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acid-ixx · 2 months ago

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ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

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ruhua-langblr · 1 month ago

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Language Apps Suck, Now What?: A Guide to Actually Becoming "Fluent"

The much requested sequel to my DL post that was promised almost a year ago.

I'm going to address all of the techniques that have helped me in my language learning journeys. Since 95% of these came from the fact that in a past language learning mistake, they are titled as my mistakes (and how I would/did things differently going forward). For those that read to the bottom there is a "best universal resources" list.

Disclaimers:

"Fluency" is hard to define and everyone has their own goals. So for the purpose of this post, "fluency" will be defined as "your personal mastery target of the language".

If you just want to pick up a bit of a language to not sound like a total foreigner on vacation or just exchange a few words in a friend's native language, feel free to ignore what doesn't apply, but maybe something here could help make it a little easier.

This is based on my own personal experience and (some) research.

Mistake 1: Asymmetrical Studying

Assuming you don't just want to do a single activity in a language, or are learning a language like ASL, a language requires 4 parts to be studied: Speaking, Listening, Writing, Reading. While these have overlap, you can't learn speaking from reading, or even learn speaking from just listening. One of my first Chinese teachers told me how he would listen to the textbook dialogues while he was biking to classes and it helped him. I took this information, thought "Yeah that's an idea, but sounds boring" and now regret not taking his advice nearly every day.

I think a lot of us find methods we enjoy to study (mine was reading) and assume that if we just do that method more ™ it will eventually help us in other areas (sometimes it does, but that's only sometimes). Find a method that works for you for each area of study, even better find more than one method since we use these skills in a variety of manners! I can understand a TV program pretty well since I have a lot of context clues and body language to fill in any gaps of understanding, but taking a phone call is much harder—the audio is rougher, there's no body language to read, and since most Chinese programs have hard coded subtitles, no subtitles to fall back on either. If I were to compare the number of hours I spent reading in Chinese to (actively) training my listening? Probably a ratio of 100 to 1. When I started to learn Korean, the first thing I did was find a variety of listening resources for my level.

Fix: Find a variety of study methods that challenge all aspects of the language in different ways.

A variety of methods will help you develop a more well-rounded level of mastery, and probably help you keep from getting bored. Which is important because...

Mistake 2: Inconsistent Studying

If there is one positive to a language app, it is the pressure it puts on keeping a streak. Making studying a part of your everyday routine is the best thing you can do. I benefited a lot from taking a college language course since I had a dedicated time to study and practice Chinese 5 days out of the week (and homework usually filled the other two). Memorization is a huge part of language learning, and stopping and starting is terrible for memorization. When I was in elementary school, we had Spanish maybe a couple times a month. Looking back, it seems like it was the first class to be cut if we needed to catch up on a more important course. Needless to say, I can't even speak Spanish at an elementary level.

However, I'm sure many people reading this don't have the time to do ultra-immersion 4-hour study sessions every day either. Find what days during the week you have time to focus on learning new vocab and grammar, and use the rest of the week to review. This can be done on your commute to school/work, while you do the dishes, or as a part of your morning/evening routine. Making this as realistic as possible will help you actually succeed in making this a habit. (Check this out for how to set realistic study goals)

Fix: Study regularly (ideally daily) by setting realistic goals. Avoid "binge" studying since remembering requires consistent repetition to be most effective.

Mistake 3: Resource Choice

This is really composed of two mistakes, but I have a good example that will cover them both.

First, finding resources that are at or slightly above your level is the most important thing. Easy resources will not challenge you enough and difficult resources will overwhelm you. The ideal is n+1, with n as what you know plus 1 new thing.

Second, getting distracted by fancy, new technology. Newer isn't always better, and there are often advantages that are lost when we've made technological developments. I often found myself wanting to try out new browser extensions or organizational methods and honestly I would've benefitted from just using that time to study. (Also, you're probably reading this because of my DL post so I don't think it has to be said that AI resources suck.)

A good example of this was my time using Clozemaster. I had actually recommended it when I first started using it since I thought the foundation was really solid. However, after long term use, I found that it just wasn't a good fit. The sentences were often too simple or too long and strange for memorization at higher levels or were too difficult at lower levels. I think that taking my textbook's example sentences from dialogues into something like Anki would've been a far better use of my time (and money) as they were already designed to be at that n+1 level.

Fix: "Vet" your resources—make sure they will actually help you. If something is working for you, then keep using it! You don't always have to upgrade to the newest tool/method.

Mistake 3.5: Classrooms and Textbooks

A .5 since it's not my mistake, but an addendum of caution. I think there is a significant part of the language learning community that views textbooks and classroom learning as the worst possible resource. They are "boring", "outdated", and "ineffective" (ironically one of the most interesting modern language learning methods, ALG, is only done in a classroom setting). Classrooms and textbooks bring back memories of being surrounded by mostly uninterested classmates, minimal priority, and a focus on grades rather than personal achievement (imagine the difference between a class of middle schoolers who were forced to choose a foreign language vs. adult learners who self-selected!) People have used these exact methods, or even "cruder" methods, to successfully learn a language. It all comes down to what works best for you. I specifically recommend textbooks for learning grammar and the plentiful number of dialogues and written passages that can function great as graded readers and listening resources. (Also the distinction made between "a youtube lesson on a grammatical principle" which is totally cool, and "a passage in a grammar textbook" is more one of tone and audio/written than efficacy).

Classrooms can be really great for speaking practice since they can be a lot less intimidating speaking to someone who is also learning while receiving corrections. Speech can be awkward to train on your own (not impossible if you're good at just talking aloud to yourself!), and classrooms can work nicely for this. Homework and class schedules also have built in accountability!

Fix: Explore resources available to you and try to think holistically about your approach. CI+Traditional Methods is my go to "Learning Cocktail"

Mistake 4: Yes, Immersion, But...

I realized this relatively quickly while learning Chinese, but immersion at a level much higher than your current level will do very little for you. What is sometimes left out of those "Just watch anime to learn Japanese" discussions is that you first need to have a chance at understanding what is being said. Choosing materials that are much higher than your level will not teach you the language. It doesn't matter how many times someone at HSK 1 hears “他是甘露之惠，我并无此水可还”, they will not get very far. Actual deduction and learning comes from having enough familiar components to be able to make deductions—something different than guessing. An HSK 1 learner, never having heard the word 老虎 will be able to understand "tiger" if someone says “这是我的老虎” while standing next to a tiger. This is not to say you can never try something more difficult—things should be challenging—but if you can't make heads or tails of what's being said, then it's time to find something a bit easier. If mistake 2 is about the type of method, this is about the level. If you wouldn't give a kindergartener The Great Gatsby to learn how to read, why would you watch Full Metal Alchemist to start learning a language?

Side note: Interesting video here on the Comprehensible Input hypothesis and how it relates to neurodivergence.

Fix: Immerse yourself in appropriate content for your level. It's called comprehensible input for a reason.

Mistake 5: On Translation

I work as a translator, so do you really think I'm going to say translation is all bad? Of course not. It's a separate skill that can be added on to the basic skills, but is really only required if you are A. someone who is an intermediary between two languages (say you have to translate for a spouse or family member) or B. It is your job/hobby. In the context of sitting down and learning, it can be harmful. I think my brain often goes to translation too often because that's how I used to learn. Trying to unlearn that is difficult because, well, what do people even mean when they say "don't translate"? They mean when someone says "thank you", you should not go to your primary language and translate "you're welcome" from that. You should train yourself to go to your target language first when you hear the word for "thank you". A very literally translated "thank you" in Chinese "谢谢你" can come off as cold and sarcastic. I don't tell my friends that, I say "谢啦～". Direct translation can take away the difference in culture, grammar, and politeness in a language. If there is a reason you sound awkward while writing and speaking, it's probably because you're imposing your primary language on your target language.

Fix: Try as hard as you can to not work from your primary language into the target language, but to work from the structures, set phrases, and grammar within the target language that you know first.

Mistake 6: The Secret Language Learners Don't Want You To Know...

...is that there is no one easy method. You are not going to learn French while you sleep, or master Korean by doing this one easy trick. Learning a language requires work and dedication, the people that succeed are those that push through the boredom of repetition and failure. The "I learned X in 1 year/month/week/day!" crowd is hiding large asterisks, be it their actual level, the assistance and free time available to them, "well actually I had already studied this for 4 years", or just straight-up lying. Our own journeys in our native tongue were not easy, they required years and years of constant immersion and instruction. While we are now older and wiser people that can make quick connections, we are also burdened with things like "jobs", "house work", "school work", and the digital black hole that is "social media" that take up our time and energy. Everything above is to help make this journey a little bit easier, quicker, and painless, but it will never be magic.

I find that language learning has a lot in common with the fitness community. People will talk about the workout that changed their life and how no other one will do the same—and it really can be the truth that it changed their life and that they feel it is the ultimate way. The real workout that will change your life is the one you're most consistent with, that you enjoy the most. Language learning is just trying to find the brain exercise that you can be the most consistent with.

Fix: Save your energy looking for shortcuts, and do the work, fail, and come back for more. If someone tells you that you can become fluent in a ridiculously short amount of time, they are selling you a fantasy (and likely a product). You get out what you put in.

For those that made it to the end, here are some of my "universal resources":

Refold Method: I don't agree with their actual method 100%, but they've collected a lot of great resources for learning languages. I've found their Chinese and Korean discords to also be really helpful and provided even more resources than what's given in their starter guides.

Language Reactor: Very useful, and have recently added podcasts as a material! The free version is honestly all you need.

Anki: If I do not mention it, the people with 4+ year streaks with a 5K word deck will not let me forget it. It can be used on desktop or on your phone as an app. If you need a replacement for a language learning app, this is one of them. Justin Sung has a lot of great info on how to best utilize Anki (as does Refold). It's not my favorite, but it could be yours!

LingQ: "But I thought you said language apps are bad!" In isolation, yes. Sorry for the clickbait. This one is pretty good, and more interested in immersing you in the language than selling a subscription to allow you to freeze your streak so the number goes up.

Grammar Textbooks: For self-taught learning, these are going to be the best resource since it's focused on the hardest part of the language, and only that. If you're tired of seeing group work activities, look for a textbook that is just on grammar (Modern Mandarin Chinese Grammar is my rec for Chinese, and A Guide to Japanese Grammar by Tae Kim is the most common/enthusiastic rec I've heard for Japanese).

Shadowing: Simply repeat what you hear. Matt vs Japan talks about his setup here for optimized shadowing (which you can probably build for a lot cheaper now), but it can also just be you watching a video and pausing to repeat after each sentence or near simultaneously if you're able.

Youtube: Be it "Short Story for Beginners", "How to use X", "250 Essential Phrases", or a GRWM in your target language, Youtube is the best. Sometimes you have to dig to find what works for you, but I imagine there is something for everyone at every level. (Pro tip: People upload textbook audio dialogues often, you don't even have to buy the textbook to be able to learn from it!)

A Friend: Be it a fellow learner, or someone who has already mastered the language, it is easier when you have someone, not only to speak to, but to remind you why you're doing this. I write far more in Chinese because I have friends I can text in Chinese.

Pen and Paper: Study after study, writing on paper continues to be the best method for memorization. Typing or using a pen and tablet still can't compare to traditional methods.

The Replies (Probably): Lots of people were happy to give alternatives for specific languages in the replies of my DL post. The community here is pretty active, so if this post blows up at least 20% of what the last one did, you might be able to find some great stuff in the replies and reblogs.

I wish you all the best~

#langblr #mandarinblr #language learning #resource #dare i put this in the duolingo tag lmao

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penkura · 6 months ago

Text

where you belong [2/10]

Summary: As Luffy's big sister, you've viewed it to be your job to see him become King of the Pirates in place of your absent parents, even as you try to find where it is you belong in the world. You never really expected to draw the attention of Trafalgar Law in the process.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!reader

Warnings: Discussion of feelings of abandonment, age gap relationship (four years), brief secret relationship, mentions and heavy refences to sex, mentions of alcohol, typical One Piece stuff. Other warnings to be added if needed.

Note: Sorry this has taken so long! I wanted to really progress these two and get some moments between them, so the chapter ended up bigger than planned! Next one is a good one I think. ;) Forgot to mention last time but Reader is going to be described as shorter than Law, and that height difference can be your own interpretation (I'm 5ft tall, these men would tower over me).

I am also FLOORED at how well received the first chapter was and that we've got a taglist for this series, my gosh. You guys are so sweet and wonderful!! If I missed you on the taglist PLEASE let me know and I will add you to the future chapters! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and the beginning of Law and Reader falling for each other!

Taglist:

[Ch. 1]

You spend the next week learning more about the Polar Tang and the Heart Pirates themselves, Law taking most of your time to help you get used to things. He's made sure you understand the basic rules of the ship, for his crew, including the boiler suits, and what do in case of certain emergencies. You’re going to be working on your poisons in his office, in case anything happens, he can help you fix it. You’re honestly grateful for the time everyone has taken to help you get your bearings straight and work out where things are. You’ll be sharing a room with Ikkaku, who is so glad to have another girl aboard for as long as you are. She’s already started sharing some gossip with you, pointing out those involved so you knew who was who on top of it all.

Penguin has been extremely kind and helpful, telling you that you’re welcome to join him for night watches once you tell him you spend a lot of time writing during your shifts on the Sunny.

Shachi and Uni both showed you around some of the major maintenance areas, both promising they’d help you learn the most basic things so you can be of help if needed.

You’re about to join Bepo for a quick navigation lesson before their captain calls you, wanting to discuss somethings with you before you got too far away.

Law, although he agreed to letting you stay with him and his crew, still isn’t entirely sure what to do with you. There’s still that strange feeling in his chest when you smile at him, as you thank him for all his help and allowing you to stay, once he brings you to his office again a few days later, and he waves you off.

“You don’t have to thank me constantly.”

“I know,” you smile again and he feels that feeling that’s been hanging around, but Law tries to ignore it, “I’m just…really grateful. I know my being here may be a burden—”

“Not a burden, you’re welcome here. Everyone’s glad you’re staying around for now.”

Hearing that makes you brighten up, as Law starts to question you more about what you do for the Straw Hats, and what you can bring to his crew in the meantime. You list off everything you’ve come to learn about being at sea from being a Straw Hat, Law making mental notes on other things to ask about later.

“Any other special talents we should know about?”

You start to think, pressing a finger to your chin while you do so. Another action Law has to tell himself isn’t cute, before you grin and lean in close to him, quietly speaking.

“I can see the dead.”

Complete silence as Law raises an eyebrow at you as you continue to grin, halfway expecting him to ask for proof. Ask you to tell him about a spirit that might be hanging around the Polar Tang, or around one his crewmembers, but he doesn’t ask anything, eventually returning to a straight face.

“No you can’t.”

“…okay fine, I can’t. It’d be cool though!”

He rolls his eyes, which makes you laugh in return. Law goes to let you out of his office which you oblige by, knowing he’s done talking with you now that you’ve made your joke. He stops you with a hand on your shoulder first, you giving him a questioning look.

“I’ll help you make antidotes for your poisons. But you won’t use my crew as test subjects.”

“Ha! That’s fine, I don’t test on people anyway, just in case. Just give me some fish and I can use those.”

Giving him another grin, you walk ahead saying Bepo was going to show you something next, but Law had rudely interrupted by wanting to know what you could bring to his crew for the next two years. You’ll promise later to make extra batches of antidote for him to keep in his medicine stockpile, while Law watches you hurry down the hall and sighs.

“That’s the wrong way.”

He’s quick to follow you, grabbing your arm and bringing you back the right way, deciding he’ll join you and Bepo for whatever it was you two were discussing next. He wants to ensure you’re being given correct information and know what to do in an emergency, especially so if you need medical attention.

Atta boy, Law.

If you really could see the dead, you’d have noticed the tall, blond man with makeup and a large, black feathered coat pushing Law towards you.

+!+

“We’re approaching a winter island, everyone needs to be ready to disembark for a bit and—”

“A winter island?!”

Your outburst causes Law to stop speaking with a nod at you, and you’re gone to the crew bunks in an instant, followed by Bepo who is just as excited. Law gives a look to Ikkaku and Uni, who you’d been talking to when he came in, and both simply shrug at him. They all briefly noticed a sparkle in your eyes as you ran off, likely to change clothes and get ready to disembark, but none of them knew your intent or real interest in the snow.

It's only when Law catches you by the exit door with Bepo, excitedly talking with the Polar bear mink about what you could do in the snow, all dressed up in your coat, thick pants, boots and gloves. You and Bepo trade ideas back and forth about what to build out of the snow, or if you can get a snowball fight started.

Law hasn’t seen someone so excited for snow in a long time, he thinks not since the last winter with Lami.

Penguin joins you and Bepo by the door next, throwing an arm around your shoulders and giving you a smile.

“What’re you so excited about some snow for?”

“It practically never snows in my home town! I think it snowed maybe twice while Luffy and I lived there? Chopper is from a winter island, so when we were there, it was so exciting!”

“Haha, I’m from the North Blue, so snow is pretty normal up there. Well…the area me and Shachi are from anyway.”

“Ah,” you give a little sigh but smile yourself, “I’m so jealous. What about Trafalgar?”

“That’s…well, kind of different, but we did meet him where we used to live,” looking over his shoulder, Penguin sees Law but leans into whisper, “Probably better if you ask him another time. It’s…a lot…”

Before you have a chance to question it, Law comes up behind Penguin and tells him to go ahead with opening the door, the Polar Tang should be stable enough for you all to leave now. You put that question into the back of your mind for later, instead running out with Bepo as soon as the door opens. The excitement both of you have is almost contagious, as the rest of the Heart Pirates slowly join you outside. While some of them are tasked with scoping out the island, the rest end up with you and Bepo building snowmen for a while, though you and the mink end up making a snow polar bear the best you can even if it looks a little goofy in the end. Some pieces are a little larger than others but you still think it’s cute, even as your companion bows his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N], I made some things a little too big.”

“No, that’s okay, Bepo! It gives it charm, I think he’s cute!”

You reassure Bepo a few times with a smile, before the two of you go to work with others on more snow sculptures. It goes well until you get hit in the face with a snowball, thrown by Hakugan at Shachi who dodged just in time. While it makes you sneeze a bit as you brush the snow off your face, with Bepo and Ikkaku yelling at Hakugan while he shouts apologies and Shachi nearly cackles, it doesn’t upset you at all really. Yeah it kind of hurt to have a snowball hit you in the face, but hey, you mentioned a snowball fight earlier, right?

Crouching down to gather up some snow, you put on a wicked grin and fling the ball at Hakugan yourself, catching him in the back as he turns away while you laugh.

“How about a warning next time?!”

“Yeah, snowball fight!!”

Most everyone joins in, gathering up all the snowballs they could or just throwing loose snow at each other, Law watches from the side, a slight smile on his face. He’s glad everyone can take a bit to relax and enjoy themselves, he’s not sure he’s seen his crew this excited about snow in a long time, even Shachi who grew up in the North Blue. Some of you group up to get an advantage over others, Law turns to ignoring the snowball fight as Penguin and Uni come back with what they found on the island.

All is well until Law is hit in the back of the head with a snowball, keeping himself upright but turning quickly to search through everyone and find who did it as you all quiet down seeing his glare. Not a single person looks him in the eye, but they all point to you, while you cover your mouth with your hand and try to stifle your laughter.

“S-Sorry, Trafalgar,” a giggle escapes you as you glance over to him, “I… I was… hehe… aiming for Penguin… honest!”

“Oh yeah…?” Law’s voice is low, he crouches down to scoop up some snow, locking eyes with you as yours widen and you turn to run, but realize it’s futile when Law uses his Shambles to catch up and grab you, shoving the snow he’d gathered into your coat and making you screech before everyone returns to the snowball fight.

“That’s cruel!!”

“Everyone get Captain, he’s cheating!’

While the rest of the Heart Pirates aim for Law, you and their captain are honed in on each other, trading blows from snowballs for the longest time, your personal goal to knock his hat off as payback for shoving snow down your back. Luckily you’re not the one to hit him hard enough to knock the spotted hat off, but you’re close enough to grab before he does, sticking it on your own head and playing keep away once Law realizes where it’s at.

“Looks good on me, huh, Trafalgar?! I might keep it!”

“The hell you will, that’s mine!”

Once Law catches you, he doesn’t let go until he’s snatched his hat back off your head and returned it to its rightful place, keeping a grip on your arm as he notices the sky starting to get darker. The rest of the crew has settled down, stopping at first to watch you and Law until a new snowfall began.

You forget for a few minutes that Law has a hold of your arm, it’s not uncomfortable, but you feel your heart pick up a bit from it.

“It’s pretty….the snowfall.”

He nods, finally noticing he still has a hold of you and letting go, disappointment flooding you as Law calls for everyone to return to the ship. Tomorrow will be a day in town to restock, you’ll all take off again afterwards.

You volunteer at dinner to make everyone the lavender milk tea that Makino once taught you, most of the crew enjoying it, but you’re especially surprised by Law liking it, even telling you so.

It's the small smile he gives when you thank him that makes you realize you just might be starting to get a crush on him.

+!+

Law knows something is up when you don’t join the rest of the Heart Pirates for a meeting before being let off the ship. He still does his job as captain, giving out duties to everyone so they knew what to do and who would be stocking supplies, who would be checking for wanted posters, and anything he felt needed to be done this time. He’d planned for you to join him on a once around the island to look for anything of interest, but when you don’t show up, he knows something must be wrong.

