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fromthedeskoftheraven · 4 years ago

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Always kiss me goodnight

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Content: Pining, kissing, mention of food, oh no there’s only one bed, helmetless Din (but it’s dark), baby Yoda is an adorable tiny terror

Word count: ~2200

Note: I swear I was only going to write one Pedro character fic. Has this kind of thing been done a million times? Yes. Am I doing it once more? Also yes. It’s self-indulgent hours and this little love letter to our favorite space dad and his green baby has been nagging at my mind since I first watched the show.

Tagging the people who asked (If anyone wants to be tagged or un-tagged in any future fics since it seems I’m well and truly back on my bs just say the word): @songsformonkeys @yespolkadotkitty @emesispo @beccaplaying

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Fatigue has caught up with the little green child now that his belly is full, and crankiness along with it. The Mandalorian has been known to lovingly call his adopted son a womp rat, but when the baby gets overtired, a rancor is more like it.

This time, you can hardly blame him. The three of you have spent the better part of the day traveling, finally landing on this backwater planet late in the evening. With some searching and a small fortune in credits, Din managed to find a safe, out-of-the-way place to stay, leaving you and the child to eat and settle in while he went to scout the bounty’s location for the next day’s work.

As the child’s fussing gains momentum, you hustle to the small sink in the corner of the room.

“We’ll wash your face and go straight to bed,” you promise him, letting the water warm before wetting a cloth and wringing it out thoroughly.

In the mirror, your own face looks as exhausted as he obviously feels. The bed in question is little more than a pallet with a mattress and some blankets, but it might as well be a royal welcome at this stage of the game.

Despite your gentleness, the baby erupts in an indignant whine as you wipe the cloth over his face and ears. “I know, little love,” you soothe while he struggles in protest. “Almost done.”

He quiets when you scoop him up into your arms, pressing a kiss to his fuzzy head. You hum bits of a song from your childhood, rocking him from side to side, and his little face crumples with a yawn. His tiny fingers curl into the fabric of your tunic and his head goes heavy on your shoulder, but still he fidgets, making pathetic little sounds in the direction of the door.

“I know,” you murmur again, still swaying on the spot. “He’ll be back soon.”

You’ve grown to love the child and you know he’s fond of you, but as far as he’s concerned Din is the one who hangs the stars in the sky. He’s always a little agitated when his father is out of sight, and truth be told, so are you.

“I know what we can do,” you say. “Let’s make a plate for your buir for when he comes back. Don’t you think that’ll be nice for him?”

Neither you nor Din are sure how much the child actually understands, but you don’t let it stop you talking to him. If nothing else it makes you feel a little less alone in the long hours when Din is hunting his quarries.

His drooping ears twitch upward with this suggestion. He watches with interest as you lay a plate with some of the fresh fruit, bread, and stewed meat Din bought from the innkeeper for your supper.

“There we go. Now then, bedtime for little ones.”

You turn to survey the sleeping area with a stab of nerves. The minuscule size of the room isn’t a challenge -- the Razor Crest has made you an expert in living in small spaces -- but the lone bed is a wrinkle you hadn’t expected.

Din, ever pragmatic, had been quick to point out that it was plenty big enough for the three of you, and it was only one night. He was right, of course.

Still, you’d never been so grateful for dim lighting, sure that your secret longing for the Mandalorian was written plainly on your flustered face.

You couldn’t have said exactly when your feelings for Din Djarin had strayed into dangerous territory. Somewhere in the months of traveling with him, caring for his child, helping maintain his ship, reminding him to eat, and tending the worst of his wounds your initial wariness turned to admiration, admiration to fondness, and fondness to something alarmingly like love.

It’s a fool’s errand.

For all his kindness to you Din is an island of a man, set apart from the world in his shell of beskar and the even more unyielding armor of his creed. Even if his heart is big enough to encompass the child, you don’t dare to hope there’s room for you too.

And now this bed -- this one kriffing bed -- sits there mocking you and all your silly fantasies of you and Din and the child being a real family, bound together by love instead of convenience.

You turn off the light overhead, leaving only the small, sickly lamp at the table to light Din’s way to his supper.

The mattress is clean and the blankets are a bit threadbare but soft, and the baby only has the energy to grumble a little when you lay him down on the side closest to the wall and tuck the thickest of them around him. Yawning widely, he stretches out a hand toward you, fingers grabbing at the air.

The gesture warms your weary heart.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lie down beside him and face away from the table, mindful that Din will need privacy to eat. The little body shuffles closer to you, curling into your shoulder, and a surge of fierce affection pricks your eyes with tears. You wrap your arm around the baby to hold him close as the full brunt of the long day overtakes you.

“Good night, little love,” you say around a yawn, just as your eyes fall closed.

***

You wake with a start. The windowless room is pitch black, and in the absence of any landmarks your brain races to orient itself.

At your back, the child’s soft, snuffling breaths. A well-worn blanket draped over you and a slightly lumpy mattress beneath.

The inn, you remember in a flash.

At your front...something warm and broad and solid. You’ve nestled into it in your sleep, one arm thrown over it, your hand grasping soft fabric. A familiar, comforting scent surrounds you, a scent you cherish from laundry days and the cramped quarters of a small ship.

Oh, Maker.

You clearly slept through Din coming back and getting into bed, and now you’re wrapped around him like a second set of clothes. The rush of blood into your cheeks flames so hot you worry he must feel it through the base layers he’s wearing to sleep.

Shrinking into yourself, you begin to pull away, as stealthily as you can. If you can just get back to your own side of the bed and brazen it out in the morning, maybe he’ll never be the wiser.

Slowly, so slowly, you release the handful of his shirt you’re holding and move your arm from where it’s resting across his chest...

In the darkness, a hand encircles your wrist.

Oh, Maker.

You’ve watched Din wrestle enough uncooperative bounties into the carbonite chamber to know you’re not getting away from him if he doesn’t want you to. But his grip on your wrist is light, gentle. His thumb rests on the place where your pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird, whether from embarrassment or his closeness you’re not entirely sure.

“Din.” It comes out barely a whisper, sabotaged by the sudden dryness of your mouth. You swallow hard and try again. “Din, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s all right.”

His voice is a revelation. Free of the modulator’s rasp, it’s warmer, richer, somehow softer and more resonant at the same time. You’ve never even been in the same room with him when he has his helmet off, and the realization that he’s right there, a breath away, is dizzying.

Silence stretches before he speaks again, more quietly. “It’s...nice.”

Your brain fails you entirely. “Oh.”

You search desperately for something more intelligent to say, but his thumb is drawing feather-light circles over the soft skin of your wrist and your pulse is thundering in your ears. Those touches, so delicate from a man so strong, blur your thoughts like liquor and drag a confession from your lips before you can bite it back. “I’ve always wanted to hold you.”

You wait, blessing the darkness that swallows your shame, and hope he’s not going to tell you to pack your things and find a job in this bleak little skug hole for when he leaves you behind.

Instead, you feel the mattress shift and know he’s turned toward you.

The sudden fear of breaking Din’s creed is overwhelming, even in the dark. Instinct has you squeezing your eyes shut so tightly that white specks float behind your eyelids.

“I can’t see you,” you say quickly. “I promise.”

“I know.”

His thumb moves from your wrist across your palm, uncurling your fingers to map each one in turn, trailing up to the tips and back down again. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s touched anyone’s bare skin.

He sighs, which is nothing new, but this one doesn’t sound exasperated. It sounds almost...content. “Mesh’la,” he murmurs. “Beautiful girl. I thought so the first time I saw you.”

You’re overcome with a wild, childish urge to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.

His praise gives you a rush of courage to ask for something you’ve only dreamed of. “Din...can I touch you? Is it allowed?”

His only answer is to cradle your hand in his, bringing it to rest on his cheek.

Stubble prickles your palm as your fingers slowly trace his scruffy jawline and the thick column of his neck, savoring the feel of him. His hair is soft, long enough to curl at its nape, and when you comb your fingers through the tousled strands he makes a low, strangled sound in the back of his throat. It reverberates through your body like a bell, making your head swim with the thrill of affecting him.

You only just resist the urge to suck a mark into the spot where his pulse races under his warm skin.

Your greedy hands move on to discover a strong brow and the curved bridge of a prominent nose. A mustache frames lips that are more plush than you imagined, a note of sensuality in an angular, warrior’s face.

“Can you tell me what color your eyes are?” you ask, fingertips traveling over his cheekbone.

“Brown.”

Brown. You see them in your mind’s eye, soft and dark, expressing all the things he doesn’t say out loud. Stroking his lower lip, you repeat his own word back to him: “Mesh’la.”

Din’s mouth twitches under your fingers. “You can’t see me.”

He has no idea. His body warming yours and the sweetness of his voice calling you beautiful is everything you’ve ever wanted and thought yourself unworthy of having, and he thinks you’re only talking about his face.

You cup his cheek, smile at him, even though he can’t see it. “I don’t need to, Din. I just know it. I always have.”

“You’re so good to me.” His hand catches yours in his large one, his voice rough with some nameless emotion. “To me, and the baby. All the time.”

“You deserve everything good,” you whisper past the lump in your throat.

He’s caressing your hand again, holding it in place to press his lips to the pad of your thumb. “I want to kiss you, cyare.”

Your exhale is somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Please.”

His hand moves to cradle your head as he closes the distance between you. If you were expecting him to pounce, you’re completely unprepared for him to linger, breath hovering over your lips for a long, agonizing moment as he brushes his nose over yours.

You’re almost startled by the first touch of his lips, a little chapped but warm and lush. His mustache is softer than you thought it would be, and so are his kisses, a series of slow, gentle presses of his mouth. Like he wants to do with his lips what you’ve done with your hands, sketching and learning.

It’s only when you slide your hand into his hair again that something inside him breaks. His arm snakes around your waist, holding you to the refuge of his broad chest as he slants his mouth over yours, claiming you in earnest. He’s possessive and tender in equal measure and the tease of his tongue against yours, his teeth nipping your lower lip, the span of his hand on your back has you drunk on him and whispering his name between kisses like a prayer.

...Apparently not quietly enough.

A little hand scrabbling at your shoulder blade brings you out of your haze. As you pull away from Din the baby is climbing over you as quickly as his short limbs will let him. He wedges himself between the two of you with a delighted coo at Din, hands flailing to find his father’s face.

Din heaves a sigh, but there’s no malice in it. “I’m here, ad’ika,” he says, with unmistakable fondness. “We’re all here.”

You can’t stifle a breathless laugh as the baby snuggles into Din’s arms, making himself comfortable for the night.

Your Mandalorian surrenders good-naturedly, wrapping an arm around you with the child tucked safely in the middle. He presses a kiss to your forehead before settling on the pillow beside you. “Sleep, cyare.”

Drowsiness is already fuzzing the edges of your mind again, but it catches on the word he’s said twice now. “What does that mean?” you murmur. “Cyare?”

You feel him smile against your temple, one last brush of his lips. “Share my bunk tomorrow night, and I’ll tell you.”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader

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littlemisspascal · 4 years ago

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Death and an Angel part 2

Helmetless + Death!Din and Female + Cupid!Reader.

Summary: You’re a Cupid whose primary reason for existing is to guide people in the direction of their soulmates. Din—known to the rest of the universe as Death with a capital D—has, as of three days ago, become your next client. You wonder, not for the first time, how is this your reality?

Rating: G

Word Count: 1000

Warnings: Plot development, pining, overall nothing too serious

Author Note: Oh my gosh! Thank you so much for the incredible response to my little universe!!! I hope you like this segment just as much, fingers crossed. If you want to be added to tag list, let me know!

Link to part one and part 3

Photo Inspiration:

You’re a Cupid whose primary reason for existing is to guide people in the direction of their soulmates. Din—known to the rest of the universe as Death with a capital D—has, as of three days ago, become your next client.

You wonder, not for the first time, how is this your reality?

Memories of your mortal life are few and far between, slipping through your fingers like fireflies in the summer when you try to hold onto them too long. But you doubt anything you experienced could have prepared you for the sight of Death sitting across from you in your living room, legs crossed and entirely at ease in your apartment despite it being his first time visiting.

You have to remind yourself that right here, right now you’re a Cupid with a mission. Quite possibly the biggest mission of your entire career. You can’t screw this up, not even if it feels like an invisible fist is slowly clenching around your heart as you listen to Din describe his ideal soulmate.

“Whoever it is,” he says while unabashedly observing your furnishings, not willing to rule out a specific gender or race, not when they’re his supposed better half. “They can’t be a mortal.”

Your pencil stills mid-note taking, unsure you heard him right. Most people would assume Death has no sense of humor, but you’ve learned from your encounters with him that assumption is far from the truth. However, when you look up from your notebook to check if he’s trying to make some kind of joke, you fail to find any trace of jest in his expression, not even the faintest gleam of amusement in his brown eyes.

You tap your writing utensil mindlessly against your leg, looking him over from head to toe and reconsidering your opinion of him in light of this new information. “I didn’t know you disliked mortals so much you’d purposefully exclude them.”

“You misunderstand, angel. It doesn’t matter if I like a mortal or not, either way my touch will kill them.” Din holds up one of his gloved hands in front of you for inspection, as if you’d never noticed them before. Asshole. “Why do you think I take such precautions when we’re in public spaces?”

Truthfully, a specific reason for him wearing multiple layers hadn’t ever really crossed your mind. You’d just accepted it from the start as a facet of his being. Still, your ears burn with embarrassment hot enough you’re half-convinced the room’s temperature has also risen several degrees. It’s not out of the realm of possibility for your house to turn against you in an effort to cause you humiliation in front of your unattainable crush.

On the receiving end of his arched eyebrow, the only defensive retort you can manage is, “Everyone’s got their quirks. I thought poor fashion choices just happened to be yours.”

“Says the angel who collects newspaper scraps as a hobby,” he fires back, peering around you at the stack of newspapers in the corner you’d yet to sort through for articles that snagged your interest.

More and more you’re starting to regret inviting him into your home.

“We’re not here to talk about me,” you snap, but the rebuke is diminished by the audible note of laughter in your voice, the grin stubbornly pulling at the corners of your mouth.

A flicker of emotion flashes across his face as he stares back at you, as quick to vanish as it was to appear, resembling a glimpse of sunlight peeking through an overcast of clouds. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think he had regarded you with...fondness.

“So,” you shake your head, derailing that pathetic train of thought, and reposition your pencil to continue writing, “your soulmate has to be someone who can survive your touch. Which means they obviously have to be immortal like us.”

Like us, that tiny lovesick voice in the back of your head coos. Maker, you’ve got it bad. If you could get away with slapping yourself in front of him, you’d be giving yourself a concussion right now.

“That should narrow your search down considerably, shouldn’t it?” Din asks, bracing his forearms on his knees as he leans closer into your personal space. If you were to look up, your noses would be within inches of touching.

Stubbornly, you keep your head firmly looking down at your notes. Partly to hide your expression of embarrassment, partly because you don’t trust your own self-control to prevent you from doing something stupid. “In theory, yes. I have a few potential candidates in mind we can arrange dates with.” In response to his prolonged beat of silence, you find yourself offering, “You can wear your armor. If—If that would make you more comfortable, I mean.”

You’re so focused on keeping your breathing steady you nearly miss him murmuring, “Are any of these dates Cupids?”

Your mind is slow to process the question, even slower to form an answer as it flips through the list of names that you’d started compiling from the start of your interrogation.

“No,” you answer at last. Not a single one.

His lips purse, another flicker of emotion flashing across his face, before he pulls away and stands up from his seat. Your heart flips in your chest, because this time you don’t have any doubts about recognizing his expression. But...it doesn’t make any sense.

Din slips his arms through the sleeves of his coat, preparing to leave through your front door and step outside onto the snow-covered sidewalk. You barely pay him any attention, replaying the recent exchange in its entirety on loop within your brain like a vinyl record.

“I look forward to your next call, angel,” Din says, nodding his head in that dumb, stoic way he always does when he leaves you.

“Goodbye,” you say belatedly, seconds after the door had already clicked shut behind him.

In his absence, you finally allow the realization to sink in, rubbing a hand over your mouth in disbelief in spite of the certainty you feel about your assessment being correct.

That look you saw on Din’s face when you’d told him no.

It had been disappointment.

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor

#Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Din Djarin #din x reader #din x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #death and an angel #my fic #my writing #mandalorian x reader #Mandalorian #soulmate au #the mandalorian

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jessiebanethedragon · 4 years ago

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I Just Have to Get This Off My Chest

Din x Reader (SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 15)

is the title the title of the fic or is it the explanation as to way i wrote this instead of the three essay’s i have due soon. Who knows? certainly not me.

You had not felt well for some time. Every moment that was not distracted by something else allowed you to feel the pooling sickness in your stomach. Grogu was gone.

You had cried only in private, hidden away in the forest of Tython, covering your tears with your hands and sobbing into the ground. Din had never felt so powerless, when you finally re-emerged from the wooded area, he said nothing of the invasion of privacy he’d committed via the sensors on his helmet. Instead he walked up the ramp of Slave I with you to leave the cursed planet. Maybe, you were thankful for Mayfeld’s incessant chatter. It gave you something to focus on other than the missing warmth in your heart that was occupied by the little green creature.

“You still with us?” he asked, turning around and waving a hand over your face. It snaps you back to the moment, but the guilty feeling does not fade completely.

“Yeah,” You breathe. And finally relent, pulling off the helmet for fresh air. Din turns his head ever so slightly to catch the way your hair becomes messy. “Focus.” he reprimands Mayfeld, you almost feel bad for the guy, you're both so on edge he’s driving with ticking time bombs, and that’s without the Rhydonium.

“Where.” Din demands, roughly pressing his hands into the gaps between the baggy fitting armor. One of the pirates landed a solid blow to your side and the mandalorian wont let it go.

“Mando i’m fine.” You tell him, huffing when his hands get rougher trying to feel underneath the crappy empire issues durasteel.

“Where did you get hit.” He demands again, hands landing on your shoulders and shaking you slightly. Mayfeld is right, Din is desperate.

“Din…” You whisper side glancing to make sure prying ears are out of reach. “I’m okay, I promise.” You wonder for a second if you should put your forehead against his, something he’d done after the fight with Moff Gideon, after you thought you’d never see him again. You remember seeing him limp down with IG-11, barely alive in the darkness. You remember running to him without thinking twice, the stupid, stupid, mandalorian who would rather die than break his creed. The stupid mandalorian you know now you cannot live without.

“Hey, you two might want to stop acting like a couple of DUM - Pit Droids because we’ve got a problem.” Mayfeld says jogging over to you both.

“What.” Din snaps the unfamiliar hemet turning to the man at hand. You hate how it looks on him, it is strange, unfamiliar, so un-him that you’re longing for him to get the Beskar back on.

“I can’t go in there.” He says gesturing behind him. “That’s Valin Hess, I served under him, I'll be recognized.” You lean over to look at the officer, and then behind you into the open area.

“The officers' quarters are close enough.” You think aloud. “Stay here, I'll drop a detonator. Distract them.”

“No way you can make the trip without being caught.” Mayfeld argues.

“Hey, I used to do this professionally. Let me handle it.” You tell him with a small smile, this is herding Bantha’s compared to your old job.

“Kriffing spy’s” Mayfeld murmurs.

“As far as the empire is concerned I’m still an official agent.” You correct him, and you turn to leave but a gloved hand wraps around your wrist, his iron grapes holding you back. You look at the unfamiliar mask, and slowly, Din loosens his hold and watches you go.

The hallways are always the same, no matter how many planets, or ships you were stationed on, the empire always looked the same, your boots always made the same sounds, and an uncaught rebel-spy always knew where she was going. Order, Mayfelds voice echoes in your mind, yes there is order here. But Grogu isn’t. And that’s what matters to you right now, nothing else but the poor child that you’d had the fortune stumbling upon on a Navaro recon mission. You praise your own inability to let go of the past, for without it you never would’ve been investigating the imperial outpost, never would have met a cold mandalorian and never learnt that he, in fact, burned brighter than any kyber crystal in the galaxy.

The detonator rolls smoothly from your hand as you turn away from the barracks. Jogging back to the control center a soft smile on your face as the hiss and pop sends the familiar signals blaring. When the coast is clear you don’t stop running until you slide into the mess hall, and stop dead in your tracks.

