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cl-01-kestis · 2 years

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Lavender - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Wife!Reader

Summary: The war is almost over. There is thick tension in the Jedi temple and you seek refuge with your husband after a particularly difficult battle, just before his trip to Utepau to defeat General Grevious, but neither of you are prepared for what lies ahead.

Warnings: angst, war, canon typical injuries and violence, injury description, blood, nudity but nothing smutty

The panic in the temple was overbearing. Whispers spoke of the end of the war, rumours rounded back to your ears about the Jedi’s soon to be success. But you couldn’t help but feel anxious. Your stomach twisted in knots every time someone brought up the finale of the war that went on for decades, even centuries, well before your lifetime.

You almost couldn’t believe you’d be there to see it. You pictured yourself much older, in a rocking chair somewhere in the middle of nowhere living a much quieter life. But not at 27, still a Jedi, and still carrying the burden of fighting this war. You didn’t want the war to continue, but you feared what would become of you after it ended. What would the Jedi do afterwards? Would you finally be able to run away and live the life you always dreamed of with your husband, without any repercussions?

One could only dream.

As you walked through the temple, you fought back tears caused by stress. You recently came back from a mission on Naboo, defeating the remaining Seperatist forces alongside your clone squadron, but something felt wrong. You had so much pent up emotion, your eyes cursed from seeing innocents die at the hands of Seperatists once more. You couldn’t save as many as you wanted, you couldn’t think about anything else.

Different parts of your body were marked up from a Commando droid, it’s dagger cutting into your skin and scarring you permanently, forever reminding you of battle. You didn’t see the medic, blood was staining the inside sleeve and other parts of your Jedi robes as you bit into your lip, trying to distract yourself from the stingy pain that tore into your muscles.

Your steps became quicker, more hasty, tears in your eyes as you eventually made it to your apartment in the temple, shoving the door open and closing it in a hurry.

“Darling?” The sweet, familiar voice of your dear Obi-wan called out in surprise. He was sitting by the window on your lounge chair, a cup of tea beside the laminate table next to him. He offered you a smile, but it immediately died when he saw the state you were in, when he saw the tear that ran down your cheek, the tear stinging a cut near your jawline.

“Maker, (Y/N), what happened?” He sat up quickly, running over to you and immediately wrapping you up in his arms. You didn’t say anything, instead bursting into tears and clinging to his robes in panic. You sobbed against his chest, your body trembling violently in his arms as he stroked your back and kept you as close as possible.

“You’re safe now, sweetheart, they can’t hurt you now” He didn’t read your mind to know you’d been attacked, the cuts and slices through your robes told him enough. Seeing your blood sleep through the fabrics of your uniform made him seethe in anger.

“I couldn’t save them” You choked, your tears staining Obi-wan’s collar. He swayed you in his arms in an attempt to calm you down, running one of his hands through your hair and keeping his lips firmly pressed to your forehead.

“Tell me what happened” Your husband gently pulled away from you, his arms still wrapped around you. Your hands relaxed on his robes, causing crinkles in the material, but he didn’t mind one bit.

“W-we were on Naboo, there were civilians,” You tried wiping some tears away but they kept coming back.

“The droids slaughtered them, I tried to save everyone but I didn’t make it in time” You started hyperventilating, your body trembling as you blinked through your tears. Your husbands eyes glistened, but his tears didn’t fall. He listened closely as you described what happened, and he knew the feeling of guilt all too well. This wasn’t the first time you couldn’t save civilians, but there were children on Naboo, and their mothers who were too scared to move. Their fathers had been slaughtered already, and you couldn’t even save their families in the end. It crushed you to no end.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t get to them in time, but it’s not your fault” Obi-wan cupped your face with both hands and tilted your head up so you could look into his eyes. You sniffed, shaking your head and closing your eyes to prevent any more tears.

“Come, let’s get you cleaned up” Your husband whispered.

Obi-wan ran a bath for you as you got undressed, wincing as you peeled off the bloody robes from your sticky and drying wounds. You were a mess, dirt and blood stained almost every part of your body, you didn’t want Obi-wan to see so you wrapped yourself in a towel.

Your husband came out of your shared bathroom and offered you his hand. You realised he removed his top layer of his robes and rolled his sleeves up. He was going to help you clean up.

Obi-wan did this many times since you first dated 4 years ago, his sole purpose in the relationship was to love and protect you. That’s all he ever wanted, it gave him closure beyond comprehension. As his wife, seeing you get hurt was the worst feeling, it made him feel like he failed somehow. And even now, seeing you wrapped up in a towel to save his eyes from the damage caused to your body, he couldn’t help but feel like he should’ve been there to defend you.

You took his hand, your feet patting against the carpet of your suite as you followed him into the bathroom. The room smelled of lavender, but there were no bubbles in the bath. The smell might’ve originated from a candle, or a diffuser. You couldn’t care less at the moment.

Your husband helped you step into the bath, looking at your face to save you any humiliation as you unravelled the towel from your shaking body. As soon as your body was bare to his eyes, you let go of his hand and submerged under the clear water, bringing your knees to your chest. Obi-wan had seen you naked many times before, he knew every inch of your skin like the back of his hand, he spent years memorising every crevice and curve. You were a work of art to his eyes, and it pained him to no end to see you shy away from him because of your wounds.

Your knees were scuffed, he assumed you might’ve tripped and fallen during battle, but the scrapes and bruises on your thighs proved to be worse. Obi-wan sat on the small stool which was stationed beside the sink, readjusting his sleeves so they were past his elbows. He noticed a layer of blood coat the surface of the bath but he couldn’t find the source, you were covering your entire torso up.

“Can I touch you?” He asked gently, and felt relieved when you nodded. He grabbed a cloth and soaked it in the water, bringing it up to your face and cleaning your dirty cheeks. You felt so weak, so fragile, but the feeling of warmth around you made you want to fall asleep and stay curled up forever.

He dabbed the cloth on the cut near your jaw, careful not to irritate the wound.

“Give me your arm, darling” He instructed you softly, waiting until you reached out and took his hand, letting him stretch out your arm so he could clean more of the dirt and blood. It was all over your face and chest, your hands were stained by blood from holding your wounds. Every cut Obi-wan cleaned, the more his heart broke.

“It hurts” You pouted as you washed your hand in the water, rubbing it against your legs beneath the surface.

“I know dear, I’ll be as quick as I can” Obi-wan kissed the back of your hand before letting it go, continuing over to your other arm.

You gradually grew more comfortable with your husband, lowering your knees from your chest and letting them submerge in the warm bath water. It stung the scapes on your skin, you bit back a whimper as the pain of your knees and Obi-wans cleaning combined.

Obi-wan slipped a glance at your newly exposed torso, finally finding the source of the patch of bloody water on the surface. There was a deep gash right under your chest, beside your ribs. The wound was deeper than the rest, but not fatal. It needed stitches, or else you’d be left with a horrendous looking scar.

“Why didn’t you go to the medic first before seeing me?” Your husbands question made you roll your eyes, but you bit back any snide comment which could ruin the mood.

“I didn’t care about the medic, I just had to see you” You whispered, leaning further into the water as Obi-wan pressed the cloth to another cut on your arm.

“You need stitches for some of your wounds, you know I’m not trained to do that” Your husband put your other arm down, turning his attention to you. His eyes raked down your body, but his only emotion was concern. He saw the gash on your ribs and his ears rang with worry, but he tried not to cause you anymore distress.

“I know, I’ll go after this” You dismiss his comment, making the older Jedi shake his head.

“You’re so stubborn” Obi-wan smiled.

You sat up, wincing aloud as you crossed your legs in the tub and turned to face him. He looked so handsome right now; he always did. Those blue eyes staring so deeply at you were the first thing you noticed about him, all those years ago on the training grounds when you were still a Padawan.

He was already training Anakin by the time you met, your master was a close friend of his and the two stumbled into one another during your training. You were 22 years old, you barely knew him, but he made your heart flutter.

You didn’t start speaking to him until a year later, Anakin was your partner in combat for a short while but it wasn’t to do with Jedi training. The two of you sparred in the gymnasium occasionally, and Obi-wan just so happened to come across your fight. You beat Anakin everytime, holding him down by his neck or his arms as he struggled and eventually gave in beneath you. Obi-wan admired your strength always, but it was clear something changed in the midst of your acquaintanceship.

You had no idea you’d end up marrying him 4 years later. Time was a funny thing, but you wouldn’t change him for a single thing in the galaxy. Not even all the credits in the universe could make you leave him. He was intimate, caring, playfully flirtatious at inappropriate times, he was perfect to you. And now, as he cleaned your wounds from battle, you only saw love in his eyes.

“I love you” Your hand found his cheek, cupping it gently and tracing his cheek with your thumb. Obi-wan leaned into your hand, kissing your palm which made his beard scratch against your skin.

“And I love you” He smiled.

You brought him in for a kiss, it was familiar, repetitive, but addictive. His kiss was ingrained in your brain, you received enough of them, but you’d never grow tired of it.

Obi-wan cleaned the remaining wounds on your legs and only dabbed the wound on your torso, not even going near the gash to prevent any further irritation. He wrapped you up in a towel as you stood from the bath, helping you out so you didn’t slip. Your towel was draped over your shoulders, tepidly following your husband as he escorted you back into your living quarters and brought out some clothes from your wardrobe. You sat down on your bed, looking out of your large window which displayed the scenery of Coruscant.

“Are you feeling okay?” Obi-wan asked, crouching down in front of you and taking your hands in his larger ones. You felt so safe with him, the shivers calmed down as you felt his warmth, there was no other feeling quite as unique as him.

“I’m better now, thank you Obi” You squeezed his hands, looking down at him and tracing his face shape with your eyes. A strand of auburn hair fell over his forehead, scraping his eyebrows. You tucked the strand back behind his ear and smiled.

“I hope life continues this way after the war ends” You comment absently, the smile quickly drifting off your face, replaced with a wary expression.

“It will, darling, and when that time comes, we can finally settle down” Your husband reassured you, leaning up to kiss you tenderly.

“Now let’s get you dressed, we need to get you to the infirmary” He instructs.

“Yes sir” You smirk.

“It might be a while until I next see you, I’ll be leaving soon to deal with General Grevious and I’m not sure how long I’ll take” Obi-wan handed you underwear, his eyes drifting away to give you privacy as you dropped your towel.

“Promise me you’ll come back in one piece?” You chuckle, pulling your pants on and slipping your bra straps through your arms.

“When have I ever broke your promises?” Your husband grinned, passing you a clean T-shirt and grey joggers.

“You’ve got a point” You roll your eyes, continuing to dress whilst pondering on Obi-wan’s safety, and what could come after the war ended.

You hoped it would come soon, and you hoped you’d be able to live the life you always wanted with Obi-wan. You dreamed of leaving, finding a home, starting a family. It was all planned out.

But an itch in the back of your head told you things wouldn’t pan out that way. Something would get in the way, wether it be the Jedi or something entirely different. Something would happen, and you feared you couldn’t stop it.

Maybe that’s just you though, right?

#x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x y/n

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bored-storyteller · 3 years

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Alternative version of this one shot (or part of it)

Warning: mention of blood and violence

67- Tokyo Ghoul, Uta x human!Reader

The smell of your blood was enough. This was enough, and the world around Uta had darkened and there was for him that dangerous red trail that led him to you. And even if his face seems calm and focused, the terror of never seeing you again grips him.

Why are you there in the first place? You don't have to be there, he warned you. He always warns you, to keep you safe - so you don't see.

It's hard for him to hold back when his mental state is in that situation. When he needs blood, fun and killing, and as much as he wants it, not even your presence can satisfy that need.

Indeed, you are a stimulus. Your eyes that silently scrutinize him from your hiding place are a charge for him to do better. To do more.

He never wanted to show you the monster. No, it's not just about something metaphorical and moral like the monstrosity of ghouls. His monstrous body, he never wanted to show it to you.

Yet now it's there massive and awful on his victim, and your attacker. And it’s precisely because you are there.

Uta from the fourth ward is not a ghoul that the others don't take seriously, it wouldn't need him to use his strength with a being as lowly as that, but he needs it.

He can still smell you. He knows exactly where you are and what you feel, he smells your fear, and he likes it.

Are you afraid of him? Are you afraid of what you see even though he is saving you?

"Where do you run chick."

Uta's laughter is chilling, transcendent, as the ghoul with your blood-stained hands whizzes by his side.

Your crouched form shrinks against your makeshift barrier to clear the way for the substitute victim before he overwhelms you.

You are so confused and afraid that what happens just slips before your eyes without really making sense. And when something rushes forward with a violent rush to capture the unfortunate ghoul, you have neither the ability nor the readiness to escape it.

The first thing you perceive is the heat that surrounds you and the light that dims.

Someone giggles and someone shouts.

You forget to breathe.

"Oops ..."

It's a voice you know all too well, it's a voice you hear every day, filling your life like color fills a blank canvas. Yet now you would swear you never heard it.

“How did you end up here, my beloved? Did your delicious smell make me catch you too? "

Beloved is not a word that flows often between you two, it is suspended in your gestures and in your looks, but it is truly exceptional that your lips pronounce it. Maybe that's why it now sounds so unreal from those lips you should have known for a long time.

Those lips that move threateningly beneath you and your tormentor, in the depths of that flesh so hot and so inhuman that surrounds you.

"Tell me, my love, what pains in hell do you want this toy to undergo?"

That word continues to resonate in those muscles along with the angry moans of the captured ghoul.

Love, love, love. Such a rare word, so unconventional. Yet he seems to like to say it as he prepares to kill.

It clashes like a broken bell, screeches against hearing like teeth in terror. But no, you can't say he's not being sincere.

Those red tentacles squeeze in on you, and you don't know if it's sadism or some other dark emotion he's feeling about holding you there.

You do not answer his smallest question and rather you turn around, clinging desperately to that merciless cocoon, looking for a way out.

Maybe it's still sadism, those noises you hear so visceral and close to you, while an unequal fight is taking place a few inches from your body. If not even the ghoul can escape the monster, how can you fragile human?

You don't want to see what's happening, what he's doing. You can't even imagine how the hell he can do to cause those screams of terror and that slaughterhouse noise of flesh and blood. The sound is already ignoble enough to make you squeeze against the viscous envelope, closing your eyes and pressing against those walls that you don't even know which area of his body they belong to.

Even when the disturbing silence falls on you, you don't move. The awareness of being alone there strangely makes things even more difficult.

"Don't you want to watch?" Uta's voice is still distorted by an unhealthy amusement "So weak ... there was no need to even fight him ..."

Your fingers cling to the tentacles as if they could protect you.

"Uta ..." his name sounds uncertain in that too narrow cave.

"Hm?" A light laugh, this time addressed only to you "are you afraid?"

He knows you're scared, terrified. He feels it in his lungs, the smell of your anguish mixes with that of your blood, of that wound you seem to have forgotten about.

And he keeps you there, because he knows that if he were to let you go, you would run away. The smell you have on you is that of the victims when they try in vain to escape the predator.

For a moment, a fleeting insane moment, he really thinks that the only solution is to devour you, that this is the only way to keep you there with him.

But that moment falls into his own horror when your question caresses him: "Can you come back please?"

Come back.

His heart stops for a moment.

Come back.

That scent of prey becomes your perfume again, which invades him like a raging river.

"But I ... I've always been here."

Now his voice is no longer scary, and although you still do not dare to look beyond your eyelids, you can finally feel the safety of that delicate and gentle tone.

"Uta?" You call him again, like you want to make sure it's him for real.

And he wonders what the hell he's doing. Because you are there, in the first place, in his trap.

Finally his shell opens, freeing you in the evening light, and all that grabs you are his hands, to bring you back to earth safely.

When you open your eyes, nothing is left of that cluster of tentacles and arms; all that is in front of you is that dear face that you have come to know so well. It's a blood mask that covers his chin to his nose, but at least you can see his eyes.

"It's me ..." the sweet note of his voice echoes in the calm after the storm "It's just me."

It's just him. No hero ready to save you, only Uta in his natural madness.

His instinct to grab you before you run away is contradicted by your sudden gesture pushing you against him.

"Uta!" Your arms surround his neck in a desperate attempt to hold him back as your head snuggles against his neck as if that were your only refuge.

"You never came back ... I came looking for you."

Your words are so docile and sincere that Uta almost doubts he has heard them.

He asked you, he asked you what you would do if he never came back. He hadn't believed you had taken his words to heart so much.

The imaginary of you, finally free human without him, dissolves in his mind with every particle of you that your body transmits to him.

It seems that nothing is wrong with you in any of this; neither the danger you ran, nor the wound on your shoulder, nor his inhuman violence. You seem to completely ignore the blood that covers him, which now dirties you too, and you are not bothered by the gaunt remains that surround you. You were looking for him. You were afraid that he would never come back to you, and you looked for him, as you said.