“Ikkaku-ya,” Law stops your roommate before she gets too far, Ikkaku giving him her full attention, “Where’s [Y/N]-ya?”

“Oh, um…” Ikkaku shuffles from one foot to the next, not fully looking at her captain and that’s what worries him more, until she speaks again, “She isn’t feeling well…she’s not sick so she doesn’t need a check-up but, it might be best to leave her alone today, probably tomorrow too…”

That leads to Law believing your cycle had started, and he chooses not to question it further, lest he or Ikkaku feel embarrassed about the discussion. He decides to leave you be, you’ll probably join them tomorrow for island exploring, most likely with Penguin if he asks you especially. When you do show up for dinner that evening, you’re quieter than usual and Law notices how Penguin and Ikkaku are the ones to talk with you. He can’t hear anything they say, but seeing you at least smile and respond to them is enough for him to think that everything is fine, you’re just not feeling 100% and that makes sense. He’s heard you and Ikkaku complain about cramps and the like the last few months, he already knows the first day is hard for you, so he lets it go. At least you’re out and talking to everyone.

But he knows something is up the next time it happens, not even two weeks later, and it can’t be blamed on your period this time. You don’t show up to a crew meeting, you still aren’t one of his crewmates but you’ve been joining for anything interesting or important, and Law doesn’t let it show that he's a little more worried, so he stops Penguin this time and asks him the same thing, where are you and why didn’t you show up?

Penguin doesn’t fully look at Law, scratching the back of his head as he tries to find the words.

“She…just isn’t up for it today, Cap. Maybe we should let her have the day off…”

Although Law tells Penguin that’s fine, he does go off to find you, the door to your and Ikkaku’s room barely open, but he knocks to make sure you’re not indecent or anything. There’s no answer so he opens the door, not seeing you anywhere, the new assumption being that you’re in the bathroom. He turns his attention there, again knocking on the door.

“[Y/N]-ya, Penguin-ya said you weren’t felling well, are you all right?”

No response, Law furrows his brow and knocks again, saying your name a little louder this time. He swears he hears a small whimper and a sob, and that’s what makes him finally open the bathroom door, simply saying he’s coming in before doing so, but he nearly freezes when he sees you.

Nearly curled up into a ball in the corner, head buried in your arms wrapped around your knees with numerous used tissues and he just knows that if you looked up at him, he’d feel that strange feeling in his chest again, or one of heartbreak, he isn’t entirely sure which one.

Law is not trying to scare you, but when he touches your hand and says your name a third time, it makes you jump and look up at him with wide, tear filled eyes, you feel beyond embarrassed that he’s caught you like this, but it quickly turns to more tears and a bit of anger.

“Are you—”

“Get out! Go away!!” Law barely dodges the box of tissues when you throw it at him, he’s not able to dodge the mascara you toss at his head as you keep yelling at him to leave. He doesn’t really move to leave until you stand up much too quickly and start pushing him out, he’s just surprised at your reaction to him finding you crying. “Leave me alone!!”

Once he’s out the door you almost slam it shut in his face and lock it, Law doesn’t know what to make of this really.

He can handle physical ailments, mental is a little harder for him but he’s working on it for his crew, yet emotional problems are not in his wheel house at all. He doesn’t really know why you’re locked in the bathroom, hiding in a corner crying, but that look on your face gave him an idea. He recognizes it from his own past, after his family and Flevance, then again after Corazon.

It was pure grief that was written on your face, definitely from your still fresh loss of Ace, and Law isn’t sure how to help you.

He doesn’t know if he should help you, you just might turn all your grief inward and ignore any hands held out for help, even from your new friends let alone him.

“Captain? Why are you…oh.”

Ikkaku finds Law still in your room several minutes later, staring at your bathroom door, until he hears her and looks at her, an expression she can’t read on his face.

“How long?”

“A few weeks now,” she sits on the edge of her bed, not looking at Law now, “It happens randomly it seems like, or something reminds her of Ace and sets her off. His birthday is soon, so that might be it right now. Penguin and I promised we wouldn’t let anyone know, so she could grieve alone.”

“Why was it being kept a secret?”

She shrugs a bit, Law isn’t sure he’s going to get many more answers today, but then Ikkaku speaks up again.

“She doesn’t want to burden anyone with her feelings, I guess. She should be fine by dinner, Captain, she just… needs some time.”

While she is correct, and you show up again at dinner looking normal but still with a sadness on your face that he can see, Law wonders if there’s something he can do to help you. Your need to grieve and have that time alone isn’t a bad thing, he won’t deny you that when you need it, but he wants to do something for you, he still doesn’t know you well enough to know that exactly you need, but anything is better than letting you be alone.

He knows all too well how that feels.

When it happens a third time, several weeks later, you don’t show up once again, Law doesn’t even need to look at Penguin or Ikkaku, they won’t meet his eyes anyway. After he lets everyone else go, his next mission is to find you, even though he knows exactly where you are. Law isn’t sure if his plan is going to work, but he wants you to stop hiding away from everyone when you break down. It’s not because he’s angry about it, he just doesn’t want you to continue suffering alone. It’s not good for anyone to do that.

He doesn’t even knock when he gets to your room, but does so when he sees your bathroom door is closed like the last time.

“[Y/N]-ya, I’m coming in.”

“No,” you force back a sob, making sure the door is locked, “Go away!”

“I won’t.”

You haven’t experienced all the abilities Law has at his disposal, but you aren’t that surprised when you see a blue hue, and he’s in the bathroom with you not even a moment later. He’s not phased by you attempting to throw things at him again, even while you yell at him to leave you alone, you don’t need help, you don’t need anyone right now.

You’ve handled things like this by yourself your whole life, why would need help now?

“I don’t need help!”

“I’m not trying to help.”

“Then lea—”

Law doesn’t give you much more room to talk, instead grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a hug, pressing your face into his chest which causes your eyes to widen a bit and tears to flow even more.

“I’m not trying to help,” Law holds you tightly, feeling a just a bit of relief as you slowly wrap your arms around him in return while you return to crying, “but you don’t have to be alone, all right?”

“T-Trafalgar…I…I just—”

“I know, I get it. But,” he knows it’s probably going to sound hypocritical based on his own issues, but Law still feels the need to say it again, “you don’t have to do this alone.”

Law isn’t entirely sure why he’s chosen to let you cry into him, let you grip onto his shirt like he’s the only thing holding you to the earth while you continue to cry and say how it isn’t fair that Ace died, that you lost another brother (he’s going to have to ask about that later, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned it). Maybe it’s because he didn’t have anyone back then, when he lost his own loved ones. It might be that, because he saw a reflection of himself in you the first time he found you hiding away and struggling to handle your grief. While you drag the two of you to the floor, Law simply adjusts to as comfortable a position he can, he’s at least sure you��ll both be there a while. You don’t show any signs of calming any time soon.

Law doesn’t know why he came after you, but once your cries fade to nothing, not even whimpers, he’s relieved to hear you speaking to him without being upset or between sobs of anger and sadness.

“I’m sorry…for crying all over your shirt again…”

“Don’t be. It’ll wash.”

Law strokes your hair a bit while you finally smile, nodding, before he helps you up off the floor. While you wash your face, Law directs you to not worry about helping anyone out with chores or sharing shifts today, he’s already split everything up among his crew, you’re under strict orders from the doctor to rest and recover from your breakdown. He does offer to bring you something to eat and drink, which you take him up on, stopping him before he fully leaves your room.

“Thank you…Law, I appreciate this…”

He’s completely aware that’s the first time you’ve used his first name, and he notices a different feeling in his chest. It’s not the same, almost heart squeeze he’s felt before, but something more comforting. Warm almost, and he’s starting to get it more.

“You’re welcome, [Y/N]-ya.”

Ah, that’s what it is…

Law realizes he’s starting to have feelings for you, though he decides to push them down for now.

He’s not going to use your weakened emotional state to push himself further into your life, not when he doesn’t even know if he’s okay with these feelings or not. For now, he’s going to do what he said and bring you some lunch, he’ll deal with these feelings later.

It is nice to hear you call him by his given name though.

+!+

“You’re as reckless as your brother.”

You giggle a bit while Law continues to wrap bandages around your arm, shooting you a small glare while you laugh. He’s not amused, mostly because it was him you’d tried to protect and ended up getting hurt over. You shoved him out of the way of an enemy attack, receiving a deep slice across your own arm instead. Once he realized what happened, Law was furious with you, even though he knows you aren’t part of his crew, it didn’t change the fact he was trying to protect you for Luffy while your crew was apart. You were lucky, he’d told you after he forced you to the infirmary, that your attacker’s weapon didn’t have any poison on it. You’d probably be dead before he even got you there if it had been.

You just grinned and said it was the opposite, your attacker was lucky your knife didn’t have poison on it, or he’d be in worse shape than he already was from your perfect aim hitting him between the shoulders. It doesn’t cause Law any relief to hear that, he still glares and it makes you start to shrink away, averting your gaze elsewhere.

You two still don’t know each other very well, it’s only been a few months since Luffy tossed you to him as the Heart Pirates left Amazon Lily. Still, you’ve found Law is fiercely protective of his crew, his family, just as you are with the Straw Hats, and while you’re with them, you count as one of his crewmembers.

The feelings you’ve started to develop for him don’t help much, Ikkaku being the only one who knows since you’ve told her how distraught you feel over it.

How could you start falling for a rival pirate captain? It’s only a crush but it makes you feel like you’re betraying your crew sometimes.

“Law, I’m fi—”

“And what if you weren’t?” He’s nearly grinding his teeth and ties off your bandage a little tighter than he intended, making you take a sharp breath. “What would you want me to tell your brother?”

You shrug, starting to play with the end of the bandages to distract yourself from him. “Could just tell him I protected you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you jump when Law slams down the scissors on the metal plate, keeping his back to you so you don’t see how upset he really is, “My crew knows I don’t need it. They know to run if a battle might cost them their lives. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because I do this for my crewmates, too. I’ve even pushed Zoro and Sanji out of the way. I’m sorry if you don’t like it but—”

“Sorry wouldn’t bring you back from the dead.”

You both become silent, you taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment before nodding and biting your lip.

“You’re right…that’s why Ace isn’t back.”

“Hey, I didn’t—”

“Thanks for bandaging me up, Trafalgar,” Law turns around just as you jump off the table, going to leave, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Law watches you leave, letting out a frustrated sigh once you’re gone. He really hadn’t meant to upset you, it just came out, but it was also the truth. What good was ‘sorry’ if you had died and he had to tell Luffy that he'd lost another sibling, this time a blood related one? He didn’t want to have to deal with that, not when you and Luffy were still getting over Ace’s death.

He gets it, he really does, that pain doesn’t go away quickly, no matter how many false smiles you give to him or the others, or how often you laugh with them. No matter how many times he finds you crying the bathroom over you grief. It hasn’t been that long, he doesn’t expect you to be whatever is normal for you so soon. He probably shouldn’t be berating you, you’re not part of his crew so he doesn’t have the right, Law isn’t your captain.

But, you’re under his care for two years, you’re a temporary member of his crew, so you should listen to him. You’re proving to be as stubborn as Luffy is, but also just as protective as Law is.

And your progress with him, ugh. You’d finally gotten comfortable enough to call him by his first name, and now you’re back to calling him Trafalgar instead. Seven months of progress down the drain all because he was concerned, worried about you being reckless.

…why am I so worried though?

He could easily chalk it up to the fact you’re Luffy’s sister and he’s trying to protect you until you’re back with your crew, or he could even say its because of the feelings he’s developed for you, but Law doesn’t want to get into that right now.

Neither of you speak until dinner, when you run into each other right outside the kitchen and start a back and forth about who should go in first.

“You’re the captain, sir.”

“Ladies first, miss.”

You don’t like being formal, or hearing him call you ‘miss’, but you don’t want to fight about it. Not when his crew can hear and might be concerned about it.

“Crew shouldn’t eat without their captain there.”

“We don’t have that rule around here.”

Eventually you relent and go first, getting your food and taking the first free seat by Ikkaku, Law sitting beside you a moment later. You don’t talk to each other the whole time, you focus on your conversation with Ikkaku while Law responds to anyone speaking to him. You barely even notice when Law takes the roll he really didn’t want to have on his plate, and moves it to yours, almost like a peace offering that you two are okay, he’s not mad at you for trying to protect him anymore. You do give him a smile when you notice, which he returns with a nod before leaving for his room.

You sigh a bit, looking back to your plate and keeping your smile to yourself.

Things will be okay.

+!+

Over the last nearly ten months, Law has learned a few of your quirks. When you work on your poisons, you mark things three times over to ensure you have the correct amounts listed, you almost always strike up conversation with him about anything that comes to mind, even if Law doesn’t answer you.

Sometimes he’s caught you biting your pencil or pen while making notes, it’s one of your cuter quirks.

On nights you can’t sleep, like tonight, he can easily find you in the kitchen, brewing up some tea to help you fall asleep, and that’s where Law decides he has to talk to you. You’ve both moved past your argument from a few months ago, it’s like it never happened now, but he feels the need to speak with you about something important.

No, not his feelings, he’s going to ignore those as long as possible. He recognized them after you’d had an emotional breakdown, he’s not going to admit that especially, he doesn’t want you to think he has a kink for crying or something, absolutely not.

“Hey.”

“Oh, hey, Law,” you look over your shoulder for a second with a smile, turning back to your tea, “Couldn’t sleep, though some tea might help.”

“Your usual then?”

Nodding, as you finish off your tea making, Law sits at the table and waits for you to join him, knowing you’ve made him a cup of lavender milk tea too. You’d started doing that and either taking it to his office before you head to bed or having him join you in the kitchen where you have small conversations before you both turn in for the night.

You’ve gotten quite comfortable with Law, your own feelings for him aside. He’s been helpful with your poison and antidote creations, ensuring your ratios are correct and helping you when they aren’t. You’ve started discussing books you’ve both read, you were shocked to find he enjoyed the Sora Warrior of the Sea comics. His being such a nerd over them never struck you as odd thankfully, Law even letting you borrow a few of his copies so you can give it a try yourself.

He makes you feel safe and comfortable, you really enjoy being with Law.

Law thanks you when you hand over the mug of tea, taking your seat across from him to enjoy your own, settling into a welcomed silence. With how rowdy his crew can be at times, you get why Law hides himself away in his office most of the time, and you’re grateful that he lets you share the space when needed.

“I know you said I didn’t have to,” Law looks over to you as you speak, an eyebrow raised, “but thank you again, for letting me stay. I really appreciate the help you’ve given me.”

“Like I’ve said, its no problem. Everyone’s glad you’re here.”

I’m more than glad you’re here.

There’s a soft smile on your face that Law enjoys seeing, and he honestly hopes you won’t lose it after he talks to you.

“I wanted…to tell you something.”

“Go for it,” setting your mug down on the table, you rest your elbows there with your chin in your hands, “I’m all ears, Law.”

He's almost fighting himself on if he should or shouldn’t, maybe another time. It’s late after all, you probably want to go to bed now that you’ve had your tea. It’s making him sleepy too, but the anxiety he feels is almost nullifying the tea’s effects.

Taking a deep breath, Law finally speaks up again, not meeting your eye.

“I want to tell you about my past,” that makes you perk up, remembering what Penguin had said to you months ago, “But I don’t think I can tonight. It’s…”

“A lot…?”

He nods, which you return, realizing this must be more than what Penguin could’ve meant, it has to be hard for Law to dredge up whatever memories he has of his childhood and teenage years, of everything that led him to where he is now.

Everything that’s leading him down the path he’s chosen.

“So,” when he finally looks up at you, you’re not surprised at how tired Law looks, it has to be taking a lot for him to do this, “I want to set a time in a few days, where you and I can sit, and I can tell you everything. “

You need to know before I could ever tell you my feelings anyway.

“Law,” Nodding, you quietly reach out your hand to his, not wanting to scare him off, “Just tell me whenever, and I’ll make myself available to listen, okay?”

After he agrees, Law offers to walk you back to your shared room with Ikkaku, which you take him up on even though you know the way. The Polar Tang is only so big, but it’s nice to have him by your side. Once you reach your door, Law turns to leave and you stop him, grabbing his shirt sleeve and leaning up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, his eyes widening just a hair.

“Thanks for walking me…and trusting me, Law. See you in the morning.”

You don’t give him a chance to say anything in response before you enter your room and close the door, sighing heavily as you bring yourself to the floor, Ikkaku watching you from her bed.

“Man, you’ve got it bad for the captain, huh?”

“…it’s that obvious?”

“As obvious as the fact he’s the same for you, girlfriend.”

While you don’t believe Ikkaku is correct in that statement, Law isn’t able to bring himself to move for several minutes, frozen in shock that you decided to kiss his cheek and just run off to bed.

It looks like you’ve got more to talk about than just his past now.

#one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #where you belong #fem!reader #reader insert

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 6 months ago

Text

So uh. I had this super dumb idea and decided to roll with it.

Which I guess is kinda how writing works on the whole but anyway.

Here's the first chapter of a Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB Reader fic that absolutely no one asked for but my brain dumped on me anyway.

Whole first chapter is basically setting the scenario. Bear with me here. I intend for this to be both heartfelt and fcking hilarious in equal measure. As of right now I don't really have plans for it to carry on for more than three or four chapters, but who knows.

Timeline is set to around a decade after Gol D. Roger's death, prior to Mihawk having status as a Warlord of the Sea. He'd be in his late 20s to early 30s (don't ask me to math right now, it's almost five in the morning, I'll be more specific later). So not super-young Mihawk. He definitely already has his silly lil adorable pointy goatee/moustache that we all know and love so very much.

I don't even have a damned title yet. We'll just call it, uh. I don't know. Fucking uh........

Flight Risk

Ch. 1 of who even knows

Next Chapter Link

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No trigger warnings yet, possible future trigger warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Word Count: 3420

Only a few months had passed since you enlisted with the Marines, and nothing seemed to be going right. You were clumsy with both melee and ranged weapons, not particularly strong physically, and while you had improved through training you weren’t learning at nearly the same rate as the other recruits. It was no help at all that your somehow borderline useless devil fruit abilities had somehow been exposed and you were now the target of constant torment from other cadets, and even some superior officers.

You almost wanted to give up entirely.

You spent most of your free time hiding away from your peers at an old dock on the base to avoid the teasing. It was here you say now, arms wrapped around your knees and glaring out toward the setting sun after another day of being squawked at and offered crackers. All because you had taken a stupid dare from a stupid friend when you were six years old and eaten that stupid fruit.

You let out a heavy sigh at the sound of footsteps behind you, certain that one of your tormentors had discovered your hiding spot.

“Really not in the mood,” you said aloud, not bothering to look over your shoulder. “I’m sure it’s just as much fun talking about me behind my back—”

But instead, a commanding voice that made your breath catch in your throat and your eyes grow wide as saucers answered. You recognized it as its owner spoke your name aloud—anyone on base would have recognized it. You quickly scrambled to your feet and turned around to face Bogard with your hand raised in a salute, trying to keep your knees from shaking.

“S—sorry, sir, I—” He just held up a hand to stop you, and your mouth snapped shut immediately. His own mouth remained turned down in his usual characteristic frown, and after a moment he let out a vaguely frustrated sigh.

“Vice Admiral Garp requires your presence. Please follow me.”

You remained glued to the spot for a moment even as he turned on his heel and began to stride away. Garp and Bogard had shown up at the base a week ago on some business from headquarters that was being kept quiet around the rest of the base. You quickly forced yourself to follow after Bogard, your stomach in knots as you jogged to catch up to his long strides.

He didn’t speak again until you were outside the door of the office the vice admiral was occupying, turning to face you with his arms crossed. You quickly saluted again, your eyes still wide, burning the slightest bit—you were fairly sure you hadn’t blinked a single time since he had first addressed you.

“At ease, cadet.” You swallowed, lowering your hand and folding it behind your back with your other. “The vice admiral has some questions for you,” he said in brief explanation, opening the door. “Come.” You flinched as you followed him in, Garp’s booming voice meeting your ears as he shouted at someone through the den den mushi on his desk. It was clear he wasn’t in a good mood.

“Again?” he was saying, pacing behind the desk. “Yeah, I got it. Why do you think I’m at this shithole of a—” He gave a growl of annoyance, his grip tightening around the speaker. “Yes, Fleet Admiral. I think if I could manage to capture Roger, I can handle some brat calling himself the World’s Stronge—” He closed his eyes tightly, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I’m well aware of the threat. Doesn’t make him any less of a brat. With all due respect, sir, I know what I’m doing, Yeah. Uh-huh. Yeah. Understood.”

He dropped the handset back onto the den den mushi, sitting heavily in his chair behind the desk, strumming his fingers on the arm for a moment impatiently.

You felt as if you might pass out any second as you stood in front of the desk, trying to keep yourself still but still fidgeting slightly as your nervousness evolved toward something more like abject terror. There was no way this was about anything good. The vice admiral was here on orders handed down directly from his own superiors at Marine Headquarters. Vice Admiral Garp, recognized the world over as the hero of the Marines, the man that had brought Gold Roger to justice barely a decade ago.

An officer of his status wouldn’t waste his time with a lowly cadet like yourself unless the situation was incredibly dire.

When he finally lifted his eyes to look at you, you sprang immediately into a salute, and it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling. He glanced at Bogard, standing off to the side and idly flipping through a book on one of the shelves along the right side of the office walls. “This the one?” asked Garp.

“It would seem so,” he affirmed.”