Din is gone.

Mayfeld is standing over at least half a dozen bodies, save for one man who’s back is to you. Your blood freezes when you make the realization as the helmetless man turns towards you. He has brown hair, and you can see where the helmet has ruffled his curls. The slight scruff highlights his face, and draws you in towards his eyes. His wonderful brown eyes.

It’s the mandalorian. It’s your Mandalorian.

You know you should close your eyes, but they can’t move from his, so many nights on the razor crest were spent wondering about the colour of his eyes.

“You ever seen his face?” The memory of Mayfeld in a different place at a different time floods you. The way he teased about how close you and the mandalorian couldn’t be, because you didn’t know what he looked like. Pressing you against the bars of the prison they’d trapped him in, laughing when you couldn’t even give them a name. Taunting your own life in front of you at the end of a blaster. “She doesn’t know!” Xi’an sneered as you fought against Qin pinning you into the bars, using you as a tool in his revenge. It is as if you are meeting him for the first time again, the man in shiny beskar who had whispered his name to you after the incident involving Mayfeld himself. The mandalorian who ran his fingers over the marks the bars had indented into your skin. “Din. my name is Din.”

“I’ll go look… actually i’ll secure the roof.” Mayfeld stumbles through his words watching as you tear up at seeing, really seeing him for the first time. You choke on your word when he crosses the room stopping when he hears the small noise. Noticing how you finally seem to come back into yourself and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Cyare.” He says, sounding so different without the helmet on.

“Put it back on.” You rush out. “I didn’t see, we’ll kill Mayfeld, keep your creed.” you know it’s a lie, but you say the words in a jumble anyways.

“We were running out of time, this was my choice. Open your eyes, it’ll be okay.” Din reassures you. So you take a deep breath and listen to him.

“You’re so handsome.” You say without thinking, because he’s stunning up close, where you can see every detail in full. Standing mouth slightly agape as you memorize your mandalorian’s face. Your hand goes to touch him but you stop yourself, Din notices of course, and guides your hand to his face. You were right. He does burn brighter than any kyber crystal in the galaxy. Heated honey to your touch.

“I’m in love with you.” You’re learning many things about the man under the mask today, maybe it’s time he learns something about you. So you thread your hands into his hair and pour your love into a kiss. Din gasps, shocked, and part of you wonders if this is his first. But he reciprocates by moving his arms around your middle to bring you as close as possible to him.

When you part because of shots outside, he puts the helmet back on. And you immediately wish you had had a chance to kiss him again before he did.

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tintinwrites · 5 years ago

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dar’manda | Din Djarin x Reader | Part Two

A/N: I want to say that this isn’t going to actually be Din x Reader romance for quite a few chapters!! Right now you are merely there to help him as a friend bc this is about a man finding himself, not y’all banging bc ~ooh his looks~ you’ve barely even looked at him lol.

Rating: T

Warning: Naughty words. Slight mentions of blood. Mando is almost catatonic. Helmetless Mando but not in the way or for the reasons you think.

Word count: 2,509, apparently!!

Summary: You go back to Cara to take the Child and upon seeing Mando, she decides to help. Both of you are pretty useless as far as she can tell.

Part One

GIF credit: kanouchi

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

You’d been the one who needed to pilot the ship off the planet, not exactly wanting people to discover the men then somehow know it was you two.

You were kind of freaking out too, but you climbed up the ladder to the cockpit anyway and brought the Razor Crest into the air, putting it on autopilot when the planet was no longer seen behind you.

Mando was sitting in the same spot when you returned to the lower level of the ship and you leaned against the wall in a spot outside of his vision — he was staring at the floor with your jacket still on his head — to watch him with secret sympathy.

Your eyes slid to the item you’d grabbed during your escape that you supposed he did not notice yet, walking over to look at it, running your thumbs over the shining metal.

It never did express emotions when on him, but somehow it seemed pretty emotionless now.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, then turned and walked to stand in front of him quietly, your hands very timidly holding the helmet out as if you were the one who carelessly took it off him.

His eyes rose to stare at it and then looked at you, but you didn’t look at him.

“You can put it back on. I won’t tell anyone...and I will go if that’s what you want me to do.”

“I can’t put it back on.”

“No one will know.”

“I will know.”

There was some anger in his voice which was nicer than his silence, but you wondered how much of it was directed at you as he tugged your jacket off his head.

You knew he was gentler than one might think for a bounty hunter, patient with his foundling, but you were sure that it was partly your fault that he was seen and that he probably hated you now.

Why wouldn’t you stumble back the moment he stood up, seeming bigger than usual?

His nostrils flared at your speed to get out of his way like he was some sort of monster; he dropped your jacket on the bed and walked past you, his cape brushing you as he moved down the corridor to the ladder. “We need to get the kid.”

You watched the back of his head as he disappeared into the cockpit, then sat down on the bed and put his helmet down as you pulled your jacket into your lap.

Your fingers ran over the stains from his gloves and the blood of those men that was on his skin; it was by far the most comfortable, best looking jacket you owned.

Mando’s helmet was a statement piece in a different sort of way, not a statement to draw eyes to him but one that said who he was and what he believed in.

And you looked at his face and now he could never wear his helmet, and you let your dirty jacket fall to the floor as you stood up, stepping on it and...sitting back down.

He wouldn’t want you in the cockpit where you might stare at him, make sure even more that he couldn’t wear his helmet by gawking at the features that hadn’t been seen by another person since he was young.

You stayed where you were on the bed, staring at your jacket for a moment and then putting the helmet in your lap, looking into the visor that now seemed empty even though you’d never been able to see into it before.

Maybe if you walked away from him, he might decide to put it back on.

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

The Razor Crest had been on the ground for quite a few minutes and Mando had yet to step a foot onto the ramp.

He was staring — or you were pretty sure he was since you wouldn’t really look at him — down the ramp at the grass below, and you imagined he was thinking that walking on another planet with his helmet off was some sort of rite that wasn’t his to perform.

“Would you like me to go get him?” You asked gently.

He said nothing and you decided to grab the baby from Cara yourself, which would honestly be a good excuse to drop him off at the ramp then run as fast as you could to allow Mando the possibility of putting his helmet back on as if nobody had seen him.

If he did put it on then find out where you ran to be sure no one would be able to tell anyone what he looked like, you would let him.

You wanted him to be able to abide by the beliefs that built him.

Cara swung the door open when your hand was lifted to knock on it, the Child on her hip and rage in her eyes. “Where the hell have you been?”

You were silent for a moment with your hand still raised and she took the moment to look around, seeing you were alone.

Between the amount of time it took you to deal with the quarry, Mando not being at the door with you, and the look on your face, her own features slowly turned serious.

“Where’s Mando?” Her voice was soft and almost timid if anything about her could be considered timid.

“He, um…” Tears swam in your eyes because how were you supposed to tell her that his helmet was taken off and he was now...what was he now? Was the story yours to tell?

Her eyes left yours to stare behind you slightly wide, her lips parted, and you looked over your shoulder to see Mando walking towards you.

What you could see out of your peripheral vision that still refused to properly look at him was an entirely stoic man in armor as he walked past you to stand in front of Cara, plucking the child from her grip then turning around to walk straight back to the ship.

Cara practically gaped at him until he disappeared out of view then looked at you with confusion written all over her face.

She blinked once and said in a hesitant voice, “He’s hot.”

It was her attempt at a joke to ease the obvious tension, but even she knew it was halfhearted.

“What happened?” She asked instead, watching you closely.

“—it’s all my fault.” You didn’t mean to start sobbing right there on the doorstep and Cara definitely looked a little panicked, glancing around and quickly yanking you inside by your wrist.

It was clear that she was trying to be understanding where she wasn’t used to dealing with people’s emotions, though she was a little rough as she pushed you down into the chair nearest to the door at a little dining table.

She allowed you to sit there and cry for a moment since you probably wouldn’t be able to formulate any words around your sobs, looking around awkwardly.

When you were letting out the occasional whimper, she pulled the other chair closer and sat down in front of you, leaning her arm on the table. “Tell me what happened.”

You wrung your hands, looking down.

“That bounty who was supposed to be this hard to hunt guy worth a bunch of credits? It was all a set up. There were four men and they...I don’t know, they figured out some way to make sure the puck went to Mando. They wanted the Child.” You glanced up to see Cara’s brow was furrowed at this information.

“Oh, shit,” she murmured.

“I know, and their leader wanted to kill Mando, too, and bring him in to someone who wanted his ‘head on a stick’ or something. He tried to make me tell him where the Child was, then he tried to convince Mando by threatening to shoot me. When that didn’t work…” You were starting to become a little bit emotional again and Cara let you take a moment before you spoke again,

“He started asking if I’d ever seen him without his helmet on and he was saying all these gross things, then he...started to take the helmet off. I tried to look away and they wouldn’t let me, they held me still, and he said he’d kill Mando if I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to look, I didn’t, but I saw him and now he can never put it on again and it’s my fault.” A tear plopped onto your pant leg.

“There was blood on his face.”

“He went into this...I don’t know, this rage? And he killed them. Maybe he could put his helmet back on if he killed me too. I was thinking maybe I would stay here and then he could go— ow!”

You rubbed your upper arm where Cara had lightly punched it, looking at her bemusedly — it still hurt even if it was light.

She looked sympathetic as you told her why Mando’s helmet was gone, but now her eyes were stern with no room for argument.

“First of all, it’s not your fault. You didn’t take his helmet off and you looked at him to keep them from killing him. They might be dead, but I saw him too, remember? Do you think it’s fair for him to be abandoned by his partner when he can’t put his helmet back on anyway?”

“I guess.”

“Second of all, crying about it and running away aren’t going to fix this. His helmet was taken off and he needs your help, not for you to run from him.”

“You’re right. Of course.”

That he needed help, but you weren’t sure if she was right about it not being your fault.

You wondered if it would have been kinder of you to close your eyes and let him be killed by that man rather than look at his face.

Why didn’t he just tell you to leave that way no one would ever know he was seen without his helmet?

I will know.

“You’ll figure it out. We will. Obviously neither of you are all that capable of figuring things out right now since you’re crying and what little personality Mando had seems to have disappeared, so…” There was a little smirk playing on Cara’s lips and you smiled a little at her attempts to be light.

“Maybe it would have been smarter if you went with him and I stayed with the baby, then none of this would have happened.” She was a better partner than you and you were sure Mando knew that now, he probably didn’t want you to ever come along with him again.

“All you can do now is see what he needs and that’s not being abandoned by people he knows when the only other thing he knew was his creed.” She stood from the chair to walk around her tiny living space.

“You’re coming?” You asked as she began putting things into a small sack.

“I told you that we’d figure it out.”

“—thank you.”

You didn’t know Cara as well as you would have liked since you were usually off hunting quarries with Mando or taking care of the kid, but it was nice to have a friendly face around to help you.

He’d willingly showed his face to her, so maybe you could leave to allow him a life where he chose who saw him if nothing else and you wouldn’t be there as a reminder of his beliefs being ripped away from him.

That was something you could think about later since you would have someone there as another brain to figure out what Mando could do now or if there was any way he could possibly put his helmet back on.

Maybe she would also come to the conclusion that it was your fault and you should leave.

Part of you was hoping the Razor Crest wouldn’t be there when you walked to it, but it was right there where you left it with the ramp left open carelessly. You saw Cara eye the helmet on the bed and the bloodied jacket on the floor as you walked through to the ladder that lead to the cockpit.

Cara climbed up first and you followed, seeing the back of Mando’s head tilted down as the Child gently patted at and played with his cheeks.

He looked up at the sound of boots on the metal flooring, and you quickly looked away when he glanced over his shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” He grunted at Cara.

“I’m here to help you out, but if you’re gonna be a dick…” She turned to walk away jokingly, thinking he would sass her about it.

When he said nothing and simply looked back at the ship’s dashboard, her worried look fell on you.

You looked guilty when you met her gaze like you were the reason for his mood.

“Look, Mando, I know that quarry was a setup and they took off your helmet, but there has to be some sort of rule when it’s taken off against your will, right?”

“There isn’t.”

“Do you know that for sure?”

“Of course.”

“Because you know all the rules.”

“Maybe.”

Cara looked like she wanted to jump him right there, but she took a small step back to be sure she didn’t do that and seemed to remind herself that he needed some extra patience right now.

Now was not the time to wrestle with him until he agreed with her.

“I think we should go to the covert and ask someone who knows.”

“There isn’t any way.”

She crossed her arms, glaring slightly. “You’re gonna sit here and be stubborn instead of go find out if there’s some loophole you didn’t know about.”

He was silent; unreadable, either mulling over her words or no longer wanting to talk to her because she was right.

And though you were pretty sure he probably didn’t care for your opinion anymore, you said very softly, “I think it’s a good idea to go to the covert, you never know if you might be able to put it back on unless you ask someone.”

It was still quiet aside from the Child cooing a little as it reached for Mando’s chin.

“Fine,” he said after a couple moments, leaning forward to push some buttons on the dash to put in the coordinates for Nevarro.

Cara smiled in satisfaction then gave you a reassuring look as she moved to go down the ladder, presumably wanting to put her pack away.

You smiled, too.

Maybe you would go to the covert and they would say that it didn’t count when the helmet was removed against your will, that he could put it back on and return to the creed he knew.

He might want you to go to be sure that you wouldn’t interfere with him again, but he wouldn’t have a reason to hate you.

#din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin fic

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akampana · 4 years ago

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*Busts down door*

I heard we were talking about crack/obscure ships.

If I may be so bold as to infodump about my ship that I honestly am surprised people don't ship more: Diarlot (Diarmuid x Lancelot)

What draws me to this pairing is the similar history that the two of them share. Lancelots story was based on Diarmuids after all and I believe the two of them can share a lot of common ground when it comes to it.

Not only that, but I think their personalities offer a nice contrast to each other. Both are very proud individuals but Diarmuid has a more upbeat disposition, but not in an overly cheery way that I think would throw Lancelot off. Diarmuid just quietly exudes positive energy that Lancelot so desperately needs. And Diarmuid gets someone to connect to genuinely for (what I would believe to be) the first time.

Lancelot (specifically Berserkerlot cause I fuck with the long hair) after everything went down sort of placed everything on his own shoulders, fairly or unfairly, and has no real way of breaking himself out of that, he feels like he deserves punishment. Diarmuid offers a more hopeful outlook to the whole thing. If you can see your situation in the other person, and recognize that they're not hopeless, then maybe you aren't hopeless either. They can both save and be saved by each other. Plus, they were both raised by fairies and I think that alone would offer a unique insight into the other person that you wouldn't really get elsewhere.

Diarmuid offers a bit of sunshine to Lancelot's gloomy disposition, but not so much that it's overwhelming because Diarmuid knows exactly what it was like to be in his shoes. Both I think are more honest people than their partners were, so both will have a shock when they realize that the other person is upfront and honest with them lmao.

I just think the idea of them finding comfort in the other is soft, and the idea of them discovering a unique connection to the other well, I like it a lot.

(Plus, when you really think about it if they teamed up together I think they'd be damn near unstoppable, specifically in Lancer and Berserker form.)

:) I absolutely agree @juiceastronaut Sorry it took so long to get to this ask. But I've read and reread this with a stupid smile on my face, I hope you know.

Readers of my longer fic would know exactly how much I exploited the fact that their tales are so similar AHAHAHAHAH but yes, they definitely *do* have a *lot* in common and yet ended up a bit differently. Also, I DO RELATE TO THE LONG HAIR THING. Why isn't there any Saberlot with long hair like WHY??? HE. LOOKS. GREAT. WITH. LONG. HAIR. Furthermore. UHHHH HELMETLESS BERSERKERLOT???!!!! HE LOOKS AMAZING.

Followers, if you're looking for a new Fate ship, here's a pretty cool one. <3

#akampana asks #diarlot #lancelot #diarmuid ua duibhne

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rp-repliforce · 4 years ago

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The contrast between Commander Signas & General’s ideals

While both desire a peaceful world where reploids and humans can live together in harmony, they both have somewhat different ideas of how it should be achieved.

General’s plan seems straightforward. All he asks is for Reploids to be recognized as a new race of people, and to receive the same treatment, rights, and freedoms as humans. This appeals greatly to the reploid’s side of things, but many humans still aren’t willing to accept such a cultural change. Perhaps it’s too soon.

Commander Signas has a more humble approach regarding humans. He believes that humanity is deserving of respect because not only are they responsible for the creation of Reploidkind, their race has so far withstood the test of time, and were the ones who laid the very foundations of civilization. In his eyes, they’ve achieved much despite their shortcomings. He believes that humankind should still have some degree of authority over reploids (since reploids were created to serve them), but he’s well aware that humans aren’t always good and rational, so he wants reploids to be protected by their own set of rights so that they can’t be (legally) abused by humans with malicious intentions. His idea may not be as easy to sell, but he’s trying his best to find a good balance between the two demographics so that everyone can get what they want in the end.

Overall, I think that General appeals more to reploids, while Signas appeals more to the humans.

Also, bonus ramble about my Signas muse under the cut:

I feel like it’s very rare for a reploid to form that kind of view of humanity. Even more interesting is that I doubt it’s a direct result of his programming. It’s hard to say how he came to this conclusion, but I think it might have something to do with his origins and the promise he made to Dr. Kain before he passed away. I know that seeing his creator’s life coming to a close just as his was beginning really affected him. Even though he didn’t know Dr.Kain very well, he couldn’t help but greive for him. He would visit him in the hospital whenever he could because he really cared about him.

(I think my Signas is a lot more compassionate than he first seems. He’s the kind of guy who’s willing to bear the weight of the whole world by himself for the sake of everyone.)

As for the promise, he swore to Dr. Kain that he wouldn’t fail like Sigma and General did, and that he would do everything in his power to fix everything and redeem Kain’s legacy.

(Also here is a drawing of him helmetless that I’m still not quite satisfied with. His bangs are really difficult to get right.)

#Stagesetting?#Repliforce Highlights

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gegenji · 5 years ago

Photo

(Chachanji Gegenji) Saint Fathric's was usually a pretty serene and idyllic location, out and away. Perfect for tasty grasses for sheep or playing hide-and-seek. Very serene. However, that serenity was somewhat marred by the racket that seemed to be coming from below the lip of the cliff. Scratching, scraping, rumbling, and the sounds of rocks cascading into the lake below. And some low whining. (Chachanji Gegenji) "Do I -hafta- climb it thi' way? 'm sure there's gotta be a better way fer me ta get up there..." Silence. "Well, yeah, thi' DOES make it easier but..." A shorter beat. "N-no no no, thi' is fine! I dun need more!"

(Metarutaru Koradrixl) An unhelmed dwarf would begin his survey around Saint Fathric's. Concerning reports have mentioned of a powerful monster causing quite a bit of trouble for Il Mheg and even the Outskirts of Lakeland, so he's taken up the job to defeat this creature for the citizens' safety... and the money of course, can't forget that. (Metarutaru Koradrix) "Whew! Quite the climb! Shame I couldn't bring Gidgett with me, but she oughta be fine waiting back at Lakeland." (Metarutaru Koradrix) "Now where is that thing..."

(Chachanji Gegenji) The scrabbling and scratching would continue to grow louder until a rather sizable hand crested the lip of the cliff face to dig for purchase into the dirt and grass above. Followed shortly by the rest of a rather oversized-looking Lalafell (or helmetless Dwarf, here on the first) pulling himself up and flopping down in the dirt. "Ugh. Agh."

(Metarutaru Koradrixl) Hearing a voice that... definitely doesn't sound like a monster, but louder than he expected nonetheless, would turn to the source of the voice. "Lali-WHAT!?" He would be shocked at the sight! A Giant Dwarf! A contradiction if he ever heard one! Perhaps that is the monster causing all the mayhem! He'd have a hand on his weapon, ready to attack as he moved closer... (Metarutaru Koradrix) "What in all of Norvandt...?"