You did not remain silent and wait, you did not hope for a while to get rid of him, nor did you plan to remain without him. Instead those words of his had remained inside you to the point of putting you in danger.

"Forgive me." His voice is little more than a whisper as his palm gently rests on your head in a protective gesture "Does it hurt a lot?"

You shake your head in dissent as he leans over your wound to lick the blood away. Not a threatening gesture, but a cure, a desire to perceive you as close to him as possible.

You who sought him, you who did not run away, you who remain so calm in his hands.

"You won't go away, will you?"

Your question is innocent as you curl up in him, likewise seeking your presence.

His nose cuddles against your temple, continuing to perceive you with all possible senses.

"Not as long as you want me."

#tokyo ghoul #uta tokyo ghoul #uta x reader #uta x human reader #uta tg #tokyo ghoul uta #gore mention #violence #tokyo ghoul oneshot #one shot #angst

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punemy-spotted · 3 years

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The Cut

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Muslim-Coded Reader

Warnings: Explicit Content; Smut; Oral Sex (F-receiving); Discussion of FGM/Clitorectomy; Allusions to Child Abuse; Allusions to Scars; Angst; Mention Cutting;

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: You cannot carry all your pain on your own.

Author’s Notes: When I was five years old, I was subjected to a clitorectomy, a procedure that was a violation of my human rights and bodily autonomy. It has fundamentally changed the way I view my sexuality and challenged my ability to see myself as a person worthy of sexual pleasure and love. This procedure was done very deliberately to make me a person who did not have sexual autonomy and did not derive pleasure from sex. And for a long time, it worked.

When Dibs at @gotnofucks #dibspositivitychallenge came out, it really only felt right to do a piece that represented this story, because if I don’t give voice to this pain, then there’s a good chance no one else will either. Which is why I’m submitting it as part of the challenge — and it was a challenge! I’ve alluded to FGM in other, now mostly-abandoned pieces, but never anything where it is acknowledged and soothed, and for the most part, endured it alone.

And before this note becomes almost as long as the piece, thank you, @gotnofucks, for the opportunity to be okay with the things we are not.

The first time he touches you, it is a shock.

No, not like that.

Helmut Zemo invades your life like a virus, consumes your loneliness in greedy kisses, winds his arms around you like he might just swallow your pleasure whole, might make you a part of him to carry away forever. Bare yourself to him and he might sink his fangs into you, drain you of all your fears and leave only obsession in its wake, might turn you into the same cold lover as him, might just make you fall in love.

The first time he touches you, it is a shock.

You are soft and delicate and precious under his lingering gaze, under appraising fingers, under appreciative hums. He bids you Lay still, sweetling, bids you Let me look at you, bids you You are a masterpiece made flesh, and you believe him, and you forget.

You forget, as he claims your soft mouth with his own, willing and wanting. You forget, as his tongue explores the pleasurable symphony of your surrender. You forget, you forget everything. There is only the hunger of his lust, the wanting he leaves on your skin, marking you with nips of teeth and suckling kisses, makes a game of your yelps and whimpers, chuckles against your tender form, So needy for me, sweetling.

And you are.

Helmut, you plead, running fingers through his hair as he simpers with lips wrapped around the pebbled skin of your breast, watching him wide-eyed and enamored, a halo of dark locks around your face and you are made of adoration and to be adored.

Darling, he purrs, fingers sliding along your sides, Do you trust me?

And oh.

Oh, you do.

Let him kiss along the planes of your body, let him love the soft lines of you in the early morning light and bid you spread your legs for him Yes just like that, darling, good girl…

Helmut Zemo hums against your skin, takes in the sight of you full of want and wanting, your hands tangled in silk sheets and lips curved around the praise of your love and he is lost to you just the same.

The first time he touches you, it is a shock.

The softness of your sex is an intoxicant and the kisses he places to the plush apex of you is a whisper of a promise, seeking the sweetness of you on his senses and if he notices the scars where the missing parts of you are then he does not speak and if he notices the way your breath hitches and you tense then he does not speak. He only presses the flat of his tongue against that which you have, taking a decadent lap of your sweetness while you whine and if there are tears in your eyes, sweetling, let him pause to wipe them away, let him watch you in adoring silence to see if you will utter to him the words which will put a stop to this worship and bring about another kind. You are exalted and let him raise you to the heavens just like this, Just like this, sweetling.

He does not devour you, he is no beast, but he does drink of your pleasure, letting his tongue delve into your softness. Gentle hands holding you in place, encouraging you to surrender, writhe and move and let him nuzzle deeper, let him moan, soft and hungry against the feast he adores so much and when you surrender, sweetness, he is overcome.

The first time he touches you, he asks nothing.

The first time he touches you, he sees everything.

Does it hurt?

The next time he touches you, he is curled around you in bed, fingers languid and lazy against the plushness of your sex, finding the space where nerves are made scars and watching you turn, watching your eyes grow desperate and realize he saw and he touched and he loved you anyway and you say nothing at first, not until he asks again, Does it hurt you, sweetling?

Sometimes.

But today?

No.

Will you tell me?

Someday.

And he asks nothing further, only whether you are warm and comfortable here in this home he had made out of your bed and when you nod he is calmed and when you nod he is taking another hungry kiss from your plush mouth and when you nod he is patient.

He is always patient, and careful, and skilled, and waiting.

One day it does hurt, and for once, you do not hurt alone.

One day it does hurt and you tell him.

He holds you while you cry, just as he is, kissing your fingers and promising divinity in your adoration and you tell him of the girl you once were and you speak of the knives and the crimes and he listens.

He listens and in his heart, he simmers with the pain and rage you have absorbed for all your years, the iceberg shelves of his heart cracking under the weight of your hurt and your confession and he asks no questions but sweetling, you tell him every word, pressed against his chest and tears in your eyes, Let yourself cry, darling, and Helmut Zemo might be a murderer and an extremist and a villain but in this moment he is yours and there are no greater villains than the ones who drove you to this, who charged a child with crimes she did not know the names of, demanding reparation from her in her blood and flesh.

So you tell him. You tell him of the dusty hospital and the sneering faces. You tell him how your mother could not bring herself to come with you and so you stood, too young to remember your native tongue with no interpreter to make your grandmothers understand that you were afraid.

You tell him of a bird with her wings clipped before she even knew she could have flown, you tell him how you thought you would never, you tell him how it used to hurt and sweetness… you tell him how you thought he would leave you if he saw.

It’s not their fault, you tell him too, and he does not believe you but it is not his place to tell you what to feel and so instead he runs fingers through your hair and holds you to his chest and kisses your temple.

It’s not their fault, you insist, They trusted the wrong people, they were misled, they—

They are not yours to defend, sweetling, he tells you in his softest voice, breaking you from your guilt, They are not yours to justify.

And so you do not give it.

You give nothing, only your tears to a man who demands nothing, only bids you seek refuge in what safety he can give but sweetness he knows the meaning of revenge and the power of loathing and you have carried your burden for so long and justice has failed you so often — Let me carry this pain with you, my darling — and oh sweetness, you will.

You will, and he will carry you through the days you try to give a name to your anguish.

You will, and he will find the means to demand the justice you were denied because you deserve your justice, because you cannot be allowed to hurt while they go home and pretend they are correct to do this to you and your sisters in faith.

You will.

The first time he touches you, it is a shock.

No, not like that.

Not when he shows you how wrong they were.

#helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x you #dibspositivitychallenge #tw abuse #tw female genital mutilation #tw personal piece

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timextoxhajima · 3 years

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Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 6 - Misogynist

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunjaethereal @sunwoowuvbot

“Don’t offend me.”

“No, I think the best course of action for HERA & ARTEMIS is that we not only branch out to collaborate with other companies, but also to make um… say, connections with non-profit organisations. Orphanages, charities, you name it. The publicity HERA & ARTEMIS will get after being recognised as a community-caring brand, a brand that cares no less than it’s maximum ability to about children, the elderly and the disabled.”

“Charitable. I like it,” The Resources CEO of The Board nods with a wine of champagne in his glass. even at her own wedding, all the bride can think of is work. All she cares about is how to make sure HERA & ARTEMIS is heard in the crowd of attendees to her wedding. “Anyway, a gorgeous wedding, I must say. What made you have it at home? I’d expect that your father and brother would have wanted it somewhere more… ravish, y’know, more extravagant.”

It takes some effort to hide her disgust at the thought that her father had a say over where she wanted to have her wedding.

“Of course not,” The service smile almost feels surgically implanted into her face, even Jang Won herself is put off. “Juyeon and I have already planned this right off the bat, have it at Hera’s Manor.”

“Why not at the Lee House? I thought the Lee’s would’ve preferred it there, you know, husband and all.”

Jang Won could’ve slapped the glass of champagne out of his grasp if she wanted to, then probably break the bowl off the stem and send it into his eye.

Misogynist.

“We—”

“The Lee House doesn’t have the facility and resources to hold a wedding now,” Juyeon comes round with a cup of whiskey, cheeks slightly pink from the alcohol as he rounds his arm around Jang Won, pulling her into his torso and even bothering to press a kiss into her temple. “It isn’t as presentable as you’d expect it to be. Hera’s Manor is well-kept and it looks like it’s prepped for a party every other day.”

Juyeon smiles politely, eyes drifting from the Resources CEO to Jang Won, and for a split second, Jang Won might just feel somewhat impressed he stood up for her. “You know what they say, if you need something done, a lady will do it fast and efficient.”

The Resources CEO provides the newly wedded couple an awkward smile, not really able to spit out a proper response to Juyeon’s rebuttal.

“Anyway, love, your brother’s asking for you in your office. Some administrative issues that cropped up,” Juyeon pulls away and turns his body, feet already pointing away from the Resources CEO. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr Teuk.”

Juyeon lowers his head as a sign of respect, though he probably doesn’t mean it. He gently tugs on Jang Won and leads her out of the courtyard.

“Please tell me there aren’t any actual administrative manners Younghoon wants to talk to me about,” Jang Won seethes as she walks up the yard stairs and into the main hall.

“‘Course not,” Juyeon subtly shakes his head. “He’s having the time of his life actually, getting acquainted with the other members of The Board. Have you always been the one helping him with Artemis?”

“In his defence, I don’t let him handle anything. It’s a subsidiary of HERA & ARTEMIS so I might as well take things into my own hands and worry about it on my own.”

“Well, maybe you should let him figure his hand out at things. He doesn’t legally own Artemis for nothing.”

Jang Won turns to shoot a look of distaste at Juyeon.

“What?” He frowns, forehead creasing. “I’m literally telling you to split your workload.”

“I don’t need to split my workload. I’m doing fine on my own and frankly, I’d rather he sit back and let me do most of it so that at least I know what the Hell’s going on with my companies without worrying about any secrets.”

Juyeon rubs the back of his neck and shoves his hands into his pockets. “In other words, you don’t trust your brother.”

“Please,” She walks off first, heading for her office where she usually seeks refuge amongst her bottles of whiskey and bourbon and documents. “Just because I love him for being my brother doesn’t mean I should trust him with my finances.”

“You’re literally born into a family of fortune. Even if he does mess up, you’d be able to recover from it. The consequences would mean absolutely nothing to you.”

Jang Won pushes the heavy doors of her office open, admiring the late-morning sun that’s spilling all over her chair and her desk.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, pretty boy. I choose not to rely on whatever I have at birth because I always felt like whatever my dad had was just handed to him,” She reaches for the ice bucket and picks up a ball of ice, dropping it into the whiskey glass, then coats most of its surface with bourbon. “But God forsake my hard work, huh? I guess if hard work really did pay off then I wouldn’t be standing here, in a wedding-lunch dress, talking to my husband.”

Juyeon raises both brows and throws himself into one of the sofa seats, the clinking of the whiskey decanter echoing ever so slightly throughout the office. “Ever heard of a holiday? You should go on one.”

She scoffs with exaggeration, the gentle swishing of the alcohol meeting the ice and the glass gleaming like liquid honey under the sunlight. “Yes, because I’m just like you, the one who would run away from the responsibilities he was born into whenever he doesn’t want them.”

“I’m sorry,” Juyeon grimaces, standing up and allowing the silvers of his suit glimmer as he walks into where the sunlight kisses the floor. “Which toe did I step on? I just pulled you out of a situation you would’ve otherwise not wanted to be in.”

“Unfortunately for you, I didn’t need pulling out. I could’ve handled myself right there and then. It’s been like that for as long as I can remember - I don’t need myself a nanny to save me,” Cocking one of her brows, she gives a wry laugh before downing the shot of whiskey.

Juyeon is in disbelief in her ability to perceive gratitude - or rather, a lack thereof.

“Maybe your father came back to save HERA & ARTEMIS from your terrible people’s skills, ever thought of that?”

“Wrong again, pretty boy!” She peels the glass off her lips and stares at the lipstick mark. “I’m perfect with the people I wanna be perfect with to get what I want, and when they are of no use to me, I’m well aware I treat them less than average.”

“There it is,” He sneers, stopping right before her as she finishes the last bit of her whiskey. “So, you’re a hypocrite.”

A smirk draws across her lips. Jang Won almost slams the glass back down in the tray of other glasses and the whiskey decanter. “And I’m proud of it. There’s nothing you can do about it, Lee Juyeon. You agreed to play this game my way and now that we’re wearing matching rings. I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with it.”

Jang Won squares up and jabs a finger into his shoulder. But Juyeon catches her wrist and holds it in place, causing her to grunt and attempt to writhe her way out, but to no avail.

“Kim Jang Won, you listen to me and you listen well. Just because I agreed to play this game by your rules, doesn’t mean I’m your puppet. We both know who will be the more powerful one in May, so my advice?” By now, Juyeon’s nose is almost in her eye. He’s not even bothering to look at her.

“Don’t offend me.”

Jang Won finally snatches her wrist out of his hold when she feels his grip loosen. Huffing, she stomps past him, shoulder bumping into his arm for good measure as she leaves the office.

Younghoon just about catches his sister rolling her eyes so hard, she was this close to hurling a string of vulgarities at the wooden of her office door. “Hey, what were you doing in your office? People are looking for you!”

Without a word, her eyes are locked with his in frustration.

“What?” He frowns.

She thinks for a moment.

She can ruin him and destroy him by asking him to take Artemis for himself before the deal is due in June. Ask him why he was so useless and had his little sister do everything for him, never once really fighting to take ownership of a company legally his.

“Nothing,” The brush-off is sharp and distinct as she waves him off, turning to walk into the main hall. “Go get yourself more sponsors before June, will you? I’m not sure the same people would want to keep in touch with HERA & ARTEMIS after the separation and collaboration is made official.”

Juyeon returns home later that evening, still wearing the fourth outfit of the day. It was a blue suit with a black collar and details and all he wants to do is soak himself in his bath. Maybe he could go to sleep safe and sound, and he’d wake up single and free to do whatever he actually wants to do.

He walks down the entrance corridor, sick of all the staged portraits of him and his family hung on the walls. The main hall comes into sight, past the stairs on his right, where the television was still broadcasting bits and pieces of his wedding earlier. In the million-dollar couch sat his father, eyes and ears attentive to the screen.

“Was it so entertaining that you have to watch it again? I know you were there this afternoon.”

His father turns his head subtly. Juyeon pulls off his blazer and removes his watch, laying the heavy clothing over his forearm as he scans the broadcast.

“The Lee-Kim wedding saw nothing short of nothing but a perfect list of investors, sponsors, fellow colleagues and leaders of several enterprises...”

He turns to look at his father, obviously still somewhat hurt that he hadn’t been officially invited by his son - Mr Ro had sent out mandatory invites to family members.

“It was a gorgeous wedding.”

“Yeah, well...” Juyeon shrugs lifelessly, already turning around to head for the stairs. “I had no say in it. It was her wedding and I don’t care, so.”

“The Board is expecting you to go on a Honeymoon, you have that in place, right?”

Juyeon gives a dry chuckle, already on the first step of the stairs. “Yeah, we’re going to Guatemala.”

“Guatemala?” His father shifts his attention from the television and looks at Juyeon, halfway up the stairs. “You’re just finding a chance to go diving in Belize, aren’t you?”

His son doesn’t falter, only continuing taking each step towards the second level, in hopes that he wouldn’t have to listen to his father criticise the only thing Jang Won let him do. At least it was some kind of freedom.

“Juyeon-”

“Mom better not be in my room.”

The second floor corridor greets him with even more portraits of his family, most of the pictures of him when he was younger. He halts right outside his door when he notices light seeping out from beneath.

