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blackkatmagic · 4 years ago

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Hi Kat! I hope your doing better. My birthday is on the 29th and I was going to ask if you had a snip bit of It’s Not the Waking to share, but I do see that you probably need to be resting right now. So if nothing is readily available please ignore this request. Your health comes first. :)

Happy birth!!!

Something’s wrong, Cody thinks, and it sits like a stone in the pit of his stomach. Fox wouldn’t have ordered the troops off of Alderaan, wouldn’t have demanded that Cody wait for him the moment he got to the cruiser, unless something was wrong.

He doesn’t pace, doesn’t let himself give in to the rising tension that eats through his muscles as he watches Fox’s shuttle slide into the bay. Boil met them in the hangar, slid into place at Sinker’s right hand like it’s something that he’s trained for, and Sinker hadn’t protested. He’s on his comm, though his helmet is muted and Cody can't hear what he’s saying; he’s still talking to Doom, likely, and Cody almost wants to tell Doom to delay, to wait until Cody hears whatever Fox has to say in explanation, but—

Fox wouldn’t have given the order without reason. Cody knows that.

“Sir,” Sinker says quietly, though from the angle of his helmet Cody can tell his eyes are still on the shuttle as it settles. “Reports of trouble in the Stygeon System, Nuiri sector. Imperial holdouts refusing to acknowledge you. They're refusing to submit the records from the prison on Stygeon Prime.”

That was a Sep prison, back during the war, Cody thinks with a frown. Dooku used it for the prisoners he reallydidn’t want escaping. “Any clones inside?” he asks.

Sinker shakes his head. “Imperial officers only, as far as we can tell. If there are clones on the inside, they haven’t woken up yet.”

Woken up. Cody still doesn’t know any other term that they can use, but that one doesn’t fit. Doesn’t work, or imply the willing compliance, stripped of anything like opinion. As far as he’s been able to tell, all the clones are awake. Every last one of them, two years too late, with nothing but memories that aren’t nearly hazy enough and a fanatic sort of certainty that they’d all rather die than go back to sleep.

“Who’s closest?” he asks curtly.

There's a pause as Sinker relays the question, and then tips his head. “Commander Davijaan’s got a wing in the next system over, but Commander Jet has a cruiser that can make it there within two days.”

The familiar names make Cody close his eyes, his chest full of broken pieces. He’s looked, briefly, to see who’s survived this long, but—not thoroughly. Sometimes it’s easier not to know.

“Have Davijaan scout the system and see if he can get in. Jet should move to reinforce him. I want that prison broken open and all the holdouts taken into custody, if it’s possible. If not, just get rid of them.”

“Yes, sir,” Sinker answers, sliding back a step, and Boost takes his spot, practically shoulder to shoulder with Boil. If it was just up to Cody, he’d boot them both in the ass and tell them to stop hovering, but.

This isn't just about him. It’s all the clones. He needs to keep a hold of whatever fracturing bits of the Empire he can, because otherwise someone could step in, take power, who knows precisely what happened to them the first time. Someone who can recreateit, and no part of Cody can let that happen.

With a hiss, the ramp of Fox’s shuttle hits the deck, and almost immediately the squad starts to filter out. 91st, Cody thinks, and all of the old units have been scattered and mixed and broken, but—Neyo reclaimed these ones. And, indeed, it’s Neyo right behind them, armored and stiff and—

Shaken, Cody thinks with a jolt. It’s clear in the set of Neyo's shoulders, the fact that his arms are folded across his chest, nowhere near his blasters. It’s a vulnerable position, if there's an enemy, and there is.

He opens his mouth, takes a step, ready to call out, and then realizes with a lurching jolt like ice in his gut that Fox wasn’t the first one out.

“Neyo,” Cody says, a sharp crack across the bay, and Neyo turns his head, looks over. Pauses—

“Fox wants you to clear the bay,” he says. “Anyone you can send out, do it.”

Boost takes a short breath, grip tightening on his blaster. “With all due respect, sir,” he says. “There are already fewer people in here than I’d like.”

Neyo doesn’t snap, doesn’t waver. “Trust me, Sergeant,” he says. “You're not going to mind in about five minutes.”

A thread of dark, creeping suspicion twists through Cody's chest. “Vod—” he starts, halfway to a test, and Neyo snorts.

“I'm me,” he says, bitter humor with an edge of bite. “Udesii, vod.”

Calm down. Cody's about as calm as he’s going to get, and it’s not very. Still, between Fox and Neyo, odds are that this likely won't get them all killed outright, so he nods. “Boil, make the call,” he orders, and Boil shoots him a sideways look through the visor of his helmet but taps his comm. A moment later, there's an organized retreat of all the other clones in the bay, even the mechanics abandoning their work to retreat into the main part of the cruiser. Cody waits as they filter out, Neyo's squad following, and then raises a brow.

“Well?” he asks.

Neyo takes a breath that’s not quite steady. “Pull up your mask,” he says, and then calls back into the shuttle, “Clear!”

Cody raises a brow, but tugs his hood back up, the scarf into place. A bare moment later, there are boots on metal, Fox’s heavy stride, and an echo of lighter, almost entirely inaudible steps. When Fox appears at the top of the ramp, he’s not hanging onto the aide, doesn’t even have his blaster drawn. Surprised, Cody hesitates, but Fox looks at him for a long, long second and then says gruffly, but almost gently, “Come on.”

He’s not talking to Cody, that much is clear. And, a bare second later, the aide slides up next to Fox’s bulk, half-hidden behind him but obviously free of the binders. Fox glances back at him, apparently seeing something that Cody can't, because he reaches back, closes his fingers around the aide’s elbow. It’s not a punishing grip; Cody doesn’t have to move closer to be able to see that. Like his voice, it’s practically gentle, careful, and Cody can't even begin to fathom what changed in the space of a shuttle ride to convince Fox that this man isn't a threat.

“Fox,” he says, a little wary, because if the aide is an Inquisitor of some sort, if he’s controlling Fox—

“Emperor,” Fox says, and comes to a halt at the base of the ramp, several strides still between them. The aide is tense, dark gaze flickering from Cody to Fox and back, and beneath the edge of his coat Cody can just make out a fisted hand, clenched around something silver.

A weapon. Fox left him a weapon, Cody thinks, and raises his gaze to meet Fox’s eyes through the dark slash of his visor.

“Something you want to tell me, Fox?” he asks, flat, and Fox’s bark of laughter is almost enough to startle him.

“Yeah,” Fox says, a challenge, and draws the aide forward. Reaches for his other hand, and the aide looks as confused as Cody feels but he allows the manhandling without protest. Lets Fox pull his other hand up—

He’s holding a lightsaber, and Cody's breath leaves his lungs all at once.

“We didn’t kill all of them,” Fox says, ragged, and suddenly the angle of his body, ready to put himself between the aide and everyone else in the whole hangar, makes perfect sense. “Cody. We didn’t kill them all.”

#my writing #it's not the waking (it's the rising)#commander cody #commander neyo #commander fox #ferus olin #star wars

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momoshin · 4 years ago

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wrapped in lace — ryujin

you’d think coming home after long hours of running and making content would knock the two of you right out. but you were hoping it did just the opposite, you made sure the car driving you and the girls gets there first, needing to make sure everything was still in place from how you left it before starting your day (and to be able to change into what you had planned) ryujin gets home with the others as soon as you sit down to take a breath. they all know what you have planned, they’re just here for support before they smoothly make an exit.

“you guys got here fast” ryujin points it out and kisses your lips hello like she hadn’t just done that before going into the separate cars (which she complained about for half an hour). she hands you a smoothie, and you quickly notice she’s the other only member with one in her hands.

“ryujin you literally spent twenty minutes thinking of what smoothie to get your girlfriend” yuna rolls her eyes, making the other four laugh at the birthday girl who slightly blushes and shrugs.

“oooooh” lia cheers, interrupting your girlfriend’s soft, sort of questioning stare at you and causing the two of you to look at her, also catching the other three peeking in the room, yuna trying to squeeze her way in between the unnies. “actually we’re going to go eat, call us if you want anything, have funnn”

and just like that, the door is closed. you can hear their steps and what yuna thought was whispers ‘that’s so romantic!!’ ‘ryujin unnie’s probably going to cry’ ‘when did y/n unnie have the time to do all of that?’ that just caused a smile to break into your lips.

“when did you do all of this?” her jaw is open so wide, she’s going to catch flies soon.

“i can’t tell you my secrets” you scoff, a warm, loving smile on your lips as you approached her and dared to wrap your arms around her waist after taking her cross body and setting it on the floor. “do you like it?”

“i love it” she pecks your lips a couple of times, and through all of them you can easily feel the smile that she displayed because of the surprise “can we open presents now?”

“yes baby” the way her voice sounded like an excited kid on christmas morning, and her eyes were so bright, her smile? it melts your heart and you find yourself feeling more love for her than you thought possible.

it’s all pure from there. her pure gasps and smiles or even giggles every times she opens a present and remembers you asking detailed yet questions vague enough for her to not have a clue of the reason behind it.

“where’s the button?” you’ve found yourselves messing around with the new film camera, your girlfriend too excited to leave it for tomorrow like she would’ve said to hide how much she wanted to play with it.

“it says here-“ you begin to read the manual of instructions, and it only takes you a few seconds in to see the blinding light of the flash. “ryujin!”

“found it” she smiles, the two of you giggling softly in the moment. “im keeping this” she smiles, looking at the developing picture of you in what she thinks is your prettiest version, “thank you baby” it's a little muffled against your lips that she keeps kissing and pecking in hopes it helps her express how grateful she is.

"i have one more gift for you" your words too are muffled against her lips, and as soon as she sits back up you look for the red bow you had placed somewhere around the room and stick it right on the top of your head "ta-da"

"oh?" she smiles, opening her arms for you to walk into. she watches you put up your finger as if telling her to wait for you, and undo the zipper of your jacket, letting her catch the red, delicate lace adorning your body. "oh" she's in utter shock, like she hasn't ever seen you like this even though it's a regular occurrence "c'mere, please"

the bow inevitably falls off your head when she pulls you to her by the waist, running her hands all over your body, drinking you in. "is this new?"

"mhm" your hand wraps around the back of her head, keeping eye contact with her as she presses soft kisses to the skin of your tummy that wasn't covered by the lingerie set "got it just for today"

"well. i love it" she smiles "almost want to fuck you in it"

"who said you'd be doing the fucking?" your hands cup her face and bring it up to look at you, thumbs grazing against her lips, her pretty, pink lips that you loved so much "lay down for me?"

she trusts you enough to just go with it, and you easily move the gifts from the bed to the night stand. so she had more space in the bed and nothing broke. your hands run all over her uncovered torso by her crop top, and soon, you found your hands kneading and squeezing at her tits. hums and whispers coming out of her lips.

your legs move on their own to get you in bed, between her legs so your hands could do their thing and undo her jeans, her chuckle when you peck her stomach just like she did yours a few minutes ago rings in your ears beautifully. reminding you how lucky you are to have her, that she’s yours and you’re hers.

“i love you” you whisper against her lips when you’ve come back up, sitting on her lap with your hands on the end of her shirt to slowly remove it. “like, i’m in love with you ryujin” you stop your kisses to look at her, look for a reaction. she takes time. to control her breathing and process the words that had just come out of your mouth, her eyes are glossy and her hand runs through your hair gently.

“i’m in love with you too” she whispers after what feels like has been forever, but only has been seconds. her voice is so small and broken, she is so in love with you, it hurts her to think about it.. everything about you makes her feel in heaven.

your smile is so big though, you weren’t expecting her to not say it back, but it felt good to actually hear it. her lips find yours now, and the kiss starts so soft, slow, telling each how much you felt for the other, and its like that for some time, tongues dancing and all. but then her hands start going down to your ass, and you don’t have it in you to stay put when she moves your hips for you, her naked thighs rubbing against your clothed core in delicious ways.

“don’t take it off” she whispers as soon as she sees you sit up in her lap, and her fingers soon loop around the flimsy, tiny part covering your crotch. she thinks about putting it to the side and just watching like this, but then again something about using her strength on or for you makes her feel in control, so she does just that. tears it right off of you.

“ryujin?!” you whine. hands on her naked shoulders as you stare at your thong in her fingers.

“don’t make me gag you with it” she spits, and at the sound of her voice so deep; you whimper, specially when she runs her thumb up and down your clit, eliciting a few gasps out of you too. you try to, with all your inner strength, pull away from her hand, but instead position yourself so your legs could cross with hers. your cunts both fitting together like puzzle pieces. “fuck”

she’s been under you many times before. but the sight before you is so different from those times, she’s biting her lip, eyes half closed, her nipples perked up already, hands on your waist to control you moving, she’s groaning and grunting in such sinful ways too, making you wetter than before and easier for the two of you to move.

she’s closed her eyes when you, still riding her, stretch your arm enough to take the new camera in your hands, she doesn’t even open her eyes when you put a hand on her stomach in a more possesive way than anything, she only does so when she hears the click of the camera shooting the sight in front of it: your cunt glued to hers, your hand spread on her toned abdomen as if to tell anyone who saw the lewd image that she was yours.

she bites her lips at her own sight, you on top, the red lace that she’d yet to rip off your body hugging you so beautifully, your hair down your shoulders and back, you waiting for the polaroid to develop with your teeth digging into your bottom lip. but most importantly the sight of your pussy against hers. the noises you two made, how it felt. she feels dizzy already.

“you better not show that to anyone. specially the girls” she warns, her legs opening wider to give you more space for an advantage of getting the perfect angle between the two of you “fffuck, do that again”

“that?” she wonders if this is how you feel when she starts getting cocky. because you certainly are as you roll your hips over and over again like you had for the few last seconds. you don’t stop asking until she groans out a yes, fingers so tight around the skin of your hips that you were worried she was going to bruise you. “and i don’t know. i think jisu unnie might find it hot, don’t you?”

suddenly, you feel her breath so much closer to your lips than you remember her being, your covered nipples against her naked, hard ones, her hand fully tangled in your hair, pulling well enough to make you hiss and whimper into her lips “im not playing with you y/n” she groans “anyone else sees your pussy and it’s over for you”

“what are you gonna do?” you’re teasing her with your smile, and she hates it so much. how can you be so brave when she’s got you so vulnerable right on her cunt??

“you don’t want to find out.” her hand wraps around you to slap your ass so, so hard, you’re worried for her hand. “why are you being such a whore right now, am i not enough for you?” you’re not responding, just looking at her with your brattiest expression and hoping it pisses her off. not enough for this tight pussy?” she draws a gasp from you when she says the words ‘tight pussy’ because at that same time she’s pushed a finger into you from behind

she smiles against your lips when you muffle something against hers, not finding in you to make actual words and sentences.

“what’s that princess? i didn’t quite catch it” she smirks, kissing your lips and nose so soft as if she didn’t have a whole finger inside you at the same time

“im kidding. im sorry. im sorry” your eyes are shut closed, your clit throbbing and so is your head from all the sensations you’re experiencing right now.

“you’re so easy to handle” she chuckles. not meant to be endearing at all but degrading. “make me cum baby, fuck yourself on my fingers and make me cum. can you do that for me?” she pushes two more inside you just in time.

“yes. yes i can. yes.” you moan and shake when trying to lift yourself off her chest, and she takes the opportunity with the hand that wasn’t inside you, to free your tits out of the lace holding them away from her. you maneuver your hips to be able to sit on her fingers fully, all three of them buried to the hilt, but to be able to rub her clit with yours when you thrust back up.

“so good for me baby.” your girlfriend kisses from your jaw, to your neck, to your chest, always leaving bites soft enough to not mark any part of you. she watches you all along, loving the way small gasps, whimpers and moans all escape your lips that couldnt seem to close unlike your eyes. your eyes had been shut tight for a few minutes now, not being able to look anywhere or even at her.

the heat in your stomach starts growing, but you can’t and won’t cum without her. even if it meant holding it for however long you needed to. “are you close daddy?”

“yeah baby, almost there” ryujin kisses your sweaty cheeks and lifts her head up as much as she can to kiss your swollen lips. “you can cum, you have my permission” she brushes your hair out of your face with her free hand, pecking your lips once again as she watches your face contort in pleasure

“i w-wanna wait for y-you” you return her kisses as you can, in your vulnerable state. and she keeps grunting and moaning against your lips and even going so far as to lift her hips against yours because she just wants to see and feel you shaking on top of her so bad. so bad. “please. please.”

“go ahead princess, cum.., ff-fuck-k im c-cumming-h” her eyes roll to the back of her head, your highs are so hard that you can almost hear ringing in your ears. and the few seconds that you have over her as she still handles her orgasm, you use to kiss all over her jaw and cheeks while still rolling your hips against her.

“happy birthday baby” you whisper after a long while of the two of you looking at each other in silence and attempting to regain your breath, it causes her to giggle and cover her face with her hand at the thought of the two of you engaging in such filthy activities a few minutes ago and you being so soft and loving right after

“thank you my love, for everything” one of her hands runs her nails up and down your back as she watches you blush and smile at her. “how much time do we have left?”

“like an hour max” you whisper after looking at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “why”

“there’s one more thing i want to try”

#gif credits; ryudaeng #itzy smut #kpop smut #my stuff #itzy imagine #itzy imagines #ryujin smut #ryujin x reader #happy ryujin day :)

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animeyanderelover · 4 years ago

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I hope this is where you send a request lol. But i wanted to know if you could do prompt 16 with Kuki Urie:)

It’s been a while since I wrote anything about this fandom and creating the new masterlists made me realize just how little I wrote about them so far.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, overprotectiveness, manipulation

Prompt 16: “You don’t understand! If you accept me now, I’ll be your slave!”

He was crying. He was really crying right now. It wasn't shocking, you had seen other men crying before, but you hadn't expected him to cry. Not in front of you. Or because of you. You had always been his reason of happiness as he had told you. So seeing him spilling tears right now was breaking your own heart just like his had been just now broken. His breath was uneven, silent sobs disrupting it's natural flow. He was trying to not be too loud, keeping the volume down. But the silent cries were the worst.