(Chachanji Gegenji) Whatever the oversized creature was, it was breathing heavily from its exertions. Which ended in a long, rumbling groan as it pushed itself up and into a seated position with a very upset look on its face.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Well! Part of me feels it's hardly sporting to fight a monster that seems ready to keel over on it's own, but regardless!" He hops down from the rock. "Lali-Ho to you, ya foul experiment gone wrong! When I heard something was terrorizing citizens, I didn't know it was some-one-!"

(Chachanji Gegenji) Those large, long ears wiggled at the voice and he looked about. "H-huh? Someone's already found th' monster?" the understandably monsterously-sized figure mused in surprise - failing to notice the Dwarf as he clambered up to his feet to look around for where the beastie might be. Not entirely realizing that the Dwarf had been talking to him.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Hey! Don't you go ignoring me, you overgrown hunk of slag! And don't play dumb either! Course the monster's been found. I'm lookin' at ya right now!" He'd claim to the giant with a huff under his breath. To be looked down upon by another dwarf, and literally, no less!

(Chachanji Gegenji) Those long ears wiggled again, and the paradoxical giant dwarf finally had the sense to -look down- and see the other figure not even thirty fulms away from him. "... Oh hey, I didn't think I'd see 'nother Lalafell out thi' way!" he stated in surprise, kneeling down to get a better look at him. "Ya sayin' somethin' 'bout how ya found th' monster?"

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Whaddya mean If I found the monst- YOU! You're the monster! And what the heck is a Lalafell anyway! Eesh, whatever those pixies did to you must've warped your brain too! Don't worry, poor, corrupted Dwarf. I'll put ya out of your misery caused by those troublemakers, yeah?" He felt a bit bad about it. Poor guy must've been subjected to such horrible pixie magics to have them do his bidding and such.

(Chachanji Gegenji) "M-me...?" Chachan echoed, pointing to himself before scooting back a half-step as the pieces clicked into place. Which was a decent distance, comparatively. "A-ah! N-no no no! 'm-m not a monster! Honest!" He waved his hands out wildly in front of himself as if that would clear the air between them in a figurative sense.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Riiight, and I'm the bleeding Crystal Exarch!" He shook his head. "You're as tall as a small hill, when I got reports of a monster terrorizing the folks of Lakeland and Il Mheg." He looks around. "And I don't see anything else that would qualify as monstrous here! So what would that make you, hm?" (Metarutaru Koradrix) the Dwarf seemed a bit unconvinced at the scared giant dwarf/monster's claim.

(Chachanji Gegenji) "I-I dun ev'n know who tha' is!" he stammered back. "'n-n I haven't ev'n been outside'a Il Mheg! 'm tryin' ta find th' creature too! 's-s why 'm up 'ere!" He looked about wildly. "Gria! W-where'd ya go? A lil' help!" There was a flash of light and a delighted giggle and the oversized beast started getting LARGER. "N-not like tha', Gria!"

(Metarutaru Koradrix) He jumped back a bit. "Oh! Going to make it a challenge I see! You and that twisted little master of yours are going to have to go down!" He bangs upon his chest a few times to psych himself up, ready to take down this threat!

(Chachanji Gegenji) "'m-m not tryin' ta challenge anythin'!" the now excessively large Lalafell rumbled out, stumbling back another couple steps - the ground cracking dangerously beneath him as he neared the cliff edge.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Well, you'd better explain yourself, or I'll gladly find out if cowards float!" He got up the rock to be able to be somewhat closer to face level with the giant... though it's not by much.

(Chachanji Gegenji) Despite the obvious size difference between the two, the much larger one seemed very visibly upset by all this. "'m-m tryin' ta! Y-ya jus' dun believe me!" Seeing the dwarf clamber up onto the rock, he sat down to try to be closer to eye level. Hopefully so they could converse better and reach an understanding. "'m-m not normally thi'... big! Gria thought it'd be th' best way fer me ta get up 'ere ta find th' -actual- monster!" (Chachanji Gegenji) The ground rumbled dangerously again as that much Lalafell settled into a seated position (Chachanji Gegenji) ... Of course, even atop the rock, the dwarf was only up to the oversized fellow's knees.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Hey! Mind not taking the entire mountain with ya!?" He almost lost his balance for a moment. "Look... You can't really blame me for thinking you're the monster. No Dwarf is as big as a hill!" He decides to sit down. "Alright, be level with me here. What's the deal, yeah? Who are ya, what is this Lalafell you're talking about when we're clearly Dwarves... at least you -Look- like one."

(Chachanji Gegenji) "A-ah! S-sorry!" he yelped, reaching out to try and catch the dwarf before hesitating and instead drawing into himself. Trying to stay as still as possible. He looked... honestly hurt. Ready to cry even. "I-I know thi' ain't normal..." he whimpered, another odd sound coming from someone of his stature. "'m-m Chachanji. 'n... um... I thought WE was Lalafell..." He motioned between the two of them. "Th-though I guess ya call us Dwarves ov'r 'ere in North Rant?" (Chachanji Gegenji) "Gria kept callin' me one too."

(Metarutaru KoradrixCoeurl) Now he just felt bad. Fighting a monster is supposed to be a fearsome, angry, and dangerous encounter!.... Not this. "Okay okay, no need to start with the waterworks. Il Mheg's got enough water with the Fuath in the lake." He shook his head. "So, Chachanji yeah? Definitely not a Dwarf name I've heard of before. Yeah, in -Norvandt-, we're known as Dwarves, as opposed to... Lah-lah-fell? from wherever you're from... Must've been somewhere real far out there before the whole Flood." He ponders.

(Chachanji Gegenji) "Flood?" he echoed curiously to himself, trying to both quiet his sniffling and also think of any floods he knew of. The one that came to mind was, of course, the one his brother spoke of - the flood that ended the War of the Magi. The Lalafell on this side of the world had been over here THAT long? Chachan looked honestly impressed as he rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. "A-ah, I-I 'spose so. Pretty far 'way. Th' pixies brought me 'ere ta play." (Chachanji Gegenji) "'n help 'em wit monsters 'n stuff... w-which 's why I came up 'ere."

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Well... if that's really the case... Pixies do have a habit of messing with anyone and everyone. The fact that they didn't flat out turn you into a leafman or leave you lost forever is, honestly impressive on its own! So, what's say we start over, Chachanji. I'm Koratt, formerly of the Tholl tribe. I'd shake your hand but uh, your hand would crush my whole body... So a proper Lali-ho will suffice!"

(Chachanji Gegenji) "A-ah... I-I think they have more fun makin' me huge like thi'..." he stated, rubbing at the back of his neck. Their interest in that - and his reactions to it - were probably what was keeping them FROM turning him into a leafman. At the comment of the handshake issue, he raised a hand and waved it worriedly. "A-ah, I wouldn't crush ya! H-honest!" Though, seeing Koratt seemingly more keen to do this... custom, he tried to mimic it back. "'s-s nice ta meetcha, Mr. Koratt."

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Well! It's good to meet ya! Sorry about the uh... threatening to kill ya thing. And Shoot, if you're here to fight the monster too... I'd have no qualms 'bout working together! So long as you make sure I don't wind up like dirt under your boot, yeah? Don't want my life to end by an accident."

(Chachanji Gegenji) "'s-s fine, honest..." Chachan admitted, though his smile was a sad one. "'s-s not s'prisin' folks'd think 'm... w-well... a monster." He shook his head as if to dismiss the gloom from his mind and gave a bit warmer smile. "O-oh, ah, sure thin'! 'd be up fer workin' t'gether. 'n-n I ain't gonna step on a new friend! O-or anyone, fer tha' matter."

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Hey, if you wanna step on the monster I'm all for it! So! Let's see if we can't find this critter causing trouble in Il Mheg, Chachanji!" He nods, eager to lend a hand now that this prior confusion is dealt with... and hey, if they're busy messing around with him, here's hoping the Pixies won't start messing with him too! That'd be troublesome otherwise.

(Chachanji Gegenji) "W-well... i-if'n I hafta..." the oversized pacifist stated, lifting the dwarf up on his glove as he got to his feet. Which incidentally gave Koratt a pretty good vantage point to look around for where the creature would be. Being this high up was pretty handy! "I-I honestly dun like hurtin' anyone, but we can't let some monster go 'round hurtin' others neither..."

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "The way I see it, a bit of violence be necessary to keep the peace! Specially the way things have been now that all that corruption's going down! People and critters getting rowdy now that the end of the world isn't really coming to pass and whatnot. Still wishin' I can thank the folks who did all that work to fix things in Norvandt..." He let out a sigh, but he seemed content. "Now then!... Hmm... little critter, where would I hide if I were it...." Metarutaru Koradrix looks around.

(Chachanji Gegenji) Chachan blinked at that. The corruption was probably those Sin Eater things he'd help chase off now and then. Like ashkin or voidsent, really. But end of the world? Maybe that whole Bahamut thing had ramifications all the way out here? The oversized Lalafell shook his head. Now wasn't the time to worry too much about that. "R-right, th' monster, um..." He looked about too, scanning around from his sizeable vantage point for wherever this ACTUAL monster had gotten off to. (Chachanji Gegenji) "... Mebbe in those ruins ov'r there?" He pointed with his free hand.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Ah! That's as good a spot as any! Could be there or maybe hiding in a cave nearby or something. being all sneaky and whatnot, you know?" Metarutaru Koradrix nods to you.

(Chachanji Gegenji) "Ah, if'n they're in a cave then 'm gonna have pro'lems if'n Gria keeps bein' a meanie." The Lalafell would quickly regret those words, as the Pixie in question didn't take too kindly to being called a 'meanie.' "Maybe ye need ta be as big as yer mouth!" came an irate chime from up by Chachanji's ear. The oversized Lalafell panicked as more magic was pumped into him, covering his new friend carefully in both hands until it was over. When it was, Koratt had a much higher viewpoint. (Chachanji Gegenji) "'n ev'n moreso now," he sighed, moving quickly away from the cliff edge as it groaned worrisomely under his bulk. (Chachanji Gegenji) Once at the ruins - which was a matter of a few steps at this scale - he set his new companion down gently in front of it.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Ah jeez! Whatever is causing you to grow, mind telling her to slow it down some? You're gonna break everything the way you keep growing, villages included!" He shook his head a she was set down. "Hmm... Least we're both in one piece. Anyhow!" He would move in closely and would see the ruins. "Hmmm.." He'd take a small bag inhand toss it in the ruins, before keeping hidden behind the wall. The bag would pop and something that seemed sparkly would fly about in the ruins... (Metarutaru Koradrix) (A Glitter-like material! cuz it's always so hard to get that off of ya. Easy to find invisible folk with it! (Metarutaru Koradrix) well, if it's there!)

(Chachanji Gegenji) "'s-s Gria, sorry," he stated quietly as he gently settled down into a seated position to keep watch from outside the ruins. Even seated he could see a fair bit, and trying to help with the search would likely cause more harm than good until he at least convinced his upset pixie friend to get him back down to more manageable sizes.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) Looking carefully in, among the glitter there would be juuust a few specks of the glitter not on the ground or on the ruins walls, but instead floating... a tad unnaturally at that! "There you are, you sneaky little bugger..." Meta mutters and looks to his new giant friend and gives a nod to confirm something is indeed in there! He can't see it though aside from the specks of glitter on it, and wonders. "Does your magic mumbo-jumbo let you see it?" He'd ask.

(Chachanji Gegenji) "A-ah, I jus'... get big. If'n it's hidin', ya can prolly find it better'n I can..." he admitted. "I can... um... try'n spook it out by movin' th' rubble 'round or somethin'?" (Chachanji Gegenji) He likely could also just crush it at this size, but he didn't seem too keen on pointing that out. Not without knowing what it was first - if it was a sin eater or an ashkin or something, sure. But if it was a living thing - or, worse, another person - he wanted to try and avoid outright killing it if possible.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Hmm... Nah. you're big, so tell ya what, let's figure out what it is. If it really is a monster or not, I'm gonna draw it out. If it's dangerous, we get rid of it, if it ain't we'll see if we can't catch it and find a better way to deal with it! The Nu Mou are good with magic and might be able to help pacify it if we catch it, if it's worth saving."

(Chachanji Gegenji) "A-ah, so 'm on catchin' duty then?" the Lalafell asked with a sudden bright eagerness at the thought of capture over killing, shifting in his positioning so he was on all fours. "I-I'll do me best!" Somewhere nearby, Gria couldn't help but laugh at this visual of an oversized Lalafell hunkered down in front of the mouth of the ruins like a cat at a mouse-hole.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) Koratt ran in and cause a ruckus, letting out a burst of energy. It would be successful in revealing what was hiding in there, and Indeed it was indeed their quarry! A sin eater, and a Bear-sized one at that! Which compared to Koratt would be large indeed. "Ah-ha! There you are, you little bugger! You're done hurtin' the Lakeland folk!” (Metarutaru Koradrix) Koratt would move out of the ruins, the Bear-like sin eater following angrily, but it would only make it easier for Chachanji to assist once out!

(Chachanji Gegenji) Chachan started to lunge when Koratt was the first one out, but noted it was his friend just in time to hesitate - hand over the doorway but letting him go past. Due to that, however, when the sin eater came out right on his heels, he was too slow and the hand slammed down right behind the beast as it chased after the dwarf!

(Metarutaru Koradrix) With the hand behind the bear, Koratt is confident! The monster can't get away now! He smirks and charges the bear, using aetherical energy to slam into it hard, and knocking the sin-bear into the giant Dwarf's hand!

(Chachanji Gegenji) The sin eater crashes into the oversized Lalafell's thumb, and he's quick to rotate that hand and completely engulf the beast in it. It's like he's holding a guinea pig rather than a huge bear monster. His grip isn't super tight, and the beast wriggles and flails against him - clawing and biting at those large fingertips. Chachan winces in pain, but refuses to let go! (Chachanji Gegenji) "Th-thi' looks like a sin eater!" he states the obvious.

(Metarutaru Koradrix) Wouldn't be able to get a good clean shot at the bear as he'd like, due to the creature's wriggling and writhing. He'd get a swipe in, but the bear's struggling would get him hit with it's hindpaw, sending him back quite a bit. "Ack!"

(Chachanji Gegenji) "A-ah! Koratt!" Chachan yelps in alarm at his new friend being backhanded (or backpawed?) like that. Distracted by it, the sin eater gets a solid CHOMP on his thumb and the oversized Lalafell yelps and loosens his grip just enough that it's able to wriggle free!

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Grr! I ain't letting some bear make a meal of me!" He gets back up and would charge at the now freed bear! Taking a blocked hit from the sword, it pushed him back a bit and winced, but he went right back in and fought the creature tit-for-tat. thanks to the struggle earlier from their teamwork, it wouldn't be able to keep up and eventually fell, though Koratt was quite winded and a fair bit hurt too. "Hah....hah... Whew... Sin Eaters always are, quite something..."

(Chachanji Gegenji) Chachan wanted to assist in the scrap but the two were too interlocked with each other for him to get a blow without risking hitting his companion as well. His hand hovered nervously back and forth trying to find an opening until the stalwart dwarf got the final blow in. As the beast slumped to the ground, Chachan shook his hand before lightly suckling on his bit thumb to numb the pain some. Given the size difference, it hadn't broken skin but that monster's jaws had PINCHED it pretty good. (Chachanji Gegenji) Given the creature was a soulless husk like an ashkin, and leaving any chance of it still able to move could result in his new friend or someone else being further harmed - or infected! Chachan only felt a twinge of regret for the life the bear once had before its transformation before he slammed a fist down into it, tendrils of white smoke curling up around the impact. (Chachanji Gegenji) "Th-there," he added as a bit of lame finality before looking to his friend. "A-are ya akay, Koratt?"

(Metarutaru Koradrix) Koratt winces a bit at the sight of the crushed sin eater, full glad he is on his side and actually didn't try to hurt the giant Dwarf before! He opts to sit down. "A little banged up... But nothing I can't get over with some rest, recovery, and alcohol, heh..." He snickers a bit before wincing. "Ow. How about you? He... He didn't infect you, I hope, did he cut your stab you with his claws?" He asked, visibly very concerned for Chachanji as he is unsure.

(Chachanji Gegenji) "Ah, I can help wit tha' a lil'..." he offered, holding a very large hand over the Dwarf. The hand would glow with a faint golden light as he sent some healing energy into his companion. His healing magic was usually rather weak - not good for much beyond minor scratches and scrapes - but bolstered with some of the extra aether in him due to his increased size, it would actually be able to do SOME actual mending. His form actually dwindled a bit in size as that aether was used up, but it would-- (Chachanji Gegenji) be difficult to notice given it was a couple fulms out of around a hundred and fifty. (Chachanji Gegenji) "'n 'm fine, dun worry... th' bites 'n stuff hurt, but it didn't break skin."

(Metarutaru Koradrix) He would feel himself getting better already! He smiles brightly at him. It would at least be enough to get back home safely, for sure. He nods to him. "Wow, wasn't expecting that... Thanks a bunch. Man, do I owe you an apology and then some for earlier! Tell you what, if you can find a way to be proper sized to walk into a town, You just have to let me treat you to some good food and drink! The least I could do for helping me here, Chachanji." Metarutaru Koradrix smiles at you.

(Chachanji Gegenji) "'m sorry I can't heal much more'n tha'. Ain't never been too good at it," Chachan stated apologetically, but with a smile. "'n-n dun worry about it. I... kinda can't blame ya fer thinkin' I was th' monster, y'know?" The smile is slightly tinged with sadness, but not nearly as much as before. Hard to be as upset about it when misunderstandings were corrected and a new friendship was forged! "'n-n 'm sure Gria'll help get me back down ta size." He scratched at his cheek. "I figger I owe 'em an-- (Chachanji Gegenji) apology first, though."

(Metarutaru Koradrix) "Well... Alright, I won't question magic shenanigans in Il Mheg... But if ya got the time, Meet me sometime at the Ostall Imperative! It's south of the gate to Il Mheg itself, and I'll treat ya! I need to head back to them and give 'em a heads up things are all safe here now. Well, as safe as Il Mheg can be, hah! I'll see you soon Chachanji!"

(Metarutaru Koradrix) He waves farewell to him, and making sure not to be in Il Mheg too long, risky business that is after all. He'd begin to work on his trek back down, revitalized by the healing.

(Chachanji Gegenji) "Ah, sure thin'. Will ya be able ta get down alright or...?" he started to offer, but the dwarf was already on his way. So he just gave him a wave as Gria twirled into existence next to his oversized ear, hands on hips. "Sure as ye are over a hundred fulms tall, Chachanji," they stated with a pout. "Ye -better- be apologizing! I gave you all that aether and you call me a MEANIE."

#ffxiv screenshots #rp log #first rp #metarutaru #koratt #chachanji #gria gai #dwarves #lalafell

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buckychristwrites · 6 years ago

Text

Waiting Game | OS | b.b.

Pairing: Biker Gang!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You knew being associated with one of the most notorious and dangerous biker gangs in the city was bad, let alone scandalously dating their kingpin in secret, but you never thought you’d have to face those consequences. Until now.

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: angsty with dashes of fluff. death mentions, violence, blood

A/N: This is my entry for @realbucky’s October Writing Challenge! My prompt was “He smiled, and his face was like the sun.” Please let me know what you think :)

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You heard them before you saw them.

Even with the music playing throughout the bar, you could still hear the rumbles of the motorcycles barreling down the road. Turning your back to the front door, your eyes rolled upwards.

Please don’t pull in.

Please. Please don’t pull in.

Despite your closed eyes and turned back, you still could practically see the three hogs that pulled up right in front of the entrance, the engines suddenly cutting off. When you finally turned around, you watched as three helmetless leather jackets climbed off the bikes, shooting remarks and laughs at each other as they made their way to the door.

You were well aware of the biker gang problem in Brooklyn and the areas surrounding it. It had been ongoing for as long as you could remember. So, in hindsight, it was your fault for opening a bar in the middle of town. For a while, you kept under the radar, only drawing in the crowd of college kids from the university ten minutes away, and the older gentlemen in town who needed a place to go after work. But then, almost out of the blue, one gang known in particular for being in charge of the city’s drug trade took interest in your bar, and it suddenly became their place of pleasure outside of business.

The bell rang out, and you didn’t bother looking up from stocking the alcohol shelves against the wall.

