death rip his arm free of his assailant's grasp and stretch it out towards you, the briefest glimpse of fear flashing across his golden eyes. He was being set upon by the remain four monstrosities, all of whom circled like hungry sharks before they closed in on him, their various implements of destruction poised to strike

God... What had happened after that?

You think you might have screamed the Horseman's name, totally oblivious to the construct towering over you with its first cocked back, ready to pitch it forwards to decimate you in a single blow.

You'd tried to stand, but the surface below you was so slippery, more akin to glass than stone, and it had infuriated you when one foot slid out from underneath you and caused you to simply crash back onto your rump with a jarring impact that had sent your teeth clacking noisily inside your skull.

With blood rushing in your ears, you'd stared desperately past the construct and caught a brief glimpse of Death's burning, orange eyes. For the tiniest sliver of an instant, you could have sworn he looked afraid – ‘ironic’, you thought, given that he seemed to constantly admonish you for letting your fear show in front of your enemies.

Seeing his alarm only sent your stomach plummeting down into your shoes, but before you could begin to process the sudden flash of stark, protective fury that crossed his gaze like a lightening bolt...

'Thwump!'

Everything was suddenly illuminated by green light, the source of which emanated from a ball of spinning magic that hurtled through the gathered constructs and flew towards you at breakneck speed, faster than your eyes could even track it. In a blink, the ball of energy hit the ground directly between your legs and you barely had time to be relieved that it hadn't hit you before you were promptly and inexplicably falling.

The last thing you saw as you sank below the solid ground you'd once been sitting on was the construct's face, completely featureless, yet somehow managing to convey a look of total surprise.

Then, just as abruptly as you fell, you started to rise. Your ascent lasted for less than a second before you felt yourself snatched up by the unmistakable hand of gravity once more.

In a disorienting moment of utter chaos, you slammed back down to earth and there was an instance of blinding pain as your head cracked against the smooth surface below you.

And after that... only darkness.

--------

You come back into yourself with a jolt and lift your hand to touch gingerly at the back of your head, wincing when even the barest touch of your fingers brings forth a searing bolt that shoots down the base of your skull. It's only a minor relief to pull your hand away and find it clean of any blood.

Small miracles, and all that.

Emitting a soft huff, you begin to push yourself up and onto your feet, only to end up sprawled flat on your back again moments later after your shoe slides out from underneath you with an almost deafening squeak.

Exasperated, you scowl up at the ceiling for a few seconds before you sit up and twist yourself about to inspect the ground below you.

At a glance, you're laying in the middle of a raised, circular dais. Its surface is made of a polished material, more akin to glass than stone. One of your hands brushes distractedly over strange patterns that form the shape of concentric circles, each emitting a soft, blue light, and skimming around the very edge of the dais are sigils and glyphs, written in a language you can neither read, write, nor speak. Though whilst you might not recognise what they say, you can recognise what they entail.

You've seen them before, after all, dotted about the walls and ceilings and floors in most of the realms you've already visited alongside Death. They're the typical markings of portal.

The revelation brings with it the awful, sinking feeling of dread.

You're sitting slap-bang in the centre of a portal.

Shaking hands card slowly through your hair as your breathing picks up and you swallow hard, finally slotting the final puzzle piece into place.

“Death's phasewalker...” you murmur aloud.

There have only been a handful of times when you've witnessed the Horseman use the artefact that he wears around his wrist like the world's most versatile watch. With it, you've seen him tear holes in space and time, as though he's merely opening a door from one room to the next. Only these doors tend to lead you much further astray than any regular door ever has. It's one thing to use Vulgrim's Serpent holes to travel to another realm, but it’s something else entirely to step through a hole created by the Phasewalker and fall out into a whole different time.

Even after experiencing a few temporal distortions, you still can't say you're a big fan of it in practice.

Rolling yourself sideways off the platform and finally standing up on wobbly legs, you glance around at the chamber, realising now why it looks so like the one you'd just been in. It is the same chamber – only you're standing in it at a different time in history. The past, judging by the lack of weathering on the stone.

Likely, Death had, in a moment of chaos, sought to remove you from danger in any way he could.

The flash of green light, the ball of energy and the sudden sensation of falling...

He'd... saved you...

By sending you through a portal to the past.

You're not sure whether to laugh at his genius or cry at his short-sightedness.