You just stood there, body having gone stiff and unable to move. You wanted to comfort him like you had done always in the past. But how could you if you had been the one who had brought him the pain in the first place? Was there even something you could say right now? What was a person who had just friendzoned another who had confessed supposed to say? But you had to do something, right? You couldn't just leave him here all alone.

Urie had the feeling like someone had just slammed his heart mercilessly with a sledge, it was aching. The last time he had felt something akin to this had been when his father had died. Back then he had been a child, he had not been able to handle all the emotions. Now he was grown up and had thought that he had been able to control his feelings.

What a lie that was, he was on an emotional roller coaster whenever he had been near you. Your whole being and thoughts on you had been for a long time now flooded his mind and senses and he had thanked whoever was watching from the clouds for letting him meet you.

Thanks to you he had learned how to really live again, how to feel again. Never once had he realized before how grey and cold his world had been before. But thanks to you he had realized just how blind he had been, that his life had been nothing so far. Not without you. You had given his life in a way a purpose, something far more greater than working as an investigator. Your love.

Happiness. Joy. Excitment. This sweet and addicting feelings you stirred up in him whenever you did as much as being somewhere near him. It was so wrong, the sickenly obsession he had with you and the people who he had already let his ire out because they had managed to get on your bad side, meaning also on his bad side. He was all too aware that going that far was wrong, but he hadn't cared in the slightest bit.

How could he when you had helped him getting over his pain, being the light to lead him out of the dark hole he had been stuck in so far? Everything he had experienced with you had been like a complete new thing for him. Even the most common things like walking with you somewhere had led him to seeing the world through new eyes. You were without a doubt the cause of his euphoria.

But never before you had given him a completely shattered and burnt heart or made him cry hot and large tears. Normally he would never cry in front of people. But he was vulnerable in front of you. He couldn't hide anything emotionally when it came to you. You were after all the person who made him go through all the intense feelings.

"Why?" His voice was nearly cracking at the end, his eyes still fouced on the ground where tears were constantly dropping on. You opened your mouth several times just to close it again. You almost felt like crying too, seeing Urie in such a condition. It was just a sign of how much your rejection had really just hurt him. There was surely something you could do for him without making him feel even more shitty.

"Kuki..." You slowly stepped closer, searching in a rushed manner for something you could do to soothe him a bit. "Am I not enough? Is that it? Do you think that there is someone better?" The volume of his voice was something that reminded you of a mouse, it was hushed and barely above a whisper. You also couldn't recall a time where he had ever sounded so unsure, so anxious.

"No! That's not it! You're great! Believe me, I really think of you as a awesome and cool guy." By now you were merely a foot step away from him, noticing now that you were close up how his body was shaking due to his choked breaths and silent sobs. "I-I'm just afraid that I can't give you what you ask me to give you. I love you a lot, but in another way. I don't want to lose you because of this Kuki. I know that sounds a bit easier than it is, but...let's just stay like this. We're happy as we are right now."

"That's a lie." You bit your bottom lip when hearing his quivering voice. Slowly, very slowly, he shifted his gaze from the ground to your lips and then to your eyes. His eyes were reddened and a bit puffy, tears still streaming down his face. "How can I ever be completely happy when I'm without your love? What am I even here for then? You were the one person who taught me how to live again and for that I just want to protect, love and pamper you with everything I have. Without you and your love I'm-I'm a nobody."

"That's not true Kuki! What are you talking about? You're not a nobody! You're a great investigator and I would say that is a reason why you're here. To lead your own squad and work with the CCG to protect the citizens of Tokyo. Shouldn't that be enough? Knowing that you have to protect the lives of the many people in this city?"

The man gave you an aghasted expression, looking like you had just said the most dumbest thing ever. "The CCG? The lives of the people here in Tokyo?", he repeated after you, still having this non believing look on his face. "Do you really think they mean to me nearly as much for me as you?" With one step he closed the bit of distance you had between each other, you almost reflexive taking a step back, feeling suddenly frightened of his unhinged expression.

"You're so wrong with that (y/n). I'll let them all happily die if it means that I can spend more time with you. What are they worth anyways? The only thing I need to be happy and live a good life is you! The rest can just die!"

In such a twisted way you knew that this was somewhat like the ultimate confession of love, being ready to let others get murdered or eaten by ghouls just to be able to survive another day with the person you loved. And yet it was the most egotistical thing you had ever heard. You even felt offended, maybe because you knew Mutsuki and Saiko yourself. Was he saying he would even let his friends die? You searched for any sign on his face that would tell you that this was just a mere act out of desperation from his side. But you found nothing.

"You really mean that, don't you?" Your voice was giving your discouragment and disappointment away, which didn't go unnoticed by Kuki. His facial expressions seemed to twitch, the disappointed look in your eyes adding even more layers of pain over his already broken heart. He hated this expression, the look that told him that he had not made you happy, but only made you upset with him. He hated that. Why was he never able to be good enough for you? He wanted to be perfect, the best. Just for you. But no matter how much he seemed to try, it was never enough. Was he really that imperfect?

His silence spoke books for him and you felt slight anger rousing up inside of you. How could he say this? Would he really let his friends and comrades die? You thought that he was the kind of guy who would fight til the bitter end. You had troubles believing him.

"So you want me to feel guilty because of deaths of people you could have saved, but didn't because you weren't willing to risk your life?" Urie quickly shook his head. "That won't be your fault (y/n)! It'll their fault for not listening to orders and being careless." What was he saying? "They'll die because they're willing to give their all for the people and their job! And you are supposed to do the same, Kuki! I thought that was why you joined in the first place!"

You quickly shut up when realizing that you were damn close to yelling right now and maybe the tiniest bit because all the yelling seemed to affect Urie as well. You were also almost about to cry, but blinked quickly to get rid of the tears in your eyes.

"Be honest with me. Did you already let someone die because of me?" He fell silent for a few seconds, making you feel more and more anxious. He hadn't, had he? "...No." The answer seemed suspiciously delayed, but his face wasn't giving anything away. So you took that answer, hoping to soothe the uneasiness and anxiety inside of you. "But you would?" He seemed to hesitate for a bit, debatting on with himself whether he should lie to calm you down or say the truth. But he had already spilled it out, hadn't he? "Yes, I would."

A disappointed and shocked noise escaped your lips, rubbing your eyes whilst busily thinking about what you were supposed to make out of this. "(y/n)...Please don't be mad at me." You peeked between one of your hands currently covering your face at him. He appeared to come over as pleading, eyes begging you to forgive him. And you couldn't help, but feel your heartstrings getting tugged at.

Without any words you suddenly grabbed a jacket of yours and walked to the front door, hearing Urie following you with huge and fast footsteps. "Wait! Where are you going?"

With your hand resting on the door knob you turned around, being met with his face only inches away from yours. "I...need some time alone to think about this Kuki. You need to understand, this was maybe just a bit too much for me to take in at once. And the fact that you told me that you don't care about the lives of other people in Tokyo just because you don't want to stop coming over to me...I think I need to think about our whole relation-and friendship in general. I don't want to stop being your friend, but maybe...distancing and stopping to see each other helps you coming back to your senses."

His eyes widened, obviously your words just now had scared him, but right now you needed time to think for yourself without anyone interrupting you. So you swiftly opened the door, about to leave.

That was before Kuki slammed the door with a loud 'wham' closed, body instantly moving itself between you and the door, blocking your way out. You flinched startled, for a moment blinking shocked before you came back to your senses and annoyance started to flicker inside of you. "What do you think you're doing?! Move your ass away from the door or else I'll have to go with less nice methods!" He didn't, he just continued to drill his frightened gaze at you, seemingly not wanting to let you leave him. "Kuki! Now!"

"You don't understand!" He sounded extremely despaired, a distraught expression on his face which made you slowly take a step back from him. But this sudden move of yours seemed to trigger him and before you could even react, he had already grabbed your hands tightly in his own. "If you accept me now, I'll be your slave!"

You had temporarily abandoned all of your annoyance and anger, currently you felt freaked out by this extremely deranged behavior from his. "You have to listen to me! I'll do anything you want me to and I'll be anyone you want me to be! I'll clean for you, I'll cook for you, I'll kill for you, I'll die for you, I'll live for you! Whatever you want! But don't leave me alone! Not you too..."

You slightly tried to free your hands from his, but you were scared that he would get triggered by any sudden movements which was why you kept such things at a minimum right now. You felt truly alarmed right now, not being able to tell what he would do next. Fleeing looked like a stupid idea, he was due to his not humanly body much more physically strong and faster than you were and you didn't want to risk it. But you doubted that talking would help him either. He was clearly not in his right mind.

"You need help." You stiffened up the moment you had whispered those words loud, cussing yourself for saying something like this in front of him.

"Help? You really think I need help?" You didn't like it one bit just how much distraught he looked right now whilst still keeping a look of fondness on his face whilst gazing at you. It didn't mix well. "I don't want any help. Don't need them either. They wouldn't be able to do much anyways. I know just how bad my case is and I doubt that anyone would be able to help me. Don't you see?" You didn't know if you were supposed to give him an answer or not, but you just shook your head when hearing him muttering these words.

"The only person that is able to help me is you. You're the one who made me this way in the first place and you're also the one who can help me. You made me how I am. Don't you think it's only fair if you help me before someone really dies? You'll just be there for me and I'll take care of anything else. Doesn't that sound like a good offer?"

#yandere tokyo ghoul #yandere urie #yandere kuki urie

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hearts-hunger · 4 years ago

Text

aay’han mar’eyce (bittersweet discovery): chapter five || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

chapter one || chapter two || chapter three || chapter four

Series Summary: In search of the Jedi you’ve been tasked to find, you and Din wrestle with the bittersweet discovery of your little one’s past and destined future. || Part Three of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: You and Din struggle with your hurt in the wake of his decision.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff | Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, pregnant reader

A/N: Drumroll please..... it’s the long-awaited angst! Which I have never claimed as my forte, but I think it works for our Struggling™ pair of idiots. They just love each other but they’re so mad at each other, god bless.

You were relieved to see the Crest’s familiar shape emerge through the haze and broken trees. Your feet hurt from walking, your baby was heavy in your arms, and you’d worked yourself into total hopelessness. The sight of your home was welcome and comforting, and you felt yourself breathe easier as you came closer to it.

You lowered the ramp with the remote control on the bracelet Din made you when you first came to live on the Crest, a pretty little thing that he’d modified to control the ship and, later, the baby’s bassinet. You wished you still had that bassinet; it made travelling easier, and there was always a safe place to put Grogu if you and Din had your hands full. You wondered if you’d need two cribs once your new baby came, or if your husband would have already shipped Grogu off by then.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” you said to yourself, nearly tasting your bitterness. You tucked Grogu into his hammock with intentional gentleness and closed the bunk hatch, wishing you could curl up and sleep too.

You heard the ramp close again over the sound of the refresher tap; the cold water felt good on your skin, and you buried your face in a towel afterwards, hiding from everything for a moment. When you finally looked up, you saw Din in the mirror; you knew him well enough to know he was studying your face in the reflection.

“Cyare,” he said, his tone soft through the modulator.

You whirled around.

“Don’t cyare me, Din,” you snapped. “I’m not in the mood for it.”

You waited for the flare of frustration and annoyance in his body language; when it didn’t come, you felt a little off-kilter.

“I know you’re angry,” he finally said.

Oh, that did it. Maybe he wasn’t frustrated or annoyed with you, but you were livid with him.

“Angry?” you repeated. You marched over to him, an accusing finger pointed at his chest. “Let’s get one thing straight, Din. Angry doesn’t begin to cover how I feel about this. About you.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “And I’m sorry. But I — ”

“I don’t care,” you said, cutting him off, totally unwilling to listen to his explanation. You were finally, properly angry, and he was going to listen.

“I’m not sending our son to train with her or with any other Jedi, alright?” you said. “You can make as many deals as you like and come up with a million macho rescue missions to risk your life on. But he’s my son too, and I’m not letting him go with her.”

You realized you were practically yelling at him; while you weren’t concerned about how it would affect him - Din Djarin was made of sterner stuff, and could handle your temper - you didn’t want to risk waking the baby.

“Come up to the cockpit with me,” you said.

His helm gave a questioning tilt. “Why?”

You started up the ladder. “Because I’m not finished yelling at you.”

He followed you up, giving you as much space as he could in the somewhat cramped cockpit. Despite fully intending to keep up your tirade, he was suddenly big, imposing; for the first time in many, many years, you felt intimidated by all that beskar.

“Din,” you said softly.

He reacted immediately to your change in tone, opening his posture towards you. “What is it?”

You shook your head. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this angry with him, and you certainly couldn’t remember the last time you’d been even the tiniest bit scared of him. All of a sudden, you realized you wanted your husband, not the unreadable Mandalorian standing in front of you.

You worried the hem of your shirt. “Can you please take off your helmet?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, moving to comply without hesitation. He removed his helmet and set it on the dashboard; his face was lined with worry and hurt. “Sorry, cyare.”

His expression crinkled in a wince as he remembered you’d asked him not to call you that. “I mean — sorry. Just — sorry.”

You felt your anger lessen by degrees — not enough to let it go, by any means, but enough that you were more willing to listen to him. Really, you wanted to know why he’d made such a decision; you wanted him to explain it to you, to show you that it really was in your son’s best interest, to convince you that your husband wasn’t suddenly a completely different person.

“It’s ok,” you said tiredly. “I’m not — I just don’t want you sweet talking me, ok? You need to talk to me. Really talk to me, right now.”

He nodded. “I am. I will. You have my full attention, and I will hear you out completely.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “But you’re not going to change your decision.”

His expression was pained. “No, cyare. I won’t. But I think you know that I can’t. We can’t.”

“We?” you repeated. “I didn’t make this decision, Din. You did, by yourself, and you completely ignored me while you did. Since when do you make decisions about our family by yourself?”

“I didn’t want to,” he said, and it frustrated you how sincere it was. “You have to know that. And I apologize for ignoring you — that’s not the way I wanted this to go, believe me.”

He ran a hand over his face, his remorse clear as day in his expression. “I had to. I didn’t know what else to do. She was going to leave, and we were going to lose the only Jedi we’ve managed to find.”

You wanted to say that it would have been a good thing, but despite your intentions of bringing him up here to yell at him, you made yourself hold your tongue.

He looked at you with a surprising gentleness.

“It’s not forever,” he said. “It’s only training. Mandalorian children leave for training, too.”

“He’s not going for Mandalorian training, though,” you said. You understood that he was trying to comfort you, but the length of time Grogu would be gone was only a small concern next to the kinds of people he’d be with.

“Didn’t you hear what she said?” you pressed. “I can’t think of anything more different from the Way than — than thinking loving your family is wrong.”

"She didn't say that," he corrected. "She said attachment makes you vulnerable, which is true."

You tried to reconcile his justification with what you knew him to believe, with what he'd lived out since the day you'd met him.

"Vulnerability isn't bad," you said. "You taught me that. And if our son goes trains with the Jedi, he'll be taught that it is. Doesn't that bother you?"

His expression, always so easily readable, flickered with uncertainty.

“It does bother you,” you said, and with the realization came a surprising wave of relief. To know you were at least agreed on that, even if he wouldn’t admit it, was reassuring to you.

His posture stiffened with agitation, and you knew you’d hit a sore spot. You knew he wanted to pace, but there wasn’t room for it; he drummed his fingers on the top of his helmet instead.

“It doesn’t matter if it bothers me,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself.

You balked. “How can it not matter, Din? You’re his father. Of course it matters.”

He shook his head. “What matters is that I honor the vow I made to him. That we honor that vow.”

He looked up at you, his expression starting to show the frustration you felt.

“Has that crossed your mind at all?” he asked. “That you made a vow to him? In front of me, in front of the armorer?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Of course it has. It’s why I don’t want him to go with Ahsoka.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” he snapped. “Our vow was to return him to the Jedi.”

“Our vow was to be his parents,” you corrected. “And I think that overrides the promise to return him to the Jedi. What kind of parents would we be if we watched him grow up thinking that attachment and love were dangerous?”

“We’re not going to watch him grow up at all,” he shot back, bitterness and anger pouring from his tone. “Don’t you get it? He’s older than both of us. Once we’re gone, he’ll be completely alone.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “The Tribe — it’s completely gone, cyare. If there’s anyone left, they’re scattered. I don’t even know where the armorer is. Grogu needs to be raised in a clan, or raised by his own kind. We were never going to be able to keep him forever.”

You knew what he said was true. His rate of aging wasn’t a problem now, when you and Din were both relatively young, but Grogu would live to be much older than either of you. Din was right. If you were a part of a bigger clan, Grogu could be raised as a Mandalorian — it might take a few generations, but he would never be on his own.

“Let’s find another covert, then,” you said. “Or try to find Paz, or the armorer, or anybody from the Tribe who might have survived.”

Din shook his head. “No. There’s no telling where they are, and the covert on Nevarro is the only one I ever knew of. Besides, we have a Jedi right here he can go with. We’re not going to have this kind of chance again.”

“I don’t want him to go with the Jedi,” you said, for what felt like the millionth time. “Are you even listening to me? I don’t want him trained like that.”

“It’s not our choice how to train him,” he argued. “We didn’t vow to return him to the Jedi unless we didn’t like what they teach, and then, hey, I guess we can just do whatever we feel like doing.”

You frowned. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” he said, exasperated. “I’m just trying to make it clear that our opinions on Jedi training have nothing to do with the decision we need to make.”

“The decision you already made, you mean.”

He scowled. “Yes, and it’s a good thing I did, because you would have let her walk away.”

“Yes, I would have,” you shot back. “And I never would have dreamed you’d do anything different.”

“Then you’re not able to look at this objectively,” he snapped, his frustration rolling off him in waves. “Do you think I like the fact that he'll grow up learning the exact opposite of what I was taught? That I like sending him off to the people I grew up knowing only as the enemy? My father would be rolling in his grave if he knew. But I’m doing this because it’s what’s best for our son. I’m doing it because it’s what I vowed to do.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Then you care more about the Way than you do about your son’s well-being.”

Din flushed with anger.

“That’s not fair,” he said. “You knew I was bound to the Way when you met me, and you agreed to live by the Way when you married me. I'm not asking you to do anything you didn't already agree to.”