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering over you. “At ease, cadet.”

Once more you folded your hands behind your back—though in literal terms, you were anything but at ease. Your face flushed and your legs visibly shaking at this point, it was all you could do to keep your eyes on his.

The vice admiral gave a small snort of amusement at your nervous state as he picked up a folder from his desk—a folder with your name written on the tab.

“Calm down, you’re not in any trouble,” he said. You still swallowed nervously, your mouth turning down ina slight frown. He read your name out loud at the top of the file before going on. “Says here your old man was a Lieutenant. Died in the line of duty among a fleet that took on a division of the Whitebeard pirates.”

“Y—yes, sir,” you said, giving a short nod when he glanced at you from over the top of the folder. “He’s the reason I enlisted.”

“Revenge?” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

“No, sir,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I looked up to him. He wanted to make the world a better place. Safer. That’s...why I enlisted.”

He nodded slowly, observing you for a long moment as he seemed to mull over your answer. “Good to hear,” he said finally, lowering his eyes back down to what you could only assume was your enlistment paperwork. “Revenge is thankless work. Your old man was a damned good Marine. Honorable. Sounds like the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.” You relaxed the slightest bit in the approval at his tone—it was perhaps the first compliment you had gotten from any of your superiors. “Unfortunately, we’re not here to reminisce. This is official business. And confidential.” He set the folder down on his desk, still open, meeting your eyes again. “I’ll need your word right now that you won’t repeat anything we discuss here to anyone.”

Your eyes widened a little, and you nodded quickly. :Of course, Vice Admiral,” you said immediately, your heart hammering in your chest.

He nodded slowly himself, picking up a lowball glass of what appeared to be whiskey from his desk. He gestured with his free hand to the chair across from him. “Then have a seat. We could be here awhile.”

You glanced at the chair behind you, and took a few steps backwards, folding your hands in your lap. You couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of official business he might have with you. You were a new recruit, tended to blend into the background—at least you had, until word had gotten out about….

Your stomach dropped at Garp’s next sentence.

“I understand you’re a devil fruit user?”

“I…am,” you said slowly, almost cautiously. You had received nothing but jeering and taunting for your ability, even before you enlisted. “It’s…not exactly a useful ability, though.”

“You don’t think so?” he said, with a hint of a smirk, and you shook your head, your eyes dropping down to your knees. “‘Omu Omu no Mi,’” he read off from the file. “‘Zoan type devil fruit. Gray parrot.’ You’ve had the ability for…fifteen years?” You nodded shortly, your brow still furrowed in your growing confusion. “You can’t think of any application where that would be useful?”

Your remained silent for some time, wondering if it was a trick question, some sort of joke at your expense. Sure the vice admiral wouldn’t waste his time calling you here for the sake of a joke. After a moment, you shook your head, lifting your gaze, grimacing a little. “It’s, uh…been more of a burden than anything, honestly,” you admitted.

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” Your brow furrowed a bit, and he gestured over to Bogard, still leaning against the bookshelf off to the side. “I’ve had Bogard here keeping an eye on you since we got here.”

That was incredibly surprising news to you. You glanced at Bogard yourself. You had seen him around the base a few times, but it had seemed to be only in passing. While you were still rendered speechless at the claim, Garp when on.

“I read in your file that your mother’s an…ornithologist?” he said, glancing down at the folder once more. Your brow remained furrowed as you nodded slowly, trying to wrap your head around where this could be going. “So I’d guess you have a pretty good understanding of birds. How they behave, interact with humans?”

“I—”

“With all due respect, Garp…” Both you and Garp glanced over at Bogard at his interruption. He lowered the book he had been flipping through, his frown deepening. “This is still the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard of.”

“Give me a better idea, then.” After a moment, Bogard rolled his eyes, lifting the book again, still looking quite disgruntled with the situation—whatever the situation was. Garp turned his attention back to you, gesturing with a wave of his hand for you to continue.

“I-I…did learn a lot from her,” you affirmed. “She specializes in parrots and corvids. She runs a veterinary practice and rescue service for them in the East Blue.”

“Think you’d be able fool people into believing you’re the real thing?”

“Wh…wha…”

You felt like you were trapped in some strange fever dream you couldn’t wake from. Garp raised his eyebrows as he waited for your response, as you frowned, struggling to collect your thoughts into something organized enough to allow you to speak.

“I…used to prank my mom into thinking I was one of the birds in our aviary,” you admitted, almost sheepishly.

Garp let out a hearty laugh at that, his smirk spreading into a grin. “Well, if you could fool an expert, then I guess you could fool damn near anyone, huh?” You blinked rapidly as he leaned forward, crossing his arms over the desk. “So. How much do you know about a pirate by the name of Dracule Mihawk?”

Your breath caught as you froze in place, your blood running cold.

There was no Marine, likely no one in the world, that didn’t know that name. It wasn’t long after the execution of Gold Roger that he had begun making the headlines, and not for anything good. Even as a rookie he had quickly gained a reputation for being ruthless and deadly, slaughtering pirates and Marines alike with seemingly no distinction between the two. For a few years now he had gained notoriety for being considered by many to be the world’s most powerful swordsman. You had heard stories of him singlehandedly destroying entire Marine warships without batting an eye.

The man was practically a living nightmare for any Marine.

“I…I’ve heard of him,” you managed to force out weakly.

Garp scoffed at that, taking a sip from his whiskey. “Who the hell hasn’t?” he said. “Especially among us. He’s been responsible for the deaths of more Marines over the past few years than any other pirate sailing the Grand Line. And completely on his own. No crew.” He shook his head, giving another scoff. “Almost no one we’ve sent after the bastard comes back alive. Except, of course, those he lets go willingly to tell us he’ll continue to slaughter anyone that challenges him. It’s a problem we can’t ignore.”

You swallowed, the rising tension in you rendering you as stiff as a statue. You could sense where this was going…and you didn’t like it one bit.

“I’m thinking a different approach could be out best bet in taking care of the problem. Something a little more subtle.” You nodded slowly to indicate you were following what he was saying—what he was suggesting. “I’m sure you don’t want to see any more Marines die at the hands to this monster any more than I do. Am I right?”

Of course he was right—you knew it as well as Garp did. Your father had been enough. Knowing that there were so many other Marines, other men and women that might leave behind broken families, losing their lives at the hands of such a ruthless killer…it sickened you to your core.

Once more, you nodded.

“Then we’re on the same page,” he said. He leaned back in his chair for a moment, taking a sip from his glass, before he set it down and stood up. “You say you think your devil fruit ability is useless. I say it could be exactly what we need.”

“Y…you want me to use my devil fruit to…” He paced slowly behind his desk, his eyes remaining on you, waiting for you to say it. “T…to take down…him?”

“Not…quite,” he said. “Like I said, different approach I want you to use your devil fruit ability against him. But not to take him down. I think you’re probably smart enough to know that you wouldn’t stand a chance in combat against him.” You swallowed, giving a short nod in agreement. “What we really need at this point is information. Any potential weakness that he might possess. Your ability isn’t useless, but it is…unassuming. You could spy on almost anyone you wanted without them knowing. And hey, let’s face it—pirates like parrots.”

You heard Bogard sigh heavily at this statement, and you couldn’t help but agree with his wordless disapproval. Pirates like parrots was a pretty broad generalization to make regarding such a dire situation.

“Look,” Garp said as your brow furrowed once more. He stepped out from behind his desk, slowly circling your chair. “Parrots are smart birds, right?” You nodded. “And they tend to bond pretty easily with humans?” Another nod, your eyes following him as he came around the other side of your chair, stopping right in front of you and leaning back against his desk. “You could get close to him without him having any idea you’re anything but a friendly, intelligent bird.”

“or he could consider her a pest and kill her,” said Bogard dryly—voicing the exact concern that was already forming in your own head.

Garp rolled his eyes. “One, there haven’t been any reports that he makes a habit of killing animals. Two, you’d be a bird. You can fly. He can’t.”

“He can split entire ships in half from at least a hundred yards,” Bogard pointed out.

“Yeah, he can,” agreed Garp—and his confirmation of this claim did absolutely nothing to help your resolve. “But why bother killing a bird that’s already flying away? He’s killing Marines to send a message that we can’t touch him. He’s killing pirates so his competition knows they can’t touch him. What’s he going to kill a goddamned parrot for?” Another sigh came from Bogard—it seemed as if the man had been through this exact same argument before. “Worst case scenario,” Garp continued, “you fly off to safety and consider it a failed mission. No black mark on your record, brownie points for even attempting it. Best case…” He crossed his arms, his mouth spreading into a grin. “You get close to a pirate no one has been able to touch for years, and return with commendation and respect from the entire Navy. Show all these recruits that have been laughing at your abilities that you’re a hell of a lot more useful than any of them.”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting off to the side. You didn’t consider yourself vain…but you had spent fifteen years considering your devil fruit completely useless. Now you had a Marine vice admiral, a man regarded by much of the world as a hero, telling you that you could potentially use your power to save the lives of countless people. It was the exact reason your father told you he had enlisted—to protect innocent lives, to make the world safer.

“I…I’m not much of a fighter,” you said finally. “If he were to figure out that I’m a human…a Marine, I…”

“You’d receive special training before the mission,” said Garp. “Enough to give you a fighting chance at escaping if you had to. Given what we know about Dracule Mihawk, it would still be dangerous, of course. But you’d still stand a better chance alone at gathering intel than an entire fleet of ships would stand facing him in combat. As it stands now,” he said, his expression shifting into a scowl, “there are several high ranking Marine officers that believe the only chance of dealing with him is offering him status as a Warlord. There’s still a problem with that, considering no one can get close enough to him to propose the offer. If nothing else, you could get close enough to do that.”

“Which would likely be the best course of action,” Bogard interjected.

And Garp ignored him.\

“I propose,” said Garp, “that you keep an eye on him for a month. Get as close as you safely can. Search for any potential weakness we could exploit, and report back. If there aren’t any,” he said, tossing a sharp glance at Bogard, before leveling his gaze with yours again, “then you go back with the paperwork in your pocket and propose the offer.”

And possibly be killed the moment you revealed who you were—what you were. That detail remained unspoken, but you had no doubt that both Garp and Bogard had already considered the possibility, if you were already thinking about it yourself.

You could be killed. In the blink of an eye. Without any warning. You could die attempting thing. It was almost insane to even consider what Garp was proposing.

But you couldn’t ignore the possibility that it could work. That it could save countless lives from ending.

Save countless families from the same grief you and your mother had endured.

You pulled in a slow, deep breath, lifting your eyes and meeting Garp’s.

And you nodded.

“I’ll do it.” His eyebrows shot up at your acceptance. “I’ll do anything I can to help.”

His surprised expression slowly split into a grin.

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” You turned your head as Bogard snapped his book shut, leveling his dark eyes with yours. Garp was already chuckling to himself, but Bogard’s expression remained grave as he went on. “You’re aware of the risk, I’m sure. The pirate in question has killed thousands of Marines to date, and I wish that was an exaggeration. This could very well be a suicide mission. If you’re doing this for recognition, I suggest you walk out of this office and forget every detail of this conversation.”

“I don’t care about recognition.” You shook your head as Bogard continued to regard you with a frown, lifting an eyebrow; as Garp tossed a glance at him that very clearly said told you so. “And I know the risk.I know I could die.” He crossed his arms, waiting for you to continue. You swallowed, going on quietly, “But…if it succeeds, then it could stop thousands of others from dying.” You lifted your gaze to meet his, straightening your back in the chair. “That’s all I care about.”

Though Bogard didn’t look entirely convinced, he wasn’t given any further opportunity to protest, as Garp let out a laugh. “You heard the girl, Bogard,” he said, reaching behind him and picking up the receiver from the den den mushi on the desk once more. “I say it’s time to get the ball rolling and finally give this madman a run for his money.”

Next Chapter Link again, for your convenience

#one piece #opla #mihawk #mihawk one piece #mihawk x reader #garp #bogard #smut #eventually smut anyway #fan fiction #one piece fan fiction #fanfic #dracule mihawk

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fanfreakinfiction · 1 year ago

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My Gods Are Not Kind to Lonely Mothers

Chapter 1: Don’t Cry

Ch. 2 | Masterlist 🖤

14K words // Din Djarin x Pregnantf!reader

Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader (Reader is younger but not weirdly young) Reader was a sex worker. Reader’s first language is one I made up she speaks pretty good basic but struggles to find certain words. The reader is pregnant!

Tags: SMUT virginity loss, con-non-con, made-up Star Wars culture & religion, split POV, slight language barrier, mention of death, mention of child death, dark!, 18+ DNI.

Warnings: Child loss, Pregnancy, Birthing, Blood, Death?, explicit mention of child loss and grief, guys this is dark.

A/N: I got this idea as I was dying in the shower from period cramps & also from a bot I used to use on Janitor AI before it was privated (RIP Din Bot). For logistics, we will just pretend that the Razor Crest didn’t get absolutely obliterated. For timeline reference, this takes place after season 3. Im convinced Din & Grogu are gonna have fun son/dad bounty-hunting adventures as Din teaches Grogu how to be a Mandalorian. Slight flashback in the middle of how reader and Mando met. Grogu has been working on his force flips lmao. I imagine the reader having an accent kind of like Gal Gadot, idk just roll with it. Also, I am so sorry if you cry reading this, I know I did writing it.

His hands ghosted over the silky skin of her back as he watched himself disappear and reappear from her stretched cunt. Slick mixed with blood pooled at the base of his cock in a ring, and the sound of her whimpers reached his ears through the thick metal of his helmet. The feeling of her tightness was so inviting, so hypnotizing, he felt possessed. He didn’t even mean to finish inside of her, he’d have to pay extra for that.

From the incense heavy room he found himself standing at the edge of an enigmatic forest, encircled by black rock. An ethereal silence enveloped the scene, leaving him with an eerie sense of detachment.

His eyes shifted as he looked up on a pool of steaming water, obscured by the thick veil of steam, he saw her. The woman he’d been with on Tattooine so long ago. She struggled, her words lost in the hissing steam as her trembling hand gently grazed her belly. And there, in the midst of the dream's uncertainty, he witnessed the miracle of life itself—a whisper of cells coalescing into a fragile existence, pulsating with an otherworldly vitality.

Yet, the serenity was short-lived. The gentle whisper transformed into a nightmarish wail—a blood-curdling scream that tore through the tranquility of the woods. It was a scream of agony, of despair, and it emanated from her trembling lips. Her lips, soft and inviting, the same ones he'd yearned to kiss that night when he had ventured into the pleasure house.

The piercing screams grew louder, echoing through the dream, a symphony of suffering that filled the air with torment. As he watched her agony unfold, he was jolted awake, his head colliding with the unforgiving overhead storage. The sudden transition from the surreal to reality left him momentarily disoriented.

In the dimly lit living quarters of the Crest, Grogu, the young green child who had become an unexpected but cherished presence in his life, cried out from his sling, hanging above Din's bunk.

With a heavy sigh, the sound reverberating through the vocoder in his helmet, Din rose to his feet. The aging joints in his knees protested as he reached out to comfort the child, his gloved hands gently lifting Grogu from the nest of makeshift fabric.

"I know," Din murmured softly, his voice a quiet rumble as he cradled the child in his arms. "You saw it too, didn't you, kid?" Grogu, with his large, expressive eyes, gazed up at Din with a mournful look and reached out, tiny green fingers brushing against the Mandalorian's helmet.

After the tumultuous events that had reshaped his life, Din Djarin had never allowed your memory to occupy his thoughts. Amidst the whirlwind of reuniting with Grogu, aiding Boba Fett, and playing a pivotal role in the reclamation of Mandalore, you had become little more than a faint blip on his radar—a passing connection that had provided a brief interlude of solace in the midst of his relentless journey.

But now, as he cradled Grogu in his arms, looking into the innocent, sorrowful eyes of the young child, he couldn't deny the awakening of something deeper within him. It was a sensation that transcended the confines of his dreams, a connection he felt as profoundly as the vivid dreamscape that had woven itself into his consciousness.

The realization slowly dawned upon him: you were more than just a fleeting memory. You were an integral part of the enigmatic tapestry of his life, and the threads of fate had woven your presence into his destiny in a way he had never expected.

Breaking free from his reverie, Grogu's tiny green form squirmed wildly in Din's arms, his latent Force abilities propelling him away from the Mandalorian's grasp. With agile grace, he leaped and bounced his way through the ship's cramped quarters, a small but energetic whirlwind of curiosity. Din could barely react before Grogu vaulted into the cockpit.

Din's boots thudded on the ladder's metal rungs as he followed the young one up into the cockpit. A chorus of wild babbling reached his ears, punctuated by the frenzied pressing of buttons on the navicomputer.

"Don't touch that!" Din exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his voice, his heart racing as Grogu's tiny hand hovered perilously close to the power reset button. He couldn't help but be wary of the mischief the child could unleash.

The young one looked up at Din with eager eyes, babbled something incomprehensible, and tentatively touched the screen. Din cocked his head, his tinted visor reflecting his curiosity. With a resigned sigh, he walked over to the console and entered a code to initialize the navigation system. "Is this what you want?" Din asked, studying Grogu.

In response, Grogu emitted a single, distinct "Patu" sound, his tiny fingers now reaching for the code panel. Hesitating only momentarily, Din bent down, lifting the child to eye level with the buttons. Grogu began to press a sequence of buttons, his small, green hands navigating the controls with surprising precision. Din's eyes widened slightly, his thoughts racing.

"You know where she is?" his voice came out raspy. Grogu completed the sequence, and his innocent gaze met Din's as the navicomputer diligently calculated the numerical sequence. After a few moments, a series of beeps indicated the successful completion of the calculations. Din turned to read the result, the Aurebesh characters on the screen spelling out "Kith."

"It's in the Baxel Sector of the Outer Rim," Din murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, as he looked down at the child now resting contentedly in his lap. Grogu gazed up at him, then shifted his gaze to the navicomputer.

With a reluctant sigh, Din pressed a sequence of buttons to engage the hyperdrive. Whether he liked it or not, the path ahead was clear. He had to check on you. As the ship surged into hyperspace, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that this journey was far from ordinary.

—

The path up to the Mountain of Mothers was a grueling journey, especially with your feet swollen and aching. It wasn't just a hike; it was a trial, a test of endurance to prove the worthiness of those seeking parenthood. The heavy pack you carried pressed on your lower back, making each step a test of your will. Normally, the pack was shared by the "Irrit" or father, but "Illa-ishi" or lonely mothers like you were compelled to carry it alone. The remnants of those who hadn't made it to the Mountain of Mothers were marked by the skeletons you passed on the way up.

The lower pool of the mountain lay two days away, and the upper pool required an additional five days of journey. Yet, something in your heart told you that this child would be with you in two days. As you followed the ascending trail, you crossed paths with an "Illa" or mother, accompanied by her Irrit. He bore their pack with pride, walking just behind her. It was a sight that warmed your heart, a testament to the culture you held dear.

"Noona" or baby was the foundation of your beliefs, the embodiment of the life you and your "Manna" or partner created together. Reaching the Mountain of Mothers and returning with a child was the highest honor, a symbol of worthiness.

The Illa halted on her descent and, with an air of pride, revealed her noona, wrapped in the family cloth. "Noona asa illa-ini!" (it’s a girl) she declared with joy, unveiling a beautiful baby girl. You couldn't help but smile down at the tiny noona and the Illa who showed her off with such pride.

“Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit,” (baby is worthy of her mother and father) you responded with the customary blessing, bowing your head in reverence. The mother and father returned the bow, acknowledging the blessing. However, the mother's eyes soon drifted to your belly and the heavy pack that weighed you down.

“Asa Illa-ishi?” she asked softly, her face clouding with sadness. (Are you a lonely mother?)

Summoning all your strength, you fought back the tears that threatened to well up. With your head held high and a tender hand resting on your belly, you spoke resolutely, "A illa-ishi."

I am a lonely mother.

—

The journey through hyperspace had indeed stretched far longer than Din had anticipated. A full day had elapsed since that haunting dream, leaving him with the unsettling sensation of being trapped in some unseen, cosmic rotation of time. However, that ceaseless ticking eventually brought them to the end of their journey as the ship dropped out of hyperspace in front of a smaller, mysterious planet, its surface adorned with sprawling waters and lush forests. As he guided the ship into the planet's atmosphere, the Mandalorian noticed a stark absence of the usual signs of civilization—no traffic control, no spaceports, not even a refueling station. The setting felt eerily reminiscent of the world of Sorgan.

Din hovered uncertainly in the atmosphere, his mind racing. Grogu, seated in the co-pilot's chair, played with the mythasaur skull around his neck, seemingly unfazed by the situation. As Din stared at the green child, he let out a sigh and rested his head against the back of his chair.

"Now what…?" Din muttered to himself, his voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the details of the dream, seeking any hint or clue that could guide their search.

In his mind's eye, he saw you, your form shrouded in mist and glistening with sweat. The dress you wore clung to your figure, the fabric a soft white-grey that accentuated your curves as you breathed heavily. His brow furrowed in concentration. There was water, almost like a waterfall, surrounding you, with black jagged rocks supporting your form. Your feet were immersed in milky water, reminiscent of a hot spring.

Din's eyes snapped open. A hot spring. It wasn't much to go on, especially for a planet that could potentially be dotted with such natural wonders, but it was a lead worth pursuing. His hands sprung into action, deftly pressing a sequence of buttons that initiated a signal, a ping to any electronic communication device on the planet's surface.