“Sign says closed,” You said firmly as you kneeled down to pick up a bottle of vodka from the box next to you.

“And yet you left your door unlocked,” A familiar husky voice retorted. A chair scraping against the floor indicated he was sitting down.

“How was I supposed to bring my stock in?” You asked. “Through the walls?” The chuckle that came from behind you made you roll your eyes again. His worst quality was how smug he was, and you were sure to let him know whenever you got the chance.

“How’s about a drink, baby girl?”

“You can come back in three hours when I open at noon and have to serve you,” You told him, continuing on what your work. When he finally said your name, you reluctantly turned around.

Steve Rogers was pacing around the entrance with his phone to his ear, speaking in angry, low whispers. It wasn’t until then that you noticed that Sam Wilson didn’t follow the other two inside, opting to stay out and smoke a cigarette instead. Sitting at the counter, leaning as far into the bar as he could with his piercing blue eyes never tearing from you, was Bucky Barnes. His usual bandana clad hair was down today, disheveled by the ride. Under his black leather jacket, he was wearing a plain white tee shirt, and you knew before looking that he was wearing dark blue jeans and black boots. There was something different about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, making you narrow your eyes.

“What’s different?” You asked, bringing your hand to your chin. He leaned backward, bringing his hands up.

“You tell me, dollface,” He said. As soon as he spoke, it dawned on you.

“You trimmed your beard.” And he had. Though he never kept it unmanageably long, his beard was now trimmed down and rounded his face. He didn’t keep it this full when you had met him, and you always wondered whether he had grown it out because you told him you preferred them full.

“Can’t get anything passed you,” He quipped, bringing his hands down to the bar top and folding them innocently. You stared down at them. You’d seen him do it a thousand times before, but never when talking to you. It was his tell, how he let a person know that he was talking business without directly saying it.

“So you aren’t just here for a friendly chat,” You remarked, turning back to your work. When you glanced back at him, he raised his shoulders to his ears.

“What makes you say that?” He asked, a wide grin filling his cheeks. “Maybe I’m just here to see my favorite bartender.” You didn’t take the bait.

“What do you want, Bucky?” You asked, giving him a hard stare before bending down to grab a bottle of whiskey from a box. You heard a sigh pass his lips, and though you weren’t looking, you knew his eyes never left you.

“I need you to tell me about the Hydras who were here last night,” He said in a defeated tone. Red Hydras. The rival gang in charge of Brooklyn’s underground weapons trades. Any kind of weapon from hunting to military grade, they oversaw it all. You shrugged as you moved a few bottles around.

“They came in and sat down at the bar. Made some small talk. Bought a few rounds. Left a very nice tip. Left,” You said simply. A few moments passed without a response from Bucky, and when you looked over your shoulder, you saw Bucky staring at you with serious eyes, his lips pressed firmly together. You turned so you were facing him completely. “Why?”

“Who were they?” He asked. When you shrugged again, he scoffed. “Describe them.” Throwing your head back in annoyance, you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back on the shelving behind you.

“There was a woman, she had dark, long red hair. Gorgeous. She was a smooth talker, very charming,” You recalled. Bucky nodded, and you could tell by his face that he knew exactly who you were referring to. That brought you no comfort. “She was with a man. Short. Clean shaven. Messy, light rown hair. Sarcastic. Doesn’t talk much but it’s mostly jokes or sass when he does.” He nodded more, leaning back in his seat.

“Romanoff and Barton,” He said. There was a pang in your chest. You knew those names. “Did you see them do anything? Hear what they talked about?” Anxiety began to fill your chest.

“They mostly talked to me,” You said slowly. “They asked about what made me decide to open a bar. If I’m from here. The guy asked me if I’m single, I told him yes.” Bucky flinched slightly, but you kept going. “The woman asked if I live above the bar. I said no. Wasn’t about to tell a stranger that.” Bucky stood up and paced as you watched him. Hugging your arms to your chest, you suddenly felt cold. “I don’t understand.”

“Steve,” Bucky barked, as if you didn’t speak. Steve had been long off the phone at this point, not that you nor Bucky had noticed, and had simply been leaning against the wall and texting when Bucky called for him. “I want men here at the bar twenty four hours a day, you understand?” Steve nodded, pushing himself off the wall and bringing his phone back to his ear as he walked out the front door. The pace of your breathing began to increase as you watched Bucky pace.

“What’s going on?” You demanded in a loud voice. At first, he didn’t answer, instead continuing to pace across the hardwood floors at such a pace that the room began to spin just watching him. After over a minute of quiet, he began to slow.

“I think they’re coming after us…” His voice was loud, but when he looked up at you, his face had softened, along with his tone. He came to a stop. “By targeting you.”

You didn’t say a word or move a muscle as you stared at Bucky. This was, of course, the risk that came with you allowing the Guardians of Hell to take refuge in your bar. Before they came, you didn’t allow gang activity within five hundred feet of your door, let alone inside. That was before the man with blazing blue eyes and dazzling smile made you soft.

But something didn’t feel right with you. If the bar was the target, posting guards would only make them target it more.

“I’m not letting your people stand guard at my bar,” You stated after the silence went on for too long. “It’s not happening.” Turning away from Bucky, you forcefully grabbed a box of alcohol and promptly left the room, avoiding the look of pure shock that spread across his face.

Not even a minute passed in the stockroom before he bounded in after you.

“I wasn’t asking you if I could,” Bucky snapped. You were shaking your head as you set the box down on top of another one. “I’m telling you that some of my men are standing watch. Period.”

“It’s my fucking bar, Bucky,” You told him, turning around. “I’m not scared of some prying gangsters. I can take care of myself.”

There was a long period of quiet, where you and Bucky just intensely glared at one another. Something changed in his eyes, the anger suddenly disappearing, and then he turned, closing the stockroom door and locking it. When he turned back to you, his expression changed to a deep sadness. In two quick strides, he approached you, taking your wrists in his gentle grasp and leading you to a small stack of boxes, where he had you sit. He got down on his knees, so now he was looking up at you, his hands moving from your wrists to your thighs.

“What do you want?” He asked in a quiet voice. It was uncharacteristic of him to anyone else, but you had heard him speak in this tone so many times that you couldn’t begin to list them all. “What do you want me to do?” You looked up at the ceiling, sighing deeply before looking back down at Bucky. He looked so desperate, so full of fear. Almost subconsciously, your hands found his. He flipped his palms up, his fingers delicately wrapping around your own.

“I don’t want you putting too much into this,” You said quietly. “I can take care of myself.” He shook his head.

“I’m not saying you can’t, but this is beyond you,” He said, his voice pleading. “Please. Please let me handle this.” You wanted to argue, to tell him to fuck off and that you don’t need his protection. But the look in his eyes made you choke on the words you had yet to say. You had known Bucky for a long time, but not once had you ever seen him look this scared. And something about it filled you with so much fear that you could feel it in every nook and cranny in your body. Pulling your hand from his, you pushed his hair away from his face, letting the dim lighting hit his pretty blues. Your lungs emptied into a sigh.

“Fine,” You agreed. “But if your men interrupt business, they’re out.” He smiled, and his face was like the sun, lighting up the little stockroom. You leaned down, bringing your fingers to the side of his face, and planted your lips to his forehead. A sigh left his mouth at the contact, and you knew he closed his eyes. When you pulled away, he pulled you towards him, snaking his arms around your torso and burying his face into your tummy. The smell of gasoline and leather filled your nostrils, and you inhaled deeper. There was something invigorating about it, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it sexy. Combing your fingers through his hair, you felt his grip on you tighten, his fingers grasping the back of your shirt. There was a question eating at the back of your head, and you almost didn’t ask it. But you knew you needed to.

“So are they after me because this is a Guardians spot, or because they know about us?” You asked in a quiet voice. Bucky shook his head, his face rubbing against your shirt.

“No one knows about us,” He said. “I’ve been careful. The boys still don’t even know.” You stared at the wall. It was only towards you that Bucky’s realistic nature failed him.

“Are you sure?” You asked him. He pulled away from you, the grip on your shirt moving from the back to the front. He pulled you down until he could wrap his other hand around the back of your neck, and rose himself up to bring his lips to yours.

Kissing Bucky always felt like the first time, because deep down, you always feared it would be your last. They always felt so sneaky and scandalous. Chaste kisses in the stock room. Kisses on your neck when he’s in your bed and his bike is hidden behind the fence out back. Heated makeout sessions in the bar when the two of you have a half hour alone, until it turns to something more.

It was never supposed to be love. The beginning was untamed sexual tension that turned into a one night stand. And then two. Three. Then he began to spend the night after the fifth. By the time he had told you he loved you for the first time, you had lost count of how many nights it was. You always found yourself wondering how the two of you had never been caught, with the way you’d brush your hand against his when you’d walk passed him, or his hugs would linger a moment too long. Even the banter at times could’ve given the two of you away. But if there was suspicion, no one showed it.

You pulled away, much to the disappointment of Bucky, who stared at your kiss swollen lips longingly. When he looked back up at you, he smiled again.

“I’m sure.”

Starting the minute Bucky left, there were always two of his men on guard at the bar. For a while, it was Sam and Steve. Around two, they were relieved by Thor and Banner. Now, at five to eight, when the after work rush had just began to calm down and you had a minute to breathe again, in walked Lang, Quill, T’Challa, Danvers and Carter. You huffed. Of course you knew he’d put more than just two for the evening shift. Carol, Peggy and T’Challa all rounded the pool table, while Scott and Quill each took a seat at the bar, a few seats away from each other.

“Gentlemen,” You said in greeting, nodding at them.

“Lady,” Scott retorted playfully, as Quill grumbled a response. You smiled at Lang. He was such a gentle and friendly person, and every single time you interacted with him, you found yourself wondering how he got caught up in such a business like this.

“What can I get for ya?” You asked. They both ordered their usual drinks, as you suspected they would. As you poured, you eyed Quill. Normally loud and rambunctious, he was now being quiet yet alert, looking around the bar every couple of minutes.

“You alright there, Peter?” You asked as you handed him his drink. He waved you off.

“Me? I’m fine,” He assured you, scoffing. “Just standing guard. Or I guess sitting guard.” You didn’t fully believe him, but you decided not to pry.

“How’s the lady?” You asked him. He turned a slight shade of pink.

“‘Mora’s great,” He said, his tone quieting slightly. “Really great.” Usually the way to get him talking was to bring up his girlfriend of three years. You almost asked if they were having problems, but then thought against it. It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. You turned to Scott.

“Brought almost the whole crew, I see,” You commented as you grabbed a rag and began to wipe down the bar. “Almost surprised Parker isn’t here.” The smile on Scott’s face faded, making your stomach sink.

“They have him spying,” He said so quietly that you almost didn't hear him. But unfortunately, you did. Eyebrows meeting your hairline, your eyes strained from how wide they were.

“He’s a child and they’re having him cross the borders?” You hissed, leaning forward towards Scott. “What the fuck are you people thinking?” Scott leaned backward, shrinking away from you.

“He’s in his twenties, he’s definitely not a kid-“ He started but you smacked your hands against the bar top. A few heads turned to stare, but you ignored them. Scott rose his hands in innocence. “He volunteered! You’d have to talk to Barnes. He’s the one who let him go.” You shook your head. The number of times you told Bucky that Parker was too young to be apart of this was uncountable, but he always told you the same thing that Scott was telling you now. He’s an adult who wants to partake. They start them young.

You began to pace around the small space behind the bar. Scott and Quill both watched.

“He should be in college or some shit,” You grumbled, mostly to yourself. “He should not be running around with a bunch of gangsters who barely have any consideration for their own lives, let alone his.” Snatching up a dirty glass, you began to angrily clean in silence, leaving the men to their drinks. Quill shrugged off his leather jacket and laid it across his lap.

“Are you going to try to tell Peter that he needs to do normal twenty one year old stuff?” Scott asked as Quill knocked twice against the counter, signalling another. “Because I wish you good luck with that one.” Quickly washing your hands, you sighed as you walked to the shelves.

“You guys should be talking to him,” You insisted. “He looks up to you. He’d listen to you.” As you began to pour his drink, Quill scoffed.

“We can’t talk that kid out of nothin’,” He said, shaking his head. “It would be like talking to a wall.” You rolled your eyes as you put the bottle back and turned to set it down in front of him.

“I’m sure none of you even bothered trying to talk him out of it,” You accused, as Quill threw the glass back. “I just don’t-“ You froze, something catching your eye as the heat leaked from your body.

Peeking out from under the V-neck Quill was wearing, was a tattoo that you had never known he had.

A Red Hydra.

The mark of the notorious rival gang of the Guardians.

You stared at it, unwavering, as Quill set his glass back down. His eyes followed your stare to his chest, and he quickly adjusted his shirt and threw his jacket back on. When his eyes met yours, they had grown dark.

“It’s either he joins now or he joins later,” He told you, his voice low. “Either way, he’s gonna learn the way of the trade, and you’re gonna have to as well.”

He didn’t need to directly say it. You knew the true meaning behind his words; say anything and I’ll kill you right here.

You thought of your phone next to the register. Of the gun you had taped to the underside of the bar. Of the four other gang members who were also in attendance. Was he the only one playing double agent? You couldn’t be sure. Killing him in front of them guaranteed you’d be shot without question. Quill had been a member of the gang for years now, and they looked at him as family. As you turned away, you wondered how long he kept this charade going. If he had been a traitor all along or if it happened sometime in the middle. Did the Hydras plant him? Or did he do this all on his own? The questions didn’t stop rolling through your mind. Each one a fresh punch to the face.

In the midst of it all, you thought of Bucky. How crushed he would be that not only was one of his own stabbing him in the back, but he was doing it by putting you in danger. The question still stood on how Quill knew about the two of you. But now it didn’t matter. The truth was out. And you were more than likely not going to make it out alive.

There was another knock at the counter, and when you mindlessly turned, Scott was looking at you with a kind smile. You tried to return it as you cleared his glass from the counter. As you grabbed the bottle to pour him another, you tried to think of the best course of action. But your mind was running a blank. The only thing you could think of was calling Bucky, but making the call behind the bar wasn’t the best choice. Moving your hands behind your back, you began to back up until you hit the counter the cash register rested on.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom,” You said, looking between Quill and Scott as you grabbed your phone from behind your back and slipped it into your pocket. “Don’t let anyone rob me, Lang.” You gave him a firm look before heading towards the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

“Aye aye, Captain,” You heard him call after you.

When you were out of sight, you ran to the bathroom. The door swung closed, and you leaned your back against it to keep it shut. You opened your phone and scrolled to his contact name and opened a new text message. Fingers shaking, you had to retype the message multiple times because of the typos.

911 at the bar. Quill is a Hydra. He told them everything.

The door jerked slightly, making you look up. Before you had a chance to do anything else, the door burst open, throwing you forward. Your phone flew from your hands, crashing to the bathroom floor across the room. A hand grabbed you by the back of your neck and slammed you into the wall. The hot breath against your ear made a chill shoot up your back.

“You think I’m afraid to kill you?” Quill’s voice whispered into your ear. “You think I give a shit that you’re dating Kingpin Barnes?” His grip on you tightened as he shook you, pressing you further into the wall. “Doesn’t mean a fucking thing when he’s not here protecting you, does it?” With as much force as you could muster, you threw your head backwards, making contact with the side of Quill’s. He stumbled away from you, and you fell to the floor, the areas where his hands were stinging with pain. Scrambling across the floor, you reached out for your phone. You had it in your hands, and you went to unlock it again, but it was ripped from your hands. You turned in time to see Peter smash it against the counter, dropping it to the ground and stomping on it a few times for good measure. He kicked the broken remnants of your phone across the floor, letting it skid only a few feet away from you. He cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows raised.

“Don’t do anything stupid, now,” He said before turning and slowly making his way to the door. “No one can save you.” You didn’t watch him go, instead staring at your broken phone. The only thing crossing your mind was when you told Bucky that you wanted to put up a payphone in the bar, and he laughed and asked you who would use it. The echoes of his laugh haunted your mind. You were really regretting your decision to listen to him.

Walking back out to the bar, you tried to keep casual as you went back to cleaning. Quill was back at his stool, sipping his whiskey as if nothing had occurred, and Scott looked clueless as he bobbed his head to the music. Was there some way to let Scott know that you were in danger without alerting Quill? Not likely when Quill hadn’t taken his eyes off you since your return.

As you cleaned, your mind didn’t stop racing. Was he doing to kill you? Burn the bar down? Or was he going to take you hostage, until Bucky met whatever demands the Hydras had? You wondered what Bucky himself would do. Would he do anything in his power to save you? Or let you die to keep his family together?

“Rum and Coke, please?” Peggy asked sweetly as she approached the counter, startling you. Her bright face faded slightly when you flinched. “What’s wrong?” Though you didn’t look to confirm, you could feel Quill’s eyes glaring daggers at you as you grabbed the Coke from the mini fridge under the bar. You shrugged as you poured the run first, not looking away from the stream of alcohol flowing from the bottle.

“Nothing,” You said nonchalantly before holding the glass out to her. She didn’t move, instead raising an eyebrow at you. You huffed. “I’m fine, Peggy.” It was clear that she didn’t believe you, her face not faltering as she took the glass from your hand. She gave you one last questioning glance, but all you did was shrug before she sighed, turning and walking away. Begrudgingly, your eyes jumped to Quill, who gave you an approving nod. Suddenly you felt nauseous.

The more the night progressed, the more anxious you felt. Every time the door opened, you’d whip your head to see if it were Bucky, and you were disappointed every single time it wasn’t. You could feel Peggy keeping her eye on you as the hours passed, but all that did was make you more anxious.

By the time midnight had rolled around, it was just you and the Guardians, which didn’t surprise you. It was a Tuesday, and most patrons didn’t stay past eleven on a weeknight. Scott had joined the pool game when Carol had dipped out, and T’Challa was playing darts. Quill, unsurprisingly to you, didn’t move from his stool.

As you put away the last of the glasses you had washed, Peggy had walked over to you, leaning against the bar with her hands folded.

“We’re going to head out, Bucky said he’s on his way. He’s going to take the last watch,” She said. You searched her eyes for any sign of suspicion, but they showed none. She leaned in close, lowering her voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Instantly, you nodded.

“I’m good,” You lied, your tone as convincing as you could muster. She didn’t look satisfied, but she nodded, pulling away from the counter.

“Be safe, okay?” She said, her voice full of concern. Nodding, you gave her your best smile and watched her approach Scott, who was putting away the pool balls. You found yourself wondering how she got caught up with the Guardians. She moved to town in her twenties from England, and now she was a gangster. Nights change fast.

Turning back to your cleaning, you gathered the trash bag filled with empty bottles, carrying it out through the stock room and out the back door. As you threw it into the dumpster, you listened to a loud group of motorcycles jump to life, the revving sounds filling the quiet evening air. While you listened to them ride away, a rush of relief filled you. Heading back inside, you grabbed an empty milk crate from the corner and filled it with full bottles to refill your empty shelves behind the bar. Different brands of whiskey, gin, rum and vodka filled your crate, you grabbing them from their designated spots almost robotically before leaving the room. Propping the crate against your hip, you closed the stock room door behind you. Just as you went to turn, you froze, your eyes locked on the wooden door.

Somehow, in a way you would never be able to explain, you knew that you weren’t alone. And somehow, you could feel the gun pointed at the back of your head.

Sighing deeply, overwhelmed with acceptance, you slowly turned around, staring into the barrel of Quill’s gun.

“So do I have to sit through your speech about why you’re doing what you’re doing?” You asked in a blank voice. “Or are you just gonna shoot me?”

“If it were up to me, I would’ve already shot you,” He admitted. Swallowing hard, you kept your hard expression.

“Must be sad to go between two gangs where you have no power in either of them,” You told him. “Just another pawn in their game, and you’re just...letting them control you. Sad isn’t quite the word for it. More like... Pathetic.” He clicked back the safety, but you didn’t bat an eye.

“Keep it up and I just might forget my orders,” He growled. You shrugged, kneeling down and setting down the heavy crate of alcohol bottles next to you.