Sighing with exasperation, he lays his hand on the door handle, readying himself to listen to his mother ramble. But his attention drifts from the cream-painted mahogany to the low cabinet next to him, the blue shade of the stingray shining under the hallway lights.

There was a ceramic statue of a standing coral frame with the stingray within the arc, and on it engraved ‘Hawaii 2018′. He smiles, remembering only fond memories of seeing a huge stingray while diving. Sunwoo had been dragged out by him - one of those times when he fought with his parents and couldn’t stand being in the same house as them. He covered travel cost and hospitality fees, ensuring Sunwoo’s parents (whose family was also on the smaller arm of The Board’s administration) that he’d take care of them.

Juyeon got an earful from his parents when he came back. Young Jin Seol had been the one to tell his parents his whereabouts, solely because he had arranged for her to make sure it seemed like he was still doing his job at the office. So, of course, when his parents walked into office and she was doing his work for him, they had threatened to fire her.

But Juyeon knew he was indebted, and told his parents, “No Jin Seol, then you can forget about me taking over Apple-Korea.”

Sucking a deep breath, Juyeon shakes himself out of his mental trance, and pushes the door open.

The back of his mother seems so fragile on first sight, and he’s well aware she’s getting on in her years. For a split second, he feels emotional, possibly feeling some tinge of remorse at how horrible of a son he’s been.

Then he remembers that she’s had an abundance of spa treatments, country-club lunches with her fellow rich moms after a game of gold or tennis, and a bunch of other things she definitely didn’t need. He wish he could tell himself otherwise, that she had been born into this life and thus living anything else dissimilar to this would be tiring on her.

But he can’t.

“I’m surprised you bothered to come home,” She says without looking at him. Juyeon rests his blazer on the back of the single sofa seat that’s angled to face the one she’s sitting in. “I was wondering if I should send some pajamas over to Hera’s Manor.”

Juyeon sits in the crystal encrusted sofa seat, crossing his legs and eyeing his mother fiddle with the wedding band on her finger. It reminds him of his own.

“You realise you’re the one who bound me to the Kim family, don’t you? You’re the one who said okay to marrying Kim Jang Won, not me.”

“It was for your own good.”

“For mine or for our family?” Juyeon leans back in his seat and interlocks his fingers, placing them in his lap. “What else do you really need from the Lee family that you simply cannot take your eyes off? Their money? HERA & ARTEMIS? What?”

Only now does Juyeon notice the cup of tea on the small coffee table infront of them.

“A child,” She says, like it was the most casual thought one could have, before taking a sip of tea. Her son shuts his eyes then opens them with his eyebrows as far up his forehead as he can.

Providing a dry, tortured chuckle, Juyeon blinks multiple times, wishing that it was a condition with his hearing and not just something his mother had just spat out.

“A what?” Juyeon pulls apart his hands and leans forward, fists now clenched and pressed into the cushion he was sitting in.

“You heard me,” She places the tea cup down and refuses to look at him. “A child would mean inheritance. The Lee family will inherit the wealth of the Kims and it could possibly start a new system. It could rewrite The Board. We could become The Board.”

“What the-” He finally stands, barely choking out some kind of laughter filled with confusion and utter disbelief. “You want a child just to bond our families together and take over The fucking Board? My God, why are you so obsessed with The Board?”

“Because The Board is everything! No board, no us, no wealth and comfort like the kind we raised you in-”

“Does it look like I wanted it?!” Juyeon runs his hands through his hair, pulling his hair back and stretching his hairline.

“You ingrate-”

“So I am an ingrate. But I had no choice, I have no life of my own because guess who’s making my decisions for me? You! If I don’t even have the ability to make my own choices then how do I even qualify as an ingrate?!”

She’s silent, and very much staring at the words spewing out of her son’s mouth now. She huffs through her flared nostrils, picking up the saucer and the tea cup and standing. “I don’t know what kind of ideas Kim Jang Won has planted in your head but you are still part of the Lee family and-”

“For Gods’ sake, Jang Won has nothing to do with any of this! In fact, she can’t care less about what I’m doing, so long as it doesn’t change the course of this entire situation. If anything, she’s playing it safe; she’s playing it against her father, and not us,” The veins on Juyeon’s hands are about to rip through his skin when he cannot close his fist any more. “Her father literally climbed out the grave... and you took this chance to capitalise on that in order to make our family richer the moment you heard of The Board’s announcement regarding HERA & ARTEMIS’s ownership complications...”

Juyeon shakes his head subtly, realising that he was panting from the sheer force of anger and disgust rushing through him.

“And she’s younger than me. Lost her mother, lost her father, who only comes back to take what she built? You know, for a woman under The Board, I’d think you’d understand what she’s gone through. I thought... I thought you would’ve known how hard it is to be the successful one in the family but cannot pass down the family name... but everytime I think the world of you, and I think you’d act a little more like the woman I thought you are... you prove me wrong.”

Juyeon glares down at her, hands holding the teacup in the saucer with some kind of disapproving, disappointed look of fury in her eyes. Then he sighs heavily, hands rushing to pick up his blazer and storms out the room before she can.

“Leave Kim Jang Won alone, or else I’ll refuse Apple-Korea. By then, you can forget about all your stupid green bills and diamond rings.”

And with that, he slams the door shut.

Juyeon appears along the second floor hallway, visible from the first floor’s living hall, where his father was still watching the news of his wedding earlier on in the day. Of course, the door slamming would’ve caught his attention, so when his son rushes down the stairs while putting his blazer back on, the elder man removes himself off the couch.

“Juyeon! Where are you going?!”

“Don’t call me, and don’t even think of calling Hera’s Manor,” He opens the heavy front door with such determination, then slams it harder than he intends to. By the foot of the stairs leading down to the pick up point by the entrance, his two bodyguards are taken aback and flustered when Juyeon appears again.

“Uh, can I get Mr Bong around-”

The instruction through the guard’s earpiece is cut short and interrupted abruptly as Juyeon unplugs the earpiece from the transmitter.

“Mr Lee-”

Juyeon doesn’t hesitate to do the same with the other guard. By now, his father has gotten the front door open and yelling at him with disapproving scolds.

Rushing around the hood of the Porsche, Juyeon steps into the drivers’ seat - an unlikely sight, since he’s been chauffeured around most of the time.

“What in the world are you two doing? Stop him from leaving!”

The vehicle revs to life, and Juyeon fumbles under the passenger seat’s compartment box and every crook and cranny in the front of the car.

“Juyeon!”

He winds up the window on the driver’s side and locks the entire vehicle just as his father reaches the window. He tugs on the handle angrily, almost able to shake the entire car with his aggression.

“Juyeon, don’t you dare!”

Then, he finds it. A tracking device attached to all the cars his family owns.

Ripping it off the surface it was stuck into, he rolls down the window on the passenger’s side and hurls it out, straight into the arms of one of the bodyguards.

“Juyeon!”

He starts up the car and pulls it into drive, forcing his father to back off as he moves off.

#multifandomnet #juyeon fanfic #juyeon imagines #juyeon scenario #juyeon #lee juyeon #the boyz juyeon #tbz juyeon #the boyz fanfic #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #tbz #the boyz #love me a little less

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fathcrlike · 3 years

Text

☆ ━━ 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚕𝚞𝚔𝚎 & 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 ¸

there are a few things about lukes portrayal , especially in new media , that rub me wrong and i simply refuse to accept as canon for my portrayal . since i am familial with most of his legends background that got redconned / altered for the recent trilogy , i want to express how i see his stance on attachment and relationships . we all know that , in the jedi order , it was not allowed to have a romantic partner or be attached to another person in that way . no , jedi were no monks . they had intercourse and made their sexual experience , yet marriage or an actual deeper bond on that level was forbidden . in the book of boba fett we see how luke urges grogu to decide between yodas lightsaber and his father / din djarin . let me get to both of these points real quickly . luke does not see emotional attachment as a bad thing . he has a deep love for his family , for leia and han , for chewbacca . he grew up with loving foster parents , he loved his homeworld , despite the pull he always felt , the voice in the back of his head that something was not as it should be . yes , he became a jedi knight after being trained by yoda , he assisted his sister in her training and he is building a temple / new school for students who are force sensitive and intend to follow the path of light . THAT IS THE CUE . despite studying the old ways , the books and scrolls he was able to get his hands on , his wish is to find BALANCE . to luke , the most important thing is to find your place in life , to be one with the force and understand that there is a deeper meaning in existance than selfishness . he would do anything to protect those he cares for , as we have seen , to prevent other force users to become as lost as his father was . attachment is not wrong . jealousy , greed and mistrust are . in terms of partnership , luke would need deep trust in another being to allow them as close , yet it is not off the charts . he knows HIS OWN PLACE , where his path leads him and what he can / has to do to play his part in the bigger picture . having someone to confide in , who accepts his views and shares them - in terms of choosing light over darkness - would have a huge impact on him , yet never change his beliefs . THE BALANCE OF REMAINING YOUR TRUE SELF and GIVING YOURSLEF TO SOMEONE ELSE , to be able to do both . this is what a healthy attachment , what a fulfilling relationship should be like . now back to grogu and din . in my portrayal , or as i see it , luke did not mean harm to the relationship between these two with his words . he offered him a choice . training to master the force takes a lot of a person and usually they bring whatever baggage they have into that . he wants to help grogu , who carries a deep conflict within himself . he is , despite his age , just a child who survived mass slaughter . he has been hunted down most of his life , treated like bounty , like something OF USE rather than a living being . given that , luke would never doubt the importance and depth of the bond between grogu and din . he is aware of how much they mean to each other , but also of the fact that din djarin is not without his own story , his own baggage . in order for grogu to become a jedi , he needs him to focus on training . at least for a certain time . he needs him to WANT TO BE A JEDI out of free will and not because he once belonged to the old order . why , in my opinion , luke thinks he made the wrong choice in leaving , in taking the shirt and not the saber . this is not a one way ticket . he would be willing to still help the child , yet it has to be his own desire , his own way . LUKES SCHOOL WILL ALWAYS BE A REFUGE TO THOSE WHO SEEK OUT THE PATH OF LIGHT , balance and companionship . belonging . attachment is nothing wrong , as long as lived and practiced in a healthy flow between give and take , between remaining yourself and giving a piece of yourself to another person . but this is just my take on it .

#character study ☆ ━━ headcanon ¸#just my two cents like #💀 dont mind me rambling #i bet this makes no sense at all #and is just dumb word vomit #but my brain is just #FULL #i cry let me live please

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soundwavefucker69 · 4 years

Note

Baby Tal'ika: Mace officially taking them as his Padawan

fhdskfhdkjshkjf okay let’s do this

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“If the honorable Senator Weezin doesn’t want us to investigate a missive from his own planet, perhaps the Senator should not be doing things that requires an investigation, Chancellor Organa.”

A headache was starting to grow just behind Mace’s eyes, a steady and aching pressure that was driving him to distraction, and today was not a day where he could afford a headache that set him off. He’d have to go to Vokara before heading down to the salles.

“Mace, I’m just trying to figure out what is actually going on here, because I’m getting conflicting reports. I don’t like Senator Weezin, either, but I also need to know what’s happening when it regards one of my senators,” Bail said, and rubbed at his eyes.

“Well, we aren’t sure what’s going on, either, and when I have information, I will forward it as relevant. Master Secura just left, and I have nothing currently to report,” Mace explained. “If he wants to pitch a fit, he can pitch a fit to the child king he made the mistake of trying to turn into a figurehead.”

“The reconstructionists want to order you all back to Coruscant. Again,” Bail said quietly, and Mace tried to bat down the growing irritation.

“And they will receive the same answer. You all signed the Palpatine Accords. You can’t void it now that you’re mad militarizing the Jedi has lasting consequences. We are beholden to the Republic, not the Senate, and it is going to remain that way,” Mace bit out, and Bail sighed, sunk down in his seat on the other end of the holo transmission.

“Is Senator Weezin corrupt?” He asked quietly, and Mace bit back the information he had.

“That’s what the investigation is for.” He was absolutely corrupt, but the Jedi handled their own investigations now, and only delivered their reports once everything had been fact checked at least four times, with independent consultants verifying their information. They had to protect themselves.

“Well. I hope Master Secura is thorough.”

“She has Bly with her. She’ll be very thorough,” Mace assured him, because there was nothing that got a Jedi going like showing off their competence to their partner. “Speaking of Bly, is Rizz doing alright?”

“Rizz has put the fear of the manda into Senator Tectate, and I am very much looking forward to them doing it again,” Bail said wryly. “I was worried you’d sent us a pushover when I met them, but they’re practically running the Senate at this point. I’ve never seen the reconstructionists so scared to take the floor. I think they’re going to be my replacement in another ten years.”

Mace was not satisfied with the assessment. He wasn’t, but it was a close thing.

“Rizz is made of firmer stuff than you’d think. I think they’re planning on making another committee.”

“The Senate is not going to survive if they make another one. Please talk them down,” Bail almost pleaded, but Mace knew he wanted it.

“I’ll have Fox talk to them. In the meantime, I have an appointment, so can we continue this discussion at a later time?”

“Tal’ika is twelve today, aren’t they?” Bail asked mildly, deceptively so, and Mace let his lips twitch in something that was almost a smile.

“They are, and I believe they’re in the salles,” he replied, and Bail looked extremely pleased.

“I look forward to your next trip to Coruscant,” he said, and Mace thought of Tal’ika in the Senate chambers. Force, that was going to be a nightmare.

“I’ll keep the theatrics to a minimum.” He wasn’t going to keep them to a minimum. He was going to encourage them.

“Please don’t. Rizz has been talking about today, and so has Padme. They’re excited.”

Rizz was going to be handling their political education. He wasn’t going to let Padme anywhere near Tal’ika. They were bad enough with Anakin.

“I’m sure they are,” he agreed, as serenely as he dared, and stood up to give Bail a severe bow. “Until next time, Chancellor.”

“May the Force be with you,” Bail said, and inclined his head.

“And with you.”

The transmission cut out, and Mace picked up his robe. A quick painkiller, and then he had a Initiate to locate in the salles. The exhibition was starting soon.

With a sigh, he rolled out his shoulders and shrugged on the robe before sweeping out of the empty Council chambers. Quick steps led him through the twisting labyrinth that was the new Temple, and he breathed in the serenity and clarity he had sorely missed. Five years since the end of the war, and fires were still being put out across the galaxy. The separation from the Senate and Coruscant had been sorely needed, and he found that he didn’t regret it as much as he possibly should have. It was better this way. Clearer. With firm boundaries, and actual treaties to keep their independence. The war had been hard, as short as it was, and painful. It had left deep scars on the Order as a whole, but here, they were healing, no longer held hostage by their beliefs.

All because of one time traveling impossibility. A flicker of fondness rose in his chest as he strode through halls made from trees and stone, and he let himself breathe in the reality that things were better now. Some things had changed, some things had remained the same. He didn’t necessarily think their monastic principles prior to the war had been wrong. Far from it. Jedi had families. They had lovers, and healthy attachments. But things had changed in an irrevocable way, and they had to move with the changes. They had sustained scars, and deep ones. The picture of a galaxy where the people had turned on them in such a vicious manner was a hard one, the future Tal’ika painted bleak, because it had all been a trap, and they were blamed for falling into it, despite the fact that they really had no choice. They’d come out with scars, and while they were luminous beings, not constrained by mortal flesh, they were not unlike a body that had sustained heavy damage, and needed to correct as necessary to survive it.

And now they had a new home, made of tree and stone, with a world removed from the strife and conflict, but still participating on their own terms. The world they came to had been renamed Refuge, and millions of refugees from across the galaxy had gathered there, seeking solace. A new culture had rose up, part Jedi, part clone, part bits and pieces of the shattered remains. It was a culture of healing and acceptance, with the leadership populated with clones and freedom fighters like Saw and Stella Guerrera. It was strange, monks existing in the midst of a hardened warrior culture, but it was a nice strange. Even Guardians of Jedha had come to help with the rebuilding. Two of them, Chirrut and Baze, were a fan favorite among the Initiates, and Tal’ika adored them, spoke of how they had hidden them and Plo once upon a time. A kyber cave had been discovered, and the Guardians stood watch over it.

He was happy. It was a strange thing. And now, today was a day to take another step into normalcy. Fox was very anxious to hear about how it went, like it was ever in doubt. It wasn’t like anyone was going to sweep Tal’ika up under Mace’s nose. Tal’ika knew who their master was. He’d already gotten the master-padawan quarters set up, not that they knew that. Fox had helpfully provided their favorite blanket from his house, and Obi-Wan had swung in to be present for it today, and Ahsoka was beside herself with planning for the confusing lineage dinner tonight. Anakin had helpfully broken into Yoda’s quarters with Caleb’s assistance to steal the ingredients for swamp stew. Mace needed to thank him privately for that one. He was turning Caleb into a borderline delinquent, but Mace wasn’t going to complain. So long as Luke and Leia didn’t follow in his footsteps. He wouldn’t be able to handle the twin terrors turning their attention onto him.