Grogu's focus shifted from the mythasaur skull to the Mandalorian, the child's curious gaze following Din's swift movements. Din soon located the nearest signal on the planet's surface, and as he brought the Razor Crest lower, he was struck by the intensity of the landscape. Towering thick trees covered nearly every inch of land, a vast, unspoiled wilderness that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The planet's terrain was marked by colossal mountains that sliced through the canopy of green like serpents in water, their peaks jutting out in sporadic bursts.

It was a breathtaking and untamed landscape, like nothing Din had ever witnessed. His gaze scanned the vast expanse below, tracking the signal as he searched for a suitable place to land the Crest. Finally, he spotted it—an elevated landing pad erected above the treetops. It seemed to be a small station, but it was a potential refuge for refueling and gathering information, a step closer to finding you

"K1 to RC 4577, you are clear to land at dock 7," a thickly accented voice echoed through the Razor Crest's comms system, providing the coordinates for their landing.

"RC 4577 to K1, recieved," Din responded, his gaze shifting to meet Grogu's eyes. The Mandalorian leaned over to offer a piece of advice to the child, "Always be kind when you land; most landing bay employees often know the most information." Grogu looked at Din, his large eyes brimming with understanding, and he babbled something that Din accepted as an acknowledgment.

With precision, Din guided the Razor Crest toward its designated dock and gently brought the ship to the surface. As he withdrew his hand from the control lever, he noticed a subtle tremor in his own fingers. It had been a long time since he had felt such a physical manifestation of emotion, not since he had lost Grogu to Moff Gideon.

In response to the tremor, Grogu cooed softly and reached out for his protector. Din's gaze locked onto the child, his trembling hands cautiously reaching out to embrace him. Grogu instinctively placed his tiny hands on either side of Din's helmet, offering comfort and connection. A sense of relief washed over the Mandalorian, and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The small hands on his helmet made a soft "plink" sound that resonated through his interior comms.

"Thanks, kid," Din murmured, his voice laden with gratitude, but his words unable to fully convey the depth of his feelings.

Exiting the ship, Din carried Grogu in his sling, the child's presence providing a grounding force amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead. A young mechanic in worn-overalls approached, his basic broken but comprehensible. "Need refuel?" he asked, to which Din nodded in acknowledgment. The mechanic, unfazed by the Mandalorian's helmet, started toward the fuel hose.

"Hot springs?" Din inquired, his voice barely audible above the wind that whipped violently across the landing pad. The mechanic turned, his eyes reflecting confusion, but Din simply nodded and reached for his credits, preparing to tip the young man for his services. Glancing around the landing pad, he spotted a few other ships—a transport vessel and two cargo ships.

The pad itself had clearly seen better days, and the gusts of wind whipped violently across its aged metal surface, causing a tumultuous symphony of sound. At the front of the landing pad stood a small rectangular building, featuring one set of large bay doors. It seemed to be the station's main structure. Adjusting Grogu in his sling, Din began to make his way toward it, his steps determined.

The small building served as a cover for various ships, a mix of those dusted and covered with the weight of time, and others gleaming with newness. Inside, a modest diner and café shop hummed with activity, a few patrons engaged in quiet conversations. At the front, an older man sat at a makeshift desk, engrossed in the workings of a peculiar-looking computer. As Din approached, the man stood abruptly, his enthusiasm palpable.

"Hello, traveler! Welcome to Kith!" he greeted with a giant smile. "I am Don Mai, the residing Mayor. We are humbled by the presence of a great warrior such as yourself!" With a reverence that bordered on adoration, the old man bowed deeply.

Din suppressed the urge to laugh, already forming an opinion of the enthusiastic mayor that he made a mental note to tell Bo Katan about later. Before Din could utter a word, Don Mai thrust a paper pamphlet into his hands, his speech transitioning into a rehearsed spiel about Kith's culture and history.

"Kith has a rich culture and even more intense history! Women from all over the galaxy come to experience the Mountain of Mothers and—"

“The Mountain of Mothers?" Din interjected, his tone cutting through the mayor's ramblings.

Don Mai's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Well, the Mountain of Mothers has been around since the dawn of life on our humble planet, and its springs offer—"

"Hot springs?" Din interrupted again, his focus unwavering.

"Uh, well, yes, you see, the springs offer—" Don Mai began once more, but Din's impatience grew apparent.

"Where?" Din's voice was firm, demanding answers without the unnecessary embellishments.

Don Mai huffed, "The Mountain of Mothers is the largest mountain range on Kith. You should've seen it from your ship. If you take the elevator down to the planet’s surface, there is a speeder rental that can take you to the base of the range," the old man explained, his tone slightly deflated by Din's lack of interest in his detailed lecture.

Din places the paper pamphlet in a storage pocket on his bandolier as Grogu watches closely.

“And the elevator?” Din asks not looking away from the old man.

"To the left of the fuel pump on the landing pad. Just remember to pay your respects to the Gods as you visit the—"

The old man's voice dwindled into the background as Din walked away from the building and back onto the landing pad. He made his way to the fuel pump and, as instructed, looked to the left to find a rickety-looking elevator, seemingly manually operated. The metal showed signs of rust in various spots, and the wire pulley appeared to be in need of greasing. The flooring of the elevator was a grate that revealed the ground thousands of feet below. Grogu emitted a series of frightened squeaks and coos as Din hesitantly stepped onto the grating.

"I know, kid… let's just... get down there," Din muttered through gritted teeth, steeling himself for the precarious descent.

Din's hand gripped the elevator crank tightly, his patience stretched thin as he began the painstakingly slow descent. Halfway through, he had to switch arms, the anger at the archaic contraption bubbling beneath his calm exterior. It was unusual for him to get frustrated with inanimate objects, but this elevator was testing his resolve. After what felt like an eternity, the elevator reached the bottom of the landing pad. With a forceful yank, Din opened the rusted gate, stepping onto soil that felt surprisingly soft underfoot, reminiscent of the sands on Tatooine, albeit less yielding.

The area below was like a forgotten tourist hub, the shops standing silent and forlorn, each manned by a lone shopkeeper who stared into the emptiness, boredom etched across their faces. It was a desolate sight, a place trying to be lively without the visitors to make it so.

Walking further, Din noticed a row of rusted speeder bikes, the rentals. His heavy boots left imprints on the sponge-like earth as he approached. A few of the shopkeepers stirred from their boredom at the sight of the silver-clad Mandalorian passing by.

Reaching the speeder rental, Din was met by an old Aqualish man, the grey of the hair surrounding his face telling tales of years of service.

"How much?" Din asked, his voice reflecting his growing impatience.

"Fifty credits," the Aqualish garbled back.

"Thirty-five," Din countered, his tone firm as he shifted his weight to one side. Grogu cooed softly from his sling, his wide eyes observing the bartering process.

The Aqualish nodded in agreement and walked away to retrieve the speeder keys.

As Din adjusted Grogu in the sling to access his credits, he caught sight of a couple approaching from the earthen road. The man carried a hefty pack on his back, and the woman cradled a baby in her arms. The pride in the man's eyes was evident as he helped his wife walk toward the shops.

"Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit!" the shopkeeper, an elderly woman across the street, shouted at them. The couple bowed softly in acknowledgment as they continued walking. Every shop they passed echoed the same foreign phrase, and Din watched with curiosity. Upon reaching the elevator, the man removed his pack, fashioning a makeshift seat for his wife as he started cranking the elevator back up to the top of the landing pad.

The sound of a throat clearing broke Din's concentration. The Aqualish man stood, hand outstretched, waiting expectantly for the payment. Din sighed inwardly, realizing he had been lost in his thoughts. He paid the credits and received the keys to the rusted speeder. Adjusting Grogu in the sling, ensuring the child was safely nestled in his lap, Din ignited the speeder and set off down the only trail leading out of the market.

The only path to the Mountain of Mothers.

—

The pain in your swollen belly intensified as you stood at the base of the last incline leading to the lower pool. The journey had taken a heavy toll on your body, leaving you exhausted and in constant discomfort. Your feet were swollen, your hips ached, and everything hurt, but the cramping in your abdomen was what worried you most. The night before, you had barely managed to rest, opting to lie on the soft ground without bothering with your bedroll. Restlessness had plagued you throughout the night, and now the cramping made it clear that your time was approaching.

Today would be your last day on this arduous journey. The lower pool was just above you, but the pain in your body seemed unbearable. You knew it was all part of the gods' plan for you, but you never expected the pain to be this intense.

As you struggled up the final incline, a sharp pain ripped through you, and you stumbled. Your pack felt impossibly heavy, and your breaths came short. Beads of sweat formed on your brow as a wall of rock loomed ahead of you.

"Itta non a dashi," (I will not die here) you whispered defiantly, mustering the strength from the deepest part of your being. As your emotions surged, you felt the baby shift within you. With renewed determination, you regained your balance, placing a loving hand on your swollen belly.

The next incline lay ahead, one of the most challenging parts of the journey. You could see evidence of past mothers who had slipped or stopped, their bones scattered in the crevices of the rock. For Illa-ishi, like yourself, the task was solitary, without the help of an Irrit to assist with the ascent.

You stood at the base of the rocky cliff, gazing up at the tantalizing promise of the lower pool. The rhythmic thunder of the waterfall beyond the peak urged you forward, swirls of steam rose into the air, a tantalizing promise of the lower pool just a short climb away.

Thankfully, the rugged rock face bore shelves that made the treacherous climb more bearable. Growing up you heard tales of a time a century past when an Irrit, a kind-hearted soul whose manna, a young woman, could not walk. In a display of unwavering determination and love, he took chisel and hammer in hand, carving these sturdy, stone steps into existence. With these ledges, he could secure her safely to his back and ascend the daunting precipice so she could birth their child.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you surveyed the ascent before you. The harsh sun beat down, casting long shadows across the rocky surface. Determination burned in your eyes as you figured out the best plan of action. With a surge of resolve, you slipped the heavy pack from your sweat-covered body, feeling an immediate relief as the oppressive weight fell off you and onto the gritty dirt below.

With your pack discarded, you dragged it to the base of the wall where the first of the man-made shelves jutted out, a mere foot of space cut into the unforgiving rock face. Despite the fatigue gnawing at your muscles, you carefully planted your foot on the ledge, finding just enough space to stand. Bending down carefully you pulled the pack onto the ledge beside your feet. Your birthing gown, gauzy and light, provided a surprising ease of movement. Once you’d made sure the pack was secure you looked up and examined the next shelf. It was a little high of a stretch but you gripped the wall above to steady yourself, your gown billowing slightly with the effort.

Your hips protested with each movement, but the primal instinct to survive drowned out the pain. With staggering determination, you raised your leg, using the hold of the wall to leverage yourself onto the rock shelf to the left. Your arms, weary but unyielding, lifted your body until you were safely on the shelf.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you glanced back down at the last shelf, now below you. Gathering remnants of your strength, you reached down, hands trembling slightly, and lifted your pack with both arms onto the shelf beside you. Only one more shelf remained, higher up and to your right, a final obstacle before hauling yourself onto the top of the cliff.

After a short rest, you locked eyes with the next shelf, determination burning in your gaze. With a swift motion, you reached up for a gap in the wall to get a grip. Sliding your right hand into the sharp crevice, you pulled with all your might, grunting with effort as you lifted your right leg onto the shelf, which was higher than the last. But in that moment of triumph, a sudden jolt of pain radiated from your lower back all the way to your fingertips, and you lost your hold, a gasp ripping through you.

Stumbling backward, you were saved only by your pack, which you used for leverage to steady yourself. The contraction was fierce, so intense that it was only when you absentmindedly touched the dress covering your belly that you realized you'd sliced your palm on the unforgiving rock. Scarlet red stained your gown, creating an almost perfect handprint. Oddly, you felt no pain in your hand, your senses consumed by the tightening in your abdomen, which worsened with every passing moment.

“Issa non a tishi noona..” (its not time yet baby) you groaned out in pain, your voice strained and breathless. Your eyes clenched shut as you tried to endure the relentless waves of agony.

You stood trembling on the shelf of the wall for a good minute or two before the contraction finally subsided, leaving you panting and exhausted. It was then that the sharp sting in your hand dominated your senses. You examined your hand, the crevice in the wall had sliced deep, and you could see the gash, making your stomach turn uneasily.

Reaching into your pack, you found the medipack, fingers trembling as you carefully opened it to retrieve the gauze and a bacta spray. With great care, you held your injured hand out in front of you and applied the bacta spray to the gash, wincing at the initial sting. Then, you gently wrapped the gauze around the wound, ensuring it was secure. The sharp pain began to dull as your trembling hand capped the spray, carefully returning it to the medipack.

With a sigh, you straightened up, taking a moment to regain your composure. The pain in your hand was no longer the foremost concern, and you couldn't let it distract you from the task at hand. You knew that each moment counted in this climb, and you needed to find the safest route to reach the next shelf.

Reassessing the situation, you examined the uneven rock wall before you, trying to identify the most secure handholds and footholds.

An idea crossed your mind and it could be great, or the worst idea ever and you could fall to your death but you were determined. You carefully maneuver around your pack and push it closer to the end of the shelf. You carefully placed a leg on the pack and then another, standing precariously on your pack which provided you almost a foot of extra height, you used the wall to steady yourself. You prayed to the Gods and reached with your right hand for the crevice that had so rudely marred your hand. Finding more traction with the gauze you confidently pulled yourself extending your right leg so your foot found purchase on the shelf. A victorious smile crossed your face as you then pushed off your pack with your left leg and hoisted yourself onto the shelf. A quiet laugh left your lips as you clung to the wall you were now facing.

Looking to your left, you bent down carefully to grab your pack. This shelf was a lot shorter, jutting from the wall maybe only eight inches. You had to precariously grab your heavy pack with one hand and quickly cram it under your left leg to prevent it from plummeting to the ground below.

You were so close now that you could feel the cool mist from the water above, and the deafening roar of the falls filled your ears. Perched roughly 15 feet above the ground, you took a moment to catch your breath. You dared not look down, fearing that it would disrupt your balance. Instead, you pressed your belly tightly against the rock wall in front of you, your heart pounding with both exertion and anticipation.

After a brief moment of rest, a surge of adrenaline coursed through you. This was it, the final leg of your treacherous journey. You had one more pull, one last push, and you would reach the lower pool, your goal within your grasp. But you also knew that a single mistake could lead to a disastrous fall, a fate you couldn't afford.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your arms above your head, your palms resting on the ridge above. With utmost care and precision, you hoisted yourself up, quickly placing both feet on your pack. The pack provided just enough height to get your elbows onto the smooth rock above. You pulled with every ounce of strength you had, feeling your belly scrape against the unyielding stone as you lifted.

Luck was on your side, as your feet managed to find a foothold through the worn leather of your boot. This newfound leverage allowed you to push yourself up, resembling a sea lion clambering onto a rocky outcrop. With sheer determination and the last vestiges of your strength, you quickly pulled your right leg under you and pushed yourself onto all fours on the smooth rock face. Your heart raced, your hands and knees trembling from the exertion, but you had made it. You had reached the final stretch of your perilous ascent, and the pool ahead awaited, a shimmering reward for your indomitable spirit.

A sob escaped your lips, a surge of emotion you hadn't anticipated as the reality of your accomplishment finally caught up with you. You had done it. You had managed to make it to the lower pool, and the inviting, milky-warm waters beckoned to soothe your weary body. Steam swirled around you, creating an ethereal atmosphere as you lay there, taking in the moment.

Rolling onto your back to face the sky, you watched as a giant silver ship soared high above the mountain. Your eyes followed it for a brief moment before it disappeared into the vast expanse of the blue sky. Tears welled up and trickled down your cheeks, their salty warmth mixing with the refreshing mist from the pool. You felt the gentle movements of the babe inside you and couldn't help but smile through your tears.

"Noona...we made it," you whispered in basic, your hand tenderly caressing your belly. The connection between you and the life within you was stronger than ever, a bond forged through this incredible journey.

After some time, you stirred, realizing that you needed to retrieve your pack. With some effort, the pack proved easier to handle than your own weight combined with the growing life inside you. You unzipped the pack and reached for your bedroll when another sensation, different from the earlier contractions, radiated through your core. This time, it felt like pressure, a clear sign that the moment you had been anticipating was drawing near.

After finding the bedroll, you took a moment to survey the area for a suitable spot to lay it down. The relatively flat rock surface encircling the spring was a dark black, a stark contrast to the frothy blue of the hot spring's waters. The ancient, tranquil pool was surrounded by old, tattered bedrolls, some empty, while others still held the silent remains of Illa-ishi who hadn't been as fortunate as you.

You sighed softly, the weight of the past and the solemnity of the place pressing down on you. You knew what lay beneath the surface of this hot spring – the resting places of those who had undertaken the same treacherous journey but hadn't emerged victorious. Out of respect for their memory, the people of Kith never dared to touch the remains. Instead, they left the bones where they lay, allowing them to become one with the planet's core, a final return to the world from which they had come.

Gently, you found a clear space amidst the bedrolls and laid down your own bedroll. It felt strange to rest among the remnants of those who had gone before you, but you also understood the significance of this place.

It was believed among your people that the Mountain of Mothers was the handiwork of the divine God of Kith, a deity whose love for his wife, Illa-ishi, was as vast as the universe itself.

Illa-ishi’s womb had cradled life for what seemed like an eternity and her body bore the weight of years, while her heart bore the burden of unbearable pain. Witnessing his beloved wife suffer, Kith, with his divine hands, crafted a pool at the mountain's base. Its waters held the promise of relief, a balm for Illa-ishi's agony.

While Kith labored tirelessly to raise the Mountain of Mothers, Illa-ishi, driven by a desperation born of unending torment, embarked on a solitary climb up its slopes. With each step, she ascended toward the heavens, seeking solace that seemed perpetually out of reach.

At the pinnacle of her journey, amidst the tranquil waters of the divine pool, Illa-ishi's child was born. Yet, there was no cry of life, no breath to fill the air. In a heart-wrenching moment, the lonely mother, overcome by despair, embraced the waters that had promised relief. She allowed herself to be consumed, seeking peace in the depths of the pool.

Kith, returning to find his wife and child lost to the pool’s embrace, was consumed by an anguish that eclipsed the stars. In his sorrow, he performed a deed both divine and sacrificial. In a resolute act, he harnessed the remnants of their life force, infusing it with the very essence of his divine being, and breathed life into the creation of the upper pool atop the Mountain of Mothers.

This upper pool, borne from his profound sacrifice, was destined to be a reward for those who completed the arduous journey together. It was a testament to the strength of unity, the enduring love that bound families and lovers, and the rewards that awaited those who surmounted the trials of life.

Yet, even in the splendor of his divine creation, Kith's sadness consumed him. He recognized the fundamental truth that Illa could not always survive, and that Noona may not always breathe. And so, the first pool, at the mountain's base, remained untouched, preserved as a sanctuary of rest and respect. A place where Illa-ishi, and Illa could find solace amidst the beauty of the Mountain of Mothers, where the waters whispered stories of love and sacrifice, and where their weary spirits could find respite beneath the endless expanse of the starlit sky.

In history there was only one illa-ishi who succeeded in birthing a breathing babe at the first pool, and she had birthed an evil so strong it was said to last generations.

You knew your heart, and you knew your babe. You had come here to rest.

—

The hike was hard. Din was breathing heavily under the weight of his armor and the burden of Grogu, who looked around the desolate landscape with a sad curiosity. How many skeletons had they passed? What kind of place was this? Why were you here? The guilt gnawed at him with each step he took. Why had he even gone to seek out pleasure from solitude in the first place? He thought back to that night…

The night was dark and heavy as Din sat alone in the dimly lit corner of the cantina in Mos Eisley, his thoughts consumed by a yearning for Grogu. The scorching sands of Tatooine outside were a harsh reminder of the precious time he had spent here with the child and Peli Motto. They had been moments of sanctuary, where the galaxy's chaos seemed miles away.

Nearly a year had passed since he'd entrusted Grogu to Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, a decision made with the best intentions. But that choice had left a void within him that he could hardly bear. Sleepless nights had become his constant companion, and the craving for both rest and peace had grown unbearable. And yet, he found himself agreeing to help Boba Fett in the midst of a brutal war, a commitment that seemed at odds with his desire for tranquility.

But in that cantina, he made a solemn decision. He had to seek out Grogu one last time, he had to give Grogu the chain mail that he had made for him. Just, as a way to protect him nothing more… He ran his fingers over its cool surface, a gesture that silently conveyed his unbreakable resolve before he pocketed the beskar.

As the night deepened and the alcohol flowed, he realized he had indulged in more Corellian Whiskey than he should have, knowing he needed a clear head for the journey that awaited him. But the whiskey's burn was a welcomed distraction, a temporary escape from the overwhelming pain of missing Grogu.

In the midst of his solitude, the cantina's atmosphere began to change. A group of scantily dressed women, draped in silks and adorned with gold, entered the establishment. They moved with grace and charisma, engaging patrons in conversation, flirting, and distributing holochips for a nearby pleasure house. Din snorted at the thought. When was the last time he even had time to fuck anything but his palm?

When was the last? He wondered trying to think back over the years since he’d acquired the responsibility of caring for Grogu.

Years. Actual, years.

In his inebriated state, Din found himself clutching the holochip, his steps unsteady as he navigated the narrow streets of Mos Eisley towards the establishment advertised on the chip. He had given in to a reckless impulse, fueled by a desire to escape the pain of missing Grogu, and a fleeting sense of excitement at the prospect of companionship, even if it was just for one night. The weight of the impending war, as Boba Fett had described it, loomed in his thoughts, and he couldn't help but wonder if this might be his last moment of solace.