“You’re gonna die either way, so it doesn’t really matter whether you kill me or not,” You said as you sauntered behind the bar, leaning against it with your elbows on the counter. “Do what you will.” Inside, your entire being was on meltdown mode. Your hands were closed into fists to hide the fact that they were shaking, and you could hear your blood pounding in your ears. But on the outside, you were unwavering. Quill’s head cocked to the side slightly.

“What makes you think Barnes is gonna kill me?” He asked you, his voice laced with venom. You shrugged slightly, standing up straight and dropping your hands to your sides. Slipping your hand under the bar counter, your fingertips grazed against the rough wood until they hit cool metal. You smiled.

“Who said anything about Barnes killing you?”

His eyebrows furrowed together in time with you ripping the gun from the tape under the bar, turning off the safety as you whipped it forward and pulled the trigger. Quill fell backward as the bullet pierced his shoulder, a loud groan bouncing off the walls.

You dived to the floor, listening as Quill scrambled to his feet. His breathing was so heavy that you could hear it from across the room.

“Talk a lot of shit for someone who can’t aim,” He called out, his voice strained. A large thud echoed out. When you peeked over the counter, he had flipped a table to use as cover. He saw you, throwing his hand up and haphazardly firing in your direction. You dropped back down, cursing at yourself.

“Says the one with a bullet in his shoulder,” You quipped, readying yourself to fire again. You stood, finding him already scaling the edge of the room towards the bar. Running backwards, you aimed and repeatedly pulled the trigger. Bullet holes lined the walls as you went as they missed him. He returned fire, holes exploding in the walls near you. A bullet struck your thigh, making you stumble and scream out. You held your hand to your bleeding leg as you rounded the corner down the hallway, blood leaking from the cracks between your fingers.

Kicking the bathroom door open, the sound echoing, you let it shut without going inside. With your side pressed against the wall in the shadows, you kept your gun up and aimed, your finger on the trigger.

“Hiding in the bathroom,” You heard him say. His footsteps were loud as they got closer. “Did we not learn from last time?” As you expected, his gun was down as he entered the hallway, turning in your direction. All he had time to do was raise his eyebrows and widen his eyes before your finger pulled the trigger. His head flew backward as his body went limp, crashing to the floor.

Sliding to the floor, you let the full pain of your wound hit you. Tears stung your eyes as you hyperventilated, your breaths shallow and staggered. Pushing yourself up off the floor, you stepped in a puddle of your own blood as you approached Quill’s body, absolutely still. You tried to ignore the blood that haloed his head, as well as the fact that he was the first person you had ever killed, as you dug through his pockets, sighing in relief when you found his phone. Your hands were shaking as you unlocked it, no password needed, and went to his contact list. No time was wasted as you hit Bucky’s name, bringing the phone to your ear. As the line rang, you brought yourself out to the bar and grabbed a towel, pressing it to your leg as you sat down on the floor. The ringing stopped, and you heard shuffling on the other line.

“Quill,” Bucky barked into the phone, adding a sigh before continuing. “Parker’s been compromised, I just got him to Hill’s. Are you still at the bar?” It took you a second to register that he had stopped talking, as the pain in your leg was so overpowering that it was hard to focus.

“Bucky, it’s me,” You said through your teeth. “Quill’s dead.” There was a long pause. You laid your head against the cabinet door. Bucky said your name in a questioning tone.

“What happened?” He demanded. It was almost as if the anxiety dripping from his voice was leaking through the phone and onto you, for just the sound of it made your nerves begin to act up again.

“Quill was a Hydra, Buck,” You told him, pausing to give him a chance to take it in. “I saw the tattoo, it was on his chest. He knew about us. I don’t know how but he knew and he’s who told and he was going to kill me.” Inhale, exhale. You breathed slowly through the pain, closing your eyes.

“But you killed him first,” He replied slowly. You nodded, forgetting for a second that you were on the phone.

“Yeah, I did,” You exhaled. You heard him sigh on the phone.

“That’s my girl,” He said quietly. Through the pain, you smiled. He sighed again, and you could picture him wiping his face with his free hand. “I can’t believe that bastard. He was like a brother to me.” There was another pause. “Are you hurt?”

“He got me in the thigh but I th-“ A distant sound made you stop. A distant, familiar sound. “Did you send someone here?”

“No...I was about to head over myself.”

The roar was loud, indicating more than one. You felt your heart fall out of your chest.

“Someone’s here,” You said as you saw lights shine through the window, the engines abruptly cutting off. Your body tensed as your adrenaline began to course through your veins. “I have to go.”

“Who-“ But you ended the call, shutting Quill’s phone off and shoving it in your pocket. Crawling across the floor, you opened the empty cupboard below the shelves, rushing in and closing it behind you.

The bell on the front door rang out, heavy boots slowly crossing the floor. You put a hand over your mouth to mask your heavy breathing. One set of footsteps sped up and then abruptly stopped.

“Quill’s dead,” A male voice said, the voice muffled slightly, but still loud enough for you to tell who it was coming from. Barton. “Barnes must’ve been here.” You shifted uncomfortably in the cupboard, trying to position yourself in the least painful way without making a sound.

“Stark isn’t going to like that,” Romanoff remarked as the bell to the door rang again. A chill ran up your spine as you stopped moving.

“Stark isn’t going to be happy about what?” A new voice asked. When you cracked open the door to peek out, your eyes widened at the sight of Tony Stark, leader of the Hydras, standing a few feet away from Barton and Romanoff. You had never seen him in person, only hearing stories of the horrors he committed. A ghost story. Seeing him now just a few feet away in your own bar was a surreal experience. He was looking down at the floor, his face twisting into a grimace. “Ah. No. Him getting himself killed does not make me happy at all.”

You reached for your gun, but it wasn’t anywhere to be found. Wracking your brain, you realized that you dropped it shortly after you shot Quill. Your palm found your face as you sighed quietly. What a dumbass move, you thought to yourself.

“Should we still kill his girl?” Romanoff asked. Stark shook his head without hesitation.

“No, he did what we asked,” He told her. “He got us dirt on Barnes. We don’t need to kill her. She’s gonna wish she was dead soon enough anyway when she finds about about this.” He cocked his head at the body before looking around the bar.

“What about this place?” Barton asked. Stark gestured for them to head towards the door.

“You know what to do,” He said, the door ringing one last time as they all filed out, the door swinging shut behind them.

Throwing the cupboard open, you pushed yourself out. Your jeans were soaked with your own blood, the pain from your thigh shooting up your spine. You tried to stand but you fell back down. The pain was just all too much. Grabbing the counter, you pulled yourself up, leaning on it for support. The motorcycles were still parked out front, but there was no one to be seen in the dark.

Before you had a chance to think, the windows exploded, glass shattering everywhere. You jumped so hard you fell to the floor, catching yourself on the bar top. The objects thrown sounded like bricks when they hit the floor, you finding it safe to assume that’s exactly what they were. As you pulled yourself up, more objects flew in through the window. When they hit the floor, they exploded, setting everything within close proximity on fire. Panic came raining down on you as more molotov cocktails came souring in through the windows. The sound of glass shattering outside let you know that the entire bar was now on fire, inside and out. Within what almost felt like seconds, the whole room was engulfed. Through the chaos, you heard the sound of motorcycles roaring to life and fading into the sound of the cracking flames.

Using the bar to support you, you made your way to the door. Smoke filled your lungs, causing you to start coughing, as you pulled your shirt over your face like a mask. But the thin material did little to help protect you from the black air.

Everywhere you turned, there was fire. Blocking the windows. Covering the door. You looked around helplessly, your eyes burning from the smoke. The stockroom door caught your eye. As fast as you possibly could, you made your way towards it, the only exit the flames hadn’t quite reached yet.

A beam from the ceiling fell down in front of you, causing a slightly shriek to leave your mouth. You carefully went around it. The only thing you could see was ranging hues of orange and yellow, and you began to get light headed. Losing your footing, you almost collapsed into the stockroom door before throwing it open. The shelves rattled as you used them to support you as you made your way to the exit. You threw the door open, almost throwing yourself outside and collapsing to your hands and knees. The moment clean air hit you, you immediately began to cough uncontrollably, until you eventually threw up on the ground. For a second, you stayed still, staring at the ground as you hyperventilated, a slight wheeze to every breath. It still hurt to breathe, and you knew the coughing had long but subsided, but the clean air felt nice in your lungs.

You began to crawl, going as fast as your wounded leg would allow. When you turned back, there was a trail of your own blood behind you. How much had you lost? There was no way to be sure. All you knew was that it was getting more and more difficult to to move. Your legs felt like jelly, and your arms were beginning to feel the same. There was no telling how much longer you could go without stopping the bleeding.

You stopped, turning to sit against a building a few meters away. Everything in you felt numb, literally and figuratively, as you stared at your bar, now completely engulfed in the fire. All of the money you had put into cleaning it up. All of the past eight years. Up in flames. The urge to cry was there, but you didn’t have the energy.

For a second, you thought you were imagining it. It wasn’t until you looked and saw a single headlight getting closer and closer that you realized you were indeed hearing a motorcycle approaching. Instinctively, you cowered in the shadows in fear the Hydras had returned. The motorcycle pulled into the parking lot, the street light hitting the silver finish and the red star on the side. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. He never was.

“Bucky,” You tried to call out, but it wasn’t loud enough as he continued to stare in horror at the destruction. You swallowed hard, building up your energy. “Bucky!” It came out as a wail, and if you weren’t so banged up, you might’ve been embarrassed by it.

His head whipped around, not wasting any time before he was running to you. He dropped down to your side, pulling you onto his lap. You hadn’t realized you were covered in soot until you looked down at his hands and saw they were black from touching you. He immediately whipped out his phone, dialing 911. You tried to listen to what he was saying, but you were dozing in and out of consciousness. When he put the phone down, he looked down at you.

“An ambulance is coming,” He said. His voice was so frantic that your heart broke. His hold on you was tight, and you could feel him shaking against you.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Your head was against his shoulder, your arms crossed over your lap. As you tried to look up at him, your head felt heavy. Was he apologizing for not being there? Or because he blamed himself for the target on your back?

“It’s okay,” You whispered. “It’s okay.” He shook his head rapidly.

“It’s not,” He choked on his voice.

“What happened to Parker?” You asked, trying to distract him. Your hand reached across your lap and found his, wrapping his fingers in your own. He sighed, his breath staggered.

“They found him and-“ He froze, sighing sharply. “He’s in the hospital but he’s gonna be fine.” He looked down at you. “I should’ve sent someone else to take care of him...he’s just a kid, I- you were right, we shouldn’t have let him join.” He chuckled. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re always right.” You nodded into his shoulder.

“That’s true,” You mumbled. He laughed again, this time a little louder. It was your favorite song that you wanted to play on repeat.

“God, I love you so much,” He said, shaking his head.

“I love you too,” You said, your eyes drooping again. You looked back up at him. “Bucky, I want to go to sleep.” His eyes widened slightly as he began to shake his head again.

“No, baby,” He said in a frantic voice again. “You have to stay awake. The ambulance is on its way. Stay awake.” You shook your head.

“I...I gotta sleep,” You said. He began to pepper your face with kisses, causing you to laugh slightly.

“You.” Kiss. “Have.” Kiss. “To.” Kiss. “Stay.” Kiss. “Awake.” Kiss. A weak laugh shook your body.

“I’ll try,” You mumbled. He held your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he stared at you with his wide, tearful blue eyes.

“It should’ve been me,” He told you. “It should’ve been me they hurt. They should’ve never gone after you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You shook your head.

“Nooooo,” You said, words slightly slurred. “Not you.” As you looked at him, you thought about the sunshiny smile he had given you just that morning. All of the times he had ever smiled at you like that ran through your mind. There was a lot of them. You smiled at the memories. “Can you…believe…we’ve been together...for...almost two years?” He huffed, a strained smile filling his cheeks.

“And a lifetime more, baby girl,” He said. “But you have to fight this, okay? You have to live.” You shook your head again, closing your eyes.

“I’m not...gonna die,” You said. “I just…am gonna sleep.” He began to shake you, yelling your name. But it did nothing as your mind shut off, unconsciousness taking you while in Bucky’s strong, loving arms.

________________________________

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@awstark, @wandaqmaximoff

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfiction #marvel #avengers #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #bb #bb os

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imagine-darksiders · 6 years ago

Text

Blue-eyed monster.

What’s this? A jealous War fic? With a part 2 on the way???

Love you guys <3

------

There would never be an easy way to do this...

War glares resentfully at the flimsy door in front of him, at the little nicks and scratches that mar the white paint around the frame, revealing the splintered wood underneath. Each mark alludes to a time in the past where he’d squeezed through the relatively tiny, human-sized doorway and ended up taking most of the damn thing with him as he shoved and bullied his way inside your apartment. He would always spend an inordinate amount of time picking flecks of paint off his broad shoulders and watching you sweep the remnants of your doorframe from the carpet.

War’s proud, blue eyes narrow to slits, his gauntleted fists clenching and unclenching as he considers the problem. He remembers that, a few days ago, you’d very casually asked him to please be more careful whenever he enters and exits your home. Had is been anybody else, War would have laughed brazenly in their face and done as he pleased.

But you are not ‘anybody else.’ You are his friend. One of the few - if not the only - friend he has. And, at some, undetermined point in your journey together, you’d unwittingly found yourself promoted from War’s tiny ally to his tiny charge, and if his charge’s only request was that he not scuff his armour against the sides of the door, then he’s willing to comply. A courtesy he saves only for you.

Strife had accused him of going soft when he first witnessed War interacting with you. The youngest horseman showed his brother just how soft he’d become...by introducing the full force of the Tremor Gauntlet to Strife’s helmetless head. It’s been several weeks since then and that bruise still hasn’t completely faded.

Deciding that he’s stared down your door long enough, War rolls his mighty shoulders, the pauldrons clanking noisily, and reaches out with two fingers to delicately grasp your flimsy, brass doorknob......

And promptly freezes in place, his eyes going wide and ears straining to hear through the thin wood.

There’s a voice. Nothing exceptionally unusual about that - except, it isn’t your voice. War’s fingers tighten of their own accord, inadvertently pressing dents into the metal knob. This goes ignored though, the horseman too preoccupied with the new voice.

It sounds male..No, there are two males speaking now. And two females. To his disquiet, he can’t pick out your voice amongst the dim, muffled chatter.

Now, War has always been a strategist. Pragmatic to a fault, he is not prone to random surges of alarm or worry. And as a tactician of the battlefield, his mind reflexively speeds through every possible scenario that could be occurring in your kitchen right now, each becoming progressively more disturbing than the last.

You’ve moved out and these strangers are your familiar apartment’s new residents.

They’re burglars who waited until you left for a few hours before they started ransacking your home....

..Or maybe they had a more....malicious intent. War’s heart lurches at the thought and he bares his teeth unconsciously. What if they’re kidnappers? You could be sitting there, helplessly bound to a chair with a filthy rag stuffed into your mouth so you couldn’t call for help!

The beast that forever lurks dormant between War’s ribs, suddenly growls, the sound rumbling out of his throat between clenched teeth like rolling thunder.

He dwells on the last thought, caught in its swell, drowning under the gruelling, haunting images it pushes insistently against his mind’s walls. He won’t wait any longer, not while your safety is compromised.

Throwing aside any previous hesitancy about damaging your door, War lowers his head, lifts up one leg and throws it forwards in a kick so powerful, it’d make Ruin proud.

The door buckles under the force of a titanic horseman’s murderous rage and shatters into mere splinters as he shoulders his way through the low frame, amour screeching in protest when it’s dragged against your walls. A cacophony of screams greets him on the other side, along with shouting and a voice - a blessedly familiar voice - exclaiming, “War!?” at the same time as a man screeches, “What the fuck!?”

Tugging himself into the apartment fully, War stands to his full, impressive height and hurriedly takes stock of the room, eyes flashing dangerously.

To the right is your little kitchenette - kettle, stove and all the familiar things that War’s become accustomed to seeing are still in their respective places. That’s good. On his left, the living area, adorned with a large, well-worn sofa and matching armchair that frame a modest coffee table, beyond which sits your television. It’s still there too. Again, good. Strife and Fury will be pleased.

There are also at least five humans here. His attention flits from two wide-eyed girls squashed together at the far end of the sofa, to one of the males, who’s frozen halfway between sitting and standing in front of your chair. War’s eyes then snap to the ground where the remaining male sits, cowering behind the coffee table and next to him, the horseman’s main target.

“War!” you repeat, leaping up off the floor and throwing your arms out in front of your friends, “What the Hell do you think you’re doing!?”

Gradually, like steam seeping out of a pressure valve, War loosens his grip on Chaoseater’s hilt and lowers a vibrating Tremor Gauntlet, shoving down the weapon’s carnal lust to crack a few skulls and willing his own thundering heartbeat to still. Eyes of impossible blue meet yours and instantly, the tension behind them dissipates.

In a blink, he’s storming across the room towards you and stuffing his sword into place on his back. The other humans scatter backwards, some even hop over the sofa in a bid to get away from the danger but you bravely stand your ground, jutting out your chin and balling your hands into fists, glaring up at him with a mixture of exasperation and defiance. War dully notes that he’ll have to commend your bravery later. Most would have backed down under the approach of a charging nephilim.

He easily shoves the coffee table aside using the back of his knuckles before, jarring to a halt in front of you and bringing his large hands up to hover protectively at your sides. There are no ropes around your wrists or ankles, no gag, no marks that indicate injury....

Movement snatches his attention and he whips his head down to the boy on the ground who raises his hands in the air, acting on bare instinct. “H-hey! Cool it, man! Just chill!!”

War sneers down at him distastefully. In a threatening growl, he gruffly demands, “Who are you,” sweeping his burning gaze over each of their faces.

With a hefty sigh, you push one of his hands down and rub at the skin beneath your eyebrow. “It’s okay, guys. You were bound to meet him sooner or later. This is War - and I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise, he isn’t going to hurt us.”

Nobody - the glowering horseman included - looks convinced.

“Are you, War?” you snap, jerking your head at the people behind you, “These are my friends. From before the apocalypse.”

Chest heaving, War surveys the group of unfamiliar humans, finally registering that they’re all staring at him, petrified. Which wouldn’t be a first, but frightening humans who look to be around your age is nothing to be proud of. Drawing himself up, he flares his nostrils once in an exhale and swivels his hooded face to fix you with a stern glare. “You didn’t tell me they were coming,” he mutters.

Your eyelids flutter incredulously. “Er.. I don’t have to tell you every time my friends come round. Besides! You didn’t say you were coming either! A-and why does that mean you should break down my door and scare everyone to death!?” Gesturing at what’s left of it, you whine, “It took me ages to repaint that after last time.”

Around you, your friends slowly begin to move towards you and War, their fear dissipating, overridden by natural human curiosity. The boy on the ground staggers to his feet, grabbing the hem of your pyjama top to steady himself, although he immediately snatches his hand back at the sight of the red behemoth’s curled lip that shows off a pair of gleaming fangs. “Holy shit...You weren’t kidding,” one of your other friends - Jessica - whispers, sidling up to your shoulder, “he’s huge!” One after the other, the small group of humans venture closer to War. He stiffens at their approach, his instinctive neural responses warning him that he’s being surrounded. Covering his massive, metal-clad chest with both arms, the horseman watches them warily whilst they gather around him and shoot questions at you, rapid-fire.

“What is he doing here!?”

“Does he always come through doors like that?”

“He looks like he wants to eat us!”

“Isn’t he a horseman? Where’s his horse?”

Groaning, you run your hands down your face and snatch the remote control up off the table, pausing the film you’d all been in the process of watching. It isn’t that you don’t want War here. Normally, you’re delighted anytime one of your strange, otherworldly friends comes to visit. But tonight was supposed to be a night for you and your human friends. This is the first time you’d all managed to get together since the resurrection of your species and you had a lot of catching up to do.

You’d missed them, immensely. Surely it isn’t that selfish of you to want a little time just being an ordinary human again. Hanging out with your friends, watching some terrible horror movies and eating as much junk food as you can handle sounds like a godsend after living rough on the demon-infested Earth with only a ferocious horseman of the apocalypse for company, surviving on energy bars and boiled water.

Tom - a boy you’d only really been friends with because he lived in your area - is bold enough to grab your arm and hiss in your ear, “So, uh..What happens now?”