Depa was, of course, serene and above it all, but he had a feeling that she was the one that gave Anakin the idea.

The salles were drawing near, and he realized he was going to be late if he didn’t get a move on. The meeting with Bail had dragged out longer than he thought it would.

The open salles were a mess of prospective masters watching the new initiates. Tal’ika was stretching in the corner, breathing through the stretch and pull of their muscles, and Mace settled in next to Obi-Wan.

“Picking a padawan finally?” He asked mildly, and Obi-Wan gave him a side-eye, like he didn’t damn well know he’d had his eye on the tiny Zabrak Nightbrother Boil and Waxer had ‘liberated’ from Dathomir. Tenacity was cute, and an unholy terror when Tal’ika started their instigating, but he managed to get them to slow down on occasion. He was a good, calm, grounding influence. Obi-Wan, after all of the bullshit Anakin put him through, definitely deserved a calm padawan.

“It’s my child’s choosing day,” he said with a dignified sniff, but his attention was drifting to the tiny little brown child helping Tal’ika stretch. Anakin, the new fledgling Battlemaster, was chatting with Cin Drallig in the corner. Cin had been preparing him for the role over the past five years, and this was the first year Anakin had really been set loose on the temple and Initiates. It was a good role for him, and it kept him from causing more diplomatic incidents. Mace rather liked being able to nail him down to Refuge and not cause problems. Padme probably appreciated it, too. She loved her husband dearly, and loved their visits, but she also appreciated the Order keeping him in line and out of her work. After the fifteenth Ohnaka incident, Mace couldn’t say he was upset to have Anakin practically quarantined to the planet. The very idea of Anakin taking another bundle of padawans for a liberating slave run when they had Knights for that was enough to make him grateful for his lack of hair to lose.

“Have your friends made any more incursions into Dathomir?” Mace asked, and Obi-Wan went suspiciously silent.

“Well, if they did, they didn’t tell me outright.”

“... Obi-Wan.”

“They are simply not on the planet at the moment,” Obi-Wan sniffed, and Mace sighed.

“They’re not helping our reputation.”

“We didn’t snatch them. And they had the fathers’ permission last time.”

“They kidnapped the fathers last time, too.”

“And they are now in wonderful, fulfilling relationships. Boil and Waxer are quite taken with their husbands. Did you know they started a communal garden?”

“I’m sure it’s lovely.”

“Alright,” Anakin called and clapped his hands. “In your lines! Remember your blood circle!”

“Why does he keep calling the safety circle a blood circle,” Mace muttered, and Obi-Wan sniffed delicately.

“It stresses the importance of responsibility.”

And the Initiates were giggling. Again. But they were also lining up quite nicely, so Mace couldn’t be too upset.

“Let’s run through our katas!” Anakin called, and ignited his saber. Hisses broke out across the salles, and the Initiates all fell into proper form. A beat, and then Anakin started walking through their warm-ups, counting in time. Fifteen Initiates followed suit, and Mace’s attention was drawn to his future padawan adding in some excessive flourishes they were unashamedly not trying to hide. Ah, well. They were Obi-Wan’s kid, it was to be expected.

The warm-up lasted ten minutes, and he hummed as he watched Tal’ika comfortably fit into the flow of the proceedings.

“If you’re asking Tenacity today, bring him to the dinner,” he said, and Obi-Wan shot him a look.

“I didn’t say I was asking him.”

A nudge of the Force had the woven strips of leather to stand in for a braid shifting in Obi-Wan’s pocket, and Obi-Wan gave him an answering nudge to make Tal’ika’s beads clack in Mace’s own pocket.

“I had Depa bully Grey into making tiingilar. He liked it when Boil and Waxer made it,” Mace said, and Obi-Wan huffed.

“It’s rude to make them share the same day,” Obi-Wan sniffed, and Mace rolled his eyes as Tenacity’s gaze shot to Tal’ika as his wrist copied their unnecessary flourish.

“They share everything, anyways. Tal’ika is going to be miffed if they’re apprenticed before him, and he’s going to be disappointed.”

“Fine, yes, you caught me, I’m going to ask him,” Obi-Wan muttered, and Mace’s lips twitched up.

“Good. Fox is coming.”

“Did you invite the whole planet?”

“Absolutely not. Ahsoka did. Your lineage is going to make a mess of my quarters.”

“I’ll make sure Anakin picks up after himself.”

The warm-up came to a close, and Anakin ordered the little ones to take a water break before pairing up. Unsurprisingly, Tal’ika grabbed Tenacity and dragged him to the very center of the salle, like they somehow had something to prove, and Mace’s nose screwed up as the two shared a water bottle before Tal’ika gave a pointed pat to Tenacity’s horns and shot a deliberate glance over at Obi-Wan.

“I told you. They’d be mad,” he added, entirely unhelpfully, and Obi-Wan sighed.

“How many people will be at this dinner and do you have the space for another?”

“I already made space for him. And you, me, Tal’ika, Tenacity, Anakin, Depa, Grey, Yoda invited himself, and Plo followed, Wolffe is off world on the threat of swamp stew, Caleb, Fox, Cody, and Ahsoka. Anakin might bring the twins, so keep a close eye on your lightsaber. Leia has grown a penchant for blatant theft.”

“... Yoda is coming?” Obi-Wan looked downright pained, and Mace shot another glance at him.

“I have it on good authority that a mysterious thief pilfered his pantry.”

“Oh. Then that’s fine,” Obi-Wan said, and Mace snorted.

“He probably has a secret stash of ingredients, so put your negotiator face on, and you might survive.” Yoda was suspiciously absent from the proceedings, so Mace didn’t have much hope for escape. He should have really considered the logistics of lineage blending before he set his eyes on Tal’ika and decided on the spot that they were his padawan.

“Force spare me,” Obi-Wan muttered, and Mace bit back a smile. It was almost worth it to choke through the stew to see Obi-Wan’s reactions to being subjected to it for the umpteenth time.

“They’re starting.”

Tal’ika was giving Tenacity a bow, and Tenacity was following suit. A break, and then the exhibition started. As ever, Tal’ika was aggressive, in possibly the most blatant tease Mace had ever seen. Tenacity met it with good humor, his blade flashing as he smiled that quiet little smile he had perfected when it came to Tal’ika’s nettling. Elbows and knees Fox had unfortunately taught them were being thrown in, and Tenacity was blocking them with aplomb. Anakin had started an initiative for bringing in clones to help with training, and it showed. The initiates were not above cheap shots, and trained heavily to learn how to match and block them. It used to bother Mace, but he could see the importance of it, after the war. And the Initiates loved being encouraged to be sneaky and tricky. They got creative with it, and it showed when Tenacity caught a lunge by Tal’ika and flung them over his hip. Tal’ika went down, but their legs tangled up with his and the two twelve year olds ended up in a lump on the ground, laughing loudly when Tenacity’s face smacked into their nose.

The laughing abruptly stopped when Tal’ika realized that hurt, and then Tenacity just laughed at them again as he detangled himself and sprang back, blatantly baiting them. Mace sighed and rubbed at his eyes, and Tal’ika sprang into motion with a showy move, knocking his legs out from under him and pressing him to spring back, a wide swath of his blade putting some distance. Tal’ika pressed forward again, their sabers clashing, and their free hand grabbed his arm when he overextended himself in a lunge. They pulled him in, and a neat twist of their saber sent his hilt clattering away as they pulled him chest to chest, their saber teasingly placed in a way under his throat in a way that would have given Mace a heart attack if he didn’t know that at the most, it would maybe sting a little and irritate the skin.

“I win,” they said smugly, and Tenacity huffed.

“I want to go again,” he said, almost petulantly, and Mace idly wondered who had taught them that disarming move. It stank of Agen’s influence.

“... If we do joint missions, we’re going to have a problem,” Obi-Wan muttered, and Mace considered the merits.

“First mission we should unleash them on the Senate. Do you think Tenacity’s tooka eyes will be a devastating combo with their glares?”

“Absolutely. Rizz will love it. They might steal them.”

“I might let them.”

Anakin let them run a few more spars, where Tal’ika and Tenacity took turns disarming each other and winning, and Mace got a sinking suspicion that they had absolutely planned to take turns making the other look good. Like they somehow had anything to prove, but he’d let them show off. Both of them were advanced for their age, and it was definitely time for them to start receive targeted training.

The exhibition lasted a good hour, and at the end of it, Tal’ika made a beeline for Mace and Obi-Wan, dragging Tenacity in their wake, and Mace tilted his head at the beaming Initiate.

“That was a good show,” he said approvingly, and Tal’ika grinned up at him.

“Didn’t Tenacity do well?” They demanded, and color rose in Tenacity’s cheeks.

“Tal,” he muttered, aggrieved, but they shoved him at Obi-Wan without a shred of shame.

“Dad, you should give him pointers,” they said, and then promptly grabbed Mace by the hand to drag him off. “I’ll see you at dinner!”

The dinner they weren’t supposed to know about, but Mace had learned three years ago hiding anything from Tal’ika Fox was not unlike trying to hide things from Yoda. They found out, and nothing was ever a surprise, but he supposed he could be content with that.

“You’re in a rush,” he commented, and they hummed.

“Tenacity is nervous, so I gotta put on a good show,” they said, and Mace sighed. So they were nervous, and all of this confidence was for Tenacity.

“Obi-Wan already has his braid, so there’s nothing to worry about,” he assured them, and they smiled.

“I know. I put it in his pocket,” they said. “He almost left it in his quarters.”

“So that was you.”

“He was going to ask him next week! I can’t be a Padawan for a week without him! He’d feel left out!” They protested, and Mace thought about a lecture about attachments, but it wasn’t really an attachment. Just meddling to make sure Tenacity’s self esteem was at appropriate levels.

As soon as they were out of range of the milling Masters and Knights speaking quietly with prospective Initiates, Tal’ika sobered, and Mace patiently waited for them to stride through the halls.

“Have you been having dreams again?” He asked, and Tal’ika hesitated.

“Yes,” they answered honestly, and their brows drew together. “It’s... confusing.”

“Do you want to talk about them?” He asked. The dreams of the life they had narrowly avoided had plagued them since they first landed in the middle of a warzone, talking about how Obi-Wan was cooked in twin suns, and it had always confused them. Plo was meant to be their master in that time, and then maybe Obi-Wan was their master, and then they were dying in an alley under Krell’s blade, and then they were kidnapped by a man in black and raised a Sith, or they died at his mercy for crimes someone else committed. It was a rough subject for them, and led to a lot of confusion as to what they were supposed to do with their life and who they were meant to be.

“No,” they decided, and he let them continue to lead them through the twists and turns of the Temple, knowing full well where they were going. The gardens were at the center of their new home, and work was constantly being done on them. The two of them passed Knight Beleren and Padawan Qin, who gave them serious nods, and Mace gave them a suspicious glance, because Tibalt definitely looked too innocent. Hopefully, they weren’t about to go drag racing again.

Problems for later.

“Are you having doubts?” He asked, and Tal’ika was quiet as they stepped through the doors to the Garden.

“I don’t think...” They trailed off, and Mace waited them out as they followed the turns to their favored spot, a still pond with fish brought in from Mon Cala.

“It’s just that...” They trailed off as they came a halt at the tree that rose up next to the pond, and serious amber eyes locked onto the pond. “I want to be your padawan, but...”

Mace was silent. Sometimes, it was best to let them talk out loud, because they needed a sounding board more than they needed advice.

“I can see whole lives that never happened, and I almost want to mourn them, even though... I think this is the first time I had a choice. It feels like... before I had to fight to choose, had to dip into some kind of war just to be somebody, and most of my choices were ones I had to battle to have. Now, it’s easy, and it almost feels like a cheat. Because nothing was supposed to be easy, and now it is,” they admitted. “I don’t... I know everything is pre-destined, but how can it be pre-destined, when all of these things happened, I know they happened, and then they didn’t? It feels like mistakes kept being made, and the Force used me to mop them up, and now I don’t feel like...”

They fell silent, frustrated and a little lost, and Mace thought about their first meeting in a room he would likely never see again, sitting in the grass as they picked at his cuticles. Just a child, lost in a void, looking for guidance while firmly rejecting it at every turn. They had had a lot of meltdowns in those early days, had needed a lot of help to guide them through the confusion of their existence that had been ripped away from them, and he had always mourned a little when he looked at them. They had turned the tide of the war, and done it at seven, and Jedi had not known a single thing about helping them. It took the vode to settle them, those worn and battered soldiers that had been born and molded in trauma and knew exactly how to help a child that was terrified.

“There’s a lot of ideas about what destiny is,” Mace said finally, and they looked up at him with all of the vulnerability of a child. “All of us are a part of it, but what destiny is... you can’t quantify it. You can’t consider it. I imagine the confusion will never stop, but... all you can do in the face of it is make choices in spite of it. I think you made a lot of choices in spite of it, in all of the lives you lived and didn’t live, and I think you should just continue to do it. Anakin... he was meant to be the Chosen One, and he was, to a degree.” After all, it was Anakin that compiled the evidence, and it was Anakin that had delivered the killing blow, but none of that would have been possible in this time without Tal’ika. There was a lot of confusion in the aftermath as to who the Chosen One was, and what it meant, but Mace... “But his choices didn’t exist in a vacuum. Everyone made choices to put him in the place where he needed to be. I think he was just the point where those choices converged, but Chosen One is simply a chosen time, with someone existing in the middle of it. Destiny is nothing but the choices we make, and what we choose to do with them. So ignore who you are and what you want to be and who you could have been, and just... make the choice that will make you happy. There’s a lot of stock in choosing to be happy. People don’t give it enough credit.”

Tal’ika looked down at the ground, and Mace took a seat in the grass, just like he did five years ago, and they paused before slowly sinking down next to him.

“You won’t betray the masters that could have been if you choose me, and you won’t betray me if you choose them,” he promised, even though it hurt to say. “All I ask is that you don’t betray yourself, as you are now, and as you want to be. Can you do that?”

Tal’ika sniffled, and tears rose up in their eyes, and Mace took a deep breath.

“If you want me, you have me. So will you do me the honor of trusting me to guide you into being who you want to be?”

Tal’ika paused, and the silence stretched out, broken by the chirps of birds and the gentle hum of the Force. And then, all around them, the Force broke.

“Yes,” they whispered, and he smiled.

“Then, Tal’ika Fox, I honor your name as my padawan.”

A sniffle, and then they dabbed at their eyes and let out a halfhearted sob.

“Mace Windu, I know your name as my teacher.”

Mace smiled, and with a touch to their red hair, three strands gathered in his fingers, he accepted the next step into a better future.

#realityhoudini #prompts #shrooms is writing #red fox comes running #tiny!tal'ika #yes I DID change Jedi vows to Mandalorian adoption vows #fight me #this took WAY too long to write #but I was vibing #i was vibing HARD #mace windu #tal'ika fox #jedi oc

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psalloacappella · 3 years

Text

show me how

Pairings: SasuSaku Fandom: Naruto Rating: M Genre/Tags: AU; in which Sasuke is a driver, Sakura plays no games; also has an underground fight club; sexual tension; dominant Sakura; Uchiha bros being bros Ao3 | twt

In which Sasuke is the new driver for the Haruno heiress — and therefore, prey.

[In the words of Rihanna, You look like you can handle what’s under my hood // you keep saying that you will, boy, I wish you would.]

❦

His mother would say he’s aiming a bit above his station, lip-chewing, worrisome; his father would disapprove, thinking the new client spoiled.

Itachi, greyish eyes twinkling with some genial but teasing expression, shifts to let his ponytail tumble down his back. Women adore the look; Sasuke likens it to a horsetail well within earshot every chance he gets. Brothers, you know.

Pinching the photo between thumb and forefinger with hesitancy, the lack of commitment stark as a first app-date gone sour and seeking escape, Sasuke knows he’s pouting and he knows Itachi’s amused.

“I’d have taken her,” he consoles softly — Sasuke hates that tone too, like he’s chivvying a hot-tempered horse into his stable, oh gods, fuck Itachi for this — “but out of the two she requested you. Very taken with your photo.”

“Itachi.” The given name comes through gritted teeth, and Itachi struggles not to smile. Sasuke hopes the effort’s absolutely killing him. “This is the Haruno heiress. Pink hair, red temper?”

“Funny, I do know. Almost as if she’s famous, dear brother.”

“Infamous. For killing her last driver.”

“Oh, come now.”