Entering the dimly lit and shady establishment, he was met by a greasy, overweight man berating a young child. The sight of the child sent a wave of unease through him, casting a shadow over his already troubled conscience. What kind of place was this, where children were exposed to such depravity?

"Not for sale!" the greasy man barked at Din, as if reading some unsavory intent in the Mandalorian's eyes, he shielded the child, pushing her back behind a tattered curtain.

“I wasn’t…” Din’s words faltered, the very thought of such exploitation sickening him to his core.

But the foreman, undeterred, eyed Din up and down, his gaze lingering on the gleaming beskar armor. “You’ve got money, I’ve got girls,” the man said, his voice oozing with a repugnant confidence.

Din struggled to find the words, his thoughts a jumbled mess, still reeling from the shock of seeing a child in such a place. He stumbled, his voice faltering.

The foreman, undeterred, went on, "I have a girl who just became available. She's not been with anyone, you'd be lucky to find a deal like her on this side of Tatooine." He reached into a box of hologram pucks, selected one, and placed it on the desk. Activating the hologram, he presented it to Din.

Din's gaze fixated on the static image, his eyes locked on the visage.. Strangely, he felt a deep pull within him, as if your image was both familiar and enigmatic, stirring emotions he couldn't quite place.

"How much?" Din's voice, though filtered through his modulator, held a heaviness, a mix of curiosity and longing.

"Four thousand credits," the foreman stated, avarice evident in his words.

“Four?” Din repeated, incredulous, his disbelief met with a dismissive glance from the foreman. “How much does she get?” he demanded, his tone sharp and unwavering.

The foreman's look turned defensive, his response sharp, "Two thousand. My girls are lucky to get any at all."

Din's resolve hardened, and he leaned in, his voice taking on a threatening edge that he usually reserved for bounties. "I'll pay six thousand, and she gets four thousand."

The foreman's eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard, but a vile smirk soon crept across his face. "Deal. Right this way, sir," he beamed, all too eager to make the transaction.

The foreman led him through a maze of dimly lit hallways filled with disturbing moans and an overpowering, artificial perfume that hung heavily in the air. The cacophony of voices from behind the closed doors was a haunting reminder of the grim reality of this place, and the perfumed scent was a failed attempt at masking the despair that lurked within.

At the end of the corridor, the foreman unlocked a door and gestured for Din to enter. "I'll send her in," he grunted, closing the door behind Din.

Din stumbled into the room, the alcohol coursing through his veins, muddling his thoughts. He took in his surroundings, finding himself in a chamber that seemed a stark contrast to the rest of the establishment. A makeshift bed of luxurious pillows lay on the floor, richly woven tapestries hung from the ceiling, creating a semblance of privacy. Incense burned intensely, casting a hazy atmosphere, a chair rested by the door infront of a towering golden-framed mirror that rest to the right.

This must be a more expensive room, he thought, his mind reeling with the absurdity of it all. He couldn't help but question himself, wondering what he was truly doing here, and if this was the way he wanted to fill the void left by Grogu.

As the room's fakely lavish atmosphere weighed upon him, the door behind him swung open gently. He turned, his movements slow and heavy from his armor, to see you enter. Your form was meek, draped in a light blue silk garment that covered more of your body than the women he had seen in the cantina. Gold metal accents adorned your wrists, ankles, and neck, casting a subtle glow in the dim room.

Din's breath hitched as he observed you, his gaze tracing your figure from your feet to your face. Your flushed face and the nervous way you looked down at the floor beside him made it clear that you were unfamiliar with this line of work. He saw you absentmindedly running your index and middle finger along the material of your flowing skirt.

He couldn't explain it, but something about your vulnerability, the innocence you still carried despite the circumstances, touched him. For a moment, he entertained the thought that the foreman had lied about your experience, but as he watched you in silence, he knew that the greasy man's words were painfully accurate.

Din shifted slightly, causing your gaze to snap to him quickly. His visor concealed his expression, but his body language spoke volumes. He observed for another moment, considering his next move. Slowly, he began to remove his gloves. The process was deliberate, one finger at a time on the right hand of his glove, until he was able to pull it off, revealing his bare hand. His eyes never left yours as he started to work the other glove off, the tension in the room growing palpable.

Your gaze drifted from his visor to his hands, watching intently as the gloves came off. As soon as he removed the gloves, he walked to the chair by the door and set them down gently. Your gaze followed him as he approached, your hand never leaving the doorknob the entire time. It was as if you were waiting for him to make a move, to confirm the fear that had taken root in your heart.

Din stopped a few feet away from you, his gauntleted hand hanging by his side. There was something in his stance, a subtle softening in his normally rigid posture that made you feel he might not be the threat you initially perceived.

He straightened as he turned to face you, extending his tanned and calloused right hand as a peace offering. It hung there in the space between you, a bridge across the vast divide that had separated your worlds. The look you gave him that night pierced through his then-buzzed haze, and as your gaze moved from his visor to the palm of his outstretched hand, you ever so softly smiled.

Your hand moved slowly, with a slight tremble, as you placed it in his. Maker, it was so soft, so... loving. In a way, it reminded Din of his mother's hands. He remembered the feeling of her hands on his face when she would kiss him on the top of his head or brush his hair back. It was a memory buried deep, one he rarely let resurface in the harsh reality of his life.

He watched you, unknowingly holding his breath, as your eyes flitted from his hands back up to his visor.

That night was almost eight months ago, and in the span of those months, the galaxy had shifted beneath Din Djarin's feet. He had fought with Boba Fett, gotten Grogu back, found his covert and embarked on the perilous journey to reclaim Mandalore and his Mandalorian status. The weight of leadership, the responsibilities, and the relentless pursuit of his beliefs had clouded his thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.

As he walked through the dense forest, the guilt that had been gnawing at him grew ever more oppressive. He'd been so preoccupied with his own mission, his people's future, and the legacy of Mandalore that he hadn't even spared a thought in your direction. He had foolishly assumed that the foreman would handle any potential consequences of their night together, perhaps naively believing that you would choose to remain silent. However, what if you hadn't told the foreman? What if you carried something precious from that night, a part of him he was yet to know about? He had neither your name nor any means of contact, and that realization weighed him down like a camtono of beskar.

With every step, the burden of his guilt pressed down upon him, and he mentally berated himself for not knowing your name or sharing his. He deserved this guilt, for in his quest to rebuild his world, he had unintentionally left a piece of himself behind. If you were pregnant, how were you supposed to find him in the vastness of the galaxy? He couldn't shake the thought that he might be a father, and yet he had no way to reach out to you.

Lost in thought and oblivious to his surroundings, Din hadn't even realized that he'd strayed from the trail until a blood-curdling scream pierced through the forest's silence, shattering the walls of his introspection. His eyes darted ahead, and the only thing he saw beyond the thick undergrowth was a rocky precipice. Steam rose from somewhere below, and the scream, unmistakably human, sent a chill down his spine.

—

After doing your best to set up a makeshift camp amidst the unforgiving terrain, the contractions began to increase in intensity and frequency. Drenched in sweat, your body ached with fatigue, and desperation for the comfort of the hot spring surged within you. In your birthing gown, you summoned every ounce of strength to embark on the journey toward the soothing waters.

With slow, measured steps, you made your way to the spring, determined to find solace amidst the throes of labor. The contractions continued to grip you, and you fought to maintain your composure, focusing on deep breaths as you moved closer to the source of relief.

As you neared the milky waters, the soothing sound of the waterfall dumping cool water into the far end of the pool filled your ears. The natural geothermal heat emanated from the earth beneath the water, warming the fresh, chilly stream. You gingerly lowered yourself to the spring's edge, wincing through the persistent contraction that clawed at your strength.

With immense effort, you managed to sit on the edge of the pool, your feet dipping into the perfectly warm water. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as the soothing waters enveloped your aching limbs. Slowly, you eased yourself into the warm embrace of the spring, its shallowness just deep enough for you to sit comfortably, your head above the waterline.

The warmth cocooned you, providing the much-needed respite your weary body craved. In the midst of your struggle, the hot spring became a sanctuary, a place where the pain of labor met the healing balm of nature, and for a fleeting moment, you found solace amidst the turmoil, embracing the precious gift of warmth and comfort in the midst of the wilderness.

You had lost track of how long you sat in the soothing water, your fingers pruning as the serene ambiance of the hot spring washed over you. Contented sighs intermittently left your lips as you found a momentary respite from the relentless contractions. The world around you seemed to blur as the hot spring cradled you in its gentle embrace.

But all too soon, your tranquility shattered like fragile glass. A pained cry tore through the rocky landscape. Your eyes shot open, searching for the source of the distress.

Your gaze darted towards the rugged ridge you had labored to climb mere hours earlier. Two voices reached your ears, one male and one female, carrying on the wind. Panic surged through you as you observed a hand ascending the top of the ridge. Your heart quickened, and you realized there were people approaching, their presence entirely unexpected.

With haste, you sprung up from your spot in the spring, water cascading off your birthing gown as you clambered to the edge of the pool.

A man, seemingly oblivious to your presence, ascended the ridge, a pack strapped to his back. He reached the flat rock and extended his hand below him. Your bare feet met the cold, rough surface of the gravely rock as you hurried over to the edge, your heart heavy with empathy for the woman in dire need. Down below, on the third rock shelf, you saw a woman, her face contorted in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her birthing gown stained with the evidence of her struggles.

“Isa a happis” (I will help!) you called out, your voice resolute, your determination evident. You easily crouched down next to the man, extending your hand to the one who was suffering. She gazed up at you, gratitude filling her eyes as she grasped your outstretched hand.

“Ona tice!” (On Three!) The man standing beside you declared, his voice strong and determined. You locked eyes with him, sharing the gravity of the situation, and both of you prepared to pull the distressed woman to safety. With a shared resolve, he began to count down, and on three, you pulled the woman up with surprising ease, your muscles working in harmony to lift her to safety.

Wide-eyed, she arrived at the top of the landing, blood staining her birthing gown, a visceral testament to the life that sought to enter the world. She cried out in agony, her body in the throes of birthing pains. Your attention shifted to the Illit, his face etched with desperation as he removed his pack, his hands trembling as he tried to assist his manna.

He grabbed her, his touch gentle yet urgent, realizing that there was no time to lose. Even as you watched, you could tell the baby was coming, the process inevitable now. The woman screamed, the sound echoing off the rocky walls, a symphony of pain and life in the midst of nature's raw beauty.

“Noona essa comesei ittina!” (the babe is coming now!) you urgently announce, your voice steady and commanding, as you motion for the father to cease his movements. He gazes at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and sadness, the emotions palpable in the misty air.

Your own contractions, once so overwhelming, are now distant memories as you shift your focus entirely to the woman and her impending delivery. You position yourself between the woman's legs, and she leans back on her husband for support, the bond of love and trust between them evident in the way they clung to each other during this moment.

With gentle but purposeful hands, you begin to move the gauze of her birthing dress out of the way, revealing the sacred space where the new life is making its entrance into the world. The sight fills you with a profound sense of awe and wonder, the beauty of life in its most raw and unadulterated form.

As you catch the first glimpse of the emerging baby, a smile naturally graces your lips, a radiant reflection of the profound beauty you are about to witness. You look up at the father, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding and connection as you prepare to assist in guiding their child into the world, an act of grace in the heart of nature's splendor.

“Noona essa comesei! Attari noona bassi?” (The baby is coming, the baby cloth?) you urgently conveyed to the father, the intensity of the moment hanging heavy in the air. He blinked, momentarily caught in the whirlwind of emotions before comprehending your words. With careful haste, he gently leaned his wife back, supporting her amidst the agonizing pains as he reached for his pack against the wall.

Desperation etched on his face, he hurriedly threw various items from the bag, scattering them around in his search for the baby cloth. Every passing second felt like an eternity as the mother cried out in pain, her body instinctively bringing forth the baby as your hand supported its head.

Finally, after emptying the entire bag, the Illit father's shoulders slumped in defeat. His frustration boiled over, and he struck the rock wall with his fist, a primal cry of helplessness escaping his lips.

In the midst of this despair, you remained calm, your instincts taking over.

“Asa Passi! Attara noona bassi!” (In my pack! I have the baby cloth!) you shouted at the father, your voice carrying the urgency of the moment. With a quick motion, you pointed to your own pack, signaling where the much-needed baby cloth could be found. Your other hand remained cradling the head of the newborn, offering support and comfort to the laboring mother.

You ran a soothing hand over her leg as she summoned her last ounce of strength, pushing with all her might, and then, in a powerful moment, the babe broke free into the world. The father, having located the cloth meant for your own child in your pack, rushed over, his eyes wide with anxiety. You accepted the plain cloth from him, wasting no time in wrapping the baby in it.

The newborn lay still and silent, not letting out the expected cries that heralded a new life. A sense of despair washed over you, and you shared a helpless glance with the father, both of you fearing the worst.

The mother's wails of agony resonated in the rugged landscape, echoing the heartbreak of a life not granted breath. The anguish in the air was suffocating as she reached for her still baby, her hands trembling. With a heavy heart, you gently transferred the infant to the mother's waiting arms.

She cradled her lifeless child, tears streaming down her face as she caressed the baby, whispering soft words of love and heartbreak. Her cries mingled with those of her husband as they shared the unbearable moment of loss.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tore yourself away from the heart-wrenching scene of the manna. You felt a surge of emotions, a profound sense of hopelessness, reminiscent of the day you had received the news of your own pregnancy.

—

The anguished screams pierced the rugged terrain, reverberating through the rocky expanse, and Din felt his heart plummet through the soles of his boots. Grogu, sensing the turmoil in the air, cooed softly from the safety of his sling, nestled beneath Din's protective hand.

Carefully and quietly, Din approached the edge of the rocky ridge, his heart pounding with trepidation. As he looked down into the precipitous drop-off, his eyes fell upon a scene that nearly froze his heart in his chest.

Down below, amidst the harsh and unforgiving black surface of the rocky cavern, he saw you kneeling, a stoic presence, between the legs of a pregnant woman who was hemorrhaging profusely. The woman's anguished cries filled the cavern, echoing against the unforgiving walls.

Din's eyes then shifted to a man, who appeared to be the woman's partner, desperately rummaging through a pack, panic etched across his face. You spoke urgently in a language Din didn't understand, the words punctuated by fear and sorrow. The man seemed to heed your words and swiftly abandoned his fruitless search, rushing over to another pack that lay nearby. The man retrieved a gray cloth from the second pack and hurriedly approached where you were crouched.

Din observed, his eyes transfixed, as you, kneeling on the rocky cavern floor, expertly assisted the pregnant woman. With a mix of awe and sadness, he saw you pull a beautiful, newborn baby from the crying mother, delicate and fragile in your hands.

His gaze lingered as you carefully, almost mournfully, opened the grey cloth. To his dismay, he recognized the symbol displayed on it – a mudhorn. It was the very same symbol etched onto his own pauldron, the only identifier that you could tie to him. He watched as you used the cloth meant for your child, his child, to wrap the now purple baby in the blanket with meticulous care.

Cries and sobs filled the air as he watched from his hidden spot on the high cliff above. His sounds were likely muffled by the nearby waterfall, but he felt Grogu pulling at him, desperate for attention. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to look away. He continued to watch, hidden in the shadows.

He observed as you struggled to stand, your belly full with his child, and as you respectfully walked away to what he could now confirm as your pack. He could see the pain etched on your face, the tears in your eyes, and he felt a pang of guilt deep within him. The weight of his past actions pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Din had done a lot of things he wasn't proud of; he'd walked a dark and treacherous path. He had hated himself when he handed Grogu over to the client for a camtono of beskar, but now, seeing you here, in this vulnerable moment, he hated himself more than he had ever thought possible.

The symbol on that blanket, the mudhorn, was a reminder of the choices he had made and the lives he had affected. As he watched you cry softly, he knew he couldn't change the past, but he could choose a different path now, one that might bring redemption and peace.

—

Hours passed by as the mother and her lifeless baby lay on the rocky outcrop. The father, now solemn and determined, prepared the pack for their descent. He spared you a thankful glance as he gently helped the mother stand, their shared grief connecting them. With cautious and uneasy steps, they began their descent down the cliffside.

The mother cradled her unbreathing babe, her heart heavy with loss, as she slowly made her way towards you. With some effort, you rose to your feet and met her halfway. Tears welled up in your eyes as she kissed your cheeks in gratitude.

“Illa-ishi, missa.” (Lonely mothers, sisters.) she said mournfully, her words heavy with the weight of shared sorrow. She placed a gentle hand on your belly, a silent acknowledgment of your pain. Overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment, you couldn't hold back a sob, and the two of you embraced tightly. In that moment, she became your sister in grief, and your shared loss bound you together in a way that words couldn't express.

As she and her husband began their descent, you watched them with a heavy heart. The blanket you had intended for your own child now wrapped around her lifeless baby, providing some small comfort in their time of mourning.

Left alone once more, you couldn't hold back your tears as you watched the husband carefully guide his grieving wife down the steep cliff and out of sight. As they disappeared from your view, a profound sense of isolation settled over you, and you wept softly, your heart heavy with sorrow.

Returning to the healing waters, you couldn't help but notice that your contractions had inexplicably ceased. Confused but hopeful, you gently felt around your belly and were met with a delicate, reassuring movement from within. A smile, albeit a tearful one, graced your face as you carefully lowered yourself back into the pool, ready to embrace whatever destiny the Gods had in store for you.

The sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. From your elevated position, you had a perfect view of the sky as it transformed into a breathtaking canvas of purple, pink, and orange ribbons. As you smiled to yourself, entranced by the beauty of nature, an unusual sound suddenly pierced the tranquility of the moment, snapping your attention to the cliff edge. Your heart raced as you strained to identify the source of this unexpected disturbance, a sense of both trepidation and curiosity gripping you.

As if by magic, a form suddenly flipped up onto the solid ground level with the pool. A small, green being emerged, making noises that were nearly drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. Yet, an overwhelming feeling of joy washed over you as you beheld the sight of this tiny creature toddling towards you.

Driven by curiosity and amazement, you pushed yourself up and out of the water. Your birthing gown clung to your body as you moved, but you paid it no mind. Stepping onto the rock, you slowly rounded the corner of the pool to greet the small being.

To your astonishment, you realized it was a baby, with wide, innocent eyes and a furious babble. The baby lifted its tiny hands towards you, and you couldn't help but crouch down as best you could, your heart filled with warmth. "Noona?" you asked the little creature with a soft, amused laugh. In response, the tiny being gave you a toothy grin, and it made you laugh even more.

Your attention, however, shifted from the small being to a pair of gloved hands gripping the side of the rocky cliff. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized those gloves, and heat rushed into your face. With wide eyes, you watched as a figure clad in silver beskar, a Mandalorian, lifted themselves effortlessly over the cliff face and stood there with an almost regal grace.

From your crouched position, you observed as the green baby waddled over to the Mandalorian and tugged on his shin armor. The Mandalorian, with his helmeted face turned towards the child, bent down to pick up the little one, and you couldn't hide the confusion that replaced your initial joy.

—

Din's eyes remained locked on your form as he swiftly pulled himself up onto the flat surface of the cliff. He saw you kneeling down, fingers outstretched towards Grogu, the shock etched across your face. But his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the wet dress that clung to your swollen belly, a stark reminder of your impending motherhood.

As he felt Grogu tugging at his shin armor, he silently bent down to pick up the child. Still, his eyes remained fixed on you, and he struggled to find the right words to explain this unexpected reunion.

“I... I had a dream,” he finally managed to say, his voice choked with emotion.

Your eyes softened, and he witnessed your composure crumbling before him. Your confused and shocked expression melted into a soft frown as tears welled up in your eyes. Before he fully registered it, his feet carried him closer, and he knelt down in front of you with Grogu still cradled in his arms. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, hoping to offer some form of reassurance.

"Please... don't cry," he implored softly, the tenderness in his voice evident. However, he watched as you recoiled from his touch, your reaction sharp and violent, like a wounded animal cornered in fear.

—

"Don't cry," his voice was a gentle whisper from behind as he reached out to sweep your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with his left hand. His thumb, soft and reassuring, brushed away a solitary tear that had collected in the corner of your eye, preventing it from descending down your cheek.

The cold, unyielding embrace of his armor pressed against your back, a constant reminder of his presence, as if he permeated every inch of the room. You lay face down on the makeshift bed within the opulent suite, placed there by him in silence. His helmet tucked against the back of your head as his right hand reached around the front of your body to work open your tight entrance. He smelled like musk, metal, and something floral.

You didn't know his name, and in truth, you knew very little about him. All you knew was that he had paid a considerable sum for your services and bore a mudhorn symbol on his pauldron. The hushed whispers from the other women in the establishment painted a picture of a bounty hunter, a formidable figure who held the favor of the new Daimyo. He was a source of fear and fascination, and the idea of him both terrified and intrigued you. But, above all, you craved freedom more than anything else, and this was a means to an end.

As the moments unfolded, you couldn't hold back the tears that escaped, mingling with a confusing mix of emotions. It wasn't bad; he wasn't unkind. In fact, you found him surprisingly polite. He had said nothing, just removed his gloves and led you to the makeshift bed, where he now pressed into your body from behind.