War’s frown deepens at the sight of Tom’s hand on your skin.

“Now...” You puff out your cheeks. “I...guess I introduce everyone?”

War, for his part, couldn’t really care less who any of these humans are. Truthfully, he’s still on edge, wound up from the anticipation of a fight. What matters most is that you’re not in any immediate danger, so he supposes he can allow this customary introduction...for now, though he still doesn’t like how intimately that other human is touching you.

The horseman’s brow furrows in response to an odd sensation swimming around in his belly and, out of the blue, all he wants to do is rip that hand off your arm. If he didn’t know any better, he’d liken it to jealousy. But that’s impossible. He is War. Jealousy isn’t his jurisdiction, it’s more Strife’s.

Setting his jaw and squashing the ugly feeling down into the very soles of his boots, War listens disinterestedly as you point at each friend respectively, telling him their names.

“This is Jess.” A girl with dark hair, a friendly but timid face and a pair of thick, round glasses averts her gaze, swallowing thickly. For your sake, the horseman grunts, acknowledging the shy human.

“And uh... this is Beatrice. Say hi, Bea.” You indicate the woman clutching a pillow to her chest. She appraises War suspiciously, offering a quick, “Hullo,” and a hesitant nod. Satisfied with that, you turn to the boy next to her. “Here, we’ve got Jack...”

The human; a slight, weedy little thing that’s at least a few inches shorter than everyone else in the room ducks behind ‘Bea’ when War tilts his head towards him. “Hey,” he wheezes, glancing uncertainly at you. At last, you lift your elbow - the one Tom is still clinging to - and jerk your thumb back at him. “And this is -”

“Tom,” the remaining human interrupts, matching War’s scowl as best he can and edging in front of you minutely, “You usually go around kicking in people’s doors, huh big man?”

“Tom,” you urge him back quietly, all too aware of the subtle challenge he’d just issued a horseman. What Tom forgets is that War is not human and he reacts to challenges like a bull to a red rag. As you expected, the horseman’s eyes harden and you can hear his leather straps creaking under the strain of his flexing muscles.

Desperate to placate the horseman and keep your friends reassured, you step right out of Tom’s grasp and move to stand next to War, failing to see the look of surprise flicker across his shadowed face. “Listen, this is...unexpected, sure.” You shoot War an extremely pointed glare. “I mean, I’m gonna have to rebuild the door. But it’s done now, so. Let’s just get back to watching the movie, yeah?” The others shift on their feet and nod uncertainly, slowly sinking into their previous positions - all but Tom.

“Will uh...he be joining us?” he asks, roving his eyes up and down the horseman a few times, no doubt sizing him up.

Skeptical, yet hopeful, you cock your head at War and admit, “I don’t know. War, would you like to watch TV with us?”

Watching your eyes light up with a smile, War almost feels bad for roughly growling, “No.”

Your four friends flinch at the animosity he’s packed behind the small word. You however, just shrug and roll your eyes. “Fine. Suit yourself, stand there all night if you like. But we’re watching a movie.” With that, you leave him to go and plonk yourself down on the sofa, sandwiching yourself between Jack and Jess. Tom follows suit, though when he reaches the sofa, instead of sitting on the end, he stares with raised eyebrows at Jack, who holds his gaze for a few moments before sliding up, away from you.

Anger rears its head as War sees the uncomfortable way your lip pulls to the side at Tom’s action, a clear indication of your displeasure. So when the boy falls into the sofa and goes to toss his arm casually over your back, you immediately shrug it off and fix one of your withering stares on him. There’s that billowing swell of pride filling up War’s chest.

For a time, he does exactly as you’d suggested. He stands in place for a good chunk of the movie, taking nothing in because he’s too busy glaring daggers at the side of Tom’s head. He’d made up his mind. The other humans are...tolerable at the very least. They seem harmless enough. But this one...Something about him feels....off. He’s like so many young Nephilim that War can remember, and like those young Nephilim, he’s aggressive. Confrontational. Cocky. Doesn’t know when to back down from a fight. Why you’ve placed any value on your friendship with Tom, War will never know.

Another half an hour later and everything goes to pot.

Tom, making sure to catch War’s eye, stretches loudly, yawning with his mouth obscenely agape and then, to the horseman’s outrage, he lowers his hand down your back, snaking it around your ribcage and brushing his fingertips over the soft skin of your stomach. War sees your face, sees the way your eyes widen, livid. He registers the soft flash of your throat as you swallow down an angry lump. You open your mouth to tell Tom to get off, but before you get a word out, he’s suddenly yanked from his seat at your side.

War had cleared the room in three strides and taken a hold of Tom’s forearm, drowning it in his enormous gauntlet. He squeezes the human’s flimsy wrist, teeth gnashing and eyes blazing wildly, not enough to cause a break but definitely enough to hurt him.

In an instant, you’re on your feet as well and once again trying to stop a fight from breaking out.“War! Stop it! Put him down!” As you speak, the others all rise as well, looking at each other, unsure of how to help.

War ignores you, lifting Tom off the ground and snarling in his - now rather pale - face. “You will not touch Y/n,” he seethes. Something latches onto his arm and he snaps his gaze down to see you tugging on the heavy limb insistently. “Let him go, War.”

“He touched you. You didn’t want him to,” he says, as though you had no idea.

Looking back at your other friends, you lower your voice to a hoarse whisper, wincing when Tom begins to thump the horseman’s hand in an attempt to free himself. “He’s just being an idiot. You think I can’t handle that? I’ve been handling stuff like that a lot longer than you have.”

Apparently, War doesn’t quite grasp the subtle concept of whispering. The human dangling from his grasp lets out a shrill yelp when the hand twitches and the pressure around his arm increases. “This human has touched you before?” he all but bellows, “Where?”

Heat rushes into your cheeks. “War, please,” you hiss back, “you’re embarrassing me! Just put Tom down and go! I want to have a nice, quiet evening with my friends.”

“You are my friend,” he rumbles, jostling Tom with a shake of his fist, “Mine.”

As annoying and pushy as your old neighbour can be, you have no desire to reset a broken arm tonight. Furiously, you land a vicious slap to War’s gauntlet, tears springing to your eyes from the pain of hitting metal. “If you don’t let him go right now, I won’t be!”

Silence, broken only by the film credits now rolling in the background, descends upon the room. You stand there, heaving and panting as the horseman stares down at you, searching your face for a hidden lie. You hadn’t meant that. Surely?

A few more seconds pass by before War finally opens his hand and drops Tom unceremoniously to the floor. You don’t move to help him up.

“...Maybe we should all just go,” Jack suggests after the room feels as though it’s been still for far too long, earning a few murmurs of agreement from the others.

Turning away from War, your eyes grow round and you plead, “No, wait, it’s okay! I - he’s not gonna -”

“Y/n,” Jess whispers, fearfully eyeing the giant man, “You know we love you, but this guy is bad news! I - I already died once..” She trails off, looking at you with remorse and shaking her head. Then, without taking her eyes off the horseman, she bends down and snatches up her phone and bag, fleeing out of the door while you can only watch on helplessly.

Beatrice gathers her own things off the floor. Slinging her sleeping bag over a shoulder, she smiles at you, though it looks more like a grimace in this light. “Sorry, Y/n. Talk soon.” And with that, she too has gone.

Meanwhile, Jack has managed to lift Tom off the floor and he’s thrown the other boy’s good arm over his shoulders. “M’gonna take Tom home,” he breathes, voice trembling. Your shoulders slump as you watch him shuffle out of the destroyed doorway, dragging the moaning boy along beside him.

Once more, the apartment is plunged into uncomfortable silence. It feels so much emptier, even with the hulking juggernaut of a horseman taking up ample space. War regards you softly for a while, relishing the steady rise and fall of your chest and the sound of your quiet little breaths. Suddenly, you suck in a deep lungful of air and hold it, ceasing all movement as you turn a hurt and rightfully livid look onto the horseman.

Sighing, War takes a step forward, reaching out a hand. “Y/n-”

You don’t give him the opportunity to finish. Instead, you jab a finger in the direction of your broken, apartment door and utter two, dangerously quiet words. “Get. Out.”

Then, spinning on your heel, you march over to your bedroom at the other end of the apartment and throw the door open, disappearing inside. Despite his battle prowess, War still flinches at the power with which you slam that door shut again.

War takes one look at the unprotected entrance to your home and recalls the missives that Azrael had sent out, of demons still rumoured to stalk the sewers below your city. He doesn’t leave, of course, choosing to remain on guard in your apartment until the early hours of the morning, only standing down and traipsing reluctantly out of the building when he heard the first stirrings coming from your bedroom.

---

Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be the last time War felt the stinging buck of jealousy.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #war #reader #jealousy #there will be a part 2

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roxywashere · 6 years ago

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New Light

Rey takes her date where no date has gone before

Rey waited outside of Baby’s Diner for her date to finish her shift. It was 4 in the morning. Not an exceptionally late night for her, but she was tired. She cycled some plasma in and out of her veins, to see if that would help her keep energized. She then did a lap around the state park the diner bordered, which did very little to help.

She pulled out her phone and looked up something she thought she remembered. She chuckled when she found it, and then opened up the group chat.

Hey, Shay

What

You’re not going to believe who has tasteful, professionally photographed nudes from back in the 40s

Who

Aradia Johanna Christa Scomparsa-Prince-Furst

You send me those nudes right goddamned now I’m going to give her so much shit for this

Elle make sure she doesn’t hurt herself

Rey shook her head and put her phone away, just as her date, Felicia Kyle, pushed out of the front door of the diner

“So, how was the fight?” Felicia asked.

“Stopped a bank robbery, burned down someone’s garden, broke a rib. Ya know, your standard save the world stuff.”

“Wait, you broke a rib? And then ran here?”

“I got better. Superheroes are pretty tough, you know.”

“Why don’t you tell me more while I drop my car off at my place.” It was a short 15 minute drive to her place, in a trailer park in the nearby township of White Deer.

“This place is…” Rey started to say as she climbed out of the car.

“Let me guess, ‘Rustic’?”

“I mean, in not so condescending a tone. But… yeah.”

“It’s cheaper than living in the city, I bet.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’m gonna go get changed out of my uniform. You wanna come inside or wait out here?”

“I’m good out here. I’ve still got to psych myself up.”

After Felicia went inside, Rey massaged her rib. She lifted up her shirt and took a look at it: Aradia’s magic had fixed the physical break, but the flesh around it was still bruised, dark violet and a sickly yellow. Rey’s superhuman physiology would heal it quick, but it definitely wouldn’t be painless by the end of the night.

When Felicia came back out, she had almost completely transformed. She almost looked like she belonged in Rey’s group of friends: Torn jeans, black leather jacket, black crop-top.

“Lookin’ good,” Rey said.

“I know how to fix myself up all cosmopolitan-like. I wasn’t always a trailer park gal, you know.”

“Oh yeah? Where you from?”

“Austin, Texas.”

“Can’t get much more cosmopolitan than Austin.”

“So, how’s this going to work? Are you going to… carry me? For 700 miles?”

“You’d be surprised.” Rey activated her power and had Felicia in a bridal carry before she could blink. “You want to go straight to Danesville? Or do you want to sightsee first?”

“Depends where you take me. What sights are there to see?”

“Ever been to the top of the FursTech tower in New York?”

“Isn’t the top third completely closed off to the public?”

“I’m not the public anymore, am I? Me and Rad, we’re basically besties now.”

“Alright, then, my hot young steed, lead the way.”

Rey bolted from the trailer park and and down the road, and onto the highway, east towards New York City. It was 3 minutes later when Rey stopped in front of the FursTech tower, and put Felicia down to let her catch her breath.

“Holy shit, Rey.”

“That’s how it is for me all the time.”

“Pick me back up, this almost better than sex.”

“You’re gonna eat those words later on.” Rey scooped Felicia back up, and stared up at the tower. “Brace yourself.”

Rey ran straight up the side of the tower, slower than she usually would but fast enough that Felicia wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. They were at the top in less than a second. Rey set Felicia back down so she could enjoy the view.

“Jesus, this is unbelievable…”

They sat at the top of the tower silently for ten minutes, watching the lights of the cities and highways.

“So, where next?” Felicia asked.

“Ever been to the west coast?”

“I visited LA for vacation once.”

“Good enough for me.” Rey picked Felicia up once again. “Oh, there’s one more thing I have to show you. I only just learned this since you texted me the first time.” Rey braced to run, and bolted straight off the edge of the building, coming to a stop about a hundred feet from the edge, before starting to fall. Felicia screamed and covered her eyes.

Rey slowly activated her power to slow her fall, until she was going horizontally. After sufficiently long time not having hit the ground, Felicia cracked her eyes open again, and looked around, astonished. “You can fly?”

“You betcha.”

“How fast can you fly?”

“You wanna find out with me?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Rey ramped up her power, to the point where she could feel her plasma reserves empty, and needed to draw from the Heart on her back. She kept going, pushing herself even further. She felt the Heart draining. She’d never burned through this much plasma so fast ever, she may not have even used up this much plasma in the entire rest of her life. She didn’t know how fast she was going, but she was beyond words like “fast”.

“Hey, you seeing that?” Felicia asked. Rey was pretty sure she was. It looked like she was seeing her plasma trail in front of her. She raced past streak after streak, until they merged together, and the streaks became a solid tunnel of plasma.

“What the fuck is happening…” Rey muttered.

“Are you gonna stop speeding up?”

“I think I did…”

Rey and Felicia suddenly hit a wall of light, and were spat out of the plasma tunnel above a bright sunny desert, and very quickly slowed to a stop.

“Where the hell are we?” Rey asked.

Felicia, looking around, pointed behind Rey. “I think I see some buildings over there.”

Rey turned and flew in that direction. When they reached it, they found a vast slumped skeleton of a massive skyscraper, draped across the desert, less than two miles from the sea. Much smaller towers poked out of the desert around it.

“Rey… I think this is Dubai. That’s the Burj on its side right there.”

“What the fuck happened? It looks like the city’s been abandoned for a thousand years…” Rey gave Felicia a disturbed look.

“Did we just fucking time travel? Did you go so fast you punched through time?”

“Hey, this is new for me, too.”

“Identify yourself!” ordered a voice from behind Rey. Rey turned to face the source, and found a familiar face floating a few dozen feet from her.

It was the Archangel, the mysterious benefactor of Astra’s League, wearing what looked to be a suit of sleek golden power armor, helmetless, with a long flowing sky blue cape.

“Rey?” the Archangel asked, apparently just as perplexed as Rey was. “How did you get here? We detected an interversal incursion… Was that you?”

“Fuck if I know.” Rey answered.

The Archangel sighed. “You speed-forced it, didn’t you. You went so fast you broke the barrier between worlds. You weren’t this powerful when we fought Therion.”

Rey spun around, showing the Archangel the Heart that Aradia had given her. “Rad spotted me an upgrade. She said you made it.”

“I did. I am happy to see him being put to good use. Who is this with you?”

“This is my date, Felicia.”

“That’ll explain it. I remember when I used to be that much a show-off…”

“Where are we?”

The Archangel hesitated for a moment. “…Let me show you.” She turned and started flying northwest, quickly picking up speed. Rey had no trouble keeping pace. They crossed the middle east in only a minute, eastern europe and scandinavia in another two, and the north atlantic in another five. As they shot past a winterset europe, Rey thought she saw spots of gold glimmering in the snow, but from miles up it was hard to tell. It was a similar story across Canada, but when they neared the midwest, it was a solid blanket of gold with small islands of snow instead of the other way around.

A massive metroplex stretched from northern Minnesota, around the coastal edges of Wisconsin and north Michigan, down through Illinois, and across southern Michigan and into the southernmost reaches of Canada. The sun was just rising here, and every building that could see the sun was glittering golden in the light of dawn.

The Archangel flew down towards the center of the city, where Danesville would have been if this were the Earth that Rey knew. She landed swiftly in a park in front of a massive palace, and the power armor unfolded and she stepped out of it. She was wearing a skintight bodysuit, upon which were mounted a series of decorative golden plates. The cape that had been threaded out the back of the armor was revealed to be a light cloak, held around her shoulders by a small pin with a image of a sun on it, radiating 16 points of light.

Rey landed a bit rougher, and put Felicia down.

Despite evidently being the dead of winter, the air was comfortably warm and the grass was a vibrant green. There were dozens of people milling around the very large park, playing in the snow or walking through it. The were also many animals walking around: elephants, rats, wolves and dogs, otters, cats, pigs and boars, and even some dolphins and octopi floating through the air or in small blobs of floating water, and then countless birds: crows and ravens, and parrots and pigeons, and some hawks and eagles. The animals were dressed in the same style as the humans: an interchangeable assortment of bodysuits, robes, and decorative armor.

“This… is New Jerusalem,” The Archangel said, “my homeworld.”

“It looks like Earth,” Rey said.

The Archangel led them towards the palace, and up the marble steps that rose nearly 100 feet above the park. “We did once call it that, and some still do. Years ago this world was just like any other Earth. I was seventeen when the Revelation occured, and changed all life on this world forever. It’s a very long story, but the short of it, is every living human on Earth was gifted powers by the Goddess of this ‘verse, and we used our powers to build Utopia on Earth. No-one here wants for anything, all is provided free of scarcity.”

The doors of the palace were 200 feet tall, and made of marble and gold. The Archangel gently pressed her palm against them and they silently opened, frictionlessly floating on their hinges until they just as gently stopped.

Even though the sun was still rising behind them, the enormous chamber behind the doors looked like it was lit through the skylights above it, and when Rey examined it closely she realized the skylights were actually an impossibly complex series of mirrors. The roof was held up by 10-foot thick pillars of gold and marble, and on each pillar was a lamp that looked like someone had taken a Heart, much like the one Aradia had given Rey, and carefully peeled it open to reveal the miniature sun within.

“Jesus Christ…” Felicia muttered.

As they neared the end of the hall, they stopped in front of a 20-foot-tall lifelike statue of a young girl, with brown hair and golden eyes, holding up a hand towards the sky, above which was levitating a golden orb, peacefully spinning according to some unknowable pattern. Her eyes were crying a fountain that ran down her face and over her clothes until it reached the pool at the bottom.

Rey found the girl familiar, but couldn’t place why.

On the other side of the fountain was another door, half the size of the first, and through it was another skylight-mirror lit room. At the end of it was a Throne, one designed for a human twice the normal size, beneath enormous tapestries hanging from the ceiling detailing events Rey could only barely comprehend, battles between angels and demons and gods and aliens and other unknowable things. Sitting in the throne was a giantess, ten feet tall, wearing white and gold robes and an elegantly ornate golden crown with a glowing white jem on the brow.

“Good morning, Roxy,” the giantess said. “I see you have brought some guests, they look not to be from around here. I trust you remember the policies for introducing the unready to our world, and the punishments.” The giantess subtly reached for the two giant weapons on either side of her throne: a hammer with a head the size of an oil drum on her left, and a sword as tall as she was on her right.

“Calm down, Romana.” the Archangel insisted. “Rey traveled between worlds under her own power. If that’s not proof of her readiness then there is no such thing. And arriving here on accident, the metanarrative guided her. This was meant to be, for whatever reason yet to be revealed.”

“We’ll see.” Romana leaned back and relaxed.

A large raven flew in from the entrance of the throne room, and perched on the end of the handle of Romana’s hammer. “What do we have here? Are you bringing us another child of yours from another unspeakable escapade?”

“For once this one isn’t mine, I’m pretty sure.”

“I’m sorry, can we go back a step,” Felicia pleaded. “That bird can talk.”

“Humans weren’t the only ones given gifts by our Goddess,” the Archangel explained. “All the most intelligent creatures of Earth were uplifted. This is Muninn, Prince of the Corvans.”

“At your service,” Muninn said, bowing.

“We’re headed for my workshop, would you like to accompany us?” the Archangel asked Muninn.

“I would be honored.” Muninn hopped down from the hammer and glided to the Archangel’s shoulder.

The Archangel led Rey and Felicia deeper into the palace, walking down seemingly endless halls and past lush gardens. Eventually they reached a 20-foot tall door made of a black metal banded by gold. The Archangel pushed through it, and as soon as the door cracked open the sound of hammering suddenly washed over them.