“Running him off. Driving him to insanity.” And here Sasuke jabs the finger of his free hand against the photographed face: smiling, with a sharp gleam in her jade eyes. He punctuates each syllable against her cheek, “Take—your—pick!”

Itachi’s tongue clicks continue to conjure pastoral images of horses and other farmish animals, and Sasuke thinks this unasked for, supernatural form of punishment is a right divine kick in the mouth.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sure the talk is mostly nonsense,” he soothes. Bending to behold the portrait shot further, he rests his fingers against his mouth. Pensive. People often adore that too. “After all, she’s cleaned up her image quite a bit.” Itachi extends his hand, counting off her improvements: “Issued apologies for the yacht incident—”

“Pretty sure she’s banned from the piers now.”

“Recovered brilliantly from her very public and messy breakup with the Hyuuga heir—”

“A piece of shit, granted, but she still keyed his car, and then his face—”

“Even had a great photo-op of visiting Uzumaki Naruto in the hospital—”

“That she put him in.”

“She even disbanded her underground fight club,” Itachi added, plucking the photo and folder from his younger brother’s hands, a final that’s that!

“Her what?”

“Bad optics. Oh, and you start Monday.” He pats a stunned Sasuke gently on the shoulder; not one to easily manage particularly happy or buoyant expressions, he prays to whatever forces or deities exist that he’s been passed over for the coveted yet dangerous position of personal driver for Miss Sakura Haruno.

Driver — ah, the term is misleading. A position often including, but not limited to: Chauffeur, personal assistant, event planner, bodyguard, bookkeeper, and occasionally dragging paparazzi out of the bushes by their lapels, testing meals for poison, and smuggling her short-term affairs in and out of back building doors.

A skittish attendant is the only witness to the moment in which he meets her in person.

Sunshowers, an unnatural brightness like daylight thunderstorms; a presence difficult to face head-on. Slender and swagger, something in the way she walks suggesting she’s aware of exactly who she is and what he’s probably heard, keen eyes plucking his thoughts from his soupy skull by slice and piece only to toss them aside, limp, discarded.

And she’s gorgeous. Beauty in lethality, the inherent quality pined for in mythological Olympian goddesses and well-crafted guns and dangerous and unwieldy luxury cars. The wreckage left in their wake easy to augur with plain eyes if anyone can resist the siren song.

Sasuke’s hands are clammy when they shake. She notices, with a gaze like whetted glass.

Fuck Itachi. Fuck this. Fuck me.

“How do you like to be addressed . . . Miss Haruno?”

A smirk plays on her lips. “Not like that, for damn sure. Sakura’s fine. Let’s go.”

She’s opening her own car door and about to lower herself in before he snaps to — the tyranny of her heels against the cobblestones twists him into impossible nautical knots.

“I don’t care if you get the door,” she says, “but Tsunade’ll have your head.” With a jerk of her chin, she indicates she’s ready to go.

“Won’t happen again,” he says, dipping his head in apology and settling into the driver’s seat. “Where to?”

“Oh, wherever.” Flicks a dainty wrist, yet he catches the brushrust scrapes smeared across her knuckles. “You’re a driver, after all; I want to see you drive.”

Easing the car into gear, they pull away from the curb in silence. Eyeing him caddy-corner from the back, she folds her arms and crosses her long, impossibly long legs at the ankles.

“So.” The word’s sharp as a blade, scratches him without warning. “What do you know about me?”

He makes a noncommittal noise, hoping to avoid riposte; when he catches the slight flare of her nostrils in the mirror, he settles on the bland and stupid, “I’m not sure what you mean, Mis— Sakura.”

“Don’t play coy,” she says. “Tell me what the quidnuncs on the street say, gossiping over their limp salads and lackluster lives.”

“I’ve heard you’ve run every driver out of town.”

“Yes, that’s fair. The last one quite literally; he was terrified, in the end.”

“I’ve heard you . . . play with your food.”

Another careful peripheral glance in the mirror: He sees her uncross her arms, grip the edges of the seat. Leaning forward, eyes bright and something, essence or woven narrative or tangled web undulating, unraveling. She exposed; him, encroaching.

Voice low, lean, and throaty when she affirms,

“Yes, sometimes I do.”

The click! of a released seat belt latch, and she’s sliding over to the backseat behind him.

Sasuke’s mouth runs dry, parched as desert sand, sunbaked stone. There’s a first time for everything, including this unsettling feeling to which he has nothing to compare.

Leather moulding to her shape as she leans against the seat, her gaze seeking refuge and scraping at any weak spots in the back of his skull.

“If you were hoping for a shy one, you’re driving the wrong car for the wrong girl.”

He scoffs, but it sounds nervous, bad for business —

she’ll devour him.

“Of all the things I’ve heard,” he says, “shy was definitely not one of them.”

He doesn’t know when his voice decided to do that, slide into a low bass with the ease and thrum of rich regal rhythm; he doesn’t know when he even had a breath to release, the way it manifests as a pant in the hot shared air of the car.

“Lest you be misinformed,” and still her tone is grainy, the stret-scratch of extempore acoustic guitar, “I don’t act this way with all my drivers. Any, in fact.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t, with that aloof disbelief.” She presses her foot against his seat and he feels a jab right in the middle of his back, the equivalent of a flirtatious swat at the arm. A bit more intimidating than that, he supposes.

“Everything is so public for me,” she continues. Pauses. “I’m almost never alone. Drivers continue to disappoint me, pretending to be my confidant but in reality reporting my behavior to sleazy paparazzi. It’s never about the money; they love divulging. They can’t help themselves.”

He would be willing to debate the “drivers” label, but he now understands why the last one and many before have been dealt a particularly heavy hand in the method of released employment.

“So.”

This time the word’s triumphant, and Sasuke manages not to startle as her heel settles on the shoulder of the driver’s seat. Skin close enough to press his lips to, swirling floral scents of jasmine and others unidentified, salient sweet cherry. Glancing at the tempting slope of her calf, he keeps his eyes firmly on the road even as the dark corners of his mind lead his mouth marching up her pliant skin, bound by siren song, and into what surely is the most sacrosanct and calamitous temple of them all.

“You have this chance to quit,” she whispers. “Right now, no fuss.”

And he betrays himself a second time, scoffing as the suggestion of course is mirthful, ridiculous, knowing somehow he’ll never do so. He’s never been one to shirk duty, and untangling from this, whatever this is, already bids the trappings and fixation of an addiction too virulent and electric to leave.

“I’ll take that as acceptance,” Sakura says, now all joy and sparkle, wiggling her shoe near his handsome face.

Though his hands are clammy on the wheel, his words manage to gloss over the catch in his throat as he asks, “Ah, where to?”

In the mirror he watches: Another layer of her falls again, as crêpe layers, as petals. It’s the first time he notices the lambent green of her nails, and she nibbles on one before responding, in a way so deliberate he’s distracted by the way her lips form the words:

“Show me how you drive.”

#psalloacappella #sasusaku #sasusakufanfic

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twistedanddecayed · 5 years

Text

All Kindsa Trouble

Summary: It’s not often the Winchester’s roll back into town to seek refuge in their safe house but when they do, they bring more questions than answers. Tired of the sexual frustration that’s been building with each flying visit, one drunken phone call is all that’s needed to scratch that long-overdue itch.

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader.

Prompt: “you’re drunk. i’m driving you home.”

Words: 2770

Warnings: oral sex (male), Dean’s smutty mouth, mentions of voyeurism.

A/N: So this is for Lisa’s Christmas challenge/follower celebration. It’s not BETA’d so all mistakes are my own. But I saw this gif and couldn’t not (even though while writing this I pictured him in all that season 9 splendour), which resulted in me hating myself on a whole new level.

______

Taking a swig from the half-empty bottle, you savour the delicious burn as you swallow. You’re well on your way to becoming drunk, unsurprising considering you’ve been knocking back the drinks for the most part of the day, but it’s doing nothing to prevent you feeling the chill in the air this evening. You can’t stop the shiver from taking over and you tug your jacket around you a little more as you peer down the street, hoping to spot any oncoming headlights or the distinct engine you’ve come to crave to hear but so far, the road remains deserted and you can’t hear anything from the main adjoining road.

You hadn’t thought Dean would answer, but the temptation to call him had been a little too much and judging by his tone, it was a little too tempting for him to answer too. The bourbon had been whispering dirty and unspeakable things into your ear with each passing hour, cheering you on to press that dial button and rejoiced when you took another shot, said fuck it and listened to the dial tone as you swallowed your pride while waiting for him to answer.

He’d answered quickly, saying your name in a hurry before asking if you were alright. You could barely hear him and so grabbed the bottle you were drinking, stepped out of the bar as you asked him to repeat himself and felt the cool air hit, sobering you enough to hear the slur in your voice when you replied, “I’m fine. Just peachy.”

“Fine my ass,” Dean had growled, “you’re drunk. I’m driving you home. Where are you?”

“I’m sure you remember which bar.” You’d staggered to the wall, feeling everything swaying a little now you were out in the open. He’d told you to stay put before hanging up.

There was something about him that pulled you in. Maybe it’s because both Dean and his brother kept themselves to themselves on the rare occasion they breezed through town, only staying for a week tops before disappearing for months again. The only time they’d leave the property while staying is to go get takeout and more beer - though it wasn’t uncommon to hear the car starting up in the middle of the night and returning just before dawn. Most of the windows were blacked out for complete and utter privacy, they were quiet, never had visitors and their presence brought more questions than they were prepared to answer.

Dean had struck up small talk after catching you off guard, with a rather lacy and expensive lingerie set in your grasp as you were hanging the clean laundry out on the line. He’d rested his arms against the fence, his eyes scanning over your body as he’d run his tongue over his bottom lip before catching it between his teeth.

“I usually have to buy dinner before I get to see those.” He’d quipped and flashed a grin your way. You knew within seconds you were in trouble and your panties were soaked.

He was charming, disgustingly so; complimenting you in one breath and making you want to ride his face in the next. You exchanged flirtatious comments when you’d seen him, marvelled at the way he’d drag his gaze over you, especially when he shouldn’t. You’d caught him on numerous occasions unapologetically watching as you’d dropped your towel after your shower. The first time was a genuine accident, he wasn’t supposed to be back. The house was supposed to be empty and the first time this had happened, you had been left more than red-faced, wishing the ground could open up and swallow you whole to save you from the shame that you’d felt, but you couldn’t forget his reaction.

The way he’d sat forward, dropped the book onto the table beside him and brought the beer bottle to his lips. He’d pulled his gaze away from you momentarily, an act of chivalry, but it was only for a moment and his eyes were back on you once more. You’d knelt to pick up the towel, using it to cover your breasts and letting the rest of it fall down your front, leaving the rest of you exposed. You knew he’d be wanting to see the rest, could now easily picture that naughty lingerie set on you far too clearly, and you’d left him like that, leant forward wanting to see more as you’d drawn the blinds and shut him out. The next few times were not an accident and thinking of Dean slamming his way into the house and fucking you so hard that you’d feel it for days after was how you were able to bring yourself to orgasm for months that followed.

Dean and his brother aren’t the “do you have a cup of sugar?” kind of neighbours but having the two of them there brought a sense of security and safety. Something which proved to be true one night in the local bar. Some jackass who had drunk far too much had decided to get far too handsy, attracting quite a few stares from those surrounding the two of you, yet no-one tried to help. You hadn’t seen Dean enter the bar, but after your fifth refusal to the drunken guy had gone mostly ignored, Dean’s hand had gripped his shoulder, spun him around and connected his fist with his jaw.

Dean had wasted no time in throwing him out, not wanting to make more of a scene than had already been caused before making sure you were OK. He was pumped and more than happy to go back out and finish what he’d started. The veins in his temple and neck had stood out, with the one on his neck demanding to be kissed and fuck did you want to. You were tempted to coax the guy to come back just so you could watch Dean in action once more. Something had switched in him - you’d seen it on his face, the ghost of a smirk on his lips before he’d landed the first punch. He enjoyed it and being honest with yourself, so had you.

Darkness had washed over him and it unnerved you how much you liked it. You’d felt the hot pull within your stomach and your panties became sodden. He’d lost his cool so briefly, with such a calmness that it both alarmed you and made you more aroused than you cared to admit.

He’d made you promise to call him if you were in any sort of trouble and put his number in your cell.

“Is that why you disappear? Too many girls calling in need of your assistance?” You’d tried to joke, though you were eager for any nugget of information he could give about the two of them.

You’d heard Sam scoff behind him and mutter, “you’re not far off with that assumption.” Chuckling at his brother’s comment, Dean wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb and replied, “well princess, saving people? That’s kinda our thing.” He didn’t explain further and you didn’t ask.

Until tonight, you hadn’t considered calling as they’d skipped town the day after he gave you his number. You’d heard the purr of Dean’s car pulling up last night and both brothers whisper shouting; deep in an argument that didn’t seem to be ending and certainly, not one which had just begun. They’d slammed into the house and you hadn’t heard from them since, but the beautiful car that you’d pictured Dean fucking you on the backseat of, remained on the driveway before you’d left and that was a good sign.

It wasn’t a long drive from yours to here, nor was it late which meant you’d pulled him from his bed, but the longer you spend sitting outside on the old crumbling brick wall, you’re slowly sobering up. Annoyed, you take several deeper swigs of the burning liquid and sigh. The rumble of the engine alerts you, pulls you from your thoughts and you begin to wonder what the hell you’re going to do now with Dean Winchester when the headlights appear as he turns down the narrow street to where you are

“Whose ass do I need to kick tonight?” he asks as begins to climb out. The businesses here are all closed up for the night, no security cameras are about and the only noise now is from the bar, which is just far enough away to have a bit of privacy but close enough should you need to try and get back there in case anything happened and you needed help. The car door slams and he leans against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he waits for an answer.

“You said I was too drunk to go home alone.” There’s less of a slur to your words now, “there’s no drama tonight. Just you trying to be a hero.”

“Then why’d you call me?” His brows knit together, and he looks back down the street towards the direction you’d come from. It’s still quiet, with no one about but it’s in the wrong part of town. It’s dark and dingy and perfect for public fucking.

“I was horny.” You reply simply with a shrug as you lift the bottle to your lips as you watch him.

“Horny? Yo-you pulled me away because you wanted to get your kicks like some teenager?” He growls and pushes away from the car before yanking the bottle from your hand. “Give me that,” he says while he glances down at the label and nods approvingly before taking a mouthful. “What did you think was gonna happen? I’d come pick you up, you’d tease again like your damn window show and then walk away like nothing happened?”

“You seemed to like those damn window shows.” You bite back, pushing from the wall to stare up at him.

A smirk curves his lips, and you hear the clang of his belt being unbuckled. He puts the whiskey bottle down on the wall and unfastens his jeans quickly, “darlin’ that smart mouth is gonna get you into all kindsa trouble.”

“It’s a good thing you and Sam like saving people then isn’t it?” you know you shouldn’t have replied but you couldn’t help yourself. His hand is on your shoulder, shoving you down onto your knees, while his other hand pulls free his thick cock and strokes over his shaft a few times, causing pre-cum to dot the slit.

“Ah, but Sammy ain’t here tonight sweetheart, now open up.” He barely gives you time to adjust before his cock fills your mouth, knocking you back onto the heels of your feet and has you gripping his thighs for support as you’re almost knocked off balance. You reach up, your hand curling around the base of his cock and without him prompting you to do so, you begin to sink your lips down his cock, swirling your tongue over the tip as you drag your mouth back to the head before repeating. He leans back against the car, his head turning to peer down the road as a commotion sounds outside the bar. “Not my fucking problem.” He hisses as one of his hands fists your hair.

The moan that escapes his lips travels directly to your pussy, making you shift your weight though never breaking pace as you continue to suck his dick. You let go of his thigh and begin to unbutton your jeans, desperate to satisfy the need to climax. The hand gripping your hair loosens ever so briefly as he gives the back of your head a warning slap, “take it all and don’t even fuckin’ think about touching yourself.”

You take more of him as you relax your jaw, enabling him to slip past the back of your mouth and nudge into your throat and hold him there for a moment. He pulses within your throat, his grip on your hair tightens and his hips buck, making you gag around him. Your throat tries to expel him immediately and tears threaten to spill from your lashes and you’re inhaling as much air through your nose as you can as you briefly panic when Dean doesn’t hold up or pull out. Your hand tightens into a fist, trapping your thumb between your fingers and palm and squeeze, bypassing your gag reflex now as you take him further into your throat, your nose pressing to his pubic bone as you take every inch he has to offer. His hips pull back, slipping himself from your lips as his expression darkens as he stares down at you as he bends to your level and grips your jaw, his thumb smears over your lips.