It felt fine, maybe even surprisingly good, but your stubbornness held strong. You were determined not to give the foreman the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed the path you had chosen to earn your freedom. The thought of succumbing to pleasure and surrendering to the moment felt like weakness, and you clung to your resolve with unwavering determination.

However, as his fingers moved softly, so softly, you couldn't help but feel your resistance slowly crumbling. Each touch was skillful, and the sensations they evoked were impossible to ignore.

You could feel a pleasure building within you as he continued his careful thrusting into your tightness. His thick fingers curled slightly as his thumb worked your clit. His left hand rests by your head as he made sure to move any hair out of your face. You had no idea if he was watching you through his visor, but you had assumed so because he wiped your tears and told you not to cry. The build up turned into a tightness that needed to be released, he could tell by how hot you’d gotten under him and how your walls fluttered on his fingers.

He felt a pride well up in him at the knowledge that he still had the ability to bring a woman pleasure but also that you’d finally relaxed enough to allow yourself to feel this. He closed his eyes for a moment just to focus on how your walls felt around his fingers, he willed himself to listen to your body. Upon each drawback of his fingers he worked to spread your tight cunt just slightly- three, four, five more thrusts of his fingers and he felt you tremble under him.

His eyes snapped open, and he observed you biting your hand to stifle any sounds. He felt the flutter of your walls on his fingers as he stilled in order to relish in the feel your softness. He watched you come back from wherever you had gone in your high, his hand moving gently to caress the hand you had bitten, the teeth marks already leaving a faint purplish hue. As his thumb brushed over the marked area, he felt the slight tremor in your body, your vulnerability laid bare, and saw the glistening tears welling up in your eyes once more.

“Don’t cry.” he said again before moving to sit back on his heels. He admired your form, the way the flame lit room made your skin look like silk. You were totally bare to him, he’d undressed you slowly and carefully placed your clothing next his gloves on the chair. He was still fully clothed save for the gloves he’d removed. He watched as your form began to stir, and he carefully placed a hand on your lower back to keep you down. You immediately complied. With a sigh he slowly ran his hand down your back to the curve of your ass and to the back of your thigh. He could see the slick from your arousal glimmering in the soft light.

He could see everything, every intimate part of you, and yet he didn’t allow you the joy of seeing him. He couldn’t.

You sat, staring at the wall ahead of you, the seconds feeling like hours, with him seated behind you. The situation was embarrassing, and you could only hope he wasn't disgusted. You had assumed he was finished with you after whatever had just happened, only to be gently pushed back onto the bed, not harshly but rather in a silent, pleading manner. After a moment, you heard him stir behind you, and you froze, your ears attuned to his every movement.

You heard a soft rustling of fabrics and buckles. He came to rest on you again, with his left hand resting by your left hand. His right hand gripped your waist as he shifted you back towards him. This position shifted you more so your backside was resting against his thighs while your chest was flush with the pillows beneath you. He was able to bend over you more like this so he comfortably rested on his left arm above you.

His right hand left your waist and you felt the warmth of his hand in between your legs. You could feel the soft head of his hard cock turn to velvet as he ran it through your slick folds. You clenched the pillow underneath you as you braced yourself for the pain the other women had told you about. You felt pressure against your entrance and instinctively you tried to move away only to feel his hand move like lightning from between your thighs to your waist as he anchored you in place.

He didn’t say anything just held you there as he slowly pushed the head of his cock deeper into your entrance. His grip once iron on your waist turned soft as his thumb brushed circles into the skin there. Slowly he sank deeper and that’s when you felt it, the sharp uncomfortable sting. You tensed under him at the pain and you felt him freeze above you. His left hand moved to grab your face beneath him, turning your cheek so he could see you. You looked over your left shoulder to peer up at him, his cold visor returning your gaze. You couldn't help the tear that fell as you clutched the pillows.

"Don't..." his voice was strained through the vocoder, and you knew he was holding back, for you.

—

"Do not say that to me!" Your pained and thickly accented voice ripped through the air as you swatted his arm away. The green child yelped softly at your sudden movement.

Din's eyes widened. It was the first thing you had said to him. You hadn't spoken a word that night. He recoiled from you in shame.

He watched as you cried, emotions swirling within him like a chaotic storm.

"You shouldn't be out here," he managed to say as he stood abruptly, his words tinged with a mixture of concern and frustration. He glanced around, finally taking in the grim surroundings. Blood still pooled on the rocky ground where the woman had given birth earlier. Even worse, the remains of skeletons lay strewn about, their shattered bones mixed with the gravel under his boots.

"This is a graveyard, not a place for a woman in your condition to give birth," he grumbled, regretting the harshness of his words. The eerie desolation of this place was overwhelming, and he couldn't make sense of anything. The grim reality of death and birth intertwined in this forsaken corner of the galaxy was too much for him to bear.

Your face, your soft, beautiful, and glowing face looked up at him then.

"This is where I am meant to be," your broken voice hit him right in the chest.

For a moment, Din just stood there, his helmeted gaze locked on you. Grogu stirred in his arms and he set the child down. His gaze shifted from Grogu to the pack leaning against the rocky wall, the very same pack he had seen a man carrying at the market, with his wife in tow. It was the same pack he had witnessed being carried by the man who was desperate, carrying his bleeding wife. The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place in Din's mind.

"Did you... carry that alone?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked from you to the pack and back.

You huffed, annoyance coloring your features, and moved to stand. Din instinctively reached out to help you, but you swatted his hand away. You stood, resolute, and locked eyes with him through his visor.

"Yes. I am illa-ishi," you declared firmly, your words laden with meaning.

Din furrowed his brow, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Illa-ishi?" he repeated, the word alien to him.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized he didn't understand. "I am a lonely mother," you tried to find the right words that could translate to Basic.

He continued to stare, his helmet giving away nothing. You huffed in frustration and attempted again, simplifying your words. "I am alone." you finally settled on, hoping he would grasp the essence of your situation.

Din just stared at you, seemingly uncomprehending. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and the green child peered up at you, as if offering a sympathetic glance. Frustrated with the language barrier, you turned to walk towards your pack and bedroll.

As you began to walk away, Din's gloved hand gently gripped your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks. You shot an annoyed look back at him, silently demanding an explanation for his actions.

Din's gloved thumb moved soothingly circles on your arm, his gaze locked on you. He took a moment to search for the right words, his voice barely rising above a gravelly whisper.

"Is...is this mine?" he questioned, his words weighted with uncertainty, his voice low and husky.

Your eyes fixated on his hand caressing your arm, and tears welled up again, threatening to break free. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to hold them back, forcing yourself to look directly into the reflective visor of his helmet. You saw your own tear-streaked face in the cold, mirrored surface of the Mandalorian's armor, and it was a sight that turned your stomach.

"Yes. I've... never been with another. Only you," the confession tumbled from your lips, the words feeling strange and heavy in your mouth. Your body tensed, and you felt a sudden, sharp tightness envelop you, a contraction, your first since the bleeding mother had shown up. You gasp in agony as your knees buckle under you.

"Dank farrik!" Din's initial worry had given way to frustration as he cursed under his breath. He reached out and grabbed you, his gloved hands steadying you gently while Grogu made a sad noise from his perch on the ground.

"We have to get you out of here. Is there a medcenter near here?" His voice trembled with desperation as he crouched down to meet your gaze.

"What?!" You hissed exasperatedly through the pain, your frustration and agony making you bristle.

"Medcenter!" Din almost yelled, and his eyes widened when you shoved him away.

"Issa noona ibaniss a plantissia ata mountina as illa! As illa a ma a iss!" you shouted at him in anguish, your words foreign to his ears but laced with undeniable determination. (My baby will be born on this planet, at the Mountain of Mothers, like my mother and the one before her!)

Din stood there, still as stone, as your scream washed over him.

He looked at you, his gaze falling to your trembling hands, one of them wrapped in blood-soaked gauze. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself and regain control.

He was going about this the wrong way. You had climbed the treacherous cliff, your cloth bore the sigil of the Mudhorn, and your pack was identical to the ones the men had carried. You had a well-thought-out plan; he just hadn't been part of it.

With newfound determination, he approached you, taking careful, measured steps. Kneeling down beside you, he spoke softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"How do I help you?" he asked, his words breaking through the haze of pain that enveloped you.

You slowly looked up at him through your tears, your eyes locked onto his helmet. For a moment, you were at a loss for words, your mouth slightly ajar as you processed the situation. With a trembling hand, you pointed towards the spring nearby. "Take me there," you said softly, your voice heavy with the weight of your suffering.

In an instant, Din's strong hands found purchase under your knees and behind your back, and he lifted you with great care, not wanting to cause you any harm. You flushed with the ease of him carrying you, a thought flickering across your mind of how much simpler scaling the cliff might have been if he had been there. But you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, focusing on the immediate task at hand. You wrapped your left arm around the back of his neck and placed your right hand protectively over your belly, the hard surface of his armor uncomfortably pressing against your side as he carried you toward the inviting hot spring.

"I can go from here," you said in thick, broken Basic, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp.

Din regarded you, confusion clear in his eyes as he tried to understand. His gaze alternated between the steaming water and your face. "You want to go in the water?" he asked, as if seeking confirmation.

"Yes, I can go from here," you repeated, pushing against him with a touch of defiance. His grip tightened, surprising you with its strength, and you nearly yelped in response. Shooting him a displeased look, you tried to assert your independence.

"What, and let you slip?" he asked, gazing at you through his visor before looking ahead. "No." He had made up his mind, and there was no arguing with the Mandalorian's decision.

As you were lowered into the hot spring, the initial shock of the water's heat gave way to a soothing relief. Din was surprised by how inviting it felt, and he understood why pregnant women sought refuge in such places. The water enveloped his boots and rose just above his knees as he carried you into the pool. You held onto him with a newfound intensity as he descended, afraid that he might lose his footing. Your disbelief mixed with gratitude as you realized the extent of his support.

Finding solid ground beneath the water, Din gently released your knees, allowing your feet to dip into the warm embrace of the pool. His hand slid from your back to your waist, ensuring your stability, and he positioned himself behind you in the water. You stood just below his chin, and if he desired, he could easily rest his chin on your head. His right hand remained on your waist, his gloved fingers splayed out on your side, providing you with a reassuring and protective presence.

A powerful surge of emotion overcame Din as he felt the subtle movements of the life within you under his fingertips. He stood there, motionless and transfixed, as you faced away from him, both of you submerged in the comforting warmth of the spring. His eyes traced the contour of your back, the gentle rise and fall as you breathed, and then slowly, as if compelled by an invisible force, he found himself resting his forehead against the back of your head, his helmet touching your soft hair.

He grappled with where to place his left hand, uncertain of the right way to provide comfort. His gaze drifted downwards, fixating on the water where he saw your dress floating softly as it began to soak in the pool. Carefully, he moved his left hand to the small of your back, gripping the back of your waist with a gentle touch.

In the midst of his turmoil, a soft, barely audible sob escaped his lips, and tears welled up inside his helmet, tracing their way down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he uttered, his voice broken and full of guilt. It was a plea for forgiveness, an attempt to convey the overwhelming regret that consumed him. He clung to your form, feeling the life inside you, the life he had a part in creating and then abandoned.

His wallowing in self-recrimination was shattered by the sound of your voice and the tender touch of your hand as it caressed his right hand.

"Don't cry," your words were soft and filled with sincerity. In that moment, as the tears flowed within his helmet, you offered him understanding and forgiveness. He felt worthy of neither.

#din djarin x pregnant reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin #mando #the mandalorian #mando x reader #star wars #star wars the mandalorian #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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everythingseasoning · 1 day ago

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love, forever?

Vampire! Suguru x reader

impulsively started writing vampire! Suguru x reader, with a blooming rivalry between Satoru & reader for Suguru’s attention. oh, and there’s new vampire lore, and angst: Suguru can’t bear to hurt reader when his human blood cravings flare up, so he breaks up with reader. we start off the story with heartbroken reader, and the emotionally oblivious, playful, talented and sexy vampire! Satoru going after reader (for reasons you’ll learn about in chapter 1). this story kinda has parallels to Geto’s canon angst as well. eventual smut.

Ch. 01 Teaser

NOTE: if you saw the teaser already, please feel free to read the following again, as I’ve edited it a lot and added in more juicy dialogue & scenes ;)

The drink is nothing short of young and dumb, the blend of tooth-rottingly sweet flavors hitting your taste buds as you stare holes into Suguru’s back. You can see the sculpture of his muscles and beautiful bones through his tight tee, your ex’s sculpted body turned away from you. He’s speaking to a girl you had heard about— the life of all parties, pretty, smart, and fun. You take another swig from the plastic blue cup, hoping the heaviness in your heart would be soon forgotten. Yogurt, sherbert, coca cola, and cheap alcohol would be your poison of the night, you think, swallowing down the concoction as tears prick your eyes.

“Another one of those people who drinks their troubles away?”

The voice amidst the bass and booming music causes you to turn, your eyes meeting striking blue ones. Snowy hair rests soft and thick on his head, your heart skipping a beat to see such a beautiful stranger.

If you were being honest, you weren’t in the mood to talk to somebody else— not when your heart was still tied right onto Suguru’s. You love Suguru, you really do. The recent past haunts your every waking moment. And even in your dreams, he’s there, smiling, chuckling as you braid his hair, reading a nonfiction book while your fingers thread his silky locks; He’s watching you with a fond smile as you run ahead of him in the campus garden, jumping amongst the flowers; Holding you as the two of you kiss— his soft, supple lips meeting yours in that familiar dance and tangle. In your dreams he’s still yours. You both made up. In your dreams, things are warm and right again.

When you wake up in an empty bed, with an aching heart, it just feels cruel. The light slipped away again. You thought you had it. You had your dream come true only to realize it was just that— a fucking dream. There’s no respite from the memory of all his adoration, thoughtful gestures, all the times you’d stare mesmerized as he sat focused, his eyebrows pinched as he worked… The way he felt when you were wrapped in his embrace— being fucking cared for— you missed him bad, with every fiber of your being.

He’s still all you can think about. You’re at this damned college party because, even a month after he’d broken up with you, all you wanted was to be close to him, to see him. It’s pathetic. Knowing he’d be here, knowing you’d be tearing your heart open again, the wound freshly cut back open— and still, you came here. How many times had you stalked his social media despite having been removed from his following?

“Cat got your tongue?” The beautiful stranger breaks you out of your thoughts, forcing a reply.

“No—” you start to say, raising your voice. It’s just barely audible over the clamor of the party.

“Really?” He butts in, raising an eyebrow. “‘Cause it seems like there’s some hard evidence against your statement.” His small smile is as unconventional as it is disarming.

“And you are?”

“Satoru Gojo, if you haven’t heard about me already. I go to a different university. A better one.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “And why would I know of you?”

The stranger, Satoru, just tilts his head ever so slightly, his smile unwavering as he replies, “Your head is under a rock, is what I heard you say.”

Confusion flits across your face before your mouth falls open slightly, a feigned look of offense stretched on your features. You feel like ignoring this pesky stranger. You glance away for a second, in search of Suguru’s back— the spot he’d been standing in holds a different person, somebody you don’t know, somebody you’re not at all interested in. You frown, scanning the crowd.

The stranger, Satoru, waves a hand in front of your face. You look up at him, annoyed.

“Why are you talking to me?”

“What? Need a reason to talk to a pretty girl?”

“That’s an overused line,” You shout back, the music so loud you can barely hear yourself. Your attention shifts away from the snowy haired man, back to the sea of party goers. You desperately search the throng of buzzing chaos. No sign of Suguru. Just dancing, mingling, kissing, drinking, the typical activities going on under the strobe lights. Fuck.

Suguru, where did you go? Please… Your heart feels like it’s a rock in your stomach. Please don’t tell me you’re fucking her right now in somebody’s bedroom. It’s not my business— but I can’t stand the thought of it—

Satoru chuckles, and you look back at him, unable to hide your expression of pain. You’re about to excuse yourself to find a bathroom to cry in, when he speaks again.

“You’re right. How should I flirt, hm? Wanna coach me? It’ll lift your blues, too,” His smirk would’ve had you folding had you not met Suguru. But you did cross paths with the raven-haired man— collided and intertwined, more like— and now nobody compares to him. Nobody would ever be him.

“Not really. Excuse me,” you begin to say, before turning slightly, about to slip away—

“Suguru is my best friend,” the stranger says.

You freeze, whipping around now to face Satoru.

“He told me about you— first time he ever told me about anyone, actually. Suguru said you were somebody he actually loved.” Satoru’s cheeky expression has been wiped off, replaced with one of aloof nonchalance and detachment. It’s almost eerie, but your attention is elsewhere.

You’re at a loss for words, eyes caught on Satoru’s, hanging onto everything he says like maybe, just maybe, it means that Suguru wants you back.

“He’s had his fair share of flings and hookups, after all.” Satoru teases, smirking again, bending down to your level.

“I thought I was losing my best friend to a weakling.” His breath is surprisingly chilly against your face. “Turns out you were never the one. Sucks that you couldn’t make him stay.” You feel everything shatter. “Sucks for you, I mean,” Satoru finishes. He leaves out the part where he gloats about being the one Suguru has always admired, and stuck with.

You’re shocked, mouth hanging open. Confusion, hurt, anger, betrayal— all the feelings clash like giant waves crashing against one another inside your heart.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Satoru grins, shrugging. “It means what it means. But I’m curious,” he says, leaning closer, his pearly teeth glinting red under the strobe lights, “What is it about you that had Suguru caught up on ya?” His lips graze your cheek, his voice in your ear. “I don’t get it.”

You slap him before you can realize what you’re doing. Violence is not the answer, but this time, it sure as hell felt like it. Your fingers sting, your panicked thoughts a running train. Did I just? Oh my god! I didn’t— I fucking did—

“I— I’m sorry—” you stammer quickly, eyes wide in shock at your own actions. Satoru is eerily emotionless, staring down at you with those startling ocean eyes. You shiver despite the heat.

“Hm.”

It’s all he says. You open your mouth to speak again, blinking—

And he’s gone.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A swig of the liquor causes the liquid to slosh in the green bottle.

“Thought you liked shy girls, Suguru?” Satoru pokes, a red handprint on his cheek. He’s kicked back on the couch outside the bathroom, grimacing when the alcohol hits his tongue, spitting it out back into the bottle.

“I do,” Suguru replies calmly, a streak of bare skin showing amidst the shaving cream on his face. He runs the razor back down, taking off more of the fluffy white foam.

“Yeesh. Can’t believe we used to drink this shit,” Satoru sticks his tongue on dramatically, tossing the full glass of alcohol across the room. It lands right in the trash bin with a clang. “That’s where it belongs,” he huffs.

“So?” Satoru prompts, kicking his feet up. “You realize she doesn’t fit your ideal type, right? Why’d you get with her for a whole year, man?”

“She was shy at first,” Suguru says softly, a glint of something like pain in his eyes. He catches Satoru’s gaze on him in the mirror and the glint disappears. Satoru doesn’t notice, now peeling open a candy from its foil wrapper. “And I told you already, Satoru,” Suguru continues, sparing his friend an exasperated glance. “I love— loved her.” A blip. A mistake so quickly covered that if it was anyone but Satoru, they’d miss.

Blue eyes pierce Suguru.

“But it wasn’t going to work out. Love isn’t meant for us. You and I… We’re not meant to be with humans,” Suguru murmurs, looking at his face in the mirror. It was myth that vampires didn’t have reflections. They did. Something the myths forgot though— vampires always have some sort of change written in their eyes. There will be some sort of difference from their human form, hidden in their eyes, after they turn. Suguru touches his eyebags, dark and heavy. That’s not what changed. No. His warm, earthy brown eyes had turned purple the night Satoru turned him. Rich amethyst irises gaze back at Suguru. He wishes he didn’t recognize them. Now he’s stuck dealing with people commenting on his “cool contacts,” for the rest of eternity. Suguru exhales deeply, softly, his still, dead heart aching.

“Being undead with a vital thirst for human blood will do that,” Satoru ho-hums, blissfully unaware of the insensitive nature of his obliviousness.

Suguru is silent, continuing to shave, but the blade knicks his skin. He curses quietly.

“So,” Satoru speaks with the chocolate melting on his tongue, grateful that at least his cravings and delight in sweets didn’t change when they turned, “You don’t trust yourself to be around her without hurting her. But you were with her for a year, doing well for a year. What do you say changed?”

Suguru dabs at the blood dripping down his otherwise unmarked face. It would heal, his skin would be perfectly smooth again in a day, not a trace of his mistake, or scar, would remain. All wounds heal within 24 hours for vampires.

“My urges got insatiable. Blood bags weren’t enough,” Suguru says curtly. Despite the battle of breaking up with you being long over, Suguru’s mind is a war zone. I couldn’t even look at her… without… needing to taste her blood. His fists clench on the marble sink. It got bad. I almost hurt her.

Satoru stares at his best friend, knowing that in this silence, his mind is a maelstrom. Suguru sees Satoru’s unflinching gaze, but remains quiet. He knows his friend won’t understand.

Satoru presses on anyway, nodding like he’s bored.

“Right. You can’t suppress your urges right now. That happened to me too. The second year is the hardest.” Satoru was the one who turned Suguru, after all. “It helps when you just feed on multiple pretty girls a night and compel them all to forget. You could’ve had both, you know. Her and human blood from others. You’re so mopey now.” Satoru’s callous remark piques Suguru’s irritation, a flame of anger burning in the raven-haired man’s chest.

“I won’t do that and be in a relationship.”