“I didn’t agree to abandon our son.”

“We’re not abandoning him,” he said, and you could tell he was quickly reaching the end of his patience. “You knew when we adopted him we had to return him to the Jedi. It wasn't like the traditional adoption vow. He's supposed to go back to his people, and we're going to honor that vow.”

“What if I won’t?” you said. Your last attempt, your last recourse. “What will you do then?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, stunned, and your challenge hung in the air between you. You’d never refused to go with him on something before, and he’d never had to answer such a question.

“Cyare,” he said, quiet and numb. The furious, sparking anger was all but gone, replaced by a stony determination and a bone-deep weariness.

“Djarins honor their vows,” he said finally. “As long as you bear my name, you’ll bear that vow.”

You sucked in a breath. “Din — ”

He closed the space between you, pressing a gentle kiss to your brow. “I have to go.”

“Din,” you said again. You put your hand on his arm and held tightly. “Don’t leave.” Not like this.

He gently pried your hand from him. “We need all the daylight we can get, cyare.” He was still for a moment, then drew your hand up to his mouth and kissed your knuckles.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, without hesitation. “Please don’t go. It’s not your fight.”

The shadow of a rueful smile crossed his face. “I made a vow to help her. I won’t back out on it.”

He held your hand for a moment longer before he let you go. He took his helmet from the dash and put it back on again, masking himself in that armor that had never felt so distant, so unreachable.

“Din,” you said as he opened the cockpit doors. He turned and tilted his head, and the beskar was familiar to you again, just for a moment.

“Come back to me,” you said.

He nodded once, solemn.

“I’ll always come back to you, cyare. You know that.”

And then he was gone, leaving to risk his life in someone else’s fight, and it took everything in you not to run out and beg him to stay.

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekcryptid, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies, @theorganasolo, @qhbr2013, @willowtheewisp, @lori-tovar, @sarybennett ♡

series taglist: @kyjoraven, @sarahjkl82-blog, @remmysbounty, @bitchin-beskar, @cosmicbreathe, @prettyboyskywalker, @happyxdayxbitch, @radiowallet, @marvelous-glims ♡

please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡

#thoughts on how i handled the angst are always appreciated #i'm always looking for ways to improve!!#i hope y'all like it <3 #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #aay'han mar'eyce #jate'kara series #maddie writes stuff!#usercaty #clan dinui

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sokkabeifong · 4 years ago

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Can you write some tokka angst 🙏

ofc I can anon and IM SORRY THIS IS SO LATE but better late than never I guess. this is set in modern times because modern times are fun to write for tokka okay? a bit longer than usual but the more angst the better am I right

Toph had promised Sokka that she’d go to the hospital when it happened, so that’s exactly what she’d done. She hadn’t promised that she’d actually get anyone’s attention. Or check in. Or ask for help.

Although… the contractions were getting more insistent, and she doubted the medical staff would leave her alone if she stripped off the stupid maternity pants and just squatted down right there on the lobby floor.

With a heavy sigh, she waddled her way over to the nearest front desk. Spirits, she hadn’t been in a hospital in years. She wasn’t even sure what the different branches and buildings and desks were all for. But there was no way that she was giving birth at home. Katara was in medical school, sure, but she wasn’t done. And Toph wasn’t about to risk her life and her child’s life for a “practice trial.”

Still, there was something unnerving about the hospital, with its stuffy feeling and too-squeaky floor. It feels clean, clean in a way that you can just sense. She didn’t need sight to tell her just how antibacterial this place was.

A pinging, traitorous part of her wishes that someone was here with her, that she didn’t have to do this alone. But it was her own stupid pride that had taken a cab all alone in a Wednesday night, and the only person she truly wanted present was somewhere she could never get him back from. She’d promised him before he died that she would go to the hospital if she felt even the slightest change. He wanted her to be safe, he said.

And now, of course, Sokka was dead and gone while she was here, swollen belly stretching out her sweater and maternity pants. As much of an annoyance as labor would be, getting the thing out of her was going to be a blessing. She’d spent too long unbalanced and vulnerable to attack.

“Can I help you?”

Toph was broken out of her musings by the question from someone sitting at the closest desk. She turned her head to where she hoped the person, a woman by the sound of it, would be.

“I hope so,” she smiled, falling back into a generic cover ID face. “I should probably see a doctor.”

“All right,” said the woman. She heard the clicking of nails on a keyboard, then something sliding across the desk. “Why don’t you take one of these forms, fill it out, and bring it back here?”

“Can’t ,” she said shortly. “I’m blind.”

“No worries.” The woman clicked her pen open like she had blind pregnant ladies come into the ER every day. Who knew - maybe she did. “I’ll ask you the questions and you answer, okay?”

“Okay.” Toph winced as another contraction hit her. At least the protruding baby bump gave her something to lean against. She made sure to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth as the woman began questioning her, just as Katara had instructed her to do. I’m a few hours, the whole thing would be over and then - she bit her lip and redirected her thoughts.

She wished Sokka was -

She redirected that thought, too.

“Reason for your visit?” the woman asked, yapping the pen against the clipboard.

Toph waited a moment before she turned around yet again, because she was in the middle of another contraction and couldn’t decide whether she’d rather scream or just go ahead and kill the lady.

“My contractions are about eight minutes apart,” she said.

The lady blinked once and then repeated, “They’re eight minutes apart from each other? So you’re in labor. Are you in active labor?”

Toph smiled sweetly. “Are you asking me to stick my fingers down and see whether or not I’m dilated to seven centimeters?”

To the woman's credit, the crudity didn't seem to faze her, and she plowed ahead with, “Ma’am, this is the ER. We’re not equipped for a birth. I’ll call you a wheelchair immediately, and we’ll get you up to Labor and Delivery. Trust me, it’ll be faster than checking in here and waiting for a transfer.”

“Where’s Labor and Delivery?”

“Fourth floor, and I -”

“I’ll just walk over there. It’s fine.”

“Ma’am, I really must insist. You’ve technically checked in—” she waved the yellow paper “—and you’re our responsibility now.”

Toph leaned heavily against the counter and deftly snatched the page out of the woman’s hand. At least her coordination was still functional.

“There. Now I didn’t check in, and I’m my own problem.”

“Ma’am, please. You’re in no condition to go wandering the hospital, whether you take that against your pregnancy or your eyesight. Let me just call someone to wheel you over.”

Luckily for the woman, another contraction rendered her unable to give a snappy retort. She waited for it to pass, quietly, quickly, then faced the lady once more.

“Fine,” she said tightly. “Fine. Fine.”

“Thank you,” the lady said, obviously relieved. Apparently she did not deal with stubborn blind pregnant women on the daily.

By the time she had been put in a wheelchair and taken through the long halls and winding corridors to Labor and Delivery, Toph had managed to calm herself down. Not because the situation was in any way calming, but because she’d stressed her body and mind out enough that she’d fallen into full-blown mission mode.

Which was fine. It’d probably be easier to give birth with that attitude.

“Well, you seem pretty together, Toph,” the nurse gushed as she checked in yet again at the front desk. “We’ll get you back as soon as possible. For now, if you can just take a seat in one of those chairs, and listen for your name.”

Toph let her real self fade into the background, giving over control to the five other women sitting in the waiting room, and promptly closed her eyes. If she was going to be in pain, she might as well rest while she could.

The calm blind girl out in the lobby was already a topic of discussion.

It wasn’t completely unheard of for someone to come in alone. Life was weird and sometimes people gave birth without anyone they knew to help them through the experience. But this girl? The calm young girl with ebony in her hair and in her eyes wasn’t any of the typical stories. She was clean and put together. She was calm and young and looked like the kind of person who would have a dozen friends by her side, even if the father of the child was no longer in the picture.

And yet, there she sat. First in the waiting room and then in her hospital room.

Alone.

Moreover, Miss Toph Beifong had claimed on her paperwork that her contractions were now five minutes apart. However, she was sitting too calmly for that. In fact, the nurse had sat with phone in hand and timed out more than ten minutes, and the girl hadn’t moved once. She’d sat there calmly. No wincing, no cursing, no crying.

It wasn’t until the nurse pulled the woman back and got down to take a look that anyone believe the claim at all.

"Shit,” the nurse murmured.

The doctor startled and glanced up to see if Toph had been offended by the curse. Fortunately, the girl seemed more concerned with how many fingers she had, and didn’t seem to have heard.

“What?” the doctormurmured, more quietly.

“Her cervix is nine centimeters,” the nurse answered.

“Shit,” the doctor echoed.

By the end of it all, Toph had decided she did not like labor. She’d made that decision before she began crowning, and nothing that followed did anything to change that. While she had experienced worse pain in her life, she had never experienced that kind of pain.

She had once spent four straight hours being absolutely crushed by a girl at the gym and, at the peak of labor, she was pretty sure she’d trade out that experience for her current one.

Nevertheless, she didn’t scream. She screwed up her eyes and doubled her body up and flexed her fingers. Tears leaked from her eyes from the sheer stress of it all. But her lips remained tightly closed. The skin around them grew white from where she bit them between her teeth, and the nurses were afraid she’d draw blood.

One well-intentioned nurse had advised that she just give in and cry out.

Toph had rolled her eyes, widened her legs, and pushed again.

In the end, nature was inevitable. Toph had always had someone to remind her to take good care of her body, so the whole experience was over in a few hours. She collapsed back against the wet bedding. There was sweat and blood and who-knew-what all over her, and she’d probably never feel clean again.

There was screaming in the background, and her eyes finally focused on the small infant being washed by the hospital staff.

Then her view was cut off by the ring of congratulating nurses.

“It’s a beautiful girl. Do you have the name ready for her?”

“Call it Toph, for all I fucking care,” Toph murmured, too quietly for anyone to make out. She turned over on her side, away from the child, and shut her eyes tight.

Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning in her sleep, Toph was awoken by the small mewing sound coming from her bedside. She sighed. She’d tried to have the baby whisked away to some far-off nursery where she wouldn’t have to ignore its presence, but apparently the hospital didn’t “do that anymore.”

Spirits, she felt so empty. Tired and empty and drained.

Deciding she could avoid it no further, Toph feels her way to the other side of the bed. The hospital is quiet, and she can’t even guess what time it is. Probably late at night. She waddled over to the bassinet, and the mewing became a full-fledged scream.

She jumped. The baby continued screaming, but less so, as if it hadn’t realized anyone was there. She found herself reaching down, feeling the child, the blankets, so afraid she would drop it or break it or… worse. For a moment she hesitated.

This is your baby, she thinks. You’re allowed to pick it up. It’s yours. And his. You can pick it up.

Her. She could almost hear Sokka’s voice echo through the room, reminding her that their child wasn’t an it. The thought made her smile.

Slowly, carefully, as though her life depended on it, Toph lowered her arms around the tiny, tiny baby and lifted her up. The baby stopped bawling and snuggled against her mother’s chest.

“Hello,” she said stupidly, like the kid could respond. But her mouth kept moving. “Um. Uh, my name’s Toph. I’m your - Spirits, I guess I’m your mom now, huh?”

The baby gurgled, her lips curled like she might cry again. Toph hurried to keep talking.

“Oh, God, um. What else, what else… uh, you have a bunch of aunts and uncles,” she said. “They’re all gonna help raise you. They’re annoying sometimes, but they mean well. You’re our first baby, you know.”

Our. The word made Toph close her eyes for a second. Try as she might, there would be no more “our.” There was only “she.” The “our” in her partnership was long gone. How was she supposed to tell her child that?

She decided to start with the basics.

“Your daddy was so brave,” she whispered. It hurt to talk about Sokka in the past tense, but she kept going. “He was so, so strong and brave and I just know he would have loved to meet you. He already loved you, you know. He wanted to meet you so bad, kid. He just never got the chance.”

The baby blinked, her eyelids heavy like hearing about the father she would never meet was too much for one night. Toph wholeheartedly agreed and set her down in the bassinet once more, making sure she was secure before plodding back to her own bed and face-planting on the blankets.

The nurse had told her the baby’s eyes were blue. She let that thought sink into her heart before drifting off to sleep.

#atla #tokka #avatar the last airbender #sokka #toph #toph beifong

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officialleehadan · 4 years ago

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Acrux Resonance

Andra had never expected to be a teacher. Well, not really. Sure, she had taught people things before, how to fix a ship. How to plot a nav-path. She even taught two of the girls who lived under her dirty little flat on Asteroid Base 42 how to throw a punch when she found out they were having trouble with some of the local flavor form the shipyards.

But teaching a whole class of the galaxy’s most powerful psionics how to fight an alien race? Well, she supposed that wasn’t exactly anybody’s first guess.

“Reach for each other,” she told her class of almost thirty psionics, all telepaths with strong telekinesis for the moment, and all of them powerful enough to reach between solar systems when they needed to. They were in groups of two and three, all syzygy-linked, and used to working together. It made things easier. Andra might know how to fight the alien queens, but she didn’t know much about basic telepathy except what Cygnus taught her on the fly. “You’re all comfortable with your bonds, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble finding your bond and getting a good, firm grasp on it from both ends.”

She was glad that she and Cygnus spent hours on the ship to Blood Star base working out how to explain what they did, and how to do it. She wasn’t used to the language needed, and he, by virtue of being the Blood Star’s leader, was needed elsewhere.

Which left Andra in the odd, uncomfortable position of teaching everyone how to do the trick she had discovered to defend her own mind. To think that she had started this whole adventure as a nobody Edge mechanic with a dirty, broken old ship and a laughing telepath making jokes about space dust in the manifold.

Things had changed, just a little, since then.

“You’re used to thinking of your bond as a single road between you,” she continued, pacing through the crowd. There was a podium, but she couldn’t bring herself to use it. It felt too much like playing at being someone she wasn’t. “But it’s not. You aren’t the same person, so your bond is actually made of more than one thread. Yours, and those of your partner.”

She could feel her own bond with Cygnus now, the sharp-edged silver of his mind, woven with the deep bronze of her own. He was working with another group, trying to find more syzygy bonds. They had some, but they would need more, a lot more, for the coming fight. The call had already gone out through the galaxy, and everyone with even a pinch of psi-sensitivity was gathering to try and help.

Andra didn’t want to distract him, and so she set her mind on her current task.

“Feel for the way your minds work together,” she continued as she caught the eye of Indus Crux, who circled the room, a box of crystals in hand. He set one out between each group. When he passed her, Andra claimed one of the clear lumps of crystal, one that came to a fine, terminated point and shone in the sterile light of the base. “The aliens work by themselves. They’re all lone minds, and that makes them vulnerable. We can use that against them.”

With a care for her own control, which wasn’t perfect, Andra opened her mind to them, and showed them how to take a mental ‘tone’ and echo it between their minds until it became a resonance that could shatter apart the very matrix that made up their inhuman enemy.

“You have to work together,” she said as she felt across the room and gave a nudge here and there as the groups felt their way through the exercise for the first time. “An echo needs a hard surface to bounce off, so once you’ve started, you need to be able to control it so that it builds to the right frequency.

Cygnus was at a stopping point, and just in time. She sent a little spark of thought down their bond, and he responded easily when she followed it with the same tone they used to defeat the last queen they fought. This time was different, of course. Now she had thirty students watching as they tossed the tone back and forth between them, flavored with his power and her steady determination.

When the frequency was just right, she took it from telepathy and shot it through their shared telekinesis.

The crystal in her hand shattered apart and pooled off her fingers as glittering sand.

“This is how we beat them,” Andra said as she dusted crystal dust off her hands, and Cygnus left her with a ‘kiss’ on the cheek before turning back to his own work. The students tittered a little amongst themselves, but it was an understanding sort of laugh. No few of them were together in one romantic configuration or another. Her relationship with Cygnus was no secret, especially on a base full of telepaths and empaths. “Now that you’ve seen how it works, let’s see you put theory into practice. Time to break some crystal.”

+++

Guiding Stars:

Andra was a mechanic and a pilot with nothing but an old, battered ship to call her own. Cygnus Volans is the most powerful psion to ever live. They were on opposite sides of a messy revolution, until a shared vision of the future brings their two warring sides together against a much greater threat.

Procyon Moon

Altair Chariot

Vega Dignity

Cappella Besieged

Canopus Emergent

Nihal Collision

Spica Interlude

Polaris Eclipsed

Sirius Empowered

Mizar Orbit (Free on Patreon)

Dabih Risen

Ankaa Igniting (Free on Patreon!)

Leporis Crush (Subscriber Only!)

Porrima Chain

Menkent Ripple

Atrea Rest (Free on Patreon!)

Arcturus Rally (Free on Patreon!)

+++

More Stories!

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#Write #writer #written #writing prompt #prompt #prompts #story #novel #fantasy #fantastic #romance #romantic #love #magic #magical

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livlepretre · 4 years ago

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Hey so this is something I meant to ask a while ago, but I totally forgot about it until like five minutes ago. A few chapters ago, Klaus told Elena he hadn’t slept with anyone in years. Is this a head canon you have about Klaus? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought I remembered you saying you thought he would have been sexually reckless in his very early vampire years. If you do think he’s been celibate more recently, is this because he was kind of a paranoid reclusive for a while there? I feel like what I’m asking has different responses based on which universe we are speaking about—whether that be canon, FE canon, or SWBS canon. Cuz like I could see you needing to add that in there so there’s no possibility Klaus has gotten other women pregnant recently in the SWBS narrative. Long story short, I guess I just want to know if there was a reason for this specific line and how you head canon Klaus’s sex life has been over the course of a thousand years.

oh my God YESSSS I love this ask haha

I think that Klaus lost his virginity to Tatia Petrova, and she was the only woman he ever slept with as a human. (She was also sleeping with Elijah, but I do think she was in love with both of them but Elijah was the one who offered that shot at getting married/having a better life, and Tatia was enough of a realist to try-- unsuccessfully-- to break it off with Klaus, but that’s a whole other headcanon.)

Her death fucked him up pretty much permanently. I think his whole “love is a vampire’s greatest weakness” thing is a result of this tragedy-- this was him turning his heart to stone after having it utterly broken. And of course... also turning his heart to stone in the wake of not even knowing how Tatia felt about him in the end-- was she using him? Stringing him along? Did she really love him back? He’ll never know, because his parents murdered her in the most gruesome and terrifying way possible.