“Now, you listen to me. You don’t ring me up like a cheap-ass booty call and then try this shit. You want to be fucked like a whore? I’m going to need to hear those noises baby. If my dick is in your throat, I’ve earned those gags. I’ve earned the sound of you choking on it and I won’t have you refusing to give them to me.” Smirking, you flick your tongue over his thumb and suck it into your mouth. “You’re going to open, you’re going to give me what I want and once I’ve finished with that pretty little mouth of yours, you’re going to thank me for it.”

Dean stands, his thumb pulls from your mouth with a wet pop before reaching around to the back of your head. You obediently open and he wastes no time in slipping his cock back into your waiting mouth. He provides no build-up. You slacken your jaw the best you can as he thrusts his hips to you. Spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, your eyes begin to water and spill down your cheeks at the same time as your saliva running tracks down your chin and dripping onto your chest.

“So eager earlier for it. And now look at you.”

Your throat contracts around him and all you can do is grip his thighs and waist as he fucks your mouth as though it’s your cunt. His eyes are only on you, watching his thick length penetrate you, feeling the tightening of your throat around his head. He no longer gives a shit if he’s caught. You give him what he desires; the sound of him hitting the back of your throat and each gag as he holds himself there for a moment or two longer than he should. Your nails sink into his thighs, your vision blurs and your chest heaves as you try to breathe.

He pulls his cock from your mouth, just long enough for you to gulp in several large breaths before he’s pushing back into your mouth once more, filling it completely. When you moan, the vein that presses against your tongue pulses, his cock twitches and he hisses. With each drive of his hips, you hollow your cheeks as his balls slap against your chin.

“You’re gonna swallow everything I give you.” He demands, his hands fisting your hair harder. You groan around him, wincing at the pain that shoots through your scalp and the hands that rest against his thighs ball into fists of your own. His eyes lock with yours as his thrusts become erratic and within moments, he’s burying his cock as deeply into your throat as possible, your nose squashing against his skin as he empties everything into you.

Pulling from you, he pulls his clothes back into place and begins to zip himself back up as you get to your feet, wiping the spit from your cheeks and chin as you take him in. “C’mere.” He gestures to you with two fingers and you step towards him. “Spread them,” he instructs, and you do so. Your button remains undone from your feeble attempt at pleasure-seeking and he makes quick work of it, slipping his hand into your panties and pushing two fingers between your soaking folds. The sharp intake of breath and slow whine of his name brings a grin to his face as he thrusts his fingers into you for a few moments before pulling his hand free and pushing them between his lips. You watch his cheek sucks in as he licks them clean and his grin becomes bigger. “I always hoped you’d be good at taking dick and if that fine tasting pussy is anything like your mouth, then you’re in for one hell of a ride tonight.”

#lisasxmaschallenge2019 #lisas5.5kfollowercelebration #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester x you #spn fanfic #spn smut #SPN drabble

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lilwritingraven · 4 years

Text

Searching for Hope

Part Four

Masterlink

John Seed x Female Deputy/OC

Summary: After her encounter with John, Audry seeks refuge amongst some fellow friends.

Trigger Warnings: Verbal Abuse

Notes: I want to thank @proudspires for beta reading this and making sure it doesn’t sound crazy! And thank you to everyone who has been reading this series and leaving comments. It really makes my day!

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

She was back in the water, each wave lapping across her thighs. Still dressed in her old black tank and green cargo pants, a favorite of hers these days. Her shoes were gone, toes curling in the sand.

What held her attention, however, was the figure shadowed by the blinding headlights of the van. She could tell who it was, even before he spoke.

“Worthless.” Worthless. Worth less. W o r t h l e s s. The words echoed as a whisper, floating in the air around her. “Stupid.” Stupid. Stu pid. S t u p i d. She cried out, each word a punch to her gut.

“Please, stop,” she wailed, taking a step back into the water, hand flying to her chest.

“Look at yourself. Getting knocked up by some cultist? I knew you were a low life nothing.” Nothing, noth ing, n o t h i n g.

“No-“ She was gasping, unable to catch her breath.

“You’ll never be a good mother.” Audry clenched her eyes shut, hands covering her ears.

“Shut up!” Tears fell, dripping into waves. “You don’t know anything!”

She was alone when she opened her eyes, cloaked in darkness. The van had disappeared along with him. Her father.

She sensed John before he spoke, his hand brushing lightly over her shoulder. “Audry.” His voice was light, humming her name in the way she liked. She leaned against his chest, head resting against his cheek. His hand curled around, resting lightly against the base of her throat. Slowly, agonizingly, getting tighter. “You’ll never be free.”

Alarm rang through her, any thoughts of escape flying out the window as his other arm came around her waist. He pushed the hem of her shirt up, fingers splaying against the skin of her stomach. “John, please…” She was always begging him these days, it seemed.

“You’re mine now.” His lips came to rest on her temple, speaking the words to her mind. “This child, our child, will need somebody to protect it.” Her heart sank, his laugh vicious. “World knows you can’t do it.”

She struggled again, but John held tight. “Leave me alone!” Desperate. She was desperate to get away. She couldn’t handle being held down, brought back too many memories of-

She was yanked awake, opening her eyes to bright lights and a face- someone standing over her, holding her down. “Audry, you need to sit still!” She knew him, had last seen him when…

Falling.

“Amazing Grace-“

“Sheriff?” The shock of it was enough to send her falling back against the bed, chest heaving. Stood above her, hands on her shoulders, was Whitehorse. He was looking down at something. Someone, she realized. Someone who was pulling a string through her side.

“There we go.” His voice was rough, as familiar as her own. It brought tears to her eyes.

Audry reached up, fingers wrapping around his. “I thought- I was so worried you had-“ He looked back to her, features softening.

“Listen child, there will be time for catch up later. Right now, there’s more pressing issues. How far along are you?” It made no sense; how did he know? Audry gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“But, when, how did you?”

“Pastor Jeffries informed us. Good thing too, the adrenaline alone would have killed that poor thing in there.” The look he gave was so tender Audry found herself squirming away, remnants of her dream still floating in her peripherals.

“I was 7 weeks when John-“ the words choked her, for reasons other than what Whitehorse had guessed.

He squeezed her shoulder, trying to be comforting. “He doesn’t know where you are. He won’t be a problem anymore.” Not true.

“Where am I?”

“The Henbane. We’ve taken up refuge at the prison, but don’t worry yourself with that.” He grunted as he stood, nodding at the woman stitching her side. “For now, you rest. You’ve got some healing to do.”

She could have told him that the last thing she wanted was to go back to her dreams, but it somehow didn’t seem important. Before he could leave, she grasped at his sleeve. “Please, can you call Adelaide?”

He paused, grimacing just a moment before allowing a small nod. “I’ll do what I can.”

_______________

Adelaide Drubman was more of a mother to Audry growing up than her own had been. So, when she came storming through the prison into the makeshift hospital, Audry could have cried with relief. She ignored the pain the pull of her stitches caused to give the older woman the hug she herself wanted.

And Adelaide never disappointed.

“Audry, I swear you’re trying to give me a heart attack. What’s this I hear about you getting captured and nearly killed by John Seed?” Her hands were all over Audry, pulling her shirt up, inspecting every square inch she could get her hands on.

“Addie, please,” Audry didn’t think her face could burn any brighter, looking at the other infirmary patients. Grabbing Addie’s hands, she brought her attention back. “Please. I need to talk to you. Somewhere,” her eyes glanced around the room again. “More private.”

Addie was not sensitive about privacy. “Audry, you don’t need to be modest with them. I’m sure they’ve all seen their fair share of boobs, penis’ and vaginas. Now come on, let me see the damage.”

Audry had been wrong; her face did get hotter. “Addie! That’s not what I meant, please.” She pulled them both towards the back room, where the makeshift doctor was residing.

“Alright darlin’, anything you need. You, out.” Addie pointed at the doctor/veterinarian. He scrambled away, smart enough not to make an argument. She sat Audry down and waited patiently, giving her full attention.

Audry swallowed, looking around the room to try and find her nerve. “I need- What I mean is- It’s like…” She let out a grunt, frustrated with herself. “I’m… I’m pregnant-“

“You’re what-“

“And John is the father.” Audry finished, cutting Addie off. The other woman leapt from her chair, sending it tumbling behind her. Audry looked down at her hands, despair pulsing through her veins. “I thought I could just continue fighting, just be, I don’t know, careful? But…” She released her breath, the strands of her hair flying into the air.

Addie was rooted to the spot, gaping at Audry. “Now, darlin’ I know you know how to use protection. Hell, I was the one who gave you your first condom!”

“Addie-“ Audry’s face grew horrified, but the older girl continued on.

“So, please, explain to me how this happened.” She folded her arms over her chest, looking down her nose at Audry; a look Audry had gotten many times growing up. She may not have been her mother by blood, but that never stopped Adelaide Drubman.

Audry bit her lip, playing with her fingernails. “I, um, might have been just a little, teensy, tiny bit… drunk…” She flinched at her own words, feeling the stupidity welling to the surface. “It didn’t pass my mind.”

“Audry,” And Addie laughed. “Was he really that good in the sack? That you couldn’t even stop to put on a condom?”

Audry did not want to be having this conversation. “Adelaide, please. There are more pressing matters than- than how good he was in bed.” Yes, her face was on fire. No, she would never live this conversation down. “How am I supposed to help, to save Burke, and Joey, and… and-“ She hadn’t thought about him since this all started, and shame ripped her open. “Oh my gosh, Staci!”

Addie grabbed her shoulders, pulling her up and into a hug as the sobs racked her body. “Shh, honey. It’s not your fault. I can help you. I’ll call my nephew, and have my bastard ex-husband send Hurk Jr. out here to help. You’re not alone in this.” Addie pushed the hair behind her ear, wiping a stray tear from her honeyed eyes.

“I- I don’t know if it will help. What if John finds out? Joseph seems to have a pretty good idea. They’re probably looking for me right now!” Panic rose like bile in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her. She gripped onto the older woman’s shirt like a lifeline. “I can’t be trapped with them. I can’t be owned by them.”

“That will never happen.” It was rare to hear Addie snarl, which is probably what made it that much more frightening. “Nothing will happen to you. I won’t let you leave my side.”

Audry looked up at the woman, eyes searching hers, nerves calming slightly. Slowly, her fingers began to relax. “Okay. Okay, I trust you.”

At that, Adelaide grinned. “What’s not to trust, darlin’?”

#john seed #oc: audry rook #sheriff whitehorse #adelaide drubman #far cry 5 #far cry 5 fanfic #fc5 #john seed x deputy #john seed x female deputy #female deputy #I love the idea of adelaide in a mom role #this was originally supposed to be posted on my birthday #but I am a procrastinator through and through

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forsakentoast · 4 years

Text

Wildflower

chapter 8

As Time caught up with the rest of the group, he saw them all crowding around a figure. He swears to Hylia that Wild would get a good stern talking to. Maybe he will even ask Mido if he has some rope to tie the child with. As he got closer, he realized that the figure was none other than Legend, a bit worse for wear.

“Wild’s not with you?” Time asked.

“Does it look like he’s with me?” Legend almost growled out. “Little bastard pulled a fast one on me. When we find him, I’m going to tie him to me and drag him back home.”

“But it seemed as if you got in a scuffle or something,” noted Wind.

Legend crossed his arms, “I saw him run into this log and I realized that it was the lost woods. They weren’t like mine, mist-filled, so I thought it would be easier to track him down. I just kept on getting spat out to this entrance. I was going to ask this Kokiri as she didn’t seem off-put by my presence. But she would just giggle and say something about becoming a stalfos. I just went on to look for him. But again, I would wind up here.”

“Where were the other Kokiri?” asked Sky, “Weren’t they with you both?”

“Yeah, until this small moron ran into the woods and they pursued. Pretty quick on their feet as well.”

“But you said something about stalfos, there are stalfos there?!” asked Four in alarm. “Wild is weaponless and I don’t know about the others. Surely he would have been spat out here by now.”

Before Legend could answer, Time replied for him. “Those that are not of Kokiri origin, they get turned into stalfos. Taking into account of your many attempts and the fact that the other Kokiri and Wild are not back out yet, it must mean that they are together venturing forth. There is no need to fear for our dear problem child to be turned into a stalfos. We must go in and find him quick before he does something reckless.”

As they all stepped inside, music filled all their ears.

“Man, no wonder you couldn’t get through, Legend.” noted Hyrule.

“It isn’t hard,” Time filled in, “Our companion just rushed head first into this. Just listen.”

As all the music of the forest enveloped them once more, Warriors took notice. “There is an area that sounds just a bit louder than the rest of the entrances.”

“Nicely pointed out, Captain,” complimented Time. “Follow the music that plays the loudest.”

As they turned into the entrance, a blonde Kokiri was standing amongst the other Kokiri, telling what appeared to be stories of old. She took pause as she noticed the presence of the others. Her eyes landed on Legend and then on to Time. “So you didn’t turn into a stalfos after all,” she giggled to herself.

“You!” stormed up Legend from behind the group. “Where is the child?” he demanded. Before he could demand once more, Time put a hand on his shoulder.

“Nice to see you as well, Fado,” Time greeted with a small smile. “We seemed to have lost my dear nephew. Have you seen him?”

Fado just giggled a bit more before answering. “He was here, yes. Wanted to further explore the woods. The children wanted to stay here.”

“And you didn’t stop him?!” Legend was close to losing it. Another hand was placed on his shoulder once more. Take deep breaths Legend, Wild is okay. Wild is okay. She is not to blame and neither am I. Wild is okay.

“He could be turned into a stalfos and we warned him of the tales, but, the boy seemed to know where to go.” she continued.

“We couldn’t stop him,” the young Kokiri said, “said he was drawn by something within the forest. But he is okay. He listened closely.” And with that, he turned his attention back to Fado who continued with her tales.

With the group walking towards the other entrances, there they listened closer once more. Their ears became their guide and their feet followed the sounds of music within the forest. Finally, a light was seen at the end of the tunnel as it led to a meadow clearing. Music filled the air as Time smiled to himself. “We are close to the source.”

Narrow twists and turns were taken and groans resounded as Time told them that they had to swim in the water to “purify” themselves in order to proceed to the temple up ahead. Of course, it was a joke as they could have climbed the walls, but who has time for that? Besides, Time was sure Wild had gone in the water himself.

The music became louder, but only this time, a child’s laughter was accompanying the song. Suddenly, it stopped as a new voice chimed in. “Link?”

Time would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t get emotional. Here was Saria, young as always, talking with him once again. Oh, Din, did he realize he missed her more than he realized. Time composed himself before speaking, afraid that his emotions would leak through. “I am still able to find you without fail.”

“Your friend also managed to find me as well.” Saria pointed out to the child who was too busy chasing the fairy around to notice.

Time heard a collective sigh of relief as they saw Wild. Legend threw his pride aside as he put his hand to his heart, form slumped and relief strongly evident in his face. “Oi, brat!”

Turning, Wild gave the biggest grin and waved to the others as they fairy he was chasing bonked his head to continue. As the others began to relax at seeing the problem child all well, eyes soon began to marvel at the massive temple up ahead. Curiosity itched at the majority of them to explore within.

“Can we-”

“There is nothing there though.” Time said.

“We figured,” Wind said. “But can we see, please? I don’t think we will be leaving any time soon.”

Time relented and just nodded his head. He watched the others fish out their hook shots to gain entrance, while Legend and Twilight took refuge by the base of a tree and watched Wild continue to chase the fairy around.

“I see they are just as curious as you were.”

“That’s where you are wrong.” Time responded.

“I’m never wrong about anything.” Saria ran her fingers on her ocarina.

“The goddesses above know that you are actually wrong in that fact.” Time simply said.

“Oh, really? As far as I recall, I know that I am never wrong.” She continued to refute her claim.

“Remember that one time when you said there were 503 leaves on the ground? It was actually 502 leaves. So that counts as wrong.”

“Oh, Hylia above… is that what you just remembered?” Saria laughed.

“And then there was the time where you got us both lost in the lost woods. We were returned to the entrance so many times, I lost count.” Time smiled a bit more.

“I only got us lost because you kept on running off. So that one was on you.” Saria mirrored Time’s smile.

“You said that you would always find me. But it was your fairy that would seek me out. You and I both know that. The way your fairy would bonk my head to Mido’s words was always funny. I couldn’t take his reprimands seriously.”

Both of them shared a laugh at the memory of Saria’s fairy “angrily” bonking Link’s head with each of Mido’s words as Saria would reprimand her fairy and defend Link against Mido.

“I missed these laughs, Link. The two of us had such great memories. But I sense fate has something in store for you.”

Both Saria and Time turned to see Wild giggling as he almost caught the fairy. The boy jumped and ran as he attempted yet again to pursue and capture his target. Actions never relenting despite the constant miss of his target.