“I saw you feeding on that random chick an hour ago. But you’re still grumpy. You move around like you’re actually dead, Suguru. You torture yourself by still caring about your ex. She’s nothing special. I don’t get it.” Ah. The truth comes out.

Suguru’s eyebrows knit, his mouth pressed into a firm line as something dark flickers in his eyes.

“Satoru. First off, I only feed when they consent first. We both do that, and compel them to forget. And my ex, she has a name, and she’s worth something even if you can’t see it. Just shut up.”

“And what worth do you see in her?”

Suguru is silent for a moment. How could he convey the light and warmth that you were in his life? He’d died twice, once literally, once figuratively, and yet— you brought him back. “…She’s… good.”

“And?”

Suguru’s temper flares. “You just don’t get it, so will you just leave it?” He snarls, fangs involuntarily popping out.

“You’re such a grouch nowadays,” Satoru huffs, before popping another chocolate into his mouth. He gets up, stretching.

“Well. I need to feed again.”

“Be safe about it. And I’m not referring to your safety,” Suguru says sternly, his whole head turned to look at Satoru now, some white foam still on the man’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, mom, I got it.” With that, Satoru pulls his black coat over his lean, muscled body, a wolfish grin on his face as he slips out the apartment door.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You’re intoxicated. It’s two AM and you’re stumbling around campus like a fucking idiot.

Well how about that? Satoru spies you from across the quad, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. His veins buzz with electricity, and he knows: he is still very much alive despite the coldness to his skin, the lack of a heartbeat in his chest. What else could you call the rush, the thrill he’s got right now, except living? His urge to feed has grown exponentially.

He slips through the shadows.

You nearly jump when a tall, dark figure appears before you, looming over you.

Snowy hair shines in the lamplight, blue eyes flashing like glaciers, staring right at you. You swear they flash red for a second.

“You again?” You slur your words. You aren’t scared. He’s Suguru’s best friend, which means he by extension must be a good guy. Almost as if he hears your thoughts, Satoru grins. His teeth are brilliant, his canines shining ivory and glistening like expensive accessory jewels.

If Satoru was being honest, this was perfect. The golden chance to get Suguru to forget about you and move on, so his best friend could finally look and be alive again, the two of them happily slaying the vampires that hurt humans— this chance just seems to have fallen into Satoru’s hands like a magic star that grants his wish.

“Hey,” he nearly purrs, slinking around you as you take a step forward— stumbling a bit— cold fingers grip you firmly, holding you upright.

“You’re fucking making me freeze even more!” You retort, snapping at him as you yank your warm arm away from his cool grasp. You were more than tipsy, but you recalled his rudeness from earlier.

“Just trying to help. You sure aren’t shy, huh?” Satoru remarks.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You spit out, the question giving you both Deja vu.

“It means what it means,” Satoru grins. Deja-fucking-vu. You were getting fed up now, huffing and mumbling under your alcohol-tinged breath an insult that Satoru’s super hearing picks up on. He stifles a laugh.

“Wait,” Satoru calls out. You don’t turn around or slow your pace. He strides up to you in two quick, lengthy steps. He bends, entering your vision, his teeth sharp and protruding from his close lipped smile. Were they always that long?

“I’m great at reading people. And as much as you want to deny it, your heart is beating faster around me.” He suppresses his urge to poke your ribcage, directly over the beating muscle.

“Shut up,” you growl.

“You could make me, you know.”

He keeps up with your sluggish pace as you try to make your way back to the dorms, struggling to reply.

“There you go again with that cliche flirting,” you snort.

“And here I am again, asking if you’re offering lessons. Though the better question would be if you’re even qualified to give them,” Satoru grins.

“What do you want from me? Don’t you think it’s weird to be flirting with your best friend’s ex?”

You think this will shut him up. That, or he’ll have a lame excuse. And for the first time in this second conversation you’re having with him, his answer changes.

“If I’m being honest,” he speaks in a rich, velvety, low voice, and you almost feel entranced, your feed stopping, your gaze resting on Satoru. “I’m doing this for him. And about what I want?”

You sway in the chilly night breeze, barely registering anything but the sound of his voice.

“I want to know if you’d let me bite you.”

Edited version found here! (More dialogue and scenes :)

comment to be on the tag list!

Do not plagiarize my writing in any way. Do not feed my writing to ai.

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stormz369 · 2 months ago

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☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 18

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: use of mommy/mama as a pet name (non-sexual), vague talk about troubled childhoods, sort of a found-family thing?, brief encounter with a grocery store Karen wc: 2.7k Disclaimer: I am very white, everything I write about Damian's cultural background is coming from 1) internet research on Damian 1.5) pestering my comic reader friend about Damian/Talia/Ra's al Ghoul (but so far he's basically said that DC really does stand for Disregard Canon, so I can reasonably do whatever works for my narrative and it'll be canon friendly somewhere) and 2) internet research on Arabic cultural practices/foods/etc.

I always endeavor to write about others' cultures with respect or not at all, and to put in an appropriate amount of research to get details as right as possible. That being said, I am human, and don't always know what to look for to get the information I need. If you know that something I've included is culturally incorrect please do feel free to tell me (if you have the emotional bandwidth)! I cannot emphasize enough how important it is to me that I write about Damian's Arabic heritage correctly and with respect, and any rewriting/research guidance offered will always be greatly appreciated and credit given where due! If you wish to provide feedback anonymously, feel free to send them as asks, but please do include an emoji or something I can use to credit you for your emotional labor in the applicable chapters! And thank you in advance! This is where I got the info about ma'amoul cookies, if anyone is interested!

Chapter Selection

I woke sandwiched between the boys; Jason's arms were wrapped around my waist, and Damian's back was pressed into my chest. I smiled softly, gently stroking his hair. He groaned softly and flipped around, cuddling into me.

Jason shifted, stroking my side. “Mh … morning~”

“Morning~” I whispered, smiling softly.

He sat up, stretching a bit. “... He looks downright peaceful with you…”

“Like he feels safe?”

“… Yeah. … I'm glad you can give him that. … He's been through alot.”

I nodded, stroking his hair more. “I can tell. … I like letting him be a kid.”

Jason nodded, leaning over to kiss my temple. “I think he likes it too. … I'll make breakfast~”

I nodded, holding Damian close. He sighed softly, snuggling in more. Eventually, the smells of breakfast cooking wafted into the room, and Damian's eyes slowly fluttered open. The instant he realized how close we were he darted back, almost falling off the edge of the bed. After a moment he looked away awkwardly, clearing his throat.

“... Um … th- thank you, for … everything.”

I nodded, sitting up. “Of course. Anything you want to do today?”

He frowned a bit. “... Is Todd working tonight?”

“I think so. You wanna do something fun when he goes?”

“... If you don't mind?”

“I don't mind.” I smiled softly. He flushed a bit, smiling into his chest.

“Ok … Thanks.”

I nodded, stretching. “Jay's making breakfast.”

He nodded, getting up and grabbing his clothes. I checked my phone, frowning a bit when I saw that Bruce had texted.

Bruce: Is Damian alright? 9:05am Me: Yes, he's ok 10:45am Bruce: Jason said one of his teachers said something about him? He said you were very upset about it. 10:48am Me: Yes, the math teacher. It was inexcusable, and I made sure she knew it. Jason got him switched into a new math class, so it shouldn't be a problem anymore 10:49am Bruce: Very good. … Jason also mentioned that Damian seemed to think he had to let them talk about him like that? 10:53am Me: He thought calling them out qualified as misbehaving 10:55am Bruce: … I'll speak to him when he gets home. Obviously I don't want him to put up with that. 10:57am Me: … Maybe not so obviously. I think he was worried about disappointing you. He seemed more concerned with how dealing with it would affect you publicly than with how it was affecting him to hear it 11:00am Bruce: … I'll fix this. 11:02am

I sighed softly. Somehow I doubted Bruce could fix it just like that. I changed into some casual clothes and joined the boys in the kitchen. Jason slid a few pancakes onto a plate for me and kissed my cheek.

“Thanks, pumpkin~”

Damian snorted softly, smirking at Jason. “... ‘Pumpkin’?”

I smirked back, leaning forward; “careful, kiddo. I can think of plenty of fun nicknames for you too, my little jellybean~”

He grimaced. “Ugh..”

“No? You don't like that? How about cutie patootie? Angel pie? Honey-bunch?”

Damian groaned, shaking his head. “Nooo! Gross!”

Jason chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Ok, mama, he's had enough.”

Damian froze, frowning. His walls shot right back up, and his voice was sharp; “... She is not my mother.”

“And thank God for that.” Jason rolled his eyes. “Your mother's a real piece of work. Trade up while the trading's good.”

Damian frowned more, staring into his plate. “... Mother is a … complicated woman. But she's my mother.”

My heart ached at how carefully he said it. Complicated was the nicest thing he could think to say about her? “... I'm sure she loves you, kiddo.”

Damian's jaw clenched as he nodded. “Yes, she does.”

Jason frowned a bit. “... In her way.”

We spent the weekend in a domestic bubble; we cooked together, watched movies, played games, and after Jason went to work Damian and I played with his craft kits. Watching him relax into the little family unit we established for ourselves almost made me wonder if he really was starting to view me as a maternal figure. I didn't mind if he was, but I wasn't sure how much I should lean into it. As with most things with Damian, I decided it was best to let him set the pace.

The next Friday night, Damian came over again. Jason sighed, rolling his eyes affectionately when he saw Damian at the kitchen table. “Do you have my girl playing mommy again?”

Damian blushed bright red, glaring at him. I raised an eyebrow, staring at Jason. “I told him he could come over, Jason.”

I set a plate of cookies on the table and a glass of milk. “You just finish your homework, kiddo. And don't burn yourself on the cookies, they're still hot.”

Damian nodded, taking one. Jason leaned over to grab one as well, but before he could I gently smacked his hand and grabbed his shirt, leading him into my room. “Not yet.”

He frowned, following along. “What? What'd I do?”

I shut the door, turning to face him. “Jay, my love, when you say things like that you make it harder for him to relax. You said yourself, he's been through alot; if he wants a taste of the nuclear family life, I'm happy to baby him all he wants. If he wants to come over every weekend I'll make cookies and ‘play mommy’, as you put it. And I don't want you making him feel weird about it. Ok?”

He shifted a bit, looking down at his feet. “Right, … sorry baby. It was just a joke…”

“I know, but he's still getting used to the idea that this is ok. Sometimes I think he expects to be punished for asking for things. I had to convince him to tell me what kinds of cookies he likes best. And he looked so surprised when I said we'd go to the store tomorrow for the ingredients I don't have. Like he thought it was a hypothetical question.”

Jason sighed, nodding. “He probably did…”

I nodded, gently cupping his cheek. “Just be gentle with him, ok? … Remember, if I'm playing mommy for him, I'm also playing house-wife for you~”

He blushed a bit and chuckled, wrapping his arms around my waist. “That sounds nice~ … you gonna wear a cute little apron and serve breakfast in bed?”

“Only if I manage to get up before you. Sometimes I think you don't sleep at all.” I chuckled, kissing him softly. He kissed back gently and smiled softly, nodding.

“Mh~ ok, mama, I'll play nice~”

I chuckled softly, kissing him again. “Good boy~”

The flash of red across his face made me giggle, and I led him back out of the bedroom. “Now you may have a cookie. And I'm making stir-fry for dinner.”

Damian looked up at me as I passed; “is it…”

I nodded; “vegetarian. And I think I finally figured out how to get that nice crispy layer on the tofu too!”

His lips curled up ever so slightly, he nodded once, and returned to his homework. Jason sat next to him, taking a cookie, and looked over his shoulder at his homework. “... New math teacher treating you ok?”

“It’s only been a week, but … Yeah, he seems like a nice guy so far. And word of the ‘crazy art show lady' has spread throughout the faculty.” I smirked a bit at that. I could be ‘crazy art show lady' if it made them think twice about disrespecting him.

Jason nodded. “Good.”

When I brought out dinner, Damian practically inhaled his first few bites. I blinked a bit, chuckling softly. “Don't choke, kiddo.”

He nodded, slowing down a bit. Periodically, I'd catch him staring at his backpack. “... You need something outta there?”

He flushed, shaking his head. “No, just … Jon is waiting for me to finish dinner.”

“Oh, I don't have a ‘no phones at the table' rule, kiddo. You can text your friend.”

He blinked repeatedly. “... I can?”

“Yeah, I don't mind. It would be pretty hypocritical if I did; I never go anywhere without my phone.”

Damian smiled a little and got his phone, texting Jon quickly. His guarded expression slowly melted away, and I had to remind myself not to stare before he caught me.

“... Do you want to invite him over some time?”

Damian looked up, frowning a bit. “Invite Jon over … here?”

“Yeah, you two could have a sleepover in the living room.”

“... Could we go to the arcade at the mall?”

“Sure! As long as his parents are ok with it. And give them my phone number in case they want to talk to me first, or need to check in.”

Damian grinned, nodding, and texted Jon quickly. “... Next weekend?”

“Sounds like a plan!”

Damian stared disdainfully at the wall of flour, scouring it for the kind needed for his cookies. Eventually, he grabbed a small bag, bringing it back to me.

“That's the one?”

He nodded slowly, frowning. “... I'm not used to looking for it in English, but this should be right.”

I nodded, gesturing for him to put it in the cart. “Ok, is that gonna be enough?” He nodded, releasing it. “What’s next?”

“Ghee.” He grabbed the corner of the cart and led me down the aisle, finding what he needed. He tsked softly at the container, but tossed it into the cart as well before leading the way to the spices. He selected several extracts, rose water, and a few spices I was low on.

“Alright, what else?”

“Dates, figs, pistachios, and walnuts.”

We scanned the aisles, eventually finding what we needed, and headed for the check-out counter. The way Damian watched the cashier and me had me wondering if he had ever been to an American grocery store before. I bagged the groceries, chatting with the cashier a bit.

The lady behind us in line glowered at Damian. He frowned, eyeing her for a moment, before continuing to watch the check out process. She huffed, rolling her eyes; “aren't you going to help, young man?”

I frowned, turning toward her. “Hey, leave him alone.”

I held a hand out for him, gesturing for him to come close. He frowned, taking a couple steps toward me.

She frowned more, looking more and more like she bit into a lemon. “I'm just saying, good boys don't just stare while others do the work.”

“No one asked you, lady. Back off.” I let my hand hover over his shoulder for a moment, not touching him but clearly indicating that he was under my protection. He glanced at my hand before looking up at me. “Should I do something?”

“No, kiddo, you're fine. We're just about done, and I would ask if I wanted help.”

He smirked slightly, watching me put my wallet away and grab the bags. He pulled the cart to the cart return and we headed out, strolling back to our bus stop. After a moment, he reached over and took the bag from one of my hands.

I smiled softly, letting him have it. “Don't let people like her bother you, ok? They're just grumpy that my generation doesn't expect kids to read our minds.”

He frowned a bit, staring at the sidewalk in front of him. “... That was common, in older generations?”

“Mh, yeah, I think so. My grandparents always had something to say about how my parents ‘coddled’ us. And my parents sure have a lot to say about how new parents are ‘babying’ their kids with the newest theories and parenting practices.” I chuckled; “as if there's something wrong with babying a literal baby?”

“... Back home, I was expected to behave just like the rest of the household. No matter my age.”

I nodded slowly. “Different cultures approach parenting differently, I suppose.”

“... I think in my case it's more of … my mother's approach to parenting.”

“Ah…”

He stared at a spot in front of him, frowning deeply; “... She loves me, she just … she had a … complicated life. … She did the best she could for me.”

I nodded. “... Parents are people. And people are flawed. Loving them doesn't mean we have to pretend they haven't hurt us, or that we have to forgive them for the bad parts of our childhood. … It's very mature of you to keep her experiences in mind like that. But you're also allowed to be upset.”

“... Upset?”

“It sounds like a classic example of ‘I had it bad, but my parents had it worse'. But you're still entitled to your feelings about your childhood. The good and the bad. … Children are supposed to be protected and cared for, but some kids … just don't get to have that. You're allowed to mourn the childhood you should have had. And you're allowed to seek out those experiences now.”

“... Like the craft kits?”

“Exactly. I bet it’s freeing, being able to just play, right?”

He nodded slowly. “... It is. … It's nice, not worrying about what people will think, or do. … You … you don't make a big thing about it.”

“Because it doesn't have to be a big thing if you don't want it to be. You get to decide what matters in this, and who's involved.”

He nodded slowly. “... Mother would be furious, if she knew Todd has been joking the way he has.”

“Joking?”

“... About you playing mommy.”

“Ah. I can make him stop if it makes you uncomfortable… But I also don't mind it if you don't.”

“... I will think on it.”

When the bus arrived we hopped on, finding a seat. Damian stared out the window, clutching his bag. At our stop I had to gently tug on the bag handles to pull him out of his thoughts, and we headed up to my apartment.

“Ok, remind me what the cookies we're making are called?”

“Ma’amoul. Mother made them for holidays…”

I smiled softly and nodded. “Well, I hope they'll live up to your memories then.”

We worked together to make the cookies, Damian staying practically underfoot to make sure they came out just right. The molding and filling process took quite a while, but we plowed through, slowly working out a rhythm. He hovered, watching them in the oven, until they were finally ready.

I carefully transferred them to a cooling rack and he immediately took one, breaking it in half. He looked it over, sniffing it a bit, and finally took a bite, chewing slowly. I watched, biting the inside of my lower lip a bit. “... What do you think, kiddo?”

He stared at the half of a cookie in his hand, his expression unreadable. Finally, he mumbled; “... Well, they're very ugly. … But they taste like home.”

I smiled softly, holding my arms behind my back to stop myself from pulling him into a hug. “I'm glad. And I'm sure the next batch will be prettier. Practice makes perfect, right?”

“The next batch?” He looked up at me curiously.

“Of course. You said they're your favorites.”

He flushed a bit and stared at the cookie in his hands again, nodding. “Yes, they are.”

“Then I'm gonna get good at this so you can have them more often.”

After a moment, he reached over to grip my elbow, gently squeezing before dropping his hand again. It was over as quick as it began, but I felt his warmth linger on my arm. I smiled softly, holding an arm out for him. He considered for a second before leaning in, letting me give him a quick shoulder squeeze.

“I'm glad you're happy with them, sweetheart. Why don't you go sit, and I'll bring you a plate and a glass of milk? And when the rest are cool we'll put them in a tupperware for you to take home.”

He nodded, nibbling on the rest of his cookie while I made up a plate for him. We sat on the couch, letting some dumb action movie fill the silence while we enjoyed the fruits of our labor.

Next ->

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist (open): @jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men

#fanfic #fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc #jason todd #red hood x reader #jason todd x reader #first person pov #wayne family adventures #damian wayne #multichapter fic #no y/n #Can I Get Your Number?

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mariasont · 9 months ago

Text

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9

MDNI----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, brightest member

warnings: implied smut, evelyn annoying the fuck out of hotch

Chapter Eight:

The coffee machine gurgled in the quiet of the break room as Evelyn filled her cup, her hands carefully cradling her favorite pink mug as the steam raised in delicate swirls. The rich aroma of the freshly brewed substance wafted through the air, Evelyn was moments from savoring her first sip when Spencer made his entrance.

He moved with an awkward grace, his lean frame wrapped in a sweater, the morning light casting a scholarly glow on his thoughtful expression. Evelyn took a moment, as she often did, to admire the earnest curiosity etched into his features. She pivoted gracefully, a playful glint in her eye, the corners crinkling in silent laughter.

"Morning, Dr. Reid," she chimed. "Joining me for the most important meal of the day?"

Spencer offered a small, hesitant grin, casting a wary glance over his shoulder as if anticipating an unwelcome audience. When he turned back, finding the coast clear, his gaze couldn't help but sweep over her, a slow, involuntary trail from her eyes down to her heels and back up again.

"Did you know caffeine can actually increase cortisol levels?" Spencer inquired, his tone shifting to that of a lecturer as he warmed to the subject. "Cortisol is secreted by the adrenal glands and plays a critical role in regulating various bodily functions. While it's essential for survival, elevated cortisol over prolonged periods can lead to a host of issues. So, while that cup of coffee might seem like a good idea, it's worth considering the potential endocrine implications."

Evelyn closed the distance between them with a playful step, her eyes gleaming. "I love when you talk nerdy to me, Dr. Reid," she started. "But if you deprive me of my morning coffee, I won't be the only ones suffering the consequences."

Spencer's hand reaches out, almost involuntarily giving Evelyn's ass a quick, teasing tap. She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a feigned expression of shock.

"In the workplace, Dr. Reid?" Evelyn chided, her voice laced with mock scandal.

Spencer's chuckle was a soft counterpart to the florescent hum of the break room. Evelyn stood there, the light catching the subtle highlights in her hair, her smartly tailored suit accentuating her figure.

"Speaking of which, and presuming your neurons are adequately myelinated for the day, how about those ground rules?" Spencer's question came with a half-smile.

"I'm going to pretend for a second that myelinated is part of my daily vocabulary," Evelyn retorted with a playful roll of her eyes. "Upstairs is all clear," she tapped her temple for emphasis before taking another step towards the genius, "but after last night, I can't say the same for downstairs."

Spencer cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck as memories of the previous night flickered through his mind. "Don't start with me."

"Me? Start with you? Never," she said, her eyes dancing with humor. "But in all seriousness. This," she gestured between them, "stays between us. We can't do anything here."