Behind the door was a enormous chamber lit by a dozen furnaces lining the walls, and a dozen holograms that sat throughout the room, lines of light tracing patterns both arcane and technological.

On the back wall was a ring a foot deep made of gold, silver, and black metal, forty feet in diameter, behind which was a blank wall. About twenty feet in front of the ring was a small dias covered in glowing sigils and runes.

At one of the furnaces were two ten-foot-tall humanoid constructs, glowing from within by a white light, hammering away at a large piece of white-hot metal. In front of one of the holograms was a woman, wearing a silver bodysuit and armor and a pair of spectacles, drawing at the hologram, modifying the design it displayed. Next to her was a tall bearded indian man, wearing a close-fitted black robe and an eye patch, with scars poking out from beneath them.

The Archangel glided quickly to their sides and whispered something in their ears, which Rey had no chance of hearing over the sound of hammering, though Felicia did tilt her head as if she were attempting to.

“These are my friends, Eitri and Jayadev,” the Archangel introduced once she was done conspiring with them. “E, J, this is Rey and Felicia, from Astra’s Earth. Rey is friends with Aradia.”

Eitri and Jayadev turned to face their guests and bowed. Rey suddenly realized that she recognized them.

Eitri seemed to notice the look of familiarity on her face. “You did attend the Astra Academy, correct? You must have met our counterparts Ethel Adams and Jake Newark, then.”

“Yeah, I did. I was in their classes.”

Eitri walked around to another hologram, and started typing at a panel of glyphs next to it. “Just to fill you in,” she started, “The Astraverse, as we call it, is a heavily metanarrative reflection of our world, which is why, as you have discovered, it tends to produce individuals identical to individuals in ours, to the point where with only a scant single exception, every single person born on your world has or had a counterpart here.”

“Who is the exception?” Rey asked.

“Astra herself, which is the reason hers is the name we use to identify your world.”

“Wait,” Felicia interrupted. “You said Newark. Isn’t that the last name of Babalon? Are you related?”

Jayadev visibly winced at the mention of the supervillainess. “In both your world and ours, my sister succumbed to the enticing call of wickedness. She is powerful, a scourge that I deeply regret I hadn’t eradicated before it took root.”

The Archangel rested a hand on Jayadev’s shoulder. “That was as much my failure as yours, J. I’m the one who drove her to it.”

“I just fought her in my world,” Rey said. “I don’t blame you at all for not being able to stop her.” Rey lifted up her shirt to expose her deeply bruised ribs. “She’s a caliber all on her own, fast as Hell and hits like a truck.”

“If you fought her and lived you must be quite powerful. What are your powers, if I may ask,” Jayadev said to change the subject.

Rey held out her hand and drew some plasma out of the Heart, forming it into a ball in her palm, before absorbing it into her veins, briefly allowing it to overcharge her, causing her to visibly vibrate, and then she dashed to the other side of the room and back, leaving behind her plasma trail to indicate that she had moved at all.

“Very impressive,” Jayadev said. “Speedsters of your caliber are few and far between. And how about you?” He asked Felicia.

“Oh, I’m not-” Felicia responded. “I’m just a normal human.”

“Aren’t we all.”

“Since it’s only fair,” Eitri said. “I have an expanded intellect and enhanced stamina.”

“I,” Muninn said, “have an uplifted mental capacity, and reflexes, and a boost to flying speed, and can mildly telekinese to compensate for my evolutionarily unforgivable lack of fingers.”

“For me,” Jayadev said, “It’s best to show you.” He ripped off his robe, revealing a black bodysuit underneath it, and stretched, cracking his joints. In less than a second, he dramatically transformed, his limbs becoming longer and leaner, his face sharper and elongated, dark black fur spreading across his skin, until he was a large man-shaped wolf, and then continued until he was completely a wolf with all human traits removed. His clothes had all dissolved into his skin, excepting only his eyepatch, which remained covering a still heavily scarred eye. Even as a wolf on all fours, he was still taller than the Archangel.

The Archangel reached over and gave him a scritch around the ears, which he leaned into enthusiastically. “Don’t be afraid of him, he’s really just a big puppy.”

“I can’t wait to talk to Aradia about all of this,” Rey said. “She’s been here too? You said they knew her.”

“That’s the thing…” The Archangel started. “I have brought her here secretly, but because she's not yet technically earned the readiness that our law requires to introduce her to our world, I cannot show her everything I wish I could.”

Rey realized something. “She had a counterpart here, you were close with her. That statue outside the throne room, that was Rad, I recognized her.”

The Archangel nodded. “She was my niece. She died before she was given a chance to flourish as she has in your world. I’m so proud of what she’s accomplished, all of her progress to make your world more like ours. But we miss her dearly here.”

“Making our world like yours… I’ve never seen anything like this place, it seems so perfect. Peaceful.”

“Just wait until you see the gladiatorial combat,” Eitri dryly noted.

“Our world is peaceful because we have no need to fight for resources and manpower. People work if they desire work to do, but if they don’t they live free of cost. Everyone is free to spend day and night doing whatever they wish. All soldiers are volunteers, signing up to protect their world because they are capable of defending it, and are willing to pass on if they were to give their lives in the process. But our world didn’t just come into being fully formed. Countless people bled and died to each take a turn to swing the hammer to help forge it. When Therion, the Demon King, made his first attempt to conquer our world he did so by first slaughtering 99% of humanity with his army of 100,000 fellow Demons.”

“The Demon King sounds like more and more of a nightmare the more and more I hear about him,” Felicia said.

“Therion makes the Joker look like a youtube prankster, and Thanos look like a schoolyard bully. I helped create Astra’s League in your world to give your world even the slightest chance to survive encountering him, and it was only barely enough.”

“Therion was borne to cause strife and suffering, fundamentally: it’s coded into the very structure of his soul,” Eitri said. “So we took the mantle of stopping him and his ilk from plunging all of the omniverse into chaos.”

“Above you used to be Astra’s League, the guardians of your world,” The Archangel said. “Now that you are a member of Astra’s League, above you now is us, Yggdrasil, the guardians of the multiverse. As for what’s above us, well, maybe one day we’ll all find out.” The Archangel walked over to the dias in the back of the room. “You should head home.”

She punched in a series of glyphs into the panel on the dias, and then a portal opened within the ring on the wall, showing the peak of FursTech Tower in Danesville on Rey’s Earth.

Aradia was meditating in her workshop, and when she suddenly heard the hammering in the Archangel’s workshop she was shocked out of her meditation. She ran to the balcony near the portal. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Rey sheepishly peered around the edge of the portal. “Hey, Rad… Guess what I learned I can do…”

“Oh, fuck me,” Aradia muttered, cradling her face in her hands. “You speed-forced it, didn’t you.”

“That was the exact same thing she said!” Felicia pointed out.

“Rey, you and I need to have a very long talk about your responsibilities and expectations as a member of the League. Thanks for getting her back home, Roxy.”

“You keep a close eye on her, Rad,” The Archangel told Rad. “She’s got even more potential than we first thought.” She turned to Rey and Felicia. “Now, git. I’ve got work to do.”

Rey picked Felicia up and floated through the Portal and landed on Aradia’s balcony. The Archangel pressed the big central button on the dias, and the portal snapped shut

“What were the results of the soul scans,” She demanded as soon as it did.

“Well,” Eitri answered, “for one, Felicia lied about not having powers.”

“I could tell.”

“As for Rey, there’s no doubt about it: she’s a native New Jerusalemite. How does she not know?”

“I’ll be looking into it.”

#astraverse #rey walker #superhero #superhero literature #serial story #Writing

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secretadventuresociety · 3 years ago

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Episode 31 Recap

Get hype, SASholes! I’m Bren, resident SAStorian and manic goblin dream girl. Welcome to Episode 31: A Long Day’s End.

A Challenger Approaches!

With Mother (hopefully) vanquished and Kerti’s whereabouts unknown, our heroes hear fleeting whispers of ‘they’re coming, she’s coming’ whistling in the icy wind flowing through the cave. Sharing a Let’s-Put-A-Pin-In-That glance, the trio check in with each other because-- lest we forget-- they have just survived a run-in with an evil being who was masquerading as Kü’s mom. Sorry, did I say run-in? I meant battle for their lives. Anywho! They all seem to be physically unscathed, though that emotional trauma will last forever. IYKYK. Kü, of course, is the most affected, though his worries go straight to Kess, who Mother had just tried to strangle and not in the sexy way. Pearce attempts to make light of the situation by telling Kü it couldn’t have been too bad because Kess didn’t black out and see her friend, Ashe.

Which, speaking OF ash, the group starts smelling smoke. All of their combined hackles raise-- each probably thinking of a different entity. They really do be running into a lot of fire-related individuals, so this makes sense. When they actually SEE physical evidence of smoke trailing from further in the tunnel, they realize they might not be alone in this cave. Pearce elects Kü to lead them to the source, stating that he has darkvision and that will be to their tactical advantage. I mean, true, but this is also the helmetless kobold who just lost his ‘mother’ for the second time. I’m begging SOMEONE to give him a break. God, Lathander, DM, anyone?? As they go deeper, however, thin sheets of ice on the ceiling seem to be letting blue-tinted morning sunlight in. This literally lightens the mood until they come to a ledge-- one set up with a VERY recent campsite.

The party can tell right away that this is where the smoke has originated from, and looking closer, they spot a figure. A DANCING figure. What appears to be a four foot tall, staff wielding, gymnast built, olive skinned, winged individual is currently stirring an alluring pot of food while having the best time of his life. Understandably afraid, Kü attempts to summon his Blight Bow-- and nothing happens. Instead, he and Pearce decide to ambush the stranger, one going to the left of him and the other going right. Kü is spotted, and in defense, he grabs a broken liquor bottle (that he has been holding onto since the BEGINNING of this campaign, y’all), and chucks it at the head of his presumed assailant. In this instant, everyone braces for a fight, INCLUDING our guest star, Pongu, played by the fantastic Sonny-- who fans may recognize from the Hollaback Charity&D stream!

The Three Mardostateers

Kess instinctively heals herself as she notices her companions go into a fighting stance; having stayed away from the ledge. She was sure the humanoid meant no harm, but it’s hard to preach benefit of the doubt with a hotheaded gunslinger and a manipulated kobold. Instead of retaliating, Pongu tries to diffuse the situation. He laughs off the projectile Kü hurled and tells the group that they didn’t have to throw things if they wanted food; he has plenty to share. It’s then that the exhausted and hungry group smells the bounty for the first time. It is heavy with spices and looks like some sort of chunky soup. As we all know, food is the way to the heart, and apparently to the trust bone, too. Kess joins our apprehensive duo and the trauma of the past two days comes tumbling out of them.

Pongu listens intently, and when they’re done, calls over a beautiful, starry owl (named Nalani) over to him. Kü startles, having instant predator flashbacks. With a smile, the fairy tells his companion that this group needs some extra love, to which the creature replies (only to Pongu himself) that they both have a lot to give. Pongu notices Kü’s changed attitude and requests that the owl take some time away from camp to reform himself into something less intimidating, like a cat. The kobold relaxes as the animal leaves, and Kess changes the subject. She begins to question Pongu about his presence in the cave-- and mentions that she thought it belonged to someone she knew. Pongu assures her that he is just passing through, and had chosen the cave to take respite in.

The fairy goes on to explain that he is from the Feywild, and that he has been searching all over-- sailing the seas-- and winding up on the material plane for the ingredients for a perfect fey wedding cake. He used to be an adventurer long ago-- now at an estimated 300+ years of age-- but now is a professional chef and ‘fixer of things’. This draws Kü’s interest, and he wonders aloud if Pongu might be able to repair his mother’s skulll-- but quickly has this hope dashed when Pongu asks if the kobold has all of the pieces. Pearce, feeling Kü’s disappointment, offers to go back and see if there’s anything left, but is denied. Having gotten Pongu’s life story, the group feels the need to share as well. They first attempt to lie (except for Kess) and say their names are Uk and Ferdinand [I will let you guys which one is which] and that they are all three from Mardosta. The truth quickly comes out, however, and Pongu takes it in stride, excitedly asking if Kess (the true Mardostan native) can get him rare spices from the area.

A Lesson in Bonding

Taking a moment for herself, Kess separates from the group and goes to the neighboring hot spring. She discards some of her clothing and jumps in-- drifting to the bottom. Once she reaches the soil there, the druid draws on her inner power and grows a flower. It is still black with a white iris, but the floret adapts to its watery surroundings-- taking on an aquatic formation. Kess takes no time to marvel at it, instead using the rest of her depleting energy to focus on the plant and attempts to contact Ashe. After a bit, she realizes there isn’t going to be a response. So, the changeling flips off the bloom and pushes herself to the surface, dressing once more and cursing under her breath.

In Kess’ absence, Pearce and Kü warn Pongu about Skugamor and give him a head’s up about Kerti (who we really haven’t gotten to know yet). The gunslinger sighs and half-heartedly complains that everyone has voices in their heads except for him. The fairy listens gratefully while taking out a Santa-Claus-worthy bag of toys to keep his hands busy. He explains that he likes to fix up old toys and give them new homes-- and Kü asks if he has a paddleball related plaything. Pongu brightly hands him a Bilboque (I really didn’t want to write cup-and-ball. But you guys made me anyway. Good job) and takes to it instantly.

Sensing how worn out the adventurers are, Pongu casts Tiny Hut, creating a dome with a starry ceiling and a light scent of flowers swirling through the air. Pearce sees Kess step into the space and he greets her, hugging her to him as she spirals in a panic attack. He tells her that everything is going to be okay, and that he feels that is true because he has not been this comfortable anywhere but Mardosta. The contact soothes the changeling, and she steps back from Pearce and truly looks at him for the first time after their ordeal. Her eyes widen at the state of his hair; and the gunslinger grabs his things to run to the hot spring himself to shower. Pongu stops him, saying that he thinks he could fix the dirty, snow-wet mess, and Pearce relents. The fairy uses Shape Water as a kind of gel to mold the unruly locks-- and when Kess lets Pearce check it in the shine of her canteen, the gunslinger huffs off; happy with his look but pissed that he has nothing to be pissed about.

Look at the Stars

Using his misplaced anger as motivation, Pearce begins to craft more bullets for Iris from the components he purchased at the Night Market. He ends up making fifteen functional bullets, only wasting one defective try at the beginning of the process. The gunslinger thinks of his father and how Pearce used to watch him go through the same activity, and the fire of his rage is stoked by the realization that he actually learned something from the deadbeat. What was it that Smash Mouth said? When the hits start coming they don’t stop coming? Whatever it was, I’m THERE in this DnD stream. Someone make them stop.

As Pearce is artificing the daddy issues away, Kü tries to bring his Blight Bow out one more time. When it still doesn’t happen, the kobold admits to Kess that he has Good News and Bad News. The good news is that he believes Mother to be truly gone, and the bad news is that this means that his powers seem to be gone. Kess reassures him that they’ll figure things out; and Kü distracts himself by catching Pongu up on their exploits so far-- from Evercrest’s dying king to the vampires of New Hexton. The kobold then switches gears and asks the fairy about his parents-- with whom Pongu seems to have a semi-okay relationship. Kü tells him that he’s just trying to feel out where his trauma is-- and that he wants him to be as broken as he is. Big ouch.

Kess takes over at that point, trying to explain LifeWell water to their new friend. A combination of exhaustion and frustration overwhelms her in the middle of it, however, so she excuses herself to sleep it off. She ends up under a constellation of a scorpion, and Pongu suggests to Pearce that he choose one that meant something to him to watch over him as he slept. The gunslinger curls up underneath an arrow (yes, weapons are soothing, just ask my barbarian) and Kü doesn’t even bother looking up-- as soon as his head hits the floor, he drifts off into a deep rest. Pongu watches over them for the four hours they stay unconscious, making them a special (giving them ingame boosts!) bready treat. When they wake up, Kess eats hers and Pearce tosses Kü his-- who catches it deftly in his waiting maw. They take in Pongu now making pancakes for the group, and realize they have some decisions to make.

Case Closed

After throwing out their veritable to-do list, Pearce bangs the butt of his gun against the cave floor, commanding the attention of the other three speakers. He makes an executive decision that they should all go check on the Shadowmore family. They have no idea if they are still safe from Skugamor, and Kess needs to speak with them before they either stay for the Mardosta ball or move on to their next task. The Nobodies look toward Pongu, gauging his interest in joining them for a time. The fairy packs up the leftover food from the night before-- leaving a note that anyone who comes by it is welcome to it-- and agrees to travel with the trio. Kess warns Kü before she shifts back into her owl form, which turns out to be large enough to carry her humanoid companions.

They make a long, cold flight back-- and all seems quiet at the Shadowmore manor. The group makes their way to the fourth floor (you remember, the PARENT wing) and finds it empty. Searching frantically, they finally see them standing in the greenhouse, marvelling over Kess’ new and hydraulic flower. Norse turns around and exclaims her thankfulness for her daughter’s safety, counting the number of still-alive-friends with her, and greets the sunny newcomer. OMG. Did you see what I did there? Sunny cause Pongu is a literal ray of light but also-- Sonny?? His player?! That was COMPLETELY UNINTENTIONAL! WITNESS ME! Fine. I digress. The party catches the elder Shadowmores up to speed just before Brienne, our lovely tabaxi detective, strides into the greenhouse. Pongu introduces himself as Brienne looks over him curiously, and the investigator sighs, grateful that she doesn’t have to question yet another for Xarus’ murder. Hearing of this foul play for the first time, the fairy looks over to his new friends and says, “There’s a lot of death around you three, huh?”

The Nobodies stammer in unison, attempting to laugh off this outburst. Brienne pays it no mind, pushing forward to ask to speak with the group. She tells them that Xarus was found with poison in his system, and had a snapped neck-- probably from strangulation. The tabaxi had spoken with onlookers at the Underfrost as well as the cooking staff at the Shadowmore estate, who both told her that they experienced a similar phenomenon with shadow magic. It’s then that they come clean, handing the detective the page on Skugamor (which Brienne RIGHTFULLY chides Kess for stealing) and Kü recounts his almost-lifelong-ordeal under her influence. With a small, conspiratorial smile-- Brienne concludes that Xarus’ death must have been a suicide. She tells the group that if they did not take care of Skugamor that she would be unable to protect them-- but if the entity was really and truly gone, she was more than happy to close the case. She bids them farewell, and as they all let loose a breath they didn’t know they were holding (hello, YA roots) and Pongu smiles widely at them. He professes that he will be there for this courageous party until they no longer need him.

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TL;DR

Give a BIG SAShole welcome to Pongu and Sonny! You can find him on Twitter: @SonnyPlays and tell him Bren sent ya!

Wait, where’s my starry owlcat!? How do you pspspspsps a fey being?!

Things are looking up for the Nobodies. Be a shame if something happened...

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Don’t Pearce your pants in anticipation, but you can catch the next session over at twitch.tv/lochness on September 22nd at 7:30CST/8:30EST! If you’d like to watch THIS episode, follow the link below:

https://youtu.be/pXQxmi9dGbg

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littlemisspascal · 4 years ago

Text

Death and an Angel part 8

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: “You have become the only one in the universe who can claim to uniquely know him.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,002

Warnings: fluffy fluff, some plot, swearing, reunions, soft!Din, Kuiil thinks Cupid is a fool, Kuiil’s backstory from canon, surprisingly little angst (it shocked me too)

Author Note: I want to apologize to those on the tag list not getting notified. I have no idea why Tumblr isn’t cooperating and I feel horrible about it. I love each and every one of you who spares time to read this segment/series and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season.

Links to Part 1 and Part 7 and Part 9

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

The next morning you find Kuiil outside welding together two pieces of metal at his workbench. IG-11 tends to the small herd of blurrg the Ugnaught keeps in a large pen, feeding the two-legged creatures their breakfast. Although you were initially wary, the former assassin droid has been nothing but kind to you, if not a little obsessive about checking the bandage on your head every few hours.

“IG was explicitly warned by Death what would happen if your health declined in his absence,” Kuiil had informed you the previous evening when your attempt to stop the droid’s incessant fretting failed.