Certainly, you're out of immediate danger, but the Forge Lands is far from safe at any point in time, and while you may not be crushed by a construct, there are other threats lurking amongst the lush, green trees and crumbling ruins.

Still, it's of some comfort that you're still standing, at least. Peering around into the shadowy corners of the chamber, you're fairly confident that there are no nasty surprises lying in wait, ready to pounce at you at any moment, though you're still hesitant to let your guard down. Swallowing down the rising wave of fear, you park yourself up against the wall furthest from the entrance and hunker down, returning your gaze to the portal you'd fallen through. If Death had sent you here, then he must know how to bring you back. All you need to do is sit and wait for him to finish off those constructs, reopen the portal and pull you back through.

And if you know the Horseman, which you like to think you do by now, he'll be stepping through that portal at any moment. So, you sit, trying very hard not to count the seconds flying by as if you might trick yourself into believing that less time has passed than really has. Subsequently, you keep your drooping eyes fixed on the portal and not the sunbeam that moves steadily across the chamber's entrance. You don't want to be reminded quite so starkly that it has been hours, and still Death has yet to emerge.

“Any time now, pal,” you mutter, tapping your heel anxiously against the stone below you.

Far beyond the entrance, something monstrous lets out a distant and melancholy howl, drawing your attention away from the portal, and it only takes seconds for the colour to drain from your face upon noticing that the outside world has grown startlingly darker.

By the looks of the long shadows cast by Banewood's trees you'd wager that sunset has arrived, with the darkness of night nipping closely at its heels.

If there's one lesson that has been drummed into you, both by the Horseman and the makers, it's that for as dangerous as the Forge Lands can be during the day, it's doubly so at night. As another howl answers the first, you start to realise that with every passing minute, your chances of getting through the night relatively unscathed are dwindling, but you're reluctant to leave the portal lest Death appear. Yet, you're also hesitant to stay out in an exposed ruin in the middle of Baneswood until he does.

“Okay.” Slapping your hands decisively on your knees, you push yourself upright, wobbling a little after sitting on your backside for so long. There's only one place in this realm that you can go, somewhere safer, at least. Somewhere that Death might actually think to look for you if he doesn't find you here. Tentative now, you start forwards, edging past the silent portal and taking carefully measured steps to the entrance.

You'd be remiss to deny the apprehensive curl of your gut at the prospect of venturing all the way to Tri Stone. You have little-to-no idea of what to expect.

In your own time, the quiet village is a haven, and you would count the makers who live there among your closest friends.

There's Karn, the youngest, a maker for whom adventure is the be-all, end-all of his life. He'd taken to you the hardest and the fastest, declaring you his best friend in a matter of hours, though you suspect that was perhaps due to your proximity in age. He may be literally thousands of years your senior, yet, of all the denizens of Tri Stone, the youngling is the closest equivalent they have to someone of your age. That isn't to say the other makers don't get along with you though. Far from it, in fact.

The twins, Alya and Valus, didn't take much longer to cultivate a friendship with you, especially the latter, who spoke so rarely that when you first met him, you thought he was entirely mute. It was his sister who did most of the talking for both of them, which is convenient, you suppose, given that she's inclined to talk enough for two people anyway. She'd been a godsend when you first came to Tri-Stone after a timely rescue from the demon-infested Earth. You would have listened to the maker talk for hours if you could, more than welcoming of the distraction her friendly voice brought you. She's the perfect counterpart to her brother, Valus, a strong and silent maker with a tendency to fret, a lot, specifically over someone as small and fragile as a human like you.

A fond smile worms its way onto your face as you dwell upon thoughts of your friends and step a little more surely out of the stone ruins and into Baneswood proper.

Part of you wonders how furious Thane would be if he ever finds out that you've walked amongst the giant, twisting trees by yourself. Hell, he'd probably have conniptions. Whilst you appreciate that the gruff warrior only wants to protect you, he's hardly helping humanity's street-cred by scolding their one, surviving member every time you try to venture within five feet of the village entrance on your own.

With a soft chuckle, you shake your head, already able to picture the maker’s furious expression if he ever happens to hear of this little escapade.

A shadow moves across the path ahead and you swiftly duck behind the closest tree, your heart racing. For a long moment, you simply hold your breath and wait until the sound of heavy, shuffling footsteps moves along, then you promptly set out once again, following the glow of the setting sun.