She straightened up, her expression mock serious. "I'm already juggling enough with these legacy rumors. If I start adding 'sleeping with my mentor' to my resume, I'll need to write a survival guide."

Spencer's response was quick. "I can do that," he said, his eyes accusing. "As long as you behave."

"I'm always on my best behavior, sir," she declared with a sly smile, her voice trailing off as she sauntered out of the break room, "my place or yours tonight?"

Spencer's hand instinctively went to the bridge of his nose, squeezing gently as if to ward off an impending headache, the universal gesture of a man both charmed and utterly undone by the woman before him.

The tech lab was alive with whirring machines and the subtle glow of displays. Evelyn glided into the room, her steps light and her grin spreading.

The hum of computers and the soft glow of screens set the backdrop as Evelyn breezed into the tech lab, her steps light and her smile wide. She found Garcia, the queen of all things digital, her dominion sprawling before her in an array of flickering pixels and streaming data.

"Hey, P! Need your magic fingers to trace a number for me. And maybe sprinkle a little of that fairy dust to make the results come faster." Evelyn says with a lighthearted twinkle.

With a flourish, Garcia twirled in her chair, her clothes a riot of color that defied that room's monochrome sterility. She peered at Evelyn over the top of her pink-rimmed glasses, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

"Sweetie, you're radiating more energy than my entire tech setup. What's got you bouncing off the walls? Extra shot of your coffee or just high on life?" Penlope questioned, her voice laced with humor as she watched Evelyn practically vibrating through the room.

"What? No, I'm not. It's just a good day, that's all," Evelyn laughed, the sound bubbling up effortlessly.

Garcia tilted forward, a teasing glint in her gaze. "Uh-huh. You can't fool me, Miss Sunshine. You've got that 'I just got laid' glow," she pushed, "spill it. Who's the lucky guy?"

"Garcia, quit it," she giggled, brushing off the insinuation with a wave of her hand. "There's no guy. Just... work stuff, you know?"

But Garcia remained skeptical, playfully wagging a finger bedecked with a glittering ring. "Oh, come on! You've got that look. The one that says, 'I did not get my eight hours, but boy, was it worth it.'"

Laughter spilled from Evelyn, a rich sound that reverberated against the walls. "Seriously, Penelope, drop it. I'm just happy. Can't a girl have a good day without an interrogation?"

Garcia shot her a knowing glance, but she conceded with an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, alright. I'll let you off the hook... for now. But I've got my eye on you. Now what's this number you need traced?"

Evelyn passed a slip of paper across the table, her grin unwavering. She offered a swift thanks and retreated to the bustling bullpen.

Evelyn's desk was a splash of color in the otherwise muted tones of the bullpen. Pink post-its fluttered like flags, each scrawled with affirmations and tiny tributes to her teammates. Amidst this cheerful chaos, Hotch stood, his hands clasped behind him as he surveyed the landscape of girlish whimsy.

At the sight, Evelyn's steps hastened, she darted forward to intercept his gaze, positioning herself squarely before him. "Hotch, sir, hi! Can I help you with something?"

Hotch met her gaze, his eyebrow lifted in mild inquiry, the shadow of a smile on his face. "I was looking for the Simmons report. You were supposed to turn in it yesterday." He tried to peer around her, amusement flickering in his eyes at the sight of her cluttered workspace.

His eyes settled on the pen holder, an extravagant display of sparkle and faux gems. He remarked with dry wit, "Does that... fit the bureau's decor standards?"

Evelyn's smile was unapologetic as she shrugged lightly. "Mm, probably not. But it brightens up the place don't you think?" She rifled through the stack of papers, her face a canvas of sheepish charm. "About that report... I, uh, totally forgot. But it will be done, pinky promise."

She extended her pinky towards him. Hotch regarded the small gesture, his features betraying no reaction. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, but his stance was unwavering. "I'm not going to do that," he declared, eyes flicking to her upheld finger. "I expect the report on my desk by the end of the day."

Evelyn snapped to attention, grin never faltering. "Aye, aye, captain," she chimed cheerfully. "You'll have it before you can say 'bureaucracy'."

With a parting nod, he moved back to his office. In the corner, Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss stood in a tight knot, their quiet conversation floating in the air near the water cooler.

"There's no way," Morgan asserted, his head moving in a firm denial, his eyes reflecting staunch disbelief.

"I told you soooo," Prentiss crooned, her voice dripping in smug satisfaction.

"Huh?" Evelyn's question hung in the air as she swiveled towards the group, her eyebrow arching in a silent demand for clarity. "What are you talking about?"

"There's an ongoing bet to see how long it'll take you to really get in trouble with Hotch," JJ confesses, her grin spreading as she looked towards the other.

Evelyn's voice rose in protest. "What? I do get in trouble!" she insisted. "Did you not just see that? Or when I went rogue on my first takedown?"

Prentiss let out a soft chuckle, her eyes meeting Morgan's knowingly. "Please that was 'Evie trouble.' It's like being scolded by a teddy bear."

"And what does that even mean?" Evelyn asked, her laughter rising through the room as she shook her head.

"Baby girl, your definition of trouble with Hotch is a lot different than ours," Morgan said with a playful wag of his finger. "You barely get a slap on the wrist, while we'd get the whole paddle," he teased.

"That is so not true!" Evelyn's giggle bubbled up uncontrollably, her shoulders bouncing with each note of disbelief. She playfully rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion with a shake of her head.

As if summoned by the very topic, Rossi and Reid appeared in the doorway. They caught the end of the conversation and, with impeccable timing, chimed in together, "It's true."

"If I forgot my paperwork, I'm pretty sure I'd be relegated to coffee duty for a month--minimum," Spencer said as he gave a small, resigned shrug.

"I'll have you know, I can get into trouble," she declared, puffing up in feigned offense. "I'm always getting under Hotch's skin."

Skepticism was written all over their faces, each look a playful jab at the very ideas. "Oh, we're sure you're a regular rebel," Morgan said, his tone heavy with irony.

"Yeah, right. They day you get a real scolding is the day I'll dye my hair pink," Prentiss declared, her laughter softening the edges of her sarcasm.

"And I'll wear a feather boa to work," Rossi added, the twinkle in his eyes suggesting he found the image as ludicrous as it sounded.

"Statistically speaking, Evelyn, the probability of you inciting Hotch's ire is remarkably low," Spencer articulated, his brows furrowing in thought. "Considering the standard deviation of workplace interactions, it's more probably likely for an asteroid to graze our atmosphere."

Evelyn rolls her eyes, taking their words as a challenge. "We'll see about that."

Noon struck, and with it, a cast of golden rays pierced through the blinds of Hotch's office, painting the surfaces with a light hue of daylight. Evelyn, her arms cradling a stack of tardy documents, sauntered into the room. Her hair, a cascade of chestnut waves, framed her face, and her eyes, sharp as flint, scanned the room.

"Special delivery!" The announcement echoed off the walls, as Evelyn, framed by the doorway, held the papers aloft like a trophy. "The prodigal paperwork returns." Her smile was a bright flash in the subdued light.

The click of the mouse ceased as Hotch's gaze lifted slowly from the computer, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts. "Thank you, Evelyn," he uttered, each word measured. "I was beginning to think it had gone into witness protection."

The room was filled with the sound of Evelyn's giggle as she perched against the doorframe. Her smirk was a playful twist of her full, rose-tinted lips. "Oh, you know me. I like to keep things interesting. Life's too short for bureaucracy. "

Hotch's fingers moved methodically through the stack, each page turning with a crisp snap. His eyes, sharp and calculating, never strayed as he spoke. "Interesting isn't quite the Bureau's motto. We prefer efficiency."

"And yet, here I am, brightening your day with my inefficiency," she teased.

The folder landed softly on the desk as Hotch straightened, his gaze piercing as it met Evelyn's. "Evelyn, is there something else you needed?"

"Just checking on my favorite unit chief," she declared with a shrug, "making sure you're not bored under a mountain of dullness."

Hotch's eyes took on a sharper focus, an almost accusatory gaze. "I'm quite capable of digging myself out, thank you," he stated, the hint of a smile lurking beneath his serious expression. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have work to do."

Evelyn's smirk was unwavering, a silent ally as she acknowledged his words with a graceful nod. "Of course, sir. Duty calls."

The bullpen thrummed with life, agents weaving through the maze of desks, papers shuffled, and phones rang, the air buzzing with the collective focus. Evelyn's presence was a silent counterpoint, a different mission in mind. Her fingers sifted across the documents in front of her. With a feigned slip of the hand, she accidentally exchanged the contents of two folders. As she handed Hotch the Thompson report, masquerading as the Henderson case, she could barely contain her amusement.

Evelyn glanced up at Hotch with feigned surprise, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "Oh, did those get mixed up? That's totally on me," she said, her voice dripping with faux contrition as she sat perched on the edge of her chair.

Hotch's hand clasped around the correct folder, his gaze drifting across Evelyn's features, a wordless pause hanging in the air. It was a look that lingered just a beat too long before he finally looked away.

With a serene composure, Hotch handed back the folder, his words deliberate and clear. "Please double-check your work in the future."

"Absolutely, won't happen again, sir," Evelyn responded.

Watching Hotch disappear behind his office door, Prentiss and JJ, couldn't help but shake their heads. "You are playing with fire."

With a playful toss of her hair, Evelyn responded, "It's what I do best." Her wink sailed across the room to the women as she swiveled back to her desk.

Later, she sent Hotch on a wild goose chase for a non-existent file. Hotch reappeared, the absence of the file evident in his empty hands and the slight crease of annoyance on his brow. His irritation was barely veiled by his professional composure and the sight stirred a warmth across her cheeks and spread through her. It was as if the air had thickened, her body responding with a clench of her thighs.

Evelyn snapped her attention back to her task, letting out an exaggerated gasp, her eyes widening with feigned realization.

Evelyn's eyes lifted to meet Hotch's, a flutter of her lashes accentuating her apology. "Oh, my mistake. It's actually for next week's briefing. My apologies, sir."

A collective gaze tracked Hotch, the team's faces etched with a blend admiration and disbelief at the boldness. Hotch's head shook slightly as he closed the door behind him.

With a subtle lean, Morgan caught Rossi's attention, a smirk playing on his lips. "You seeing this, Rossi?" he asked, his voice low, carrying the weight of disbelief.

"Hard to miss," Rossi mused, "she's got guts, I'll give her that," he admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile, "but she's doing a great job of proving our point."

"Hey," Evelyn's whisper was a soft accusation, a conspiratorial murmur that barely reached between the three of them. "Just you wait, I've got more up my sleeve."

With a gentle head shake that sent his curls swaying, Spencer loomed over her desk. "At this rate," he said, looking down at her with an amused glint in his eye, "you're going to need your own section in the employee handbook."

The bullpen fell into an abrupt hush, the agents' heads turning as Hotch's commanding tone sliced through the idle banter. Without missing a beat, he looked eyes with Evelyn. "Gideon, my office. Now."

The team's eyes flickered from one to another, the collective oooh sounding more like a drawn-out sigh as Evelyn got to her feet. The air seemed to still as she offered a nod, her face the picture of innocence. With a gentle tilt of her head, she responded sweetly. "Of course, sir."

Hotch stood behind his desk, the stern set of his jaw softening despite his best efforts. His words came with struggle, weighted with disappointment rather than anger. "This isn't like you, Evelyn. Misplacing evidence is a serious offense."

With eyes wide and innocent, Evelyn held her poise, her hands neatly folded in front of her. "I'm so sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

The room felt smaller as Hotch sighed, his authoritative demeanor dissolving into a softer, more approachable one. His voice lowered, tinged with an unexpected warmth. "What's going on with you today?"

"Hotch," Evelyn burst out, the playful strain in her voice belying the seriousness of her words. "I've been an absolute terror today--don't I deserve a better scolding that that? Everyone thinks you go easy on me."

Hotch's eyes sharpened, the hint of annoyance seeping through his demeanor. "So that's what this has been about? You've been testing my patience all day because of what--some office wager?"

Evelyn watched, a spark of mischief in her eyes as Hotch's composure began to fray. The fabric of his suit jacket tensed, subtly outlining the firm set of his shoulders. His jaw worked silently, a clear sign of his growing irritation, a detail she found inexplicably enthralling.

"See, right there!" she exclaimed, her finger jabbing the air with theatrical emphasis. "That's what I'm talking about--that's the look!"

A barely perceptible quirk of his lips betrayed him. "You're unbelievable."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with sheer desperation shimmering within. "Hotch, can you please--pretty please--pretend to yell at me? I need to win this bet."

"At this point, Evelyn, I don't think I need to pretend."

She offered him a pout, her lower lip protruding just so, a silent plea.

He exhaled a deep sigh, a reluctant white flag. "Fine. Shut the door."

"Thank you, thank you!" Evelyn sang out, her mind already racing ahead. "Oh, wait, I need to look scared, right?" She whirled around, her hand hovering over the door handle as she caught the team's collective gaze, wide and expectant, peering through the blinds.

Hotch positioned himself with his back to the window, his silhouette casting a commanding shadow across the room. With a flourish, he gestured towards the scattered paperwork on his desk, his voice booming just enough to be heard through the glass.

Evelyn's lip caught between her teeth, an effort to rein in the giggles that bubbled over. Her shoulders trembled, betraying her struggle as she dipped her head, a strategic move to conceal from the curious glances beyond the glass.

"Evelyn, you're terrible at this."

"I-I know, I'm sorry," she sputtered between fits of laughter. "But I think they bought it."

"I doubt it."

"You're the best boss ever, Hotch," Evelyn beamed.

Hotch's head gave a slow shake, the barest hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

"Too much if I cry on the way out?" she teased, feigning distress as she inched towards the door.

"Just go, Agent."

The day was winding down with the low hum of the office, Evelyn glided through the bullpen, her smirk as loud as the click of her heels. She tossed a bag onto Prentiss's desk, the contents clicking softly. The bag, clear and plastic, revealed the pink hair dye inside.

Evelyn leaned closer, the bag crinkling between them. "For your new look, Em," she teased with a wink. "I want to see a brand-new you by tomorrow."

Prentiss examined the dye, eyebrow raised in playful defiance. "Dream on, Evie," she chuckled. "This going in your Secret Santa gift."

Next the feather boa found its new home around Rossi's neck, courtesy of Evelyn's hands. "This is non-negotiable, Rossi," she declared. "Your suit needs a touch of pizzazz."

"But let's be real, Evie," Morgan chuckled. "You didn't really win the bet, did you?"

Evelyn gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Whaaaatt?" she uttered. "I have absolutely no idea what you're implying."

"Oh, come on," Emily scoffed, "we all know what Hotch looks like when he's chewing someone out. And that, my friend, was a performance worthy of an Oscar."

Evelyn's eyes widened, her act faltering under the team's knowing looks. "Oh! You know, I-I totally forgot, I have that thing I was totally supposed to do."

Evelyn was in her own world, surrounded by the familiar end-of-day bustle. As she slid her laptop into its case, her phone chimed--her eyes lit up, a smile curving subtly as she read the message from Spencer: My place. 8 pm.

Evelyn's gaze lifted, catching Spencer's eye across the room, a knowing look shared between them. She typed her response with haste: I'll be there. No sooner had she done so than Hotch's voice sliced through the buzz of the office. "Evelyn, my office."

She breezed in, her retort poised on her lips. "You didn't call me in here to actually yell at me, did you? Because, despite popular belief, I'm about as good with confrontation as a cat is with a bathtub. I'd probably start crying, it'd be this whole thing, and--"

"Evelyn." Hotch's voice was firm, a verbal full stop that demanded attention.

"Right. What's up?"

"Miami. Next week. A conference on behavior analysis," he began. "I want you there, presenting your research on the correlation between language patterns and criminal behavior."

"A paid trip to the beach? Count me in!" Evelyn squealed.

Hotch's reply came as a dry gust. "This is a business trip, Evelyn. Not a vacation."

She nodded, her grin undiminished. "Sorry, what? My mind's already sunbathing in Miami," she teased, twirling on her heel.

"Oh, and Evelyn?"

"Mhm?"

"The team's right," he confessed. "Don't let it go to your head."

taglist: @nonamevenus@aceofspades190

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604to647 · 1 day ago

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Toot-toot, Beep-beep

As is my style, squeaking in last minute to take part in @jolapeno's brilliant idea to encourage people to toot their own work; while I still feel very shy about my writing, I can't help but be heartened by the lovely interactions and kind encouragement I've received this past year - so Imma gonna give it a go! Thank you for the tags @aurorawritestoescape @joelmillerisapunk @milla-frenchy @evolnoomym @sawymredfox

@iamasaddie @sanarsi @greenwitchfromthewoods it was wonderful to read your lists, revisit some old favourites and grow my tbr 🥰🥰😘

One-Shots

Emily never met a fic she couldn't turn into a series, but once in a while she tries to contain herself:

What Was I Made For (Frankenstein AU Tim Rockford; Tim is our titular "Creature" but there is nothing monstrous about him. I cried while writing this!!!! 😭😭)

Photocopies (S1/S2 Narcos Javier Pena; does it still count as a one-shot if it's a follow-up to a one-shot I wrote the year before? And if I plan on writing more "one-shots" for the same couple? Another angsty one for these two as they're kept apart by Javi's poor decisions and dumb [affectionate] self-sacrificing nature 😔)

Instalment of Series

I write mostly series, so here are a few chapters from last year that I'm proud of:

Ch. 19 The Betrayal from Safest with You (Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer Din Djarin; this is my first and longest running series - my baby 🥹. With this chapter I finally wrote that scene; you know the one you think up originally and end up building an entire story/series around?)

Hold On from The Rockford Portfolio (I will always think of this Tim Rockford fic fondly because it was born from such a fun, spontaneous coming together of the community after @mrsmando asked which Pboi is a Tiddy Guy, and together, we forever cemented Detective Rockford as a Boob Man).

Ch. 2 - White Chocolate Macadamia from Mi Galleta (Modern AU Pero Tovar; I spend a lot of time pouring over bike diagrams, biker images and biker Tiktoks for this chapter where we give our scary bouncer a sports bike. It was really hard work 🤭 Also, Protective!Pero 🥹)

Part 1 of Strawberry Shortcake (Frankie Morales goes to a strip club and falls in love with a cocktail waitress; this one came out of nowhere and was mainly vibes, but I love it. When I wrote it I knew I was leaving it on a cliffhanger, but had no idea where I was going to take it [Narrator: she took it to 22K words in total])

Smut

Having only started writing in 2023, this was an area of major insecurity for me! So, this year we practiced, practiced, practiced:

Ch. 16 The Match-up from Safest with You (Baby's first sex tape; Modern AU Din Djarin)

The Detective and the Agent (Baby's first threesome; Tim Rockford + Marcus Pike)

At First Light (Baby's first somno; Tim Rockford)

Paperwork (Baby's first cockwarming; Tim Rockford)

Challenges

I think Jo also said recently that writing can often be a lonely activity, solitary in nature. Whenever someone hosts a challenge or writing/fandom event, it goes such a long way towards alleviating this loneliness, pulling us out of our isolation - it's really so, so nice. People who host, you're gems 🥹

Agent Hephaestus (Pedro Pantheon hosted by beskarandblasters; an allegorical telling of Agent Marcus Pike as Hephaestus. The hardest thing I ever wrote! At one point, I printed this out and edited it old school style, literal pen on paper😂😂)

Dance for me (Mootboards and minifics hosted by @yopossum. Such a fun idea and remains the prettiest moodboard on my blog 😍 Happy to be able to give Detective Tim Rockford a silly detective case plot [my favourite fiction genre to read] and patting myself on the back for adding a few Strawberry Shortcake easter eggs as well 🤭)

Brandy by the Fireplace (Trope-off hosted by @auteurdelabre. The trope I chose was "Fish out of Water" so naturally, we had to go with Frankie Morales. Self proclaimed City girls and anxious girls [gn], I hope this one speaks to you. I've never disclosed this before, but this one is inspired by true events 😭😂).

The Might of the Realm (The Glandolorian challenge hosted by @beefrobeefcal. My first love, husband, Din Djarin in a canon compliant post-S3 story that fits into an AU that has been living in my mind rent free since that last season ended. Maybe I'll write more for them, because as stated before - Emily never met a one-shot she could leave alone 😂)

Hidden Gem

Dodge (Vigilante AU Javier Pena, aka what happens when Emily thinks of a way to write that Daredevil fic that's been rattling around in her brain since 2018. This is really unlike anything else I've written - I'm a big Marvel fan, but probably won't ever write MCU fic [I do read a fair bit though!] so I'm proud of the way I was able to weave story elements from two of my fave fandoms together. If you read it, a) um I love you and b) tell me if you're also a Daredevil fan and if you're getting those vibes 🥹🥹)

No tags because I'm so late but please do share and toot yourself if you're so inclined! Thank you all for visiting me this past year - your support has helped me so much, I can't even tell you; I would never be able to toot myself without your kindness. Love you lots! Here's for more to toot in 2025! 🥂🥂

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 😘

#jo: tootathon #tootathon2024 #my fave things #2024 round up #toot toot #beep beep #tim rockford #frankie morales #javier pena #Din Djarin #marcus pike #pero tovar #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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rentenwins · 1 month ago

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silly little excuses (newneighbour!leehan x reader)

ch 1 • ch 2 • ch 3 • ch 4 • ch 5 • ch 6

synopsis: it's mid-semester break and the gang needs a day out to relax. but you nor leehan's feelings can't catch a break... never.

content: banter, they are all very good friends, we love