“He’s such a worrywart,” you muttered as IG-11 scanned your temperature, heart skipping a beat as it always does when you think about Din’s protective nature. There’s something unbelievably attractive about him making threats when it came to your wellbeing.

“A worrywart who left his gunship in my yard.” Kuiil aimed a sharp look towards the entrance of his home, as if he could see the Razor Crest from this distance.

You snorted a laugh at him calling Arvala-7’s desert landscape a yard of all designations, only for the rest of his sentence to register a beat later, making your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Wait, what? He seriously left the Crest here? Why would he do that?”

“The quicker his trip to Nevarro, the quicker he returns to your side,” was the response, accompanied with a shrewd look implying you were a fool for asking such a question.

Your Ugnaught host reminds you of a grandfather figure; a bit prickly and blunt at times, but ultimately kindhearted and selfless at his core, wanting only what’s best for those in his care. Between his insistence you keep resting in his bed and IG-11’s nurse programming, you no longer wonder why Din chose to leave you with them, thoroughly convinced you’re receiving better around-the-clock care than most people experience in medcenters.

Kuiil turns when you approach him, pushing his goggles back to the top of his cap as he clicks off the welding torch, eyes giving you a cursory once-over. You feel better than you had yesterday, both headache and dizziness gone, and he must sense that since his head dips in a firm nod, satisfied with what he sees.

“Good morning,” you greet, smiling.

“Morning,” he replies. His expression turns repentant, eyebrows lowering. “My apologies for waking you, but I could not let these repairs remain unfinished.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head up towards the sky, enjoying the warmth of the early sunshine after spending the entire previous day cooped inside his home. “I’m supposed to report back to headquarters later today, so I needed to be up anyways.”

Hearing the words out loud grounds the upcoming meeting in reality. It’s really happening. Hours from now, you're going to have to tell your bosses everything, now including your new title as Din’s soulmate. Maker, you can just imagine Hess staring you down with those beady, rat-like eyes of his, asking question after question about you and Din.

And if Hess was serious before on the comlink—and you highly doubt the bastard’s ever told a joke in his life—then there is also the very real prospect of Moff Gideon being there to take part in your interrogation.

“Are you alright?” Kuiil asks, noticing how pale you’ve become. Without waiting for an answer, he ushers you over to a nearby stool. You sit, mouth opening to reassure him you’re fine, only to be startled by the knowing glint in his eyes. “I recognize your anxious face from my years as an indentured servant. You fear punishment from your superiors.”

Your eyes widen, stomach suddenly feeling hollow. “You were a servant?”

“From my birth until my hundredth year, yes.” The nauseous feeling intensifies. You knew Ugnaughts typically lived up to two-hundred years, meaning Kuiil had lived half of his lifetime in servitude. “Earning my freedom did not occur without harsh discipline.”

You draw in a shaky breath at that. It feels wrong, being worried about meeting with your bosses when there are others, such as Kuiil, who have endured far worse horrors.

“Those with power think it comes from weapons and control over others through means of fear and violence,” he continues, returning the welding torch to its proper placement in his toolbox. “True power comes from the strength of one’s hope. It allows you to believe in a better future for yourself and so long as you cling to it, no enemy can break your spirit.”

His rumbling baritone washes over you, calming the worst of your worries. You press your thumb against your soulmate marking, a nervous habit that has developed since you first saw it yesterday. You’ve become addicted to the warmth the mark emanates as it reassures you you’re not hallucinating its appearance.

“I just keep thinking about what their reactions are going to be when I tell them about me and him being together,” you confess, feeling shy as you duck your chin to avoid eye contact.

“Are you embarrassed of Death being your soulmate?”

Your head snaps back up, shocked by his bluntness. “What? No. Din means everything to me.”

The words seem too loud against the quiet atmosphere of the planet. They reverberate off seemingly every surface—the desert rocks, the Razor Crest’s steel paneling and the metal roof on Kuiil’s home—echoing for miles in every direction. Despite knowing that isn’t truly possible, you are unable to stop yourself from wincing.

“You gave Death a name?” Kuiil’s bafflement is visible in the way his head tilts, looking at you in a way that is reminiscent of Omera’s puzzled expression back on Sorgan.

"I didn’t.” You shake your head, for some reason feeling the need to clarify, “He named himself. It’s just something for me to call him when we’re around mortals.”

“I have known Death many decades now,” he begins, sounding no less confused despite your explanation. “He’s quite...particular about the mortal traditions he chooses to adopt, such as appearing as a human male and piloting a gunship.”

“Yeah, I know how picky he can be,” you say slowly, not understanding what his point is.

“Not once has he ever felt compelled to use a mortal name because, in his opinion, names establish ties."

“What does that mean?”

“Without a name, he is but another stranger amongst trillions of beings, unrecognized and unmissed,” Kuiil explains, and you find yourself leaning forward, elbows on your knees. “By giving you a name to call him by, he has tied himself to you in a way he has not permitted anyone else. You have become the only one in the universe who can claim you uniquely know him.”

“Huh.” You let out a long exhale, suddenly aware of your heartbeat pounding deafeningly in your eardrums as it begins to sink in just how monumental the gift of Din’s name truly is. “Well how bout that.”

And the shrewd look from last night makes a reappearance, conveying once again how foolish he thinks you are.

“I have spoken.”

People tend to forget a Cupid’s bow is first and foremost a weapon of defense. Comprised of wood from a Brylark tree, sinew from orbaks, and a thin layer of a mudhorn’s horn, it can be compared to Din’s armor in that it is virtually indestructible. A Cupid carries two types of arrows: one made from kyber crystal meant to lighten one’s emotions or, on rare occasions, induce lust, and the other one made from a kyber crystal coated in ichor, meant to inflict harm against enemies. Once a target is hit, the effects are instantaneous and the arrow vanishes in a burst of sparkling light, regenerating in your quiver seconds later.

You underwent rigorous training to learn how to become a master of archery. Your bow is bound to your Cupid abilities, capable of being summoned to your aid and dismissed with a mere thought. You were taught how to control your breathing, learning that the expanding and contracting of your chest cavity during a shot can ruin your aim. Missing a target is one of the worst mistakes a Cupid can commit, meaning you must make every single shot count.

All that to say, Cupids are fierce archers as much as they are dedicated matchmakers.

They are also dangerous when startled unexpectedly.

You’re in the middle of tidying up Kuiil’s tiny kitchen space, a task you had insisted upon after he’d served you a delicious lunch, humming to yourself quietly as you scrub at the dishes when hands wrap around your waist, pulling you backwards towards someone’s chest.

You react completely on instinct, teleporting out of their hold and reappearing on the other side of the room, bow ready with an ichor arrow aimed directly at the assailant. It is only when the meager light of the nearby lantern reflects off their beskar helmet do you realize who you’re facing.

Immediately you lower and dismiss your weapon before pressing a hand over your chest where your heart is fluttering like a trapped bird. “I’m so sorry, Din,” you tell him, limbs trembling as it sinks in just how close you were to shooting him. “Maker, you scared me and—and I thought I—well, I don’t know what I was thinking, just that I had to—”

In between blinks he appears in front of you, yanking his helmet off with such ferocity your words catch in your throat. You have only the slightest of seconds to glimpse the arousal darkening his brown eyes before he slips a hand behind your neck and crashes your lips together.

He kisses you as if you’re gravity and he’ll float away if he dares to spare a moment to breathe, sending a current of warmth surging through your body. You thought the mere touch of his hand had been life-altering, but it is a mere candle compared to the wildfire his lips spark. Your eyes fall shut as you kiss back with an equal amount of fervency, bringing him closer by wrapping your arms around his neck, grinning at the groan the action spurs from deep within his chest.

There is the heavy thud of his helmet striking the ground before he’s wrapping his hand around your waist, slotting a thigh between your legs to ensure every inch of your bodies are touching. Your cheeks rub against the scratchiness of his facial scruff, an invigorating burn you think you could easily become addicted to.

An embarrassingly high-pitched whine escapes your lips when he pulls away a minute later. He’s never looked more attractive, mouth swollen and hair disarrayed from your roaming fingers. His hands cup your face, and it occurs to you as he swipes his thumbs over your cheekbones he isn’t wearing his gloves.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, sounding slightly hoarser than usual and out of breath. His gaze roams your face, like he’s trying to re-familiarize himself with your features after the time spent apart. “Especially with your bow. When you pointed that arrow at me, there was this...fierceness in your eyes I’ve never seen before. Fuck, angel, you looked so gorgeous.”

“Seriously?” you say, raising an incredulous eyebrow, because of-kriffing-course he’d be the one being in the whole universe who is turned on by a weapon being pointed at him.

“Seriously.” He leans in, forehead pressing against yours, noses brushing. It’s hard to focus when he’s this close, like you’ve again entered that separate realm where it’s just you and him.

“Din, look,” you whisper, fighting the magnetic pull insisting you kiss him again long enough to show him your marked hand. “It’s real. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

The smile that stretches across his face when he sees it is nothing short of breathtaking.

“Angel,” he says, tilting your head so the words are spoken right against your lips. “I’ve wanted to hear you say those words ever since I gave you my name.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster, @lin-djarin, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

#death and an angel #my fic #Din Djarin #din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #soulmate au #my writing

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trbl-will-find-me · 7 years ago

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We have not touched the stars; nor are we forgiven (2/3)

Everyone has a job to do.

You should eat.

It is the fourth time the creature has said as much.

Not until we hear from the Skirmishers.

She has yet to change out of her bloodied clothing. She’s not sure why Asaru thinks eating is even on her radar.

Her hands ache from gripping the shovel, and her back is locking. She feels hollow, somehow both separate from her body and trapped in it.

Hey, she asks. You don’t know where Central is, do you?

I am as isolated as you are.

She turns her attention back to digging. They’ve settled on two to a grave.

Regardless, it is too great a number.

She is still digging, caked in blood and sweat and dirt, when word comes from the ship that there is a secure communication from Skirmisher HQ. She hauls herself up and out of the hole, and makes her way towards the bridge.

“Captain, we have located your Central Officer and have allies in place who are ready to help with the extraction, but we must move quickly.”

“Is he alright?”

“They have not … tampered with him.”

She nods. “Understood. What do you need from us to make it happen?”

“A familiar face. We are allies, but my kind is not known to him.”

“I’ll go. I’m not sure how I’ll get to you, but I’ll go.”

Is this wise? Asaru asks.

“Transmit your coordinates. We will arrange for a solution.”

This is not a discussion we’re having.

“Transmitting now. Should we be expecting a surprise? The crew’s still pretty badly shaken.”

Should you not remain here?

“We will send word before our arrival.”

No, I should not remain here. Not while he’s out there.

“Understood. ETA?”

“Two hours at most.”

“You and your people have our thanks.”

“We, too, have known loss, Captain. Betos out.”

The viewscreen fades to black.

You should take off those clothes.

Excuse me? She asks the creature.

They are covered in blood. You will alarm the tall one.

Gingerly, she lifts the soiled cloth, exposing a thin, white line where the slug had torn through her. She traces a finger over it, not quite believing in her own existence.

I am sorry it was not cleaner. You did not have much time.

She lets the cloth drop, and instead threads a hand through the neck hole of her shirt, her fingers tracing over the skin once torn through by shrapnel. She’d gripped the picnic table til her knuckles had gone white while Central had removed the shards, cleaned, and patched the wound.

She scrubs at her eyes, chasing away a renewed wave of tears.

You must get ready. We do not have much time.

Maman raised her on a steady diet of stories, real, imaginary and somewhere in between. There are histories she could scribe for future generations, tall tales she could recite in her sleep, fairy tales she knows by heart.

So, yes, she believes in the magic of objects, of stacking the deck, of refusing to allow the wheel of fate to turn against you because you couldn’t be damned to find some wood to knock against.

She will apologize to him for breaking into his footlocker later.

She finds what she’s looking for quickly enough, two small aluminum tags embossed with lettering. Bradford, John A. 511-48-4360. O negative. Agnostic.

She relocks the container, sets the tags on her bunk, and grabs a change of clothes for the shower.

On any other day, she would take her time, let the water run over aching muscles while she took a few moments to get her head together. Instead, she scrubs down quickly, doing her best to expunge reminders of the day’s events from her skin and hair.

She dresses, and slips the tags from her bunk into her pocket, brushing her thumb back and forth over the embossing.

You do not think we will find him.

She pauses. Shhh, you’re not supposed to say it. Say what?

That.

Why not? Saying it does not make it come to pass.

It’s … it’s a human thing.

Ah, the concept of jinxing it.

She lets out a short bark of pathetic laughter before she can stop herself. Yeah. That’s it. Don’t jinx it.

She bundles into her armor, and spends the remaining time before the Skirmishers’ arrival setting the bridge to rights as best she can.

She lingers at the door to the Commander’s Quarters, knowing that the kind thing to do would be to begin packing its contents away. She knows it is something Central will never do on his own, and is not a task anyone else will be likely to undertake. If it is to be done, it falls to her.

She begins with the best of intentions, gathering glasses and plates to return to the mess. She folds clean laundry dumped on the sofa, separating the Commander’s clothes from his.

She takes one look at the piles folded, sorted, and separated and is on the ground sobbing before she can understand what’s come over her. She doesn’t remember the last time she cried like this, isn’t sure she ever has.

She knows so many people who are lost to her now. Her family. The Commander. Jane. Lily. Virtually every friend she’s ever made. Nearly the entire complement of the Avenger.

The loss is staggering.

It overtakes her, tearing sob after sob from her throat, til she can’t breathe, let alone think. She grips hard at the couch cushion, unable to muster any additional strength. She cannot feel the creature in her head, and she wonders, briefly, if it has left her.

I am here. I did not want to intrude.

She pushes herself up onto the couch, curling into one of the cushions. She draws in a few shuddering breaths, frantically scrubbing at her cheeks with gloved hands.

She remembers, then, when she’d last cried like this. She was little, then, just barely eleven. Maman had been gone a few weeks. They were staying in a haven somewhere inland from the Virginia coast, a frantic bet on a gentler early spring, and ADVENT had come to pay them a visit, descending from the sky in dropships that had always, perhaps erroneously, reminded her of coffins. The air had reeked of blood and death, with corpses littering the ground. She had hidden, pressed flat to the ground under the remains of a rotting front porch, cowering in the darkness until she’d heard him calling her name. She had wriggled out, brushing herself off, and wandered towards the sound, through the remains of the encampment.

When she’d finally found him, the sound that escaped from her was barely human. He’d held her while she’d howled into his coat, howled the way she couldn’t when Maman had been found dead, when Papa disappeared, when the ships shaped like coffins dropped death itself onto innocents, time and time again.

The realization that she may never see him again, that even their best attempts may be too late, that she may have to file him away on the list of those ADVENT has ripped from her life, is too much.

Her hand flies out, grabbing a pillow and bringing it to her face to muffle the scream she can no longer suppress.

She stays hunched in on herself for a few moments, trying to regain some semblance of her composure.

I did not think you wanted to alert the ship, Asaru explains.

Good call.

She cuts through the brush, away from the Avenger, refusing to look back.

“I’m coming back with him, or I’m not coming back,” she said to Tygan.

Two teams of Skirmishers are inbound, one to lead the rescue, and one to prop up XCOM’s battered remnants.

She offers a silent thanks to the Commander for the effort she’d put into cultivating the alliance between the two factions. She cannot imagine such a response from the Reapers or Templars, cannot imagine aid given so freely.

The first team disembarks, and she points them back towards what remains of her home.

A helmetless Stun Lancer extends a hand. She accepts, and is pulled onto the craft.

Inside, she finds another Lancer and a Captain, similarly free of their headgear.

They have suffered, Asaru says. They have known cruelty.

That’s why they’re helping us.

No, he insists. They are helping us because they believe it is the right thing to do.

“Captain Royston,” the Lancer who helped her aboard begins. “I am Emra Alatall. This,” she says gesturing to the other Lancer, “is Amon Vemo. And this,” she says, gesturing towards the Captain. “is Cadna Eim.”

“You have my thanks, and XCOM’s,” she says. “I know this is a huge risk to take.”

“Your people have suffered an immeasurable loss,” Eim offers. “The Skirmishers will carry her memory forward. ”

“I just hope we get a shot,” she says.

“XCOM will not fight alone,” Alatall reassures her. “Have you been briefed on the plan?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet.”

“We are planning a stealthy approach,” Vemo begins. “We have many allies stationed at the facility holding your comrade. They have made arrangements for a transfer of custody. We going in as the transport vehicle.”

She nods. “How can I help?”

“In our experience,” Eim says. “Those rescued from the imprisonment of the Elders are often disoriented. A known face facilitates a smoother extraction.”

“Keep him calm?”

“Precisely.”

“How am I getting in?” She asks after a moment’s contemplation. “I can’t just walk through the door.”

“But you can,” Alatall says. “Though it will not be glamorous.”

She eyes the manacles hanging from the Lancer’s belt. “Prisoner?”

“Prisoner. It is the simplest and the safest way to maneuver you into the cell block where he is being held.”

She nods. “Understood.”

She can hear the Speaker’s voice before they even land.

“The degenerate XCOM has once again mercilessly struck down another innocent life.”

She can feel the hives threatening to bloom across her stomach and along her arms.

“A friend of the Elders, a tireless supporter of the ADVENT administration, and a true believer in the promise of the new world.”

Bile rises in her gut.

“Yes, fellow citizens, today we mourn the loss of Elizabeth Regan.”

No screaming. Asaru says. You cannot scream now. There is nothing to muffle it. We are close to the tall one.

You’re positive? She asks.

Yes. We are close.

Alatall snaps the manacles around her wrists and Vemo helps her to the ground. Eim exits from the other side, leading their small procession through the gate and into the facility.

They walk some distance through dark, silent halls, eerie red light casting menacing shadows as they pass.

They stop in front of a door, and Eim places her palm against it.

She is wholly unprepared for the barrage of sound that assaults her ears as the door slides open. It Is the Speaker’s voice, entreating, demanding, berating, an endless loop of speeches, one no longer discernible from the next. She can’t remember the specifics of what constitutes torture, but she’s fairly certain this at least a close approximation.

Alatall removes the manacles from her wrists, and gestures for her to enter. “Our time grows short.”

He is curled on the floor, hands still cuffed.

She lowers herself to the ground next to him. “Central,” she says, gently shaking his arm. “Central, come on. Wake up.”

He stirs, and rises slowly. “Magpie? How did you …”

“I brought help. I’ll explain everything, but we’ve gotta go.”

He furrows his brow at her. “How do I know you’re---“

She draws a shaky breath. “I have seven perfectly white scars on my right shoulder from a friendly frag grenade that went off during an ADVENT retaliation somewhere in the middle of the place you said used to be Colorado. I was sixteen. I was too afraid to scream and I couldn’t down the liquor and you couldn’t decide if you were allowed to be relieved about that or not, so I gripped at the picnic table till my knuckles went white. And when you were done, you had to dig the splinters out of my hand by flashlight because they’d gone so deep.”

He reaches out a hand to cup her cheek. “You seem real enough.”

“I promise, I am, but we have to go.”

He nods, still dazed, and she works to help him to his feet, guiding him out from the cell into the quiet of the hall. Alatell replaces the manacles on her wrists, and their small procession, now larger by one reverses its course.

Thank you, Asaru says. She would be pleased.

She’s sprawled across Central’s chest in the infirmary, taking comfort in its steady rise and fall. Sleep tugs at the edges of her vision, but she resists, fearing what dreams may come.

What is this? Asaru asks.

You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.

This.

Exhaustion?

No, I understand exhaustion. There is something else here.

Grief?

No, I understand that all too well. This is like what she felt for him, but it is different.

Love?

Yes, maybe it is that. But it does not feel the same.

It’s … think of it as an umbrella term. There’s a lot of different kinds. They all feel different.

What is this one?

She sighs. This is not one of her brighter ideas. It’s … it’s easier if you go look yourself. Try not … try not to hit anything too painful.

She closes her eyes and grounds herself in the steady thump of his heart in her ear. The creature picks through carefully, doing its best to avoid the worst of her memories.

Oh, Asaru says. So, that is what it is.

Yeah, that’s what it is.

#fic #xcom #bad end au

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