This doesn’t mean he doesn’t indulge his appetites though. He and his siblings quickly descend into lusts of every sort-- their bloodlust and their sexual appetites intermingle, get confused-- Klaus dabbles with women, playing games with consent and seduction using compulsion, egged on by Kol, and even Elijah, and egging them on in turn. His lovers are often his victims, especially in those early days, when he had less control over his appetites and left a lot more bodies in his wake. It wouldn’t be very long before the list included men as well as women, and those early years would have been almost like a kind of frenzy-- a savagery fueled by the madness of the curse, the fact that their lives had been ripped apart by their parents whom they should have been able to trust, by the dark maw of his grief.

I think he and Rebekah would have become lovers sometime around 10, 20 years into being vampires-- the subtext of the show supports their incest-- they’re just too weird together!-- and I headcanon that he would have been the one to take her virginity. It would have to be far enough into their curse that by then all of the social mores prohibiting various cruelties and abominations like sibling incest would have been stripped from them-- they were already delighting in murder, torture, rape, etc by then for some time, slaves to their own damnations-- but soon enough after the turn that Rebekah wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone/had the opportunity to have a lover. I could see this being something that would spur Klaus’s possessiveness-- and he’s very possessive of Rebekah. I don’t even see it as romantic in any way-- I think sex for Klaus is largely a mechanism of control and dominance, and he exerts it over Rebekah, his favorite sibling, his pet, the very most. Any hint that she’s going to stray from him, or give her heart, loyalties, and affection elsewhere, and he uses his sexual hold on her to keep her there, and kills the lover for good measure. (Why just Rebekah? Because I don’t actually think the incest extends elsewhere... except maaaybbeee Kol/Rebekah... well, because 1) she’s the only girl and Klaus is definitely misogynistic enough to view this as a weakness or something he can control 2) she’s younger, and her personality is easier to control than Kol, who is a wild child and bucks authority on top of being as suspicious and paranoid as Klaus, or Elijah, who is Klaus’s equal and whose wrath Klaus is always always wary of.)

So, for a very long time, I think that Klaus sleeps around in a casually vicious way, with Rebekah as his only long-term, on again-off again lover (although, there are probably some mistresses here and there, and probably some witches too, who might last a bit longer, or who might make it out alive), until we get to Katerina.

Katerina. The woman with Tatia’s face. A duplicate, body and soul. She’s the greatest danger Klaus has faced since his turning, because she’s the one girl his heart might be vulnerable to. So he shores himself up even more. Strengthens that wall of stone around his heart, and keeps himself cold to her. He can’t resist taking her as his lover, of course, or keeping her as his mistress while he gathers the resources necessary to sacrifice her. But all the while, even while he has her in his bed every night, even as he’s plotting her murder, he’s seething with fury and jealousy. He’s envious of Elijah, who falls in love with her, plain and simple; envious of Trevor, even, for the same reason... because she is the one woman he wants, but he’s also too selfish to ever contemplate doing anything other than murdering her for the sake of obtaining his power, so she is also the one woman he cannot have. And he cannot ever allow himself to love her, because he will definitely kill her. And he’s furious when Elijah comes up with a plan to save her, because Klaus is also afraid of Katerina. Afraid of that possibility that if he falls in love, it will be a weakness, just like his love for Tatia was a grave weakness. The thing that was his undoing oh so long ago.

Of course, Katerina runs, and Klaus feels this proves him absolutely right about her.

A few more centuries pass. I think with time we see his bloodlust slaked, and more and more of his bedmates survive the encounters. He grows bored, and restless. There’s no more hope for ever breaking the curse, and so his life feels very static. He has nothing to look forward to specifically. He takes lovers here and there, and he falls in and out of Rebekah’s bed, but nothing touches that stone heart of his.

This changes pretty significantly in the 20s. By then he’s suffered a harrowing blow. The family is broken apart, and it’s just him and Rebekah-- really just him and Rebekah, indefinitely-- for the first time he can ever recall.

This is when Stefan joins the picture... Stefan, whom Rebekah adores, but who can be something different than every other lover Rebekah has had-- he can be that missing brother for Klaus-- who is looking for someone to fill the void now that Elijah (and Kol, and Marcel, but honestly not Finn because he’s been daggered for eight centuries) is gone. And because Klaus’s ideas about sex and power and sibling love are all screwed up, and because Stefan is charming and handsome and fun, Rebekah and Stefan’s affair quickly becomes Rebekah and Stefan and Klaus’s affair-- the three of them all tangled up together. And it’s precarious but Rebekah will take whatever she can have and Klaus is greedy for emotional fulfillment and Stefan is high all the time and having a great time having great sex so he doesn’t take any of it as seriously as he definitely should.

Then of course there is the separation.

I think during this long time period Klaus probably continues his pattern of casual sexual flings, but I doubt he really gets close to anyone. In fact, other than Rebekah or Katerina, I have the feeling that Stefan is the only other person he was sexually involved with that he really cared about. That’s why he wanted him back in 2010 when he ran into him again and the timing seemed right.

I guess this now gets into the present-- my feeling isn’t so much that Klaus has been celibate as a matter of choice or paranoia or anything (although, he is paranoid, which is why he hasn’t fallen in love again in a thousand years), just that he is simply so old that years might pass between flings and he doesn’t really notice. It doesn’t seem like that long for him necessarily-- years can feel like weeks at this point-- and he’s grown pickier as he’s gotten older-- someone has to interest him for him to pursue, and it takes more and more to interest him now than it did before.

Like, the show does suggest to me that Klaus may have been sleeping with Greta Martin, and that would fall directly in line with his MO-- we’ve seen him sleep with witches before, and we know that power does interest him. He’s not exactly upset by her death though, even though he seemed to like her-- also in line with how he refuses to become emotionally invested in his lovers.

I do think though that he was sleeping with Stefan in that summer they spent together-- again, Stefan is an exception to the rule, although he’s not in love with Stefan-- Stefan slides into that weird Klaus category of “brother,” which is a gray area muddled in with lover for him-- essentially the same place that Rebekah occupies, but without the same levels of (faint) protection that actually being Klaus’s blood sibling provides. It’s fascinating to me that Klaus would reinitiate the affair with Stefan without returning Stefan’s memories-- it implies that he wanted Stefan’s devotion pure and simple, like making him fall into his orbit again to see if it will happen again, but it also implies a selfishness and greed for Stefan’s devotion, because he wants it focused on himself and not at all to share with Rebekah.

I’m sure there was a wild week or two where they all resumed their relationship when Rebekah was reawakened before Klaus discovered Stefan had been lying all summer about Elena.

My last thought on all of this is to do with Klaus and Elena. I’ve pondered and pondered and pondered why Klaus would choose to kill Jenna when Elena had already promised to go along with him willingly, obviously for the sake of her loved ones, and I had to think he was angry with her and taking it out on her that he had to kill her at all-- because there was a part of Klaus that wanted her for himself, and he couldn’t have her because, once again, he’s way too selfish to ever consider doing anything other than securing his own power.

I suppose this takes us up to the present.

I put that line in SWBS but left it intentionally easy to misconstrue-- Klaus says he hasn’t had a woman in years, which makes it clear that there’s been no one he could have gotten pregnant, but there’s been some subtext with Stefan’s responses to Elena sleeping with Klaus that imply that he has that history with Klaus himself-- I think the only fic I have where I wrote it without assuming that Stefan and Klaus were sleeping together that summer was After the Fire, But Before the Flood, but that was only because I wrote most of it before season 3 aired/before that season 3 promo ignited the Klaus x Stefan alarm bells in my brain. So anyway, in SWBS, Klaus and Stefan have that recent sexual history, and Klaus was probably sleeping with Rebekah a bit before Mystic Falls too, but does Klaus even see her as a woman? Doubtful, honestly. There’s something else going on there.

I’m pretty fluid though in terms of what I think Klaus’s recent sexual history is-- sometimes like in Just A Glimpse, he’s been sleeping with Greta, sometimes the affair with Rebekah and Stefan is full steam ahead like in Fairytale Ending, and sometimes it all fizzles on him like in SWBS.

I do still think it’s hilarious and amazing that the only time Klaus canonically sleeps with someone in TVD it’s because Hayley negs him into oblivion with her (entirely fair and accurate) assessment of his artwork.

#klaus #klaus mikaelson #anonymous #swbs #fairytale ending #just a glimpse #atfbbtf

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parrishh · 4 years ago

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for the anon message starting with "your meta is great! one question, though": putting your question and my response under the cut, since your ask had spoilers in it!

the question: your meta is great! one question, though: do you think it's possible that adam didn't tell his friends they broke up after the dorm room incident, since they all seemed to help him with his motorcycle adventure to the barns in cdth (though i suppose he could have hidden the ronan reason)? my first thought was that he told fletcher to say that lie about ronan if a stranger came asking about him, but i can definitely see how adam genuinely telling his friends that lie would fit into the lies he has already told them.

my response: thank you! this is really interesting and i definitely didn't think of it this way. it's possible, for sure, but i think i'm more inclined to believe he just told them they broke up (or let them come to that conclusion themselves and didn't dispute it) for a couple reasons. reason #1 is that it was just the easier option and fit more neatly into his false, clean narrative. i think if he asked that of fletcher, fletcher would (reasonably) want to know why (and maybe start re-thinking adam's excuse re: the murder crab situation), and i don't think that's a can of worms adam would be willing to open. i don't think this reason is entirely selfish, either. he probably wants to keep his friends in the dark about ronan as much as possible in order to protect ronan, too. reason #2 is that asking something like that of fletcher would take a certain amount of vulnerability and trust that adam definitely doesn't have in his harvard friends. i think he's too concerned about autonomy and having control over situations to believe that fletcher would just do as he asked, and that he would rather just handle it all himself and let everyone else believe everything's peachy keen

HOWEVER. the one thing giving me pause is that he met up with declan by the food trucks when all of his friends were there. they would clearly recognize him as ronan's brother since they supposedly look so alike, and i'm not sure how adam would explain why he's hanging out with ronan's brother if they're broken up. so you might be right! i don't know. adam is a mystery

#mister impossible #mister impossible spoilers #mi spoilers #tdt #answered #anon #w's mi asks

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vespertineflora · 4 years ago

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Title: no angels could beckon me back

Rating: Mature Summary: What he had with Lan Xichen should have been enough; Jin Guangyao hadn't intended to confess his feelings, and he certainly hadn't meant for them to be confessed like this. (1.6k, sappy love confessions, second person POV)