As you cast your gaze about in search of any lurking threats, you can't help but notice how lush and wild the woods are in comparison to those you'd left back in your own time. Bushes grow in abundance between the vibrant, green trees, among which flowers and strangely glowing mushrooms rise out of the ground, coming close to the height of your waist. It's almost impossible not to brush your fingers reverently over the petals of one such flower, noting that it shares the same colour as Muria's elegant, blue robes. It occurs to you that, when you return to your own time, you'll have to describe this Baneswood in vivid detail for the blind seer, knowing that her heart bleeds for the nature that had been destroyed by Corruption's foul influence.

Besides, you'd never pass up the chance to try and cheer her up. You've noticed a certain air of melancholy that surrounds the shaman whenever she thinks you aren't looking her way. You can hardly blame her. The responsibilities of a leader had been heaped upon her shoulders so suddenly after Eideard was killed....

A tiny spot in your heart that's been rubbed raw by all the losses you've suffered promptly splits open and starts to bleed at the mere recollection of the oldest maker. You scrub at one of your eyes as a treacherous tear threatens to escape the confines of your lashes.

Of all the terrible times to start thinking about Eideard...

While the others had taken to you with exuberance and intrigue, the elder's welcome had somehow felt... warmer. Subdued, but no less cordial. He'd been the first maker you met, and he hadn't even taken offence after you took one look at him and promptly fainted. His size didn't frighten you though, at least, not after you remained conscious long enough for him to assure you that he meant no harm. Once introductions were out of the way, it was as though you could just sense that this giant had more control over himself than the others, more experience being around small and fragile things.

In spite of the staff he wielded more like a walking stick than a weapon, and the labyrinth of wrinkles that mapped his face, you were never once under the impression that Eideard was anything but a being who possessed phenomenal power. Makers don't get to live as long as he did without a certain degree of strength, after all.

Over time, he reminded you less and less of the village elder and more of a kindly grandfather, diligently watching over his family with patience and proud consideration, who would go to immeasurable lengths to protect his own.

And in the end... he did just that.

The tear that had been making steady progress with its jailbreak finally succeeds in spilling over the edge of your eyelid where it clings to the lashes, turning the bottom of your vision hazy and distorted.

You don't even notice that the shadow stretched out in front of you is no longer your own until suddenly, a gush of air hits the nape of your neck, hot and wet and stinking of rot, causing you to freeze in your tracks and choke on your tongue.

In hindsight, it would have been far more prudent to just start running, but, for all of humanity's qualities, one of their strongest by far has always been curiosity.

So, it's with agonising trepidation that you twist your neck around, your torso following suit until you find yourself staring up at a row of gleaming, white fangs.

It's a wonder that you don't drop dead from fright then and there.

You must have been so caught up in missing your old friend, you hadn't even noticed that you were being stalked, a fitting term that suits the creature currently looming behind you.

Stalkers are not an unknown enemy for you, nor are they especially what you wanted to see right at this exact moment, if ever. This isn't the first time you've run into one either, but it is the first time you've been alone during the fact. Even Death seems wary of the enormous, cat-like demons that prowl around the Forge Lands, and if the Horseman is wary, then you know you should be downright terrified.

When you raise your eyes to meet its slitted pupils, the scales on its back and forearms bristle like plates of armour, tinted all hues of green and brown. In these dark woods, it's the perfect camouflage for an apex predator.

For a human, there's only one tried-and-true method for surviving an encounter with a stalker, and it doesn't include fighting back.

Stowing away the impulse to smack yourself on the forehead, you finally spring into action, whipping about and jolting forwards into a dead sprint, feeling the Stalker's excited hiss once again waft over the back of your neck as it gives chase, propelled by the instinct to hunt a fleeing quarry.

The galloping thuds of its claws striking the earth close at your heels is more than enough incentive to keep you sprinting like a gold medalist, heedless of a stitch or breathlessness. You try to dive in between the more tightly-knit trees in the hopes that the stalker's immense bulk will work to its disadvantage. To your dismay however, your efforts are in vain.

The beast twists itself sideways and back again with the ease of an gymnast, adapting to its surroundings rather than trying to blunder through them, and with every tree you dash past, the stalker draws nearer and nearer, drool flying from its lolling tongue as it inhales the scent of fresh, scared meat.

The sensation of claws swiping at the backs of your legs tugs a shrill screech from you and you kick up your heels, bursting out into a sunlit glade.

Without dwelling on the fact that you've just opened up a window for the stalker to put on some real speed, you suddenly dart to the left and head for the closest line of trees, and although the demon lets out a grunt of surprise at the sudden change in direction, your manoeuvre doesn't throw it off course.