“I see he is wearing your Kokiri outfit." She said with nostalgia.

"Uh yeah. My wife remembered about it and decided he should wear it."

"He is just like you, Link. The same inquisitive spirit you had when you were young, he also has it.” Saria asked. “I can see the relation between the two of you.”

“He isn’t my son.”

“I know.”

“He’s my nephew. So I guess that’s why you can see the resemblance.”

Saria smiled and she took one look at the wild child and then looked back at Time. “You are not the best liar, Link. But I digress. Regardless, something tells me that there is more to it than meets the eye. In your group, there are similarities, yes, but there is a bond that transcends all.”

“A bond, huh. Well, you aren’t too far off.”

"You know… I come here because I feel the spirits call out to me. They used to be in torment and turmoil. But it vanished one day. I guess you had something to do with that." Saria gingerly placed her hand on Time's own. "I play for the spirits and they are glad. They sometimes tell me of things I do not understand. Such as the turmoil you all feel. The torment. The child is no exception."

Time could only look down.

"You do not have to explain yourself.” Saria tightened her grip once more. “Fate and destiny are confusing pathways, but just know that I am here for you, Link. We all are here for you."

"I really missed you, guys." Time felt his eye water slightly.

From there, Saria rubbed Time’s arm in a soothing manner. Conversation abruptly changed and the two began conversing on what life has given them so far. Laughter and faint echoes filled the small clearing as two friends continued conversating. As the sun began to set, Saria noticed it was her time to get going, as well as Time.

“Must time go quickly when you are having fun?” Time asked.

“The sun sets and the day must come to a close. Tomorrow will be another day, but I fear I will not see you. Fate calls you to do something, does it not?” Saria said. Time just stood there, staring at her. "You always know where to find me. Just come and visit whenever.” She said with a gentle smile. “You know what to do. It was wonderful to see you again, Link. Send Malon my greetings."

Time just nodded as a smile found its way to his features. He stared off after Saria as she walked away and just like that, she disappeared. He felt a warmth crawl over his chest. “It was nice to see you as well, dear friend.” Time turned to hearing Wild's groan.

"I was so close to catching Melinoe!"

"Melinoe?" Questioned Twilight.

"Yeah! That's the fairy's name. You can't just play with someone and not know their name. Duh. Oh! Here!" Wild responded as he fished around his pockets. "My clothes started to feel right with these on." He handed the bands to Legend.

"Tight?" Questioned Legend.

"The waters of the forest replenish the Kokiri clothing. The clothing now fit him perfectly." Time said as he came to them from behind.

A gasp was heard as the three turned to Wild who ran to a bush and took out a bundle of rupees. "I found these at the bottom of the pond thingy! I fished them out because I wanna get a wooden shield. Kayla and Gale said they have it. Can I please buy it?"

Wild pleaded with his eyes as Twilight counted the rupees. There was only 5 rupees, not even enough for a bomb. "I don't know Wild…"

"Please? I have been good!"

Legend choked on himself. "Good? Good?! Wild, you nearly gave me a damn heart attack when I couldn't find you. You just ran off!"

Wild's head visibly dropped. "I'm sorry. I just felt like something pulled me here."

"So is that how you found your way to this place?" Time asked.

Wild nodded. "And also Saria's song. She was taken aback by me. She called me Link, even though I didn't tell her my name. But I guess it's a given. Said she is reminded of you. She was real nice. Told me that the spirits say I am full of sad. But then she played that neat song and her fairy played with me. I felt happy."

Time just looked at the child. It was what Saria also told him. He reached his hand and patted Wild on the head. "No need to be sad, Wild. Chin up. You got some rupees. We can go buy you that shield."

Wild's eyes grew big and shined with excitement as he pumped his arms up as a sign of victory.

“The others are still within that temple. Want me to call them?” Twilight asked as he dusted himself off.

“No need. We can just whistle to them. Sound carries pretty good in there.” Time said as he was about to call out.

“Oh! Oh! I can whistle to them!” Wild excitedly exclaimed. Small hands went to his face as he took a deep breath and blew as hard as he could. Nothing but raspberry sounds came out. Wild attempted twice more before Legend put a hand on the boy’s head. Wild crossed his arms in frustration as Time’s whistle rang out through the small clearing. Six other heroes, all covered in different degrees of dirt and grime came down and met up.

"Seems like you guys had fun," Legend stated.

"We did!" Answered Hyrule. "Despite a lot of things sealed off, we found some unopened chests containing rupees!"

Soon after, each hero that was within the temple shared their experiences as they walked back to the entrance of the Lost Woods.

Back at Kokiri forest, the others patiently waited outside as Time and Wild went to buy a wooden shield. Coming out of the shop, Wild graciously showed off his shield to the others as he showed off some moves he would normally do with his own shield. When he slung it on his back, the strap was a bit too long for him. Hyrule conveniently found some old rope within the temple and Legend took it, tying it around the strap. When Wild saw the rest leading to Legend’s hand, he was about to throw a fit when Twilight flashed him a look.

“It’s either with the strap or we can tie it around you. Your choice.”

“You guys ruin everything. But fine.” Wild crossed his arms. “Just keep it on the strap.”

As they all exited out of the forest, a breeze carried whispers of goodbyes to young ears as Wild turned around and shouted his goodbye in return. Wild ran ahead of the group to lead, only to remember the rope tied to him pulling him back, shield breaking his fall.

He tried to throw a dirty look at anyone who laughed at him. His mind supplied that it served as punishment for him running off. But he was grateful that it was tied to his shield rather than on him. But he will get them back. Just they wait.

------

“What happened to have him be so grumpy?” Malon asked.

“He ran off. How else would we keep an eye on him? You know what happens to those who wander the forest.” Time rubbed his temples as he tried to explain. When they reached the ranch, Wild put on a show that made Malon almost take his side until she heard what had happened. Of course, Wild didn’t get off without repercussions as he was sent to a corner to think about his choices.

Malon laughed. The same grumpy face Wild sported, the same face Time had when he was young and it still applies to today. “I understand, dear. I thank the goddesses that they watched out for him. He seems to have your inquisitive nature after all.”

Time remained silent.

“Are you okay?”

“Saria sent her greetings.” Time said as he finally looked at his wife.

“Come out with me. I know something is on your mind.” As Malon took her husband’s hand, she guided him down to the living room as lively chatter filled the area. “Wild, honey, I think you had enough now. What do you have to say?”

Sighing, Wild looked at the rest of the group. “I’m sorry for running off. Even though the spirits called-”

“Wild...” Malon slightly reprimanded.

“I’m sorry for running off. I will ask before I run.” he finished.

“Close enough. Now run along. We will be outside if you need us.”

And with that, Wild ran off to Hyrule, dragging him to where his shield was so he could show it off to him and possibly shield surf with it.

As Malon led Time from the home, they walked out to the center of the track. Epona was grazing nearby, snorting as she acknowledged their presence. Malon took her spot on a nice patch of grass, Time followed suit.

“You always manage to read me.”

“Link...” Malon gripped his hand in her own.

The warmth he felt was just like Saria’s. Tender love flowed through. “I saw her again. It had been so long since then. I wish we could have spoken more, but before I knew it, the day had gone just like that. Time really does pass by.”

“I’m sure that isn’t all. But I won’t press you. You always know that you can take however long you’d like. Until you are ready.”

The night was enveloped in silence, with a couple noises here and there. Malon placed her hand on her husband’s arm. She rubbed up and down in a soothing gesture as Time twirled a piece of grass between his fingers. It’s not that he didn’t trust Malon with whatever plagued his mind. He was just trying to make sense on what Saria could have meant. Would the spirits of the forest tell her of the hero’s bond? The spirit that bound them all together? Could it have possibly meant a familial bond? But then she would have mentioned Twilight. So much was going on in his mind that he barely registered what Malon had said. He only realized she said something as she was staring right at him.

“You know what you need? A dance,” she said once more as she stood up and extended her hand to him.

Time immediately took Malon up on her offer as he grabbed ahold of her hand to hoist himself up. He patted himself from the grass and dust that clung to him and took his wife’s hand in his own once more. “How long has it been since we had a dance?” Time hummed.

“A formal dance? It has been a while.” Malon responded. “But a dance such as this? Since you returned back to me with the others.”

“So almost six months ago then? My, my… such a while then. I do believe I owe my wife an overdue dance,” Time said as he guided his hands to the small of her back.

Malon did the same as she put her hands on his shoulders, relaxed and eyes on just her husband. The two just swayed under the stars, music drifting within their minds as just the sounds of the farm went about. As they swayed and spun, Malon sighed. “Still more handsome than the king of Hyrule.”

“And you, still as beautiful as the queen.... Even more lovely.” Time added.

Both stopped in their swaying as they snorted with laughter.

“Still gets me everytime you say that,” Malon laughed as she covered her face.

Time just smiled as he stared at her. “So cheesy to say, but got to admit, it is a pretty good confession.”

Lightly socking his arm, Malon still laughed, “You don’t mean that, Mr. Grumpy.”

“Maybe or maybe not. Who knows. I know you don’t.”

That just earned him a scoff. And then silence once more.

“My love, thank you. I know you needed it, but I just realized how much I needed it as well.” Malon just put her hand on Time’s face, who in turn, leaned into it.

“I should be the one to thank you. But I guess we both needed this. I missed you so much. For six months to have gone by like that,” Time snapped his fingers, “It feels so surreal.” Clutching Malon’s hand in his and pressing it even further in, Time just stared at his wife’s eyes. There was so much love in them. Just the way the light of the moon hit them, making them shine, it was moments like these that Time knew why he deeply loved his wife.

Malon stared at Time. He held so much love, she doesn’t think he and the others realized how much of a sap he is. Having her husband near her once more was just a blessing in its own. “I missed these moments. For all the days you were gone, I would constantly be vigilant for your return. I feel selfish in the way that I want to keep you here with me.”

Time pressed his forehead to her’s, “I’m afraid. It could be days, weeks, or even months before we get warped out or come across a portal. But know that with every day, every minute, and every hour that I am here with you, I never take for granted.”

“And I want you to know that with every day, every hour, minute, and second that you’re gone, I wait for your return anxiously. Like a lovesick woman waiting for her husband to return from the war.”

Time lost it at that. Laughter bubbled from his chest as he accidently butted heads with his wife. “Oh goddesses… we really are sappy. Are we not?”

“Yeah, you are!” came a small voice from a hay mound.

“Wild! You gave us away!” Hyrule said as he pulled the child deep within the hay. “Sorry!” Hyrule apologized on behalf of himself and Wild as said child ran alongside Hyrule into the house, hand covering his mouth.

“Well… there goes that.” Time said unamused.

“He did answer your question, dear.” Malon giggled as Time gave her a deadpan look. “But I do not mind the sappy from you, Mr. Grumpy. Reminds me that you aren’t just stoic and angry.”

Time just closed his eyes before he grasped for his wife, bringing her in close. “I guess it applies to you as well. You aren’t just all tough as bricks, Mrs. Ranch-hand.”

“Oh stop,” she playfully hit his chest. “You know… I cannot tell you how much I am so excited to know that we have someone related to us. It just boggles my mind! But it also gives me hope for our future. We have something to claim for ourselves in descendancy. I wonder how our family tree would be like. Would there be any redheads? Any that look like you? Anyone who would know the tales of the Hero of Time and the Hero of Twilight?”

As Malon continued on, Time’s mind went back to the thing Saria said. A bond that transcends all. Huh… she didn’t seem to be too off. But was there a possibility that his descendancy extended further and included more than just Twilight? As the warm atmosphere of the home welcomed both him and Malon, Time didn’t have a second to spare that growing thought as the others welcomed them back for dinner.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #toast writes #this bad boy could fit so much filler #but i tried not to #hinting at familial relationships #because I have a n e e d #so as a writer i do it #i like family #but i also gotta tell y'all that Time and Malon make me gush #i love them #little boy in green pt. 3

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a-world-in-grey · 5 years

Text

Ghosts of Galahd Snippet

In which Libertus and Sola become the local fae, and Nyx nearly gets a heart attack.

@secret-engima

Under the cut, because this turned into 1400 works when I wasn’t looking.

The door closes behind the last of the local Nif occupational officers. Nyx hears the tell-tale sound of someone spitting on the floor. “Good riddance.” Someone mutters. Nyx shoots a scathing look in their direction. As much as he agrees, he appreciates them not spitting on his floors. He has to clean that.

“That’s not nice.” Libertus scolds the man. “What’d the floor do to you?”

The man opens his mouth to reply, gets a good look at Libertus before obviously rethinking his words on the spot. “Yeah, yeah, top me off, would you?”

Nyx smirks as Libertus ambles his way. By the time his friend reaches the bar, Nyx already has another drink for the fellow. Still sober enough to recognize picking a fight with the six-foot mountain of a man isn’t the best for his continued health, so Nyx wouldn’t cut the idiot off. Yet.

“Oi, Nyx.” One of Nyx and Lib’s regulars grabs his attention by sliding his tumbler across the wood bartop. Pantera Tibiae, all sinuous movements that still raise Nyx’s hackles despite knowing the man for near a decade now. “You hear about the Nif base over in old Bellum territory?”

He passes the tumblr back. “Blew up a month back, right? Nif bastards couldn’t find the perps.” Only reason the Nifs hadn’t massacred the locals for was that they couldn’t find any locals. All the nearby villagers had disappeared when morning came around.

As part of the Galahdian resistance, Nyx knows those villagers were evacuated in the middle of the night. Despite the fact no one ever travels at night. Galahd isn’t the mainland - there are no Havens to seek refuge at, and there are far more dangers than daemons in the depths of the jungles. Something the Nifs found out the hard way.

Pity to them.

Still, despite having hundreds of witnesses, there’s little information on what actually happened that night. They were warned, promised safe passage further inland, and sure enough, unbothered by both the local wildlife and daemons.

Nothing solid on who the whistleblowers are. Not even their Clans. Only two figures, one small, one large, clothed and hooded in black. Appearing at night and vanishing with the rising sun.

Leaving grateful refugees and another smoldering wreckage for their oppressors.

Pantera hums. “They hit another base two days ago. North side of the island.”

Nyx whips his head around. What? “What about the locals?” The Resistance hasn’t sent any word of refugees, and that’s usually their first clue to prepare for Nif backlash.

Surely they haven’t... Fuck, that’s Ostium territory.

“Scattered.” Pantera tells him, acutely aware of Libertus looming behind him. “Some showed in the morning. There’ve been stragglers ever since. Ostium all day yesterday, Altius and Praesidium last night. Furia found some more earlier today.”

Libertus shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Why not come here first? Ulric territory borders the Ostiums. We’re closer than the Altius and Furia.”

Nyx thinks of the sudden Nif officers today and yesterday. “They’re hiding from the patrols.” He realizes. “Going the long way around the island, off the island to the Arra and Lazarus. The survivors say anything?”

Pantera nods, looking troubled. “They’re Galahdian alright. Elders at that, but apparently you wouldn’t know it by how they move.” Fingers sketch out figures moving with the lethal grace of a Coeurl. “Black armor - old armor - hints of purple and gold. Fluent in Old Galahdian according to the Altius.”

Nyx and Libertus exchange looks. "So why do you look like everything’s about to go to Ifrit’s Pyre?” Libertus asks.

“They’re not from any of the Clans.” Pantera says.

Hold on- “What?” Nyx demands. “How can they be Galahdian and not from a Clan? Did they cut their braids or something?” Libertus shudders. Nyx can sympathize. Cutting your braids, cutting yourself from your Clan... most don’t survive it.

If these two are as lethal as they seem though, Nyx could see them making it.

But Pantera shakes his head. “They’ve got braids. Just not ones anyone recognizes.” He nods towards Libertus. “They almost look like Ostium braids, being joined, but they’re on both sides like Nyx’s. Joined at the back.” Pantera traces along either side of his head from his temples, and he’s right. Nyx doesn’t know of any Clan that has those braids.

“New Clan?” He suggests, but even as he says it Nyx doesn’t believe it. New Clans are rare. Any forming in the past thirty or so years would have been all over Galahd in a matter of days.

“That no one’s seen before six months ago?” Pantera counters sarcastically.

Well he doesn’t have to say it like that. “What other option is there?” Nyx asks.

“They could be from an Old Clan.”

Nyx and Libertus give Pantera the dubious looks that comment deserves. “Very funny.” Lib snarks. “The last Clan to die out was two hundred years ago.”

Pantera raises a brow, sweeping a hand out with all the flair he possesses. “Exactly.”