Jin Guangyao is just very, very in love 😞

~~~

“I love you.”

The words surprise you as they slip from your lips and against the side of Lan Xichen’s head, but maybe they shouldn’t. They’ve been on an near-endless loop in your head for the last twenty minutes as Lan Xichen worked his hips and moaned above you, scattered among a litany of other proclamations you’d never thought you’d be brave enough to confess to the man who’d managed to take up every bit of space in your heart--though you now doubt that bravery has anything to do with it, because saying the words doesn’t make you feel brave. They make you feel sentimental and ridiculous and vulnerable in a way you’ve fought to avoid feeling your entire damn life because you know the world is cruel and showing vulnerability is the most dangerous thing you can do.

You deeply hope that, somehow, he didn’t hear them.

He doesn’t react at first, and whether that should fill you with hope or dread you can’t decide, but maybe it isn’t unusual that his response would be slow. The mood of the afterglow is hazy and sluggish. Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered to separate your bodies after you’d both finished, gripping each other tight and gasping desperately into each other’s mouths as release had crashed down over both of you; he’d simply shifted to bury his face against your neck and the heat of his body covering yours like a blanket left you feeling safe and euphoric and impossibly content right up until your haphazard admission.

You suspect it’s the afterglow that loosened your lips in the first place. Not even the finest wine intoxicates you the way he does. Being with Lan Xichen is the only thing potent enough to make the rest of the world dissolve for a time, enough to make you forget about the weight and bitterness of the reality that lays waiting to confront you beyond the safety of your bedroom and the security of his incredibly strong arms.

If given the choice, you think you’d prefer to stay here with him forever, but you’re never given that choice.

Continue Reading on AO3 or below the cut

The silence - or what would be silence if not for the steadily more frantic drumbeat of your heart in your ears - seems to drag out into eternity and you are increasingly sure that Lan Xichen is either asleep (if you’re lucky, though you never have been), or is debating within himself the least agonizing way to extract himself from this awkward situation, from your uncalled for confession. Regret creeps up your spine over your momentary lapse of control, and you begin to wonder if there’s someway to walk back the words that have already left your mouth...

But before your thoughts spiral off too far in that direction, finally, Lan Xichen’s head lifts up from your neck, his eyes seeking out yours, the expression on his face one of surprise, and somehow, hope.

You almost can’t believe it, but you’ve prided yourself too heavily on your defensive ability to read others to deny what you see so clearly, even in the warm glow of the lantern light. You know him too well to deny what’s laid out so plainly in front of you, though making your heart accept it is another matter entirely.

“A-Yao,” he speaks breathlessly. There are few things in this life you love more than when he calls you like that, few sounds that have ever been as sweet. Your name feels safe in his mouth, and you love him all the more for it.

“Do you mean that?” he asks, a hesitant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and twinkling in his eyes, making his already beautiful face impossibly more so. Some days you can’t believe that the most gorgeous man in the cultivation world would give you the time of day, much less look at you like this, but the evidence hangs undeniably above you, looking down at you with reverence, like your love is the most precious gift he could imagine being given.

(He doesn’t know how deeply broken the thing he asks for is. If you’re lucky, he’ll never find out.)

“I do,” you confirm, because it’s the safest truth to tell in the moment, because the chance to be honest with Lan Xichen is not a given, but an indulgence you find impossible to deny yourself when it’s presented, and because you’re not sure you could bear his heartbreak if you were to respond in any other way. You reach up to brush your fingertips against the perfect skin of his perfect cheek and repeat, “I love you.”

You’ve never spoken the words aloud before today, not to anyone. They feel strange on your tongue, but as you repeat them, a smile bursts over Lan Xichen’s face and the expression is bright enough to light the entire room, bright enough that you’re nearly blinded by it--you can feel your eyes watering from it, but it’s hard to feel any shame when you can see the moisture beading in Lan Xichen’s eyes just as clearly.

Before another word can be uttered, Lan Xichen is kissing you. Your breath is stolen from your chest as his hands frame your face and he kisses you sweetly, deeply, fervently. You have to remind yourself to inhale through your nose as Lan Xichen presses kiss after kiss to your lips, as his fingers push back through your hair and he presses as much skin together as he possibly can, as if pressing hard enough could somehow bring your bodies closer together.

“I love you, too,” he mumbles back, the words muffled in the gap between your mouths, and for as strange as the words were to say for the first time, they’re even stranger to hear. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise considering everything Lan Xichen had done for you, considering the way he looks at you, but the part of you that always suspects you aren’t worthy of love, much less his love, reels to hear him make such a profession, reels to even consider that the beautiful, talented, revered Zewu-Jun could think you worthy of such a precious thing.

“I love you,” he tells you again, as if knowing that you need to hear it, as if knowing you’re more willing to believe you heard the words wrong than believe that he could actually have such feelings for you--and that’s just one more reason to love him, because you’ve never told him how deeply your insecurities run and yet he seems to know anyway, knows you as much as you’ve allowed anyone to know you and somehow loves you in spite of it.

You don’t know what you did to deserve it, to deserve him, but maybe it’s better not to think about it too much. As you stumble past the thoughts, you find it easier to believe that maybe the reason there’s no luck to be found in any other corner of your life is because it’s all been poured into this singular miracle of Lan Xichen somehow falling in love with you.

If that truly was the case, everything else in your miserable life would make infinitely more sense--and in the end, you’re not even sure you can be upset about it. For as sparingly as your lives allow you to see each other, no one else has made you feel as whole, as valued, as cherished as he does, and you’re not sure you want to imagine your life without him in it.

Growing up the way you did, you never expected to fall in love with anyone... but you love him. You love him more than anything, and maybe you shouldn’t because you know what you are, and what you’ve done, and what you will have to continue doing to survive - and more importantly you know who he is, and what he could never be expected to forgive - but now that the words have been spoken, they can’t be unsaid, and you’re not sure you’d want to take them back anyway as he kisses you with utter abandon. You both ignore your tear-stained cheeks in favor of your shared indulgence, and you soon lose yourself in the desperation of your arms holding each other tight and the warmth of your bodies cradled close together beneath the blankets, doing whatever you can to express a love that even a hundred poets given a hundred lifetimes would struggle to spin properly into verse.

You love him so much that you would die for him, and though you hope it never comes to it, you would kill for him just as soon. You hope he never has to see the parts of you that you can barely stand to see yourself, because if that day comes, you will not blame him when he can't forgive you, when he turns his back on you and walks away. It will crush you, but you will not blame him, because most days you can't even forgive yourself, and no matter what he may have forgiven so far, you know his love is not boundless (because surely no one's love is boundless), and should that day ever come you sincerely hope it will be your last.

But for now, none of that matters. You'd rather not think about the end when he's only just now told you he loves you, and as he kisses you breathless and his overjoyed tears fall from his cheeks to mingle with yours, there is nothing you want more than to fall into this moment and stay in it forever.

Because you know the world is cruel, you know it will not allow you to stay here forever... but maybe, so long as you're allowed to stay with him for now, it will be enough.

#vesper posts #xiyao #jin guangyao #lan xichen #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #mdzs fic #the untamed fanfic #cql #wrote a thing

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double-bubble-discourse-queen · 5 years ago

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I don’t know how people can claim there isn’t any racism in the fandom when people are so vocally more forgiving of Beth for pointing a literal gun in Addy’s face than they are of Addy for hurting Beth’s feelings. Some of you seriously need to confront your internal biases and wonder why you’re so willing to let a white girl off the hook for something as reckless and dangerous as that, but you’re going to drag the black girl every time all she’s guilty of is snubbing someone’s feelings.

I feel like it’s sexism in addition to racism. If Beth was a boy instead of a girl, fandom would be far less tolerant of the way she treats Addy. If Beth were a guy being as controlling as she is, with feelings for Addy as volatile and borderline obsessive as they are, I think a lot more people would call her out on this behavior. It’s disturbing behavior. And yes the audience understands it’s from a place of insecurity because Beth comes from an unstable family and feels like she has to hold onto Addy with everything she’s got. There’s a way to be sympathetic to those circumstances without justifying it. But because she’s white that sympathy seems to override concern for Addy’s well-being in such a controlling friendship and because she’s a girl, her behavior isn’t perceived as emotionally abusive as it actually can be, or seen as the red flag it would be if she were a guy.

When it comes to Colette, it seems like fandom is willing to acknowledge that she’s manipulating Addy, but only on a surface level. I’ll scroll through twitter or tumblr and see some throwaway lines about how she’s creepy, or how she’s potentially framing Addy. Yet no one actually seems to take her manipulation into consideration when they’re looking at Addy’s actions. No one seems to have sympathy for Addy being in a situation where this adult woman is manipulating her and gaslighting her, and put her into a situation where she had to see an old acquaintance with his mouth blasted open and his teeth all over the floor.

And all of the above is even without considering how Colette touches Addy inappropriately, often doing so while saying incredibly suggestive lines like, “do you ever want things you can’t have?” or “don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for wanting things.”

Like yeah, sure, theoretically she could just be talking about Addy’s ambition to get a cheer scholarship, but the context hardly seems innocent. Especially since Addy is obviously attracted to Colette. Colette is very likely stroking those feelings in her to have an even easier time manipulating this emotionally vulnerable teenage girl than she already did. People would be having a field day with Colette if she were a man doing all this!

And don’t @ me saying people do call out Colette because yeah, they do, but again, it’s on a surface level. I’ve seen very few people actually, meaningfully confront the impact of her manipulative and inappropriate behavior. I’ve seen very few people actually acknowledge how serious it is for Addy to be in a situation like that, or offer her one shred of the sympathy fandom is oozing out for Beth.

Also haven’t seen any sympathy for Addy repressing her sexuality or taking that into consideration when they see her snubbing Beth. How she’s very likely afraid of her own feelings, or at the very least unsure what to make of them. Isn’t at least half this fandom queer? Are you telling me no one has any experience with that particular plight?

And I’m not saying that people shouldn’t sympathize with Beth, either. Beth is a teenage girl from a broken family with a big-shot father who tries to buy her love, a boozy, checked out mother who teaches her horrible life lessons, and a half-sister who constantly baits her and riles her up. She’s also a victim of sexual assault. And yes, she’s understandably hurt that Addy continually snubs her feelings and very likely confused, given that Addy was the one who kissed her. By all means, sympathize with Beth. I know I do.

But don’t overlook Beth’s own shitty behavior just because she’s white, or dismiss the potential for her treatment of Addy to be abusive just because she’s a girl. Don’t crap all over Addy and refuse to offer any insight into her character besides insulting her or treating her like she’s evil just because she won’t passively shut up, smile, and hold Beth’s hand.

#dare me #addy hanlon #beth cassidy #colette french #dare me discourse #i hate the disk horse #but the addy hate is burning me

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elylandon · 5 years ago

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Part 1 - Chapter 8: Voices

Summary: You’re running for your life when you cross paths with an ex-bounty hunter and his small, green companion. You never thought you’d find someone throughout the whole galaxy who was as lost as you.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,681

Rating/Warnings: M for mature content. Swearing, violence, [eventual smut], etc.

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

Note: (Slight AU - Slow Burn) I hope you enjoy this one! ❤

---

While the Razor Crest was a decently sized ship, it could still feel a bit cramped at times. You never liked tight spaces, but you could say you were used to sharing such close quarters with others. There were times when you had shared tiny rooms with two or three other girls in overflowing group homes, and other times when you were dragged into tight corners of Thasar’s estate by some of his business partners. So being stuck on the Crest for days on end, or crammed into that small barn back on Sorgan, hadn’t ever bothered you before.

But then everything changed. You had to admit that it wasn’t exactly instantaneous. It was a gradual change you hadn’t noticed until you were painfully aware of it. How could you not be when every time you saw the Mandalorian, your stomach would erupt in a fit of flutters, and every time he spoke, those flutters would melt into something deeper? And thanks to the confined space of the Razor Crest, seeing and hearing him was such a regular occurrence that, after two weeks of this, you were starting to lose your mind.

You just had to go and tell him how much he meant to you all those days ago, how much you trusted him now, when you had every reason not to trust anyone ever again. And then he just had to jump on your vulnerability wagon and tell you his name, wholeheartedly relaying that he trusted you too.

You needed to get off this gods damned ship.

That was difficult when your party hadn’t exactly found an ideal place to stay just yet. However, as much as you wanted the space to privately mull over all these troublesome feelings you were having around the Mandalorian, you’d desperately appreciate at least a few short hours off this ship for a supply run. So that’s what you suggested to Din.

“I don’t think we should go back to my usual spots,” Din said from his chair, filtering through different planets on his radar. “By now, the Guild might have discovered them and asked after me, knowing now that I visit those places every few weeks.”

You nodded from your co-pilot’s chair, assenting his point. The child was, as per usual, perched in your lap, happily fidgeting with your pendant. He was alternating between lightly sucking on it, and determinedly examining it. This kid really loved small, shiny objects.

“What if we went somewhere completely random? Just pick a planet, land and barter really quick, and then be back in space within a couple hours.”

“We’re easier targets on land. We’d risk alerting any nearby bounty hunters of our proximity,” Din stated matter-of-factly. You sighed.

“We’re risking that no matter where we go.”

“I know,” he said, thoughtfully tapping his fingers against each of the control sticks. He stared at the radar for a long moment, but finally selected a destination.

“What did you settle for?” you asked, sitting up a little to get a look over his shoulder.

“It’s a moon of the planet nearest to us. Seems to be a hub for trade. If any nearby tracking fobs go off, they’ll most likely assume we’re on the planet before they realize that we’re not. It’ll give us a little time.”

“A few hours worth, maybe?” There was a hopeful lilt to your tone.

“We shouldn’t push our luck. Two hours max.”

“Fair enough,” you agreed, relieved. Din could tell. He glanced back at you.

“What? It’s only been two weeks and you’re already starting to feel restless?”

“You have no idea,” you muttered, squelching the jitters vibrating through your body at his attention.

---

Din watched as your shoulders immediately relaxed upon disembarking the ship. He had witnessed them inch higher and higher with each day that they remained stuck out in space, searching in vain for their next sanctuary. You wouldn’t admit it, but the close quarters were finally starting to get to you.

Din knew this, because he could feel it as well. He wanted to say it was because he wasn’t used to travelling with others, but that was a complete lie. It was your presence that was making him antsy.

Whenever the two of you were in the same space on the ship, he was hyperaware of every move and sound you made. Often times, part of him was tempted to snap at you, and convince you to leave him be, so he could focus on the task at hand. But he never acted on it. He was grudgingly coming to the conclusion that he wanted that awareness of you, constantly.

Din had admitted to himself on Sorgan that he hadn’t wanted to leave you and the child behind, despite thinking it was in the best interests of you both. Now, though, it was beyond that. After everything you had said to him as the three of you left Sorgan, he wasn’t sure he could have gone through with it, no matter how determined he was. Your words had settled something in him, and he was still trying to come to terms with that.

He needed to get off that damned ship, too.

You took a few steps off the ramp, head swiveling, taking everything in. The child mimicked you as he sat in his satchel hanging against your hip. Your hand was resting against the outside of the bag, and the child’s ears twitched as he reached out with his own pudgy hands to grasp yours and hold it close. Din’s chest tightened as he looked on, and he blew out an annoyed breath at the feeling.

“Come on,” he said, trying but failing not to sound curt in his frustration. “We’re on the clock. Let’s see what we can find.”

---

Din’s hand kept finding the small of your back as he guided you through throngs of people in the market. You were very capable of maneuvering on your own, but didn’t dare say so. You were afraid that, if you gave him any indication that you were put off by this gesture, then he’d stop, and never do it again. So you smothered the butterflies dancing the conga in your stomach and allowed him to steer you along.

Aside from the very slight herded-little-lamb feeling, the gesture was very… pleasant.

Two hours flew by like that, and the two of you found everything you needed, including a drum of fuel that Din could syphon from. That would last you another couple weeks in space.

Great.

For the most part, every merchant you met had been friendly and fair. That was, until you came across a vendor selling miscellaneous parts and gadgets. Something displayed in the stall had caught your attention, and you dragged Din over to get a look. The surly old woman manning the stand eyed your approach, running a very telling glance over Din’s gleaming Mandalorian armor.

“Check these out,” you said excitedly, reaching for two earpieces that sort of reminded you of Bluetooth headsets. You handed one to Din. “They’re ear comlinks. They might come in handy.”

“What makes you say that?” Din questioned, inspecting the gadget.

“You’re going to have to take on jobs soon, and I won’t be able weasel my way into coming with you, kid in tow. We could use these to communicate, in case you wind up being gone longer than a few hours.”

Din considered this, but wound up shaking his head.

“That’s not a bad idea, but these have seen better days.” He waved the earpiece. “I’m pretty sure this one is broken.” You took it from him and examined it, then smiled up at him.

“I can fix them, though. I’m certain I could increase their range sensitivity too.”

“To how much?”

“As long as we’re on the same planet, we should have a stable connection.”

He really did like the practicality of the idea. He was also all too aware that his funds were running low, and that he’d need to rectify that soon. He hated to admit it, but he knew he’d fret if he left you and the child alone for several hours… or days. He knew you’d worry too, not knowing if he was having a difficult hunt, or if he was dead in a ditch. If you were sure you could get them working, and working that well, then he wasn’t opposed to it.

“How much?” he asked the merchant woman. She once again ran an appraising eye over his armor, then named her price.

It was outrageous.

“Now way,” you argued, holding the earpieces out for the woman to see the damage. “They’re broken. They should be a fraction of the original asking price.” The woman shook her head.

“That’s a seven percent increase of what I bought them for. I have to make a profit for a living, girl.”

“I think you must be misremembering how much you purchased this junk for,” Din said lowly.

“The price is the price,” she quipped, not budging an inch. Din sighed.

“Fine. Forget it then, Y/N. I’m sure we can take our business elsewhere for a better bargain.”

Din started to leave, but then he noticed your expression and stopped. You were so focused, making deliberate eye contact with the woman, face a serene, calm mask. It almost looked like the two of you were in a trance. On a strange impulse, Din reached for your arm, planning to grab your elbow and carefully pull you out of it. But you spoke before his fingers grazed you.

“You will reconsider,” you said, voice monotone and even. “-and give us a fair deal on the broken comlinks.”

The woman blinked languidly, then straightened. Din watched, bemused, as she replied in the same monotone voice.

“I will reconsider, and give you a fair deal on the broken comlinks.”

If you could see his face, you might have laughed as his mouth slackened a little, a confused and troubled look marring his features. A far more reasonable amount of credits changed hands and you pocketed the earpieces, stroking the child’s ear as you brought your hand back to rest over him. As the woman started to blink more rapidly, coming out of whatever spell you had put her in, you quickly turned towards Din and grabbed his forearm with your free hand, pulling him away from the stall.