Lungs burning, heart thrashing, you will your body to keep going until, at last, the stalker grows weary of the chase. Halfway to the tree line, it snarls and lashes out again with its long, blackened claws and this time, they hit their mark, slicing across your calves like butcher knives, leaving three, gaping wounds in their wake and causing your legs to buckle underneath you.

With all the grace of a train that's left its tracks, you careen forwards and fall flat on your face, rolling several times before you eventually come to a stop, gasping for air and crying openly. The pain in your leg is almost unbearable. Heat like hell's fire emanates from the gashes left in your skin and they sting worse than any pain you've ever had. At first, you deliriously wonder if stalker claws carry venom, then you scoff at yourself. 'What the Hell would stalkers ever need to use venom for!?'

Peeling your eyes open, you go rigid at the sight of the demon's foreleg reaching out towards you. It snaps its teeth together in triumph and you let out a wheeze when it places its clawed foot directly on your spine and presses down, hard.

Adrenaline still fires through your body in stubborn spite of your injury and has you clawing at the ground whilst feeble whimpers and sobs run from your mouth in a relentless stream of nonsensical babbling.

'This is really about to happen,' you think, cringing when hot, sticky saliva dribbles down onto your neck, 'Of all the ways I could have gone, I'm gonna be eaten alive.'

You distantly wish that Death was here, or rather, you wish that it’s happening back in your own timeline so that there's the chance that one of the makers will find your body and be kind enough to give you a proper burial.

The stalker’s claws sink into your already injured calf and you let out a faltering scream, hating that it's probably enjoying the sound. Summoning one last burst of courage, you grit your teeth and twist your head to the side, glaring up at it and snarling, “I hope you choke, asshole.”

In response, the demon parts its jaws and rears its head back, aiming to lunge forwards and rip the cartilage right out of your delicate neck so that you won't struggle whilst it devours you, when all of a sudden, something akin to an earthquake rumbles through the ground below you, powerful and abrupt enough to give the stalker pause.

This pause would prove to be a mistake as not a moment later, an immense shape crashes through the undergrowth and charges towards you, drowning the glade in a din that sends birds flapping from their nests.

Caught off guard, the stalker's claws retract from your leg and it takes several, clumsy steps back, lifting its hackles and hissing ferociously.

A shadow falls over you and you barely have time to register that the stalker has backed off before a huge, fur-trimmed boot swings over your head and plants itself in front of you, swiftly followed by its twin.

“You leave this wee'un alone,” a dangerously deep-toned voice growls, low as the purring of a truck's engine. It takes you a moment to realise that the rumbling sound isn't coming from the demon, but from whoever has just placed themselves fearlessly between you and certain death.

Clenching your fists, you shove yourself upright and onto your backside, hissing when the sharp, little blades of grass poke and prod at the open wounds on your calf. Rather than bother to inspect the injury – which you already know to be god-awful – you turn your attention to your saviour.

You know enough about the species to recognise that it's a maker, not least judging by the size of the boots alone. Blinking through the tears that sting at the corners of your eyes, you lift your chin and gaze up past the maker's boots, over brown, leather trousers to a belt that's almost as thick as you are wide. Then, you pause, admittedly taken aback by what you see after you move your gaze up a bit further.

....You don't think you've ever known a maker to wear so... little.

Above his belt, there's.... nothing. No tunic, no armour adorning his shoulders, no cowl draped loosely around a robust neck. Instead, you find yourself staring up at a generously-muscled back with pale skin stretched tightly around every dip and bulge, giving him the appearance of someone that might have been sculpted from marble by a renaissance artist. He puffs himself up, creating a decidedly imposing wall of solid muscle between you and the snarling stalker.

You'd take the time to be impressed by his size were you not already gawking at the absolute fountain of lustrous, golden hair that cascades in gentle waves down to the centre of his spine.

Another growl draws your wandering eyes back down to the demon, which has now ceased its pacing and turns to face the maker properly, glaring at him through unblinking, yellow eyes and flexing its claws into the soft grass, as though contemplating the pros and cons of risking itself for a morsel as small as yourself.

The strange maker emits his own, threatening growl, perhaps sensing that the predator's change in demeanour doesn't signify anything good.

“Don't even think about it,” he snarls through his teeth.