Tibiae. Damn peacocks, all of them. “You’re saying these guys are ghosts?” Nyx scoffs, pushing himself upright and away from the bar. If Pantera’s going to be spouting nonsense, he’s better off doing his job. “I’m cutting you off. Clearly you’ve had too much to drink.”

Pantera sniffs in offense. “Disbelieve if you wish. But old armor, Old Galahdian, braids no one recognizes, and the fact they only appear at night?” He grins, sharp and vicious and Nyx is viscerally reminded of the carvings in the old Galahd ruins. “Mark my words. The Stormsender still looks over his Children.”

Nyx shakes his head even as he and Lib close the bar for the night. Sure. And Coeurls are fluffy and harmless.

Lib falls into step beside him. “What do you think?” He asks as they trudge back home.

“What, Pantera’s ghosts?” Nyx asks. “I think if Ramuh was going to send help, he’d have done it when Mors pulled the Wall.” Back when Libertus’ parents died in the resulting Niflheim invasion.

“I don’t know.” Libertus shrugs. “Must be nice having that kind-”

“Ostium? Ulric?”

Nyx and Libertus whirl around, and Nyx gapes.

There’s a group of families - four maybe, Nyx counts no more than twenty people - standing at the edge of the town, more than a little travel-stained. But those are Ostium braids in their hair. “You’re from up north?” He manages.

A woman nods, dark hair falling from the bun it’s in and carrying a sleeping toddler in her arms. “Please, can you help us? She said she would make sure we weren’t seen-”

“She?” Libertus asks. He waves his hand at the rest of the group, silently urging them towards the houses to get them out of sight. Nyx’s hands stray to his kukri, eyes darting about for any signs of the Niflheim officers.

“She didn’t give a name...”

“Later.” Nyx murmurs quietly, and Libertus nods. Nyx lets Libertus take the lead, carefully knocking on doors and ushering the frightened families into welcoming arms one house at a time. Nyx is taught as a wire the entire time. Just one Nif turning a corner at the wrong time and they are all dead...

But nothing. And that somehow makes Nyx even twitchier.

A flash of color out of the corner of his eye and Nyx stills, preparing to throw his kukri. He turns, oh so casually, opening his mouth to charm his way past which ever Nif might wonder why two Galahdians are still up and about at this hour of night-

Silver-red braids and black armor. Gold eyes in a pale face, eerily visible despite it being so dark Nyx shouldn’t be able to see her face, let alone eye color. A pair of khopesh strapped to her thighs.

The woman meets his gaze, before she nods, left arm crossed over her chest, fist over heart. Nyx’s breath stutters.

A mark of respect. One Chief to another.

What the hell.

“Nyx?” Libertus’ comes from right next to him, and Nyx nearly jumps out of his skin. Libertus eyes him worriedly. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just-” He turns back to see naught but shadows. “She’s gone.” No flicker of movement, not so much as a sound.

Libertus follows his gaze. “She- you saw her?”

Nyx sheathes his kukri, letting out a gust of breath. “Yeah. Lib?”

“What?”

“I’m starting to wonder if Pantera might be right.”

A snicker. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

“Don’t you dare.”

#Shadow of Heaven's Light #ffxv #Sola Lucis Caelum #Libertus Ostium #Nyx Ulric #Pantera Tibiae #ocs #in which Sola is having far too much fun #at someone else's expense

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oddnub-eye · 4 years

Text

Mythology Drabbles #10

@whatissleepeven since I know you like these!

Disclaimer: Some of these drabbles are not presented entirely accurately to the source material they are drawn from. They are not meant to be entirely accurate. That being said, I hope you enjoy, and constructive criticism is always welcomed and encouraged.

...

The Bull of Heaven

It had been barely a day since Gilgamesh and Enkidu had returned to Uruk, bearing the fruits of their battle with Humbaba. It was a day of rest and relaxation for the friends, and while Enkidu had chosen to spend his in the city, Gilgamesh chose to relax in his great home.

Of course, fate had other things in store.

“Gilgamesh, King of Uruk!” The goddess Ishtar declared, descending in a shower of light, “Come to me as my lover, and I shall grant you riches and power beyond your wildest dream!”

Gilgamesh opened one vibrant red eye, before closing it, “No. Now leave my sight, goddess.”

“You reject me!? Why do you reject the glory of a goddess! Or are you that arrogant, King of Uruk!?”

“It is simple really. All of your lovers have met a horrid fate by your hand, patron goddess of my city.”

Ishtar spread her wings and hissed, “What are you implying!?”

Gilgamesh stood up, standing taller than the goddess, “I did not imply anything! Need I remind you of Tammuz? Or Ishullanu? Or even the poor shepherd, who you changed into a wolf, and set his own dogs to devour him! Begone from my sight, goddess!”

Ishtar’s face changed into a cold quiet rage as she flew off. Gilgamesh sat back down heavily onto his throne, closing his eyes. He had them shut for maybe an hour, before the sounds of destruction tore him to reality.

…

Enkidu wandered through the streets of Uruk, greeting the children and talking with the merchants. The king’s companion was far more personable than the king himself, the wildman known for his good humor.

The horned man had come to watch the children play a game in the square, standing alongside their parents and fellows. It was then that a loud crash emanated from the other side of the city, and a beastly bellow, louder than any natural sound echoed through the city. The ground shook, and screams of citizens could be heard.

“EVERYONE!” Enkidu roared, shouting over the crowd’s panic, “SEEK REFUGE IN SHAMASH’S TEMPLE, NONE WOULD SEEK TO VIOLATE IT! IF THERE IS ONE OF YOU BRAVE ENOUGH, GO FETCH GILGAMESH!”

With that, Enkidu sprinted off towards the commotion, leaping over evacuating citizens. With his great eyes, Enkidu could see a bull with horns of lapis lazuli. Its glowing hide and strong limbs tore citizens who could not escape its charge apart. Bodies piled high around it. This was unmistakably the Bull of Heaven.

With a roar, Enkidu dove into the fray, ramming into the Bull of Heaven. The Bull let out a cry and whipped its head, its great strength sending Enkidu flying. The wildman landed on his feet, leaping upward to escape the bull’s charge.

“Enkidu!” Gilgamesh roared, turning the corner into the brawl, “Are you wounded?”

“No!” Enkidu answered, seizing the Bull of Heaven’s tail, its struggles to escape creating cracks in the ground. Gilgamesh strode forward, grabbing the bull by its horns, attempting to force it into submission.

“Enkidu! Pass me your sword, for you never use it yourself.”

Enkidu said nothing, only redoubling his grip on the Bull of Heaven, before freeing one hand to toss Gilgamesh his sword.

Gilgamesh let go of the bull, rolling out of the way as it attempted to gore him, and the King caught the sword in one fluid motion. Gilgamesh tore the blade from its sheath in an instant, and in one stroke, the Bull of Heaven fell.

The duo panted as they stood over the defeated Bull, before a grin split Enkidu’s face.

“Hey, Gil, look!” Enkidu laughed, pointing at the Bull’s horns, “Look at how much Lapis Lazuli is in its horns!”

“Yes…” Gilgamesh noted, “But why is the Bull of Heaven here?”

“You!” Ishtar ranted from atop the walls of Uruk, addressing the duo, “First you spurn me, then you kill the Bull of Heaven! Does your arrogance know no limit!”

Enkidu’s face flattened with anger, and he tore the Bull’s thigh away from its body, before throwing it at Ishtar, which collided with her face, pausing her rant.

“Shut your mouth goddess!” Enkidu ranted, voice cold with genuine anger, “You are as petty as a young girl who has been spurned for the first time. Fly, goddess. Fly back to the heaven’s were you belong!”

Ishtar’s face became a mask of genuine rage, before she sneered, “You have crossed the line, Wildman.”

With that, the goddess spread her wings and flew into the heavens.

Gilgamesh laughed, “A wonderful display my friend!”

Enkidu did not respond. He had let his anger overtake him, and he had disrespected a goddess. There were punishments for that....but the Goddess had provoked them. That was one of the laws of nature, a cornered animal would lash out.

Yet still, Enkidu could not shake the feeling, that something was due to go horribly, horribly wrong.

#oddnub writes #reimagining #interpretation #the epic of gilgamesh #sumerian mythology #enkidu #gilgamesh #ishtar #the bull of heaven #constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged

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fuwafuwamedb · 5 years

Text

Enki's Songbird Pt 22 (Hakuno, Gilgamesh)

Previous Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

_____

The being took days.

Days upon days, from what Gilgamesh was reading; the being had been difficult to build sanity within. Even then, they had found that there was nothing to stop the being from rushing towards Uruk. The temple maiden who had been sent had been sated to the limits of her consciousness, now trapped within the being’s arms and still attempting to create more conversation with the being.

His advisors were urging him to seek refuge within the temples of the gods.

The temples were urging him to falter to the gods and show reverence.

The maiden in his bed was laying with her body half covered. Her sweet voice was echoing in his bedchamber as Gilgamesh looked out into the rainfall.

That voice along was pure seduction, a spark of color in a sea of darkness. Even as he did his best to try to think about what to do in this situation, he found himself giving in to his own need for pleasure. His body turned back to the beautiful woman in his bed. His hands laced with hers, finding her simply welcoming him in.

He would not defer to gods who sought to make him falter to his knees.

He would not humble himself to the state of a coward, leaving his people without their protection.

“Something is wrong,” that celestial voice murmured, her hands holding his cheeks and her lips finding his own. A single kiss had his morale resolved. A second kiss had his system buzzed and arrogant like the greatest drinker.

“There comes a beast to Uruk,” he told her, seeking her body’s warmth around him fully. “I will be leaving to fight them in the morning.”

As soon as the rain let up, he would set forth.

That was how he was going to handle this.

“Take me with you,” the bold woman beneath him urged.

“Hakuno-“

“I can try to help.”

“Are you going to talk them into laying down their arms?” He laughed, pressing small nothings to her chest and up her neck. Her brown hair was meeting his face as he went, smelling of his baths and oils. She smelled like only him now. There was something prideful to be had out of that fact.

“I can do my best,” Hakuno murmured.

“I need someone to be here with Siduri,” he told her simply. “You’ll be staying inside.”

She smiled a bit, but there was something off about it.

Maybe he should have stayed up to figure out the mystery behind it.

Maybe, if he had thought about more than the solace of her embrace, he would have realized there was something more to their lack of argument.

He felt asleep to the sound of her sweet voice and the rainfall.

He woke up to the cold silence of his bed and that of Uruk.

Something was wrong.

#drabble #drabbles

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elenatria · 5 years

Note

some valoris fluffyness- imagine Boris taking time to study Valery's face, finding all of his freckles and spots incredibly cute (even through the slight irradiated blush) and using his ability to maintain that cold expression to his advantage in order to check Valery out without him noticing anything out of the ordinary. (or perhaps that's what Boris has been doing this entire time!)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824418

Boris EvdokimovichShcherbina rarely allowed his busy mind to drift when he was concentrating onthe task at hand. Millions of lives depended on his work, his tirelessdetermination, his hard decisions. The poisonous cloud over their heads servedas a constant reminder of the responsibility weighing down on him, nevertheless,he never let himself get distracted by the seeming futility of it all. Witheach passing day he would come to realize that, for all the reassurances andresources he had at his disposal, the Party had little concern for the liquidators,for the scientists, for himself.

He knew howexpendable he was just as he knew there was no other way. He should be travelingto Kiev for treatment every month, every week, but he was aware that no onecould replace him during his absence. The Party had made sure they had sent therethe one man who could do the work. The only man.

But he was justhuman; when the day seemed longer than usual his tired eyes would wander aroundthe trailer looking for solace in the next bottle of Vodka waiting to beemptied, or someone to yell at, some incompetent fool unable to fill a sack withsand, or an inanimate object with great potential for relieving his nerves if properlysmashed against the wall; he was never allowed to break cutlery at home so maybethis was his chance to accomplish his dream of giving symbols of modern lifethe fate they deserved.

After a day’shard work he was too exhausted to even contemplate getting off his chair for ashot of alcohol. If he had a choice his eyes would rest forever on the one thinghe had been obsessed with ever since he had landed on that doomed piece of land.

The Scientist.

It was likean itch, the need to sneak glances at the red-haired man with the greying templeswhile he was working, oblivious to his environment and the Ukrainian’s need tofeed certain forbidden fantasies, to ultimately find the silver lining of all thismess.

What an oddlythrilling sight Legasov was with his broad forehead, with glasses bigger thanhis freckled face and restless sapphire eyes behind them, wide with anxiety orsquinty and resigned when the workload was more than his fragile shoulderscould bear.

He looked sopale under the horrible white light of the generator, so isolated, Boriscaught himself thinking.

The deputyminister had learned the procedure by heart: Legasov would rub his numb knucklesone by one before removing the thick glasses to squeeze his eyes shut or to wipehis sweat with the heel of his palm. Sometimes he would massage his own neckwith those tiny wrinkled fingers of his in a futile attempt to get rid of thestrain of giving instructions to workers and soldiers all day long.

Valery wasspending too much time leaning over maps and notes that seemed to have no end,to the point that Boris was tempted to throw those notes to the fire if he didn’tknow they were essential to their work. Besides Legasov would probably replacethem in an instant.

Valery. Youignorant hard-working bastard.

He realizedthen he had just called him by his name for the first time; it was only athought buried under a cold expressionless face but it made him blush nonetheless.As if Legasov heard him he lifted his head to gaze at him absent-mindedly, eyesblurry and distracted, before sinking back to his notes while his shortdelicate fingers dug into his own shoulder. A twitch of pain and discomfort formedon his lips and furrowed brow.

Boris felthis muscles tense like a sprinter waiting for the shot. He would have sprung tohis feet had Valery asked for assistance, a pair of helping hands to massagehis aching shoulder blades, his rigid nape, his spine. He didn’t know when itstarted, when he first craved to touch him, but he was begging for thatquestion.

“Boris,could you--?”

God knows hewould ask for nothing more; an unfinished sentence, a thin finger pointing atthe neck he longed to feel. The nape he would gladly breathe heavily on.

Still, the questionnever came. It was too much to ask, Legasov didn’t seem to be a man who yearnedto be touched, least of all by his new colleague, the Party Man. Boris knewthey had started off on the wrong foot and was cursing himself for being so briskwhen they first met, when they first talked on the phone. He could neverimagine liking the man, longing to rid him of his graceless overall,still him on his lap with firm sweaty hands as he kneaded into his soft flesh,as he sank himself deep into him, into his core, into his welcoming heat.

The desperatenoises he would make with each thrust --

The more Legasovwas unaware of Boris’ attention the more his freckled skin seemed to beinviting his reverie. It was uneven, full of scars, pockmarked – maybe anillness when he was a child, maybe badly treated acne. Neglect. Shame. Name-calling. All thethings Boris would gladly protect him from if he could, if he was there whenValery was still a boy.

But he wasn’ta boy, not anymore. Legasov’s prominent decisive jaw was a fine contrast to hisfragility and his childlike dimples were hinting at the generosity of a rare smile,a gift reserved for the select few perhaps, for better, sunnier days. Boriswished the conditions of their work had been more forgiving and found himself longingfor that smile, imagining the thin lips curving upwards, the dimples deepeningwith happiness – because of him.

Oh what asight that would be.

Boris musthave had a funny dreamy look on his face when Valery looked up from his notesand glanced back at him, blinking. It was too late to avert his gaze so he justkept staring at the scientist, hoping his happy filthy thoughts hadn’t reachedhis lips. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look anywhere else but straight ahead of him,didn’t stop peering at the man across the trailer in the olive overall.

Normally oneof them would have to say something, start a conversation, break the ice. HoweverValery didn’t speak, didn’t smile.

Valery neversmiled.

It took Borisa few seconds to realize he had to smile for both of them.

So he did.

Valery’s panickedeyes shifted around the room, his mouth gaping slightly in shock and embarrassment.He looked down, seeking refuge in his notes.

Boris’ liptwitched into a satisfied smirk as he watched the esteemed First Deputy Directorof the Kurchatov Institude blush like a bride.

I wonderif he’s ever had a man before. If anyone had him. If anyone tossed him over adesk and roughly, sweetly fucked into him, jealous of his grades and hisvirginity.

How unfair tothe world and to the scientist before him, but how fortunate for Boris ifValery was still a virgin.

Look at himnow, hiding behind his notes like a schoolgirl.

Legasovcleared his throat as he bent over his nervous hands and the abandoned ashtraybetween them to the point where Boris could only see the top of his head.

Perhaps a redflush was already creeping up Valery’s neck, spreading all over his cheeks.

But Boriscouldn’t tell.

#chernobyl #fanficiton #chernobyl fanfiction #hbo #valery legasov #boris shcherbina #valoris #ao3 #ignorant hard-working bastard #fluff #pining

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