“Time’s up, right?” you asked, not even looking back at him. “We should get going.”

When Din found his words again, he said, “Just going to gloss right over whatever the hell that was back there?”

“Honestly, I’m still trying to figure out exactly how these powers work myself.”

As Din matched your stride through the market, you grudgingly released his arm. He looked at you sidelong.

“I thought you could only move things, like the kid.”

“If his abilities and mine are the same, I have a feeling he can do more than lift a mudhorn,” you shrugged, weaving in and out of crowds.

“Explain,” Din demanded.

“I will. When we’re back on the ship.”

---

Once you all were on course again, Din found himself watching you tinker with the earpieces. He was handing you tools when you asked for them, and waiting until you were ready to start explaining what had happened with the merchant. He had hauled the necessary equipment you needed into the cockpit, neither of you wanting to disturb the child that was sleeping down on Din’s cot. The comlinks were so small, and the tiny wiring looked a little complicated in his opinion, but you seemed to know what you were doing, so he just observed. Several times you had glanced up and noticed the set of his broad shoulders. He was waiting, but he was apprehensive, strumming like a livewire. You sighed.

“When I was a kid, there had been a couple times when I was able to-” you tried to find the right words. “-strongly convince others to do or not do things.” You refocused your attention on the earpieces, working while you talked, not really wanting to meet his concealed eyes as you told him this.

“Like one of my foster moms. Her husband would slap her around, and one day I got so sick of it, I threatened to knife him in his sleep if he didn’t stop. I was barely nine; I’m not sure what made me think I could play the intimidation card. He just locked me in a closet for several days.”

You really didn’t like talking about these things. However, you knew it would be easier for Din to understand the revelation you made with that woman today if you gave him a few examples. You soldiered on.

“I wasn’t sure how many days it had been, but I was starving, and I heard her walk by. I remember her opening the door when I called out to her, and I saw the absolute horror in her eyes at what her husband was doing to me. But there was also her fear of disobeying him, of the beating she would get if he saw her even talking to me. I didn’t really give a damn what she felt at that moment. She was letting him get away with it, even after I stood up for her, so she could go to hell for all I cared. But, I was so hungry, so I was going to do everything I could to get her to bring me some food. I found it strange that it didn’t take much.”

Din remained completely still as you spoke. You had to keep checking his chest to make sure he was even breathing, as if his tightly clenched fists sitting atop the armrests of his chair wasn’t enough of an indication that he was taking in your every word.

“Another time, there was a foster brother. I was thirteen, and he was a lot older than me. He used to sneak into my room at night to watch me sleep. I tried to pretend like I never noticed him, hoping he’d get bored and stop. But I could tell that he wouldn’t. Something inside me told me that I had to make him stop. So I told him to, and he did.”

You swallowed thickly after that one, and decided that was enough sharing for now.

“I couldn’t ever do this thing consistently. My attempts failed more often than not. That day, when we first met, I had been able to do it with Gurn to get me and the child out of that cage. But today, when I was listening to that woman, I could just tell she was lying. She hadn’t bought the comlinks. She’d stolen them, and was disappointed when she realized they were broken. She was trying to cheat us like she had been cheated.”

“How could you tell all that?” Din asked, speaking for the first time since being back on the Crest.

“I-I think that’s part of the ability. I’d never realized it before, but every time I have successfully influenced someone’s thoughts, I had been able to sort of discern what they were thinking. With the foster mom, it was her desire to help me, and her fear of getting caught. With Gurn, I could tell he was intrigued by my plan to escape, always eager to hunt me down. It was like a game to him. And then with this merchant, I could just sense that she was lying, and that she thought we were made of money because of your armor.”

“So… you can read minds then?” Din asked hesitantly, but you shook your head, scrunching up your nose.

“I think that’s a strong way of putting it. It’s more like these people had unguarded, weak minds. They were more susceptible to being influenced, to me sensing what they were thinking. But it’s always been a strain. It’s not like I can sit here and hear what you’re thinking, and I hope you know that I have no desire to influence you in any way.”

With that said, you finally met his eyes again.

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded, mulling over your words. “Do you think the kid can do these things too?” You shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know I could throw people across rooms until it happened. If I can do more than I originally thought, then… it’s possible he can do more as well.”

The two of you fell quiet then, and Din continued to watch you. As much as your explanation had sent his mind into a tailspin, watching you work was… calming. It didn’t matter if it was something like this, maintaining the ship, or playing with and caring for the kid, something about the way you did things was soothing. He couldn’t think of a better way to phrase it, but the moment he saw that focus in your eyes, and could imagine the gears turning in your brain, he felt like he could relax for once. Your presence alone took some of the pressure off, easing the constant tension he felt even before taking on the kid and crossing the Guild. He wasn’t alone in this anymore.

That’s what having a partner was for, wasn’t it? To share some of those burdens, and work through them together? Well, one of those problems the two of you would have to face together was the kid and his powers.

Technically, the child was older than you, but for whatever species he was, he was only a baby, already out there lifting mudhorns with his mind. Din knew he would have to start finding answers soon, for both you and the child, but the two of you agreed that he was comparatively more powerful. Din would need to fully understand what he was capable of in the future if he was going to continue watching over him.

Another burden being tackled together in your partnership was your past. He remembered thinking weeks and weeks ago that he wasn’t the person you should be untangling your story with, that he didn’t want to be. Now, he couldn’t imagine not being that person. It was a slow process. You were always so hesitant to let even the smallest details leak, and quick to regret allowing those leaks to happen. But you still managed to keep from bottling everything, and never once took back your words once you’d said them.

It made Din wonder if he could tell you about the things that he’s done, the things that gave him nightmares.

“Okay!” you suddenly exclaimed, causing Din to jump out of his thoughts. He tumbled back into the present to see you clicking the plastic around the wires shut before holding out one of the earpieces for him to take.

“I think they’re good to go. Time to test these babies out!"

Din suddenly realized something as he took the earpiece, and kicked himself for not thinking about it sooner.

“I’m going to have to take my helmet off.” You only nodded, as if, unlike him, you’d already thought of this.

“Yes, but for the test, I’m gonna head to the back of the ship, so we can’t hear each other except for in these. I won’t see a thing.”

You held yours up to show him the three buttons on the outside of them.

“This one turns yours on and off. This middle button is to mute yourself, and this bottom button is to mute me,” you explained. Another stupid thought crossed his mind. How had he originally thought that this was a good idea?

“How am I supposed to mess with the buttons with my helmet on?” Again, it seemed you had already thought about this. You smiled.

“Don’t worry. I have an idea for that. Let’s just make sure they work first.”

A few moments later, when he was sure you were at the back of the hull, he slipped off his helmet. Cool air touched his cheeks and he sucked in a lungful of fresh, unfiltered air. Ever since he swore the Creed and donned the helmet, in these moments, he could never decide if he was relieved to have the thing off, or panicked until he put it back on. But that was a nearly lifelong struggle he could deal with another time. For now, he tucked the comlink into his ear, and pressed the top button to turn it on as you instructed.

“Din?” your soft voice said over a current of static. That thing in Din’s chest lurched again, and he really wished it would stop.

“Sounds like they work,” he replied, about to pull the helmet back over his head.

“Yes!” you whooped in victory, and his lips tugged upwards at the sound.

“Alright,” you continued. “We should test the mute buttons, so don’t put your helmet back on just yet.”

He agreed and asked you what you wanted him to do. The two of you each tested muting yourselves, and then each other, finding that everything seemed to be in working order. You warned him you were coming back towards the cockpit, so he pulled the earpiece out and put his helmet back on. Within seconds you called up to him from the bottom of the ladder and he walked over to peer down at your beaming face.

“What was that idea of yours, then?” he asked, and your smile turned sheepish.

“Well, you’ll have to trust me for this part.” His shoulders bunched.

“Why?”

“I’m almost completely certain I can make it so you can control the earpiece from your vambrace. However, I’ll have to wirelessly connect it to the tech in your helmet.”

That fluttering in his chest from earlier evolved into a complete jolt of panic, but he quickly stifled it. Din did trust you. He was going to have to start showing it. He nodded his consent.

You asked him to drop down a couple of the tools you would need, including the earpiece, then you promptly turned away from him and closed your eyes. You lifted your hands above your head and waited, until you felt the cold weight of his helmet settle into your hands.

If he thought his heart was racing, he had no idea that yours was about to come crashing out of your chest. You knew the severity of what you had asked him. He’d told you about the Creed, what it meant to wear the armor, and why it was so important to keep himself masked from any other living being. So you knew very well the faith he was putting in you as he passed down his helmet, standing maskless above you. You were not going to betray that trust.

“Go ahead and stay up there for now,” you instructed. “I’m going to sit here in case I need you to toss me down any other tools.”

And so you sat, keeping your eyes closed until your back was leaning against the ladder. This way, you’d very deliberately have to crane your neck back in order to look up into the cockpit. When you opened your eyes, you glanced down at the helmet sitting gingerly in your lap. It was kind of odd, seeing the helmet without the rest of Din attached to it.

You shook your head at the thought and flipped the helmet over, taking a look at the inside. You went to work trying to find something to make a wireless connection. You knew there had to be one, because you had seen him use his vambrace to control what he saw through the helmet. You resisted the urge to pump your fist in the air when you found it, and then rolled your eyes when you heard a slight clinking above you as Din shifted his weight.

“If you keep hovering like that, I might accidentally look up and see you,” you teased.

“I’m just making sure you don’t break anything.”

You froze, fingers stilling inside his helmet. You had just heard his voice… his real, unaltered voice, completely free of the modulator and the brief static of the earpiece. It was deep, warm, and reposeful. Those butterflies came to life once again, and heat not only touched your cheeks, but pooled in your belly. The most surprising of your reactions, though? Your eyes started to sting, tears threatening.

“What’s wrong,” Din asked, noticing you had stopped working. You sucked in a quiet, ragged breath, blinked rapidly against the brimming tears, and shoved all those crazy emotions back, back, back. You could think about them later, but not in front of him.

“Is umm,” you quickly tried to think of something that might have made you pause, and would possibly explain the slight quiver in your voice. “Is this allowed? I just realized- i-it’s not forbidden for someone to tamper with your armor, is it?”

Nice save.

You couldn’t see it, but you could tell when he had shrugged his shoulders.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Oh gods. You were so desperately torn. You wanted him to keep speaking, keep talking to you forever and ever, so you could just melt into the sound of his voice. But you also wanted him to shut up until the helmet was back on, because his voice was making you feel things, and it was so distracting, and-

“I’m sure it’s fine, Y/N,” he said slowly, still wondering why you were hesitating.

“R-right,” you quickly said, getting back to the task at hand. Internally though, after hearing him say your name-

Gods, I am so fucked.

You worked for a couple more minutes, trying to calm yourself down, when he spoke again.

“Kid’s awake.” You quickly glanced over and saw that the child had waddled up to you, wide eyes fixed on Din’s helmet. You smiled at him, but then noticed his puckered brow bone. He reached a stubby hand out, touching the helmet… and then his lower lip started trembling.

“Oh no!” you exclaimed, dropping the helmet in your lap and lifting the kid to cradle him against your chest.

“What is it?” Din asked, concern touching his tone. The child looked even more upset, hearing Din’s voice while continuing to stare at the helmet.

“I think he thinks you’ve been decapitated,” you said, trying so, so hard to keep the panicked giggles out of your voice. The child’s reaction at seeing his Mando without a body was so cute, so heartbreaking, you weren't sure if you wanted to laugh or cry.

“It’s okay, little guy, he’s safe. He’s up there, but you can’t look just yet,” you explained, pointing up at the cockpit. You heard Din step back as the child looked up, and you made quick work to finish connecting the comlink while Din spoke soothingly to the child. The sound calmed you too, allowing you to move beyond your previous feelings while you finished.

When all was said and done, you covered both your eyes and the child’s while Din climbed down the ladder. He let you know when he had the helmet back on, then sat next to you, stealing the child from your lap as he instantly reached for his Mando.

You watched them for a moment.

These two are going to be the death of me, you thought.

“Are you going to keep your earpiece on all the time?” he asked, pulling you from your happy thoughts. You nodded.

“Yeah, I think so. But don’t worry, I’ll mute myself if we’re in the same space, or if I’m annoying you with my constant blathering,” you laughed. Din shook his head, though.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said thoughtfully, eyes still on the child. “I don’t mind the blathering. In fact, I find a kind of solace... in the sound of your voice.”

Your eyes widened, and your cheeks lit up once again.

Yeah, I am definitely fucked.

---

Tag List: Please, please, please let me know if I missed you or the tag isn’t working.

@sirianfromsixties @doubtedbus409 @shadowfoxey @knockbeforeyouspeak @ispilledmyink @sinon36 @whenthestarsfalldowntonight @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @imaginebeinlovedbyme @marvelobsessiononastick @pascalisthepunkest @yepimthatperson @stevieharrrr @sunkissed-winter @the-feckless-wonder @fruitsaladtree @adikaofmandalore @irishleesh93

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #baby yoda #Al's Sharing Corner

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

Text

Ten Sides

Trying to get myself back into writing long fics again by retconning/rebooting an old fic premise. This is a redo of Tamper.

Summary: After her breakdown, Azula is sent to an institution that alters her moods using spirit energy. Aang is an instrumental pawn in this endeavor.

They like to tamper with her spirit. She supposes that it doesn’t matter because it is broken anyways. They constantly shift it and mold it and faintly Azula knows that it is wrong. But they have tampered with her spirit too much already for her to be alarmed by it beyond the simple acknowledgment that it is unnatural and invasive, no matter how good the intent. And lately she doesn’t have a reason to believe that their intentions are good. She isn’t sure when they began to shift from therapy to control but she hasn’t the means to fend their antics off.

She has become a lab elephant-rat of sorts. Before her, spirit vines have never been used to treat a patient like herself. Combined with the Avatar's reluctant aid, she hasn’t even a chance to resist. So her moods shift constantly and not of her own accord. Not even of their own accord. They shift and bend to the will of Aang. To the will of the Sun Pool facility personal.

Azula is a different person day to day. They will elevate her mood and she will become chipper and bubbly, more like TyLee than herself. Sometimes they will touch her spirit in the wrong way and she will be numb and impassive, almost depressive. More closely resembling Mai in this instance. At some point she had taken to naming each personality that seemed to emerge from them playing with her emotions. Including the real Azula there are ten; Cheerful and bubbly Azula is Sachi. Somber Azula is Yuka. When they have her in a state of unexplainable rage, she becomes Shiori. The passionate and lustful, Aiakahana is the most uncomfortable to reflect upon. Being Aiakahana brings her a sense of shame and embarrassment. Humiliation has a name too, it is Rokora, who was easy to make flustered and awkward.

Other times they are able to bring out a more curiosity driven, childlike version of her. This person, she calls, Inori. They could elicit a more fearful and paranoid version of herself—Kowagaru, she names that one.

There are three emotions that they seem to enjoy amplifying the most; there is a generous and giving Azula, who she has named Shona and a loving and rather sweet version of her that she calls Ai-Emi. Least of all, Azula enjoys being Nari.

Nari is timid, shy, and soft-spoken. Often she is prone to being taken advantage of. Nari is everything Azula dreads letting herself be. She has no fight. She has no control nor dominance. They usually evoke Nari when they want to try a new treatment with her or to subdue her. They know she won’t say no, and if she does then they know that she will eventually submit. She is almost certain that they are trying to mold her into Nari for good. She would certainly be easier to manage that way.

These days, even on the days where they aren’t tampering so heavily with her spirit energy, Azula finds herself in a state of confusion. Somewhere down the lines she has lost herself completely, she is growing uncertain of which personality is her real one. She can no longer tell if she is truly feeling things of her own accord or if they are false emotions. And she loathes the uncertainty, the insecurity.

She lies tethered to a bed, it might as well be a cold metal operating table. The warm and plush sheets are falsely comforting. She supposes that it is another ploy to coax Nari to the foreground as much as possible.

“Try to relax.” Instructs the head of operations, a doctor named Sangyul. She doesn’t think that she has a choice. If she can’t calm herself, Aang will instill serenity within her. She decides that she should just try to calm herself on her own. She lets her body go slack. “Good.” The remark is completely patronizing and is almost enough to bring tension back to her. “Avatar Aang.”

With that cue, Aang steps forward. His eyes are wide and innocent. His demeanor is nothing but friendly and hopeful and yet the sight of it instills nausea within her. “Good morning, Azula.” He greets.

She stares at her palms.

He has been doing this long enough to know that he won’t be getting a response. Sangyul fixes a few spirit vines across her forehead and at her temples and beckons Aang forward. The smile that the Avatar offers is supposed to be reassuring. It only makes her feel sicker, some part of her wonders if he does know exactly what he is doing and that he reaps some sick joy from it. She closes her eyes as his fingers press against her forehead. The spirit vines radiate a faint purple as Aang taps into their power.

She can feel him working his way in. She has long since given up on trying to wall him out. His fingers are phantasmal and they pull and tug on invisible threads of energy. In her mind, their color varies; brilliant red-orange, she thinks, is their natural state. An aura of power and control and confidence. When she is angry they flare a brighter red and when she feels passion, the hue is more scarlett.

Aang’s energy, as it invades hers, is a white-blue, tinged with the purple of spirit vines. It creeps in and curls around the vulnerable threads of her aura and emotions. The white-blue tendrils fan out until they touch each and every thread. It is a tedious process, a slow one. Once the first thread is wholly wrapped in pink, he moves on to the next and then the next. Even after all of this time, he still hasn’t mastered the art. Every now and again, he forgets to unravel the thread--or simply can’t seem to do it--and so pink turns bright red and then deep red.

The purple radiating upon and around the spirit vines is beginning to fade. Aang doesn’t have time to go back and correct his mistakes. Half of the threads of her mood are pink and the other half are left scarlet.

Azula hasn’t yet come up with names for the hybrid emotions he has been leaving her with lately. Granted, this time there is more pink than scarlet. She is exhausted. Exhausted to the point where she can barely lift a finger.

“You alright?” Aang asks.

She yearns to tell him that he can save his false care, but only manages a sleepy murumer.

Like clockwork, they peel the vines from her head and lead her back to her room to sleep it off. When she wakes she won’t be her.

.oOo.

Aang is sitting at the foot of her bed. With nothing else to do, he observes her sleeping form. These days, she looks so small and fragile. In that way, she doesn’t even look like her. When her eyes flutter open he wishes that he could be elsewhere, for both her sake and his own.

“Avatar.” She greets, her voice is low and soft with sleepiness. She heaves herself upright and eyes the boy. Her expression is too kind for it to be her, the real her. His stomach lurches, Sangyul will be pleased with his work, but he only feels disgust.

“They said that it might be good for you if I ate dinner with you.”

Azula swallows, “you...you want to have dinner with me?”