Clearly however, the demon cares little for his request, because not a moment later, its body goes tense and it kicks off the ground with powerful hind legs, launching itself towards the maker, its forelegs outstretched and the long claws at the end of each toe flashing like knives in the flecked sunlight.

For a split second, you remember that your saviour is un-armoured and a shrill cry blurts out of your mouth before you can hold it back. “NO!”

Suddenly, the maker's arm snaps out in front of him, his fingers splayed wide, and the stalker just.... stops. It hangs suspended in the air, utterly still, if not entirely disturbed,

Logically, you know you're witnessing magic at work, but there's just something so mind-boggling about seeing a four tonne demon freeze in midair, its eyes bulging open wide and its limbs still stuck in their outstretched position, twitching minutely against the invisible force encasing them.

Giving the stalker a gruff snort, your timely rescuer draws his hand close to his chest and you watch, enraptured as the demon is pulled closer as well on imperceptible strings of magic. It meets the maker's eye for a few, silent moments, hatred and rage passing between the two beings so strongly, you aren't sure whether the tingle on your skin is from their flaring emotions or the magic hanging oppressively in the air.

All at once, the maker flings his arm out again and the demon goes with the motion, incapable of doing much else. It flies sideways through the air and crashes through one tree trunk, obliterating the wood to splinters before its journey is stopped abruptly by a second trunk. With a howl of pain, it drops onto a thick root protruding from the ground and you wince at the resulting crack that you guess is the sound of one of its ribs breaking from the impact. Regardless, you can't bring yourself to feel sorry for it.

The maker’s hand falls to his side once more and he gives his head a firm, decisive nod, apparently satisfied. For a silent minute, you watch the demon writhe around in agony before it manages to pick itself back up, although one of its forelegs is held up off the grass and tucked against a heaving chest. Definitely injured, then.

Shaking its head, the stalker drags its gaze over to the maker and lets out a noise that's half defiance, half surprise. You wonder if it had expected such resistance.

In response, the giant stomps his boot hard on the ground and bares his tusks at it, just daring it to try again. But the stalker, perhaps possessing slightly more brain in its head than you'd give it credit for, lowers its haunches and turns, limping back through the copse of trees until it disappears into the shadows.

“Serves you right, you great, big bully,” the maker huffs, spitting in the direction the stalker had skulked before he drops his fearsome snarl and begins to turn, slow and cautious as though he’s afraid to frighten you away.

Your heart certainly does skip a beat when you finally get a proper glimpse of his striking features.

Long tresses of golden hair tumble down around the maker's face, framing a strong, square jaw and a modest beard that sweeps neatly down to his throat. With eyes that reflect the alluring blue of a summer sky, he peers down at you in amazement as a soft, yet curious smile parts his lips, revealing a pair of tusks that gleam almost as brightly as his eyes. “What do we have here?”

-----

Bonus - Reader and the mystery maker <3

#Darksiders #Darksiders 2 #Eideard #Fluff #time travel #reader #oh no he's cute #he gets cuter #let me know if you want a part 2 #I mean #i'll probably write it anyway but #makers #g/t #giant/tiny #injury #whump #because I like to make my reader suffer

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! I don’t know if you’re still doing this prompt but how about the Oxygen Loss but with either Rung or Ratchet? I’m not sure how you would do Ratchet, maybe he’s away from the Med Bay at the time the LL is being attacked?

I've got some of my favorite bot Rung for you, and Ratchet is in part five listed below! Let's have some angst with the good phsychiatrist!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: You're Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rung

·Perhaps being human just made one think differently from Cybertronians in the most unusual of ways, but you truly never understood how anyone could forget the lovable phsychiatrist, though you have quite a few unique reasons to remember him. While he's actually rather sociable and energetic, the two of you most often enjoy relaxing together in his office. Today you're doing just that by chatting away about the various pieces of earth media you think he'll enjoy. Whether or not he actually ends up having interest in any of them, he takes great pleasure in discussing your suggestions. Not only does it give him a better glimpse into earth and the culture of its inhabitants, but it also allows him to hear about your own tastes in entertainment, and that alone could keep his interest for days. Just hearing you talk about yourself so happily is a delight.

·Unfortunately the fun times are interrupted by an emergency broadcast, one the two of you are equally baffled to find is little more than a garble of indecipherable warnings and instructions. Before any kind of explanation can be requested, the line goes off completely, fading out to silence that doesn't even register static. Having served on many ships in the past, Rung has theories straight away as to what could be going on, and they vary from trivial to concerning. For this though, he wants to err on the side of caution. That means getting somewhere safe. If something is indeed wrong, he explains, help can always be found in a number of key locations. Considering where his room is, he knows the closest safe place is the medical bay.

·Wanting to be wary but not panicked, Rung admittedly struggles over whether or not to get moving. Though he doesn't say why, you know one of his biggest fears is being unable to protect you, something he worries he can't do being adverse to combat. A small smile of encouragement naturally lights up your features as you lay a hand on his. You promise him you trust his judgement no matter what. A look of gratitude is knocked off his face when his whole office trembles, and it's replaced entirely with a look of terror as the ship gives a mighty buck, sending your tiny body flying. An athletic dive saves you from crashing into anything, and instead you find yourself held in a pair of trembling hands when the world levels out. On his knees and quite frazzled from the jolt, the first thing Rung does is ask if you're okay, and he lets out a sigh of relief when you confirm you are.

·The incident gives him the impetus to make up his mind; the two of you are going to head for more secure territory. In agreement despite being so frazzled, you let him take the lead and try to convey just how grateful you are to have him at your side for all of this, holding onto his digits as he prepares to get moving. There's so much obvious planning in the processor behind his furrowed brows you can practically hear the metaphorical wheels turning. He wants to be ready for any possibility, so much so that he grabs his rarely used combat staff from the corner. Despite the circumstances, your heart actually flutters a little; to you he's always looked quite dashing wielding the weapon.

·There's silence when he enters the hallway at last, and it drives him to hug you to his chest in a move that comforts himself just as much as he hopes it comforts you. It certainly helps you feel secure, as the move puts you right beside his spark, one that leaves no doubt as to its status as brightest on the ship. A soft and melodic humming seems to pass straight through his chestplate at all times. Pressing against him, you let the sound soothe the tension from your much smaller body. Even if you can hardly protect him from much of anything, you hope he feels a bit safer in your company, though he's hardly struggling to move boldly through the ship. From a distance one might have even missed the light tremble in his frame.

·Scared as he might be, he's faced situations similar to this before, and came out with the knowledge that it's best to move as he is now; quickly, but quietly, so as to avoid being taken by surprise. However, he had the aid of his natural resilience to get him through past situations alive. Incredible healing abilities have always been a literal life saver, but now, the fact that only he would be saved... The thought of recovery is just as agonizing as any wound when he thinks of you not being there when the physical pain faded. Fear of such an outcome makes him freeze when the first sound of movement meets his audials; there's something rather large nearby, and it isn't an Autobot. Nor is it a Decepticon, further inspection tells him when he listens intently, as he can hear how unnaturally it moves even from his makeshift hiding spot. It has to be one of the attacking forces.

·Rung looks down as you hold your breath, having heard the same sound and doing your best to make sure the alien doesn't find either of you. For an instant you're both left frozen and the air is tense enough to feel as if it's smothering you. Scouting the situation as best he can, the small mech takes note of the fact he only has one usable path to the medical bay from this position, as any other course would require a great deal of backtracking there simply isn't time for. The only viable way forward is this one, and as there's only a single enemy... Looking down at you one final time let's him make a decision. This has to be done, for your sake, and he quickly sets you down in an open yet depowered electrical hatch, one likely left this way by a bot abandoning it in the midst of some maintenance. Hopefully it will keep you safe...

·You know what he's doing when Rung whispers for you to stay down and make a run for it should things "end poorly", but you don't even get a chance to try and stop him, the fear in his optics all but breaking your heart as he disappears from view. Alone in the hatch, a million thoughts storm in an attempt to form a plan. Being so tiny leaves you very few options... Yet a forgotten tool, some kind of Cybertronian screwdriver, opens up a slew of dangerous possibilities. What you assume to be adrenaline fills you so fast you get dizzy, but you don't let that stop you as the makeshift weapon is clenched between your shaking hands. Unbeknownst to you, Rung executes his first attack at the same instant, finishing off an impressive ambush with a ferocious stab intended to end a fight before it can begin.

·Rung isn't surprised when his attack merely staggers his opponent; just dissapointed as the brute turns to retaliate. Bloodied weapon in hand, he simply doesn't have the reflexes to avoid the hit that comes next, though he does manage to land a small puncture wound as a powerful blow slams him against a wall. As he is pinned by the overwhelming weight of a much larger being, he can only think about you... The weapon is immobile in his hand, as useless as he knows he is, and he prays this commotion will at least enable you to escape. Pressure hard enough to crack his armor suspends any thoughts beyond pain as the alien goes in for the kill. Only, it's interrupted by a very unexpected attack at the base of one of its legs, one that staggers it as something tiny and very sharp is stabbed as deep as it can go... by you.