Aang’s unease grows when she struggles to meet his stare. He offers her a soft, albeit, uncomfortable smile. He is all too familiar with this mood. “Yeah, I think that it would be good for you to have some company.”

She gives a rather sheepish smile. “I think that, that would be nice.”

Aang rubs the back of his head. “Yeah.” He lays down a small box containing fried rice, noodles topped with an egg, and a small assortment of fruits.

“Did you make all of this?”

He did, he had carefully put it together, a little something to lift her mood but also because the stuff that they try to feed her looks foul. He shakes his head anyways, he knows how she will take it if he says that he had cooked for her and it makes him feel terribly awkward and guilty.

“Oh.” She looks downcast. Disappointed. It is better if she is. Her smile returns, “well, it is good to have a meal with you, Avatar.” Her fingers brush over his; he hadn’t painted her aura with enough deep red for her to dare anything more than that. But he is well aware that she wants to, that she wishes she had the courage for it. He can see it in her eyes, it is the look Katara had given to him some time ago, before he had lost his way.

He wants to tell her that it is nice to have a meal with her too, but it will have the same effect as telling her that he prepared dinner for her. “Please just eat, Azula.”

Her face falls again. She picks up her chopsticks and hovers a few noodles in front of her mouth before putting them down again. “You’re angry with me.”

“No! No! I just…” he just what? “I just...they don’t give you a very long dinner time and I need to make sure that you have time to finish it.” He finishes lamely.

She has a few quiet bites before offering him one. Again he shakes his head, “it’s your dinner. I already ate.”

When she finishes her meal he finds himself wishing that he were right about her having short meal times. There is no food left to keep her occupied for what remains of the hour and it is a good twenty minutes. She twirls her bangs around her pointer. Were she Azula, really Azula, he would use this extra time to ask her how she is feeling. There is no sense in it when he knows how she is feeling. How he has forced her to feel. She loves him. For now, anyhow.

Not for the first time, he questions how this is supposed to help her heal and recover. And not for the first time, he concludes that helping her get better had never been a goal at all. He will tell them that he no longer feels up to treating her.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here, Avatar. You’re the only person here who isn’t...cold. I think that you actually care for me.” She pauses, moving closer towards him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me or how to fix it. They’re supposed to help me but they don’t. You do though, you try, I think.” She wraps her arms around him and nuzzles her face into his chest.

His stomach knots. He isn’t a bad guy, he is worse than that. And he has probably just proved that by letting her lean into him and hugging her back. He feels like he is taking advantage of her. He shouldn’t be hugging her back. Even if comforting her is his only goal. She isn’t crying this time but he has been around her long enough to sense the hurt. Even if it is buried under layers of false emotions. Azula is still there. The real Azula. He sees her in those sad eyes. Her grip tightens. Her expression isn’t suited for her, it is too timid and too soft. And yet there is a flicker of fierceness behind those eyes. Something that still fights, perhaps a sparkle of resistance. He decides that he can’t leave. Not yet.

#Azula #Avatar The Last Airbender #Aang #Azulaang #Fanfiction

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izaswritings · 5 years ago

Text

Title: building trust

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis: Oscar and Oz stage a prison break. Qrow… complicates things.

(Or: in which Oscar takes over as the voice of reason, Oz is Guilt, and Qrow is just having a very bad and emotional day, and these two are not helping. Rebuilding trust is harder than it looks— it’s all about the small steps.)

Notes: This fic is kind of an unofficial sequel to this story here, (or here) but you can still read this one on standalone if you want. Shoutout to the anon who told me I had to write the prison break fic-- this is for you, anon.

AO3 Link is here.

“This is…”

There is little left to say between the two of them, looking down and out over Mantle’s ruined and smoking streets. It is three hours after Oscar fell from Atlas, and now he is back again on the floating city, standing at the edge of the drop. From this height Mantle is a depressing sprawl of smoke and ruin. On the ground, the situation had been gruesome, but their view of the destruction had been limited. One house burning on a street corner, a few empty streets of rubble, and all the people vanished from sight, huddling away in the shelters. Any bodies slowly being buried by the snow.

As terrible as it sounds, in Mantle the Grimm had been the only trouble, and even then, not much. As Oz had put it, when Oscar had asked— evading Grimm is child’s play after almost a few thousand years of practice.

Ah, Oscar had said, at that. Well, when you put it like that…

Even finding an airship managed to be a far easier task than assumed. Oz knows where the military base is. Oz knows how to hotwire a ship. Oz knows… a lot of weirdly illegal things, actually.

“Your judgment is unappreciated,” Oz had said.

It’s just, this is the second time I’ve helped steal an airship, Oscar said back, and sighed. I can’t help but feel like we’re just going to end up facing a giant robot again.

“Deeply improbable,” Oz had begun, and then a soldier had started shouting and Oz dropped the conversation to yank back the controls and put them in flight.

And now, here they are: Atlas, again, in a private sector cordoned off, as close as they can get to the military custody cells without being detected. Getting off Mantle was, hilariously, the easy part. It is this next part that makes Oscar hesitate.

Oz is still in control—still bearing the pain of exhaustion and bullet wound bruises both, because in all this cascading disaster Oscar has yet to get either proper healing or an actual nap, and their aura is all focused on blocking out the cold—and it is Oz who looks away from the sight of Mantle, hands clenching tight over the knob of the cane, gripping the Long Memory like a lifeline.

This is awful, Oscar whispers, feeling thin. There is no surprise in his voice, in him. No horror. Just a quiet, seething sort of anger, a frustrated ache that this happened at all. That it has come to this.

Oz, for his part, can hardly seem to face it—he closes their eyes and turns their face away, breathing in slow and shaky. Oscar goes quiet, watchful. He can feel Oz’s thoughts as his own, which is why he knows what the other thinks of all this. The tangle of emotion is sobering. Regret, grief, anger… and a bitter taste all across their tongue, the awful bite of betrayal, because deep down they’d both thought Ironwood better than this.

This time, it is Oscar who offers the words they both need to hear. It… it isn’t your fault.

Oz exhales out a shaky breath, but his laughter is soft and bitter. “No?” He drags their eyes back to the ruined landscape below. When he speaks, his voice is distant and wondering. “How far Mantle looks from here. How shrunken. A failure on our part. A sign of neglect, really. A sign to do better.”

Oscar considers him. Doesn’t speak.

“I wonder if he ever saw it the same way,” Oz observes, clinically. He stares down at Mantle as if there is an answer in the smoke. “Perhaps, when he stood up here, looking down upon them… maybe he just saw Mantle as small.”

Still. Oscar is stubborn. How were you supposed to know what he thought about it?

“You are turning my own words against me,” Oz murmurs back, and finally turns away from the ledge. He walks them back to the building, their alleyway. The stolen airship sits half-hidden by a building, and with any luck, it’ll stay undetected. Oscar is praying the chaos is enough to confuse the sensors. “And on the same day, no less.”

Doesn’t make it less true.

A few blocks down, the military holding cells await. They’ve moved swiftly enough Oz doesn’t think Qrow will be at the prison yet—the hope is that he is here, for holding or interrogation or both. And given that this is the highest-priority military cell, and Ironwood called for Qrow’s arrest personally… the chances of him being here are high. Now, they just need to find him.

Oscar looks up at the barbed-wire walls and the very tall building, and sighs. More breaking and entering. Well, all right. Let’s steal a military scroll.

Oz hums, already scanning the entrance, walking up to the gate. “I thought you disliked stealing.”

They only bring out the giant robots for airships. We’re fine.

Despite everything, that actually gets Oz to smile again. “Hm. Sound logic, I suppose.” He turns and surveys the gate, then lifts his hand to wave at the officer stationed by the entrance. “Hello! Can you help me?”

“A kid? But what are you...” The guard’s gun lowers, and then she stills. “Wait. Your face. Aren’t you—!?”

The officer doesn’t get a chance to finish. Oz knocks her legs out from under her, calmly whaps her over the head, and then handcuffs her as she groans. He takes the scroll and opens it, surveying the device. The gate clicks open without any further issues. Oz looks out over the military holding yard and sighs. “Well. And now for the hard part.”

Everything else wasn’t hard?

“Stealing the airship didn’t require breaking and entering, I’m afraid. And this was just sense. Getting in the actual building will be just as hard as getting out.” Oz sighs a breath through their teeth, and glances down at the handcuffed officer, still looking woozy. “Especially if we do not want to be caught. I did not think about that. Hopefully, we will be gone before she gets out of the handcuffs.”

We could… wear a mask?

Oz considers this. “…No.”

But—

“No.”

Well, do you have a better idea?

Oz clasps their hands behind their back, looking up to survey the building. Oscar waits for him to think it out. Oz had explained some of it on the way here—it’s not as guarded as a prison, but it’s still a place designed to hold higher-ranking criminals, enemies that Ironwood places on top priority.

Oscar doesn’t like the look of the place. The sleek walls. The shiny surfaces. The glint of the barred windows seems cruel. After all that walking through Mantle, to stand in Atlas and witness the sheer wealth of difference between them makes something in him harden.

Oz must come to a decision—he lifts the cane and spins it in their hands before tapping it down hard on the snow. “The old fashioned way, then, I suppose,” he says. He heaves a heavy sigh. “We are a bit too small to believably steal any armor, unfortunately.”

I don’t think physically breaking our way into a prison is a...very good idea? Also, um. We are still… injured. Won’t that—hurt?

“Usually, it is not.” Oz starts for the door, cane by his side. “But if there is any bright side to this situation—” Oscar mentally makes a face, and Oz sighs again. “Yes, I know, and I agree—but again. Atlas is on high alert. Grimm are converging on the city. And Salem…”

That old bitterness, half-memory and half just Oz rises up, like static in Oscar’s soul, and together they both glance back at the shroud of dark storm clouds slowly moving in on the city. In the past hour, the wind has picked up to a howl. It won’t be long, now. The thought makes their aura shudder in dread and fury.

“Well. Salem is, currently, a far larger threat. I have no doubt that Atlas’s sensors have picked up on her invasion by now. If there was ever a time this prison would be understaffed and vulnerable… now is likely it. It is, too, why we were able to land the airship up here in the first place. Two days ago, I suspect we would have been shot just getting in the sky.”

They’re nearing the door, now.

“But… yes. We are still injured. Fighting will… likely aggravate the injury, regardless of our aura.” Oz hesitates. “If—I understand if you would rather not—”

No. It’s fine. Oscar settles back, shifting through the information. We need to get Qrow out. And if this really is the best time to do it—and the best way… His thoughts firm, steady and cold with determination. We can’t hesitate. There’s no time.

“…Very well.” Oz turns their eyes back to the door, and hefts the cane in hand. Though not in control, Oscar can still feel it—the shift in emotion, the cool blanket falling over their thoughts. The turmoil, the grief, the anger, the lingering fear Oz won’t acknowledge about seeing Qrow again—all of it, buried beneath a laser-eyed focus. “I will be quick.”

Just… try not to push us into passing out?

“Hm, yes, that would be unfortunate. Not to worry—I know our limits.”

I thought you just said you were out of practice.

Oz calmly holds up the officer’s scroll, unlocks the front door, and walks through. “Well. That was an hour ago.”

That’s… not comforting.

This—with the door open and the two of them already inside—is about when the guards finally notice them.

The ensuing fight is rapid-paced, and terribly one-sided. For someone who claims to be out of practice, Oz is swift and brutal in a way that runs entirely counter to his usual manner—he strikes the guards with merciless force, leaving crumpled and groaning bodies lying still on the floor behind them as they push their way into the prison. It never goes too far—no bones broken, no bruises that will lead to unfortunate death—but it is definitely impressive, and Oscar would be awed, if not for the looming sense of resigned doom that he’s definitely going to be feeling this fight for a while. Bruises for days. He’s not looking forward to it.

Oz, currently in the middle of slipping a scroll from the highest-ranked guard’s pocket, pauses at this. “In my defense,” he says mildly, standing them up to limp towards the next door, “we were already in rather rough shape. You would be feeling it anyway.”

I’m just… not looking forward to facing a full-scale invasion like this.

“…An understandable worry,” Oz admits, after a pause. “But you do not… have to feel it alone, as it were. I am happy to take on the burden should the aftereffects be—unpleasant.” He lifts their head. “And once we have a moment to breathe, our aura should start easing some of the pain. We will be okay, Oscar. We simply must hold on until we can rest again.”

Oscar hums a quiet agreement, watching through their eyes as Oz takes them up the hall. He’s frowning, slightly, brow furrowed. They’ve gotten in, but from here on out Oz is uncertain of where to go.

Oscar leans in, not so much taking control as sharing it, and ignores the rising ache of pain as he flickers their head to the side to look up at the front desk of the precinct. Do Atlas personnel keep records?

Oz blinks. “…Yes, actually.” He beelines for the desk, tapping at the computer keys. “A sound idea. Atlas is keen on efficiency. They should be—” He makes a noise. “Ah-ha. B-block.”

Second floor, holding cell 4E… doesn’t seem far. We should hurry.

“Agreed.” Oz spins the cane through their hand and heads for the stairs. Somewhere, an alarm starts to sound. Oz presses a hand to their side with an uncharacteristic curse, and sprints for it.

They make it to the second floor with only minimal resistance, and Oz heads right for the door half-way down the hall. “Here. This room.” He takes up the scroll and presses it to the scanner. The light clicks green. Oz closes the scroll and takes the handle, as if to push the door open—and stops.

There is a long pause. Oscar waits. Oz stares down at their hand for a long moment. There is the slightest of trembles through their fingers before he forces their hand to still. He takes a breath—tightens his grip—

Oscar gently pushes Oz out of the way, and then he is here again, he is himself again, in control once more. Physicality slams into him, the pain sharp and sudden and impossible to ignore, a stitch building in his lungs from the overwork. Still, this switch in control is almost too easy, which is telling enough, but Oz fumbles in something like shock.

Oscar—

And wow, okay, ow, that fight really pushed all the limits he didn’t even know he had, okay. Oscar grits his teeth and rides out the sudden wave of pain, spots dancing behind his eyes. Beyond a brief and pained hiss through clenched teeth, he manages to swallow it back. “It’s fine,” he whispers, once he feels he can breathe again. “It’s fine.”

Oz hesitates. I should…

“We all need to talk.” Oscar straightens with a pained exhale. “And we will. But there’s too much happening. One thing at a time. Prison break is—” He exhales again, smile twisting wry. “Is, um, probably a bad time.”

Oz is quiet for a very long moment. Oscar waits. They have very little time to lose, perhaps—already he can hear alarms beginning to ring, orders shouting out—but Oscar sets his feet and waits, calm, for the answer.

…Thank you. Oz sounds tired.

Oscar tilts his head and doesn’t bother with a reply, just turns the handle and pushes the door open into the holding cell. Light casts through the open door. Qrow is sitting on a lone bench in a dark cage, his head bowed and shoulders slumped. He doesn’t even look up when the door opens—but the person sitting next to him does.

“A kid?” Robyn Hill looks surprised. “Who the hell… wait. You’re the one from the dinner. With Ironwood.”

“Um,” Oscar says, mentally backpedaling for all he’s worth. What? Robyn? Why? “H-hi?”

Well. This is certainly a surprise. I don’t recall Ironwood putting out an arrest for her.

Yeah, neither does Oscar. Was she arrested with Qrow? Did they take her in just because? That seems... shitty.

At her comment, though, Qrow’s head snaps up. His eyes fix on Oscar and go wide. He straightens like he’s been shocked. “Wh—Oscar!?”

Oscar stares at them, trying to get his mind back on track. Oz chooses this moment to be unhelpful and go utterly silent, which is. Okay. Fine. After a pause, Oscar works his jaw and manages a weak smile. “Oh, um. Yep. That’s me.”

“How did you get here?” Robyn asks, still looking bewildered, but it is Qrow who jumps to his feet and heads towards the bars. “Kid,” he says. “Kid, I thought you were dead!”

“What?” Oscar says, and Oz says, The report, the officers must have told them, and Oscar snaps his mouth shut. “Oh, right. Right.” He pauses, a sinking feeling in his gut, a mingled dread from Oz and Oscar both. “Um.” He doesn’t want to tell them about Ironwood just yet. Not if he doesn’t have to. This just… isn’t the place for it. “It’s a long story.” He moves for the cell doors, holding out the guard scroll. “Let’s get out of here, first.”

Qrow passes a hand down his face, looking ragged but relieved, laughing quietly in a way that doesn’t make it sound like he’s laughing at all. Robyn just shakes her head. “No, wait,” she says, as Oscar unlocks the cell. “I don’t understand. How did you even find us here? This is a military facility!”

“They’re distracted with other things, right now,” Oscar says absently, pulling open the grate. His side aches. He bites back the wince. “They were undermanned. Um, I found keys.”

Robyn scowls at him. “You broke into a guarded government facility all on your own?” She sounds half-way between incredulous and impressed, and turns to shoot Qrow a glare, as if asking for an explanation. Qrow, too, is looking at Oscar oddly, his brow furrowed. He’s holding something tight in his hands, Oscar realizes suddenly—a small object, something reflective, that he’s flipping absently through his fingers.

Oscar meets Qrow’s gaze, calm, and offers a pale smile. “Not… entirely on my own,” he says, careful, and when Qrow goes still, he flips the Long Memory so he’s holding in it in both hands, a silent answer to the question he sees on Qrow’s face. He waits. Qrow doesn’t respond.

Oz is silent, too—a tangle of something like guilt and a pale regret, exhaustion—but all Oscar does is nod, and collapses the cane to clip it on his belt again. “It’s just me right now, though,” he says. Shouting drifts up from the floor below. Oscar turns to Robyn. “Can you fly an airship?”

She looks at him with narrowed eyes. “You gonna explain what the hell that cryptic-ass statement was?”

Oscar actually grins. “Sure.” The shouting grows louder. “Just, um, later?”

She considers him. Then she nods. “I can fly a ship.” She claps Qrow on the shoulder, and for a moment her voice goes awkwardly gentle. “Come on, asshole. Time to run.”

Qrow seems to jolt back to himself. His fingers clench around the thing in his hand. “Right. Right.” He shakes his head, turns to Oscar—and then shakes his head again. “Lead the way, kid.”

Oz murmurs in the back of his mind, muted. He seems shaken.

Oscar looks Qrow up and down. He does seem shaken. Oddly disconnected. There’s blood flecking off his sleeves, his hands. Oscar doesn’t like that look of it—it gives him a bad feeling.

His lips press. There’s no time.

“Let’s go,” he says, and rushes from the cell.

Escape is marginally easier than breaking in—Robyn seems almost too keen to bust some heads, and once they pick up their weapons she fights with gusto. She seems angry, and more than happy to take that anger out on the guards who’d locked them up. Oscar supposes he can’t really blame her. After everything she did for Mantle, the last few hours were probably like something from her own personal hell.

Qrow’s weapon is bloody all the way to the hilt, poorly cleaned. Qrow actually flinches when he sees it. Oscar is getting such a bad feeling about this.

Oz, too, is quiet. This isn’t good.

Yeah, obviously. But Oscar swallows it back.

They are running through the halls now, only slowed by the continuous stitch in Oscar’s side. He’s limping badly, and his cane is getting more use as a crutch than a weapon right now. Ow, ow, ow. He gets the sense Oz wants to offer to take over again, except they both know that’d cause too many problems right now. Oscar tilts back his head, looking at Qrow from the corner of his eye. “What do you think happened?”

…The object in his hand—it looks like a badge, don’t you think?

Oscar almost trips. Oh. Oh, no. “Do you think—?”

I am not sure. I wasn’t aware for a majority of those moments, and you only met him once. But… General Ironwood’s men are—incredibly loyal. It would not surprise me if…

Oscar presses his lips in a thin line, chest aching at the thought. He hadn’t known Clover Ebi well to have much of an opinion, but if Oz’s guess is right—that must have hurt.

“All good, kid?”

He looks up to see both Robyn and Qrow looking back at him, Robyn’s face creased in worry and Qrow’s blank in a way that makes him want to hide. Oh, shoot. He manages a smile. “Um.” How to salvage this?

We are still running for our lives. A rather more pressing issue at the moment, I would think.

Ah, right. “The airship is behind the building?”

Robyn shakes her head, looking exasperated, but turns back around to run. Qrow stares at Oscar for another long moment and then looks away so quick his neck snaps, and doesn’t look back again.

That… is not a good sign.

“Too late to worry about it now,” Oscar mutters back, and shoves out of the prison doors, side burning, breaths wheezing. The stitch in his lung is starting to become something agonizing. To Robyn: “It’s—t-there, that alley, it should be—still running—I hope—”

She is already turning the corner. “Got it. Get on!”

“T-trying!” Oscar wheezes out, and pushes forward. Pain flares up his side like the stab of a hot poker. His leg buckles again. Oscar makes a strangled noise and tips sideways, arm snapping out for the wall—

A hand grips under his arm and drags him upright. Qrow. He catches Oscar mid-stumble and pulls him forward, dragging them up the ramp and turning just in time to raise his weapon. The sharp ping of a blocked bullet rings out. “Close the damn doors!”

“On it!” Robyn is already in the pilot’s seat, flicking on the controls. “Hold on!”

The ground shudders and Oscar lunges for the airship wall, leaning heavily against the seats and gripping the seatbelts for support. His side is splitting in pain. His head spins, his vision going blurry. The bottom drops away, his ears popping from the pressure; outside the window, he watches as Atlas slowly fades into the clouds, the airship rising up into the sky. They’ve made it. They’ve made it!

He can’t breathe. Every inhale feels like it isn’t enough. Oscar curls up over his side and fights the urge to throw up.

Oz’s voice snaps in the back of his mind, sharp and calming. Oscar. Breathe.

“I—can’t—”

A moment of pause. Then: Let me take control.

Oscar grits his teeth. “But—”

You’re on the cusp of hyperventilation, and with our injuries as they are, such a thing will not be pleasant. I appreciate your concern, and I am grateful, but your wellbeing is far more important than my insistence on avoiding my problems. Let me help.

Oscar bows his head and struggles for one lingering second, and then drops control all at once. It’s one of their rockier switches—for a moment their head dips forward and they almost blackout, and then Oz snaps to awareness and inhales sharply, fighting to get their breathing back under control.

He sits them up straight and places a bracing hand to their side, leaning heavily against the side of the ship. He closes their eyes and slows their breathing, taking deep breaths despite the panicked burning in their lungs.

Oscar, dizzy and distant, his head clear now that he’s away from the pain, takes scope of their state and winces. The little strength they’d regained from their rest in Mantle’s pit is all but gone now. The weariness drags at him.

I… I’m sorry.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Oz murmurs back, and their aura flickers up, focused solely on their side. Thankfully, the airship has heating, which means their aura’s healing properties can now be fully utilized. “We, ah… perhaps pushed our luck too soon.”

“That so?”

They still— their shock two-fold, the flash of surprise belonging to Oscar and Oz both. In their exhaustion, they’d forgotten where they were. Across from them, Qrow is standing against the airship door, looking down at them with an expression turned cold and hard. “That isn’t exactly like you, Oz.”

…Oh, crap.

Oz doesn’t reply. For a moment he is very still, and then he forcefully relaxes, clenching and unclenching their fingers. His ache for the Long Memory is so strong that even Oscar can feel it, but Oz doesn’t reach for the cane, just pushes them to sit up straight and leans back against the wall, hands still pressed to their side.

“…Perhaps,” he says, finally, with slight strain. “But it has been a—rather tiring day. Even for me.” A pause. “We… all make mistakes.”

Qrow’s face darkens, a flash of anger like a storm. “Yeah, that’s an understatement.” His fingers are white-knuckled on his sleeve, his jaw tight. He straightens, looking ready to snap—

“Okay,” says Robyn, from the front. She turns back to look at them. “I’ll bite. The hell is going on? What the fuck just happened to the kid?”

Oz visibly winces. In the back of their mind, Oscar sighs. Oh, geez.

Oz speaks very quietly, under their breath. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to—”

At this point, switching might make things worse, Oz. He pushes back, for once—hilariously—refusing control. Rebuilding trust, remember?

Oz sighs, but seems unsurprised, and Oscar suspects he perhaps just wanted to hear someone else say it. He straightens, then winces again when the pain in their side flares, bad enough even Oscar can feel it, though it’s muted by the distance.

“That is…” Oz exhales, hard. “I am Professor Ozpin. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hill. I have heard… good things about you.” He manages a smile. “To make a long story very short, I am—paired with Oscar through an old curse that has had me reincarnate again and again, until Salem is defeated. Oscar is my most recent incarnation. He is also, in fact, still here—I am just briefly taking control.”

Robyn blinks fast. She stares at them for a long moment, as if waiting for the punchline, and when one doesn’t come she sits back in the pilot’s seat and turns her face to the window, looking bewildered. “That’s… okay, then.”

Argh, we look so weird…

Oz’s expression twitches into a wan smile, but Qrow shifts and the smile drops, stone cold. Qrow does not look at all pleased. His eyes are bright with fury. “But why bother introducing yourself, anyway?” Qrow sounds icy. “Let me guess. The moment you give up control, snap! Gone away again, right?”

“What?” Robyn says.

Oz doesn’t react. For Robyn’s benefit, he says, reluctant and forced, “I… also have spent these last few months— mostly unaware, as it were. I have only just returned.” His eyes flicker to Qrow. He takes a long breath. “I… I want to say that I am—”

“Save it.” Qrow’s voice snaps. “Why now? Why today? Why the hell are you back?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Oz stares calmly back, but Oscar can feel his exhaustion, soul-deep and aching. They are both of them at their limit. “I… I am here. To stay. Even after Oscar takes back control. I am simply in control now to manage—the damage.”

Robyn’s eyes flash back, her hands tight on the airship controls. “The kid’s hurt?”

Qrow straightens at that. “What happened?”

Oz—

“They will find out sooner or later,” Oz says simply, cutting Oscar off. “Best to know now.” He closes their eyes and takes another breath. “Oscar sought to convince Ja—General Ironwood to change his mind about Mantle. Ironwood… did not take well to this.” He pauses, then sighs. “He shot us off a cliff.”

There is a long, awful silence. Qrow looks pale. Robyn’s hands are white-knuckled on the controls. “So that’s it,” she says, voice tight. “That’s it. That’s—where he stands.”

Qrow stares. “…Are you serious?”

“…It broke our aura.” Oz presses their hand against the wound, breathing shallowly. “Only a bruise, thankfully, but… if Oscar’s aura had been any more depleted, we would not have survived the bullet, let alone the fall.”

Nothing. Qrow is still. Perhaps it is the shock about Ironwood, or whatever happened that bloodied Qrow’s weapon and left Clover Ebi’s pin in his grasp, but all his anger seems abruptly drained. He slumps against the door, hand covering his face. For a moment the only noise is the rattle of the airship, battling against the storm.

Oz looks away. “I understand if you cannot forgive me,” he says, in the silence. “And I will not ask you to. But Salem is coming. And if we do not act soon, then Atlas will meet a fate even worse than Beacon.” He lifts his head, but still, cannot seem to bring himself to look back at Qrow. “I… understand if you don’t trust me. I have not, after all, proved myself trustworthy.” He hesitates, longer, and then, quietly: “But please. Whatever the plan… let me help.”

Qrow breathes in. Breathes out. Straightens against the door. “I don’t trust you.” Blunt. Sharp. Oz doesn’t flinch, but his eyes close, and Oscar would cringe if he could. “And forgiveness isn’t even on the table, frankly. But.” Qrow scrubs a hand down his face. “Fuck, if James has really—well. We could use all the help we could get.” His hand lowers. His eyes are sharp. “Hey, Oscar.”

Oscar brightens in interest. Me?

Oz says, cautiously, “He’s listening.”

Qrow stares at them, as if trying to see Oscar past Oz’s eyes. “Do you trust him?”

Oscar’s response is immediate. I’m willing to try.

Oz winces. “Oscar—”

Like I said before. It’s never too late to build trust. Not if you’re willing to mend it.

Oz hesitates. Takes a deep breath, then pauses again, unsure of how to voice it. “Ah, he—”

“Stop.” Oz’s mouth snaps shut. Qrow closes his eyes. He looks tired again. “I can tell. Kid’s face is an open book, even when you’re the one wearing it.” His eyes open. He lifts his hand and looks at his palm. Oz was right—it is Clover’s badge, small and silver and flecked with drying blood.

Qrow looks at the badge for a long time, then gently closes his fingers around it. He tucks the badge away in his inner coat pocket, where his flask used to sit. “Well,” he says, to the wall. “If Oscar’s willing to give you a chance… fine.”

Oz falters, obviously taken off-guard. His surprise is tinged with something sharp and golden, a rush of relief. “I—that’s—thank you. I will—”

“I’m not done.” Qrow’s stare bores into them. “I don’t forgive you. At the moment, I’m too angry to really consider it. The kids… who knows. Maybe they’ll be a different story. But whatever happens. Whatever comes next? You’re not in charge. And if you step out of line, if you lie—again?” Qrow leans forward. “This is it, Oz. One last chance.” His voice rasps. “Try not to fuck it up, yeah?”

Silence, again. Qrow leans back against the door. He seems drained. Tired. He closes his eyes.

“I understand,” Oz says. He looks down. “Thank you.”

Another pause. The silence stretches. Oscar nudges him, and Oz takes a breath. “Qrow. I am sorry for your loss. He seemed like a good man.”

Qrow’s jaw clenches, and he looks up, livid—but Oscar is already in control again, blinking fast from the blood rush and pulling a face at the floor. Qrow slumps. “That—!”

“He meant it.” Oscar presses at his side, closing weary eyes. He feels tired, but—pleased, too. Oz is a quiet sigh in the back of his mind, but his emotion is a tangle of guilt and bone-deep relief. A chance. It is more than Oz feels he deserves, but that is what he’s been given.

Still. I wouldn’t exactly label that conversation as having “gone well,” Oscar.

“No,” Oscar agrees, “but it’s a start.” He lifts his head and gives Qrow a weak smile. “Thanks for hearing him out.”

Qrow sighs again. “The things I do for you kids.”

Oscar laughs at that. Then he trails off. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, shoot. The others—” He tries to sit up, and hisses when his side twinges. The pain is fading under the focus of their aura, slowly and surely, but it’s still seizing. “Salem is coming—and they think I’m dead or, you know, that you’re in prison—we need to—can we—?”

“Calm down, pipsqueak.” Robyn. She’s already flicking through the controls. “Finally, something I can do. That conversation was dramatic, don’t get me wrong, and it did explain some stuff, but wow that was awkward to sit through. Give me a sec.”

Qrow puts a hand back over his face. In the back of Oscar’s head, Oz is a momentary burn of embarrassment.

I’ll admit. I forgot she was there.

Oscar snickers once, smothers it at Qrow’s glare, and gives Robyn a smile. “If you can reach them—”

“Got it.”

Static crackles through the airship. A voice bleeds through. No-nonsense and sharp—Maria. “Who is this?”

Oscar sits back, eyes half-lidded, exhaustion lingering, listening to the sound of his friends’ voices. Jaune. Ruby. Nora and Ren and Weiss and all the others. He closes his eyes with a smile, calls a weak affirmative when they demand after him, and lets their relief wash over him, warm, welcome. They’re all alive, they know he’s alive—Qrow is as willing to work with Oz as he can be, and sooner or later they’ll have a plan.

Salem is coming. The storm is almost upon them. But there is a warmth, Oscar thinks, in knowing he won’t face it alone.

Maybe Ironwood never saw Oscar for Oscar, and maybe he never saw Mantle as a place worth saving—who can know? But the people here care, the people here see him, and together, he thinks, they can at least give Mantle a chance.

Oscar.

He pries his eyes open. Qrow and Robyn are talking with the others—hashing out a place to meet, to plan. Soon they’ll all be together again. Soon they’ll figure it out.

Thank you. I know I have said that numerous times today, but… truly. Thank you for giving me a chance.

Oscar hums, and closes his eyes. “Had an advantage,” he mumbles back, exhausted. “Knew you meant it.”

Oz feels lighter. Almost as if he wants to laugh. True. Oscar’s head dips. Oz’s voice is warm. Rest, Oscar. I’ll wake you when we land.

He knows Oz will. There is a peace in knowing that—in having Oz watch his back. Oscar tips his head forward and lies down on the airship seats, and lets the crackling static of his team’s voices and the rumble of the airship carry him to sleep.

#rwby #oscar pine #ozpin #qrow branwen #qrow #robyn hill #rwby ozpin #ozma #rwby7 spoilers #rwby 7 #rwby7 finale #rwby fic #iza fanfic #please reblog if u liked it!!!

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friendlylocalwhumper · 5 years ago

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colby | colby released | desmond and kip | desmond and kip released | sonia

“Do you think she’s in pain?”

“Uhhh… I don’t know. She hasn’t, like, yelled, or anything.”

Lux frowns as he gets far enough into the safehouse to make out what the kids are saying. He steps into a living room stuffed with mismatched couches. There are two teens hovering by a woman who’s shoved herself into the corner, knees drawn up to her chest, arms over her head.

“She’s scared,” Lux murmurs, expression drawn with concern, and the kids startle, staring at him with wide eyes. “I’m with the Resistance, it’s okay. You guys need to back away from her, though, you’re making her feel trapped.”

“She’s hurt, we wanted to help. She won’t talk to us, though. We tried to pull her out, fix her up. She started hitting us.”

At one of them dabbing at their split lip with their sleeve, the listening warlock nods. “Yeah, well that happens when you grab someone who’s scared, huh? Give me some space, guys. I’ll try to help her. You two find another place to crash, this one might be burned.”

The kids scatter at his advice. Lux allows himself a moment to look over the room, to remember what it’s like to cower in a place like this. One that’s safer than hiding out on the street, but rundown and full of survivors who watch for weaknesses, who are just as likely to mock you as help you. This girl cowering in the corner seems like she’s had a bad scare and she can’t muster up the energy to get herself anyplace safer.

“I’m gonna walk closer to you. Gonna sit on the floor. I won’t touch you.” Once the room falls silent again, he starts moving, carefully, predictably. Once he’s within arm’s reach of her, he sits on the floor, legs crossed, hands in his lap.

“Hey,” He whispers, and she flinches, shoulders scrunched up to her ears.

Her eyes are open, but she’s not looking in his direction. Anyone this scared would watch the nearest threat.

“Can you see?” His voice is as soft and unobtrusive as it can get, the angle of his posture rounded at the corners to project calm, worry.

She shakes her head. Big hoop earrings sway.

“Can you tell me if you’re hurt?”

She hesitates, one arm coming slowly from over her head to be tucked between her thighs and her front, out of his immediate reach. Lux watches, notes the movement, the timing of her wince. Her wrist is hurt.

The witch shakes her head.

“You can’t tell me? Or you’re not hurt?”

Oddly pale, cloudy eyes blink. They’re easier to see now that her face is only partly hidden. Her breath rasps out, lips forming words. She bites her trembling bottom lip, after a second, like she wasn’t totally sure that no sound would come out, and she’s desperately upset to find that it didn’t.

Sadness knots up Lux’s stomach. “Okay. I understand. Um, sorry if this is stupid to say. But I’m a warlock. You’re in a safehouse, the one on Ruston Lane. There’s, um, one warlock and two witches here, right now, I think. And it’s daytime, like, three o’clock.”

Her brows crease, head tipping to the side. He can’t tell if she’s confused by the offered information, or by the fact that he shared it.

“Sorry, just. Giving you some context. I don’t know if you’ve always been blind, and you’re used to it, or if… I don’t know. You seem really scared right now. Overwhelmed. I thought it might have to do with not knowing what’s going on.”

A tense moment passes, where she listens for more, and he waits for her reaction. Finally, she nods.

“My name’s Lux. And I… I think I know what happened to you. There’ve been… people, like us, getting hurt. Were you… were you hurt?”

A soft, whispy sound escapes her. It’s like trying to talk to a ghost, Lux thinks - hard to reach, hard to understand. A shell of a person who was once living. The sad quiet sound is followed by a nod. Yes, she was hurt.

Lux dips his head down, breaking her wary, off-center eye contact. “I was too. Just, um - just a long time ago. Same guy, though. So I know… I know how scary it was. And he… he took your sight, huh?”

Glancing up, he catches her nod.

“And your voice? That’s why you can’t talk?”

Another nod, emotion etched into her face.

“I might be able to help with that. Which one do you want me to try to fix, first? Whichever one would make you feel less trapped.”

Pale, foggy eyes widen, and she taps by her temple to indicate them - but then she makes a jagged wheezing sound, waves her hands, taps at her throat. Anxiety only builds in the air around her as she makes an uncertain choked sound, hand hovering by her face, as she tries to decide.

Lux frowns. “Woah, hey, it’s okay. I know you want both back. I’m gonna work on it. Be as fast as I can. I know it feels important to be able to talk, to say what you need and tell people to back off, but maybe your sight is more important? Just so you can see where you are, and who’s close, and know what’s - know if anything’s coming. That’s what I would pick, anyway.”

The witch shoves herself harder into the corner, fingers clawed in frustration, knuckles pressed to her cheek as she hesitates.

She’s too vulnerable, and Lux is an unknown, an invisible threat looming over her. He needs to level the playing field before she’ll let his hands or magic come close.

Lux thinks about himself, his weak points. Things she can exploit. Things he can offer to her, to use against him, if she needs to.

“I-I, uh, I settle down when I get hit,” He admits, hushed and open. “He, he made me like that. So if… if I scare you, just throw a punch. I’m close enough that you’ll hit me. And when you do, I’ll - be sorry, and back off, and be scared. I’m really easy to scare. Okay? Just throw a punch, don’t even have to try to knock me out or shove me away. One hit and I’ll come undone. Does it help, to know that?”

Suspicion crinkles her expression. It must be hard to believe, that he’s so easy to disarm. She tenses, angles her head to listen closer, and he’s careful not to move, not to seem threatening. Her hand comes down from her cheek, slowly, furling up with stress, she’s digging her short nails into her palm in anxiety, he thinks -

The punch comes quick, too quick to react to before it lands. Lux’s head snaps to the side with the force of it, and he falls back from where he sat on his heels, arms flying out to catch himself. He scrambles back, sliding against the wall, breaths coming harsh and uneven.

The witch’s weight is leaning forward, now, hands on the ground, as she listens. She makes some sudden, small movement like she’s going to get up, and Lux whimpers, letting himself fall to the floor in favor of covering his head with his hands.

He should’ve seen that coming, he thinks. Of course she already felt scared enough to lash out with the first chance he gave her. She had to bring him down to her level. It’s not her fault. It’s okay.

He can’t stop cowering, though. He just can’t. Memories flash through his mind of his dad, Ant, the Hunter. Mind-controlled friends, warlocks in safehouses that beat him down so he wouldn’t be a threat. He can’t seem to get out of the deep sinkhole that is remembering the ache of his cheek, the anxiety that comes after being hit. Trying to figure out how he could have been better, and how he might be hurt next.

Lux flinches and curls up tighter when a hand is laid on his arm. It slides up to his shoulder, patting twice, then follows his arm down to his hand to pull it away from his face.

Above him, the witch hovers, trying to pull him back up.

“O-oh,” Gasps Lux, letting her tug on his arm until he’s sitting up against the wall. “Sorry. I - I meant it, when I said, s-said it makes me… scared.”

The witch nods. She needed that, he guesses. Needed a win. She doesn’t seem amused by his coming undone, at least.

“Can I try to help, now? With your eyes?”

She shakes her head, and his heart sinks… but she finds his hand, again, by patting across him, and brings it up to her throat.

“Oh. Your voice first?”

A nod, and a frown when he pulls his hand out of hers.

“Okay. I’ll work on it. Just - I’m not, I don’t wanna touch your throat, okay? I don’t - I know it’s scary to get grabbed, like that. I can do it w-without touching.”

Thick brows arch with confusion at that, but she lets him talk himself through the spell he’s going to try, and raise his hands to her throat to seep magic in there, and fail, and try again. Her head jerks to the side, a few times, like she hears something behind her, but they’re alone. Each time, Lux ends the magic and promises he’ll tell her if someone comes in.

Finally, after cobbling together some experimental spells, Lux unlocks something. The little, nasty spell keeping her throat from doing something important that puts sound behind words. The witch gasps with volume now, choking out a startled laugh.

“Oh! Hnn. F-fuck. That’s - better. Hah. God. Okay. Thanks, guy.”

“Lux,” He offers, smiling at her relief. “That’s better?”

“Ye-, yeah. Never heard that spell before. You make it up?”

“Uh, I did, yeah. Just mixed together the one for fixing, like, things that fell apart, and the one-”

“Right. Cool. Well I’m sorry for hitting you. You got scared, huh?”

Shame drags Lux’s shoulders down. He guesses that she can’t know it hurts him if she can’t see how he reacts. And besides, magic users don’t soften up and get gentle just because someone’s feelings are hurt. “I get… get scared, a lot. I was with him f-for a year.”

Her expression drops in an instant, voice failing her. Finally, she rasps out a dim, “Oh.”

“B-but, it’s okay though. I’m okay now. ‘Cept when I get hit. Um, can I ask your name?”

Those hoop earings sway again as she nods. Lux wonders, idly, why the Hunter let her keep those in. Seems like they’d get torn out or something, with everything he does. Maybe he didn’t want to erase who she is. Maybe he’s letting them keep things like that, little things, that make it hurt after they’ve changed. Old pieces of their identity no longer fitting, now that they’re different, a little broken.

Those bold earrings still suit her, though, Lux thinks. She’s still tough.

“Sonia,” She answers.

“Nice to meet you, Sonia. Mind if I work on your sight, now? And - you won’t hit me, if I can’t do it, right?”

A small, bitter smile pulls at her lips. “I won’t hit you. Just… fix it fast? I can’t stand it.”

Lux nods, hands coming up to hover by those unnaturally grey eyes. “I’ll try. I really will. He, um… I’m gonna fix as much of this as I can. Ev-verything he’s doing. He doesn’t get to mess people up like - like this. ‘m gonna try.”

#whump #drabble #mine #sonia #lux #worried #caregiver #afraid #past trauma #can't see #can't speak #magic #strong #the spree #lady whump #angst

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