·There's no time to celebrate before a reflexive kick sends you sprawling, your tiny body rolling across the ground from a mere glancing blow. Between the window of opportunity and the glaring rage on your behalf, it's all Rung needs to turn the tide of battle. Though he's sloppy from anger and pain, his staff finds a weak point and the bladed end sinks deep, sending the gargantuan being toppling like a gigantic tree. Before the thud has finished echoing Rung is by your side, kneeling on a visibly damaged leg to look you over. Despite the strength of what hit you, there's something off in how bleary you are as his face spins above you, as if the world is slipping away. Your injured partner can see it too. In fact, anyone could see you're struggling just to breathe, and that sends a chill through his spark. Whether or not this level of incoherencey makes any sense for your manner of injury, he doesn't have time to ask questions, needing to get you somewhere safe instead. All he takes the time for is to plead that you remain awake.

·Before he can damage his leg further by attempting to struggle into a standing position, luck arrives in the form of a squadron of armed bots, who heard the sound of combat and came to investigate. The sight of the ship's tiny phsychiatrist and the hulking alien he obviously killed makes most of their jaws drop. In a rare loss of composure, Rung begs them to take you to the medical bay as fast as possible, tears hidden only by his lenses. Slipping out of consciousness while you're lifted by dexterous hands, you can only be glad he'll be okay, and that despite your tiny size you made a difference... A quick thinking bot heeds the instructions and carts you off for treatment. Rung can only pray help will be given in time, and as he's helped along after you the bitter sense of failure hurts worse than any injury; how could he be so worthless as to let you down in this of all moments?

·The feeling is not at all relieved when he arrives for care of his own and is told that you'll live, only because the true cause of your sudden deterioration strikes him hard. You were suffocating, tiny organic body failing from a lack of critical resources, and yet you'd been forced to save him. Did this mean he had hurt you more than anything else today, because he'd been unable to handle himself, making you waste precious oxygen and energy? As soon as he's patched up he requests to stay alone by your side, which is rather difficult due to how many bots want to praise his efforts in taking down an enemy. Their intentions are at least appreciated. Yet he's left to agonize as he waits for you to stir, removing his glasses so he can hold his head in his hands while the emotions overwhelm him.

·Upon waking, it's hard to ignore the fact that most of your body hurts in one way or another, particularly in a few stretches of your arms and legs where bruises will no doubt be blossoming soon. Yet the mask on your face is what really gives you pause, especially as you open your eyes to see the interior of a medical bay suite. A familiar dash of copper catches your attention before you can think too hard. Rung is just beside you, yet you can't tell if he's awake or powered down by the way his helm is leaning so heavily against his palm. The question is answered as soon as you stir, and his usually bright optics snap open to reveal an exhausted grey. Despite the visible anguish, he smiles as soon as he sees you, reaching forward to brush your cheek as he softly says your name. Static blurs his voice into an uncharacteristic croak.

·A tad bit accustomed to worried minds in confusing situations, he gently relays what led to you being here, trying to remain neutral but slipping in a bit of self admonishment as he gets to his failed defensive effort. The memories flood back despite the injuries you suffered and the lack of oxygen in the moment. A far different scene comes back in your mind's eye, one of a mech valiantly charging into a fight just to give you a chance at escape, and you take hold of his digit despite the pain of moving your arm. When he tries to stop the action you cut him off gently, saying that he's not just the reason you're alive, he was the source of your own burst of courage that resulted in you saving his life. Your love for each other is why you're both here to live another day.

·The devotion in your words takes him by total surprise. For all the adoration he has for you, he's not even accustomed to being remembered by anyone, let alone treasured. Honest as can be, he can only silently wipe away a few happy tears as he requests you forgive him for the self imposed criticism. Smiling back, you promise to do so, and to always help him remember that he's worth all the love you have for him. With tenderness only he could possess, Rung leans down to leave a soft kiss on the side of your head in silent thanks. There simply aren't words for the happiness you give him even in the hardest times...

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light #idw #tf #my writing #my asks #anon #rung #rung x reader #human reader #self insert #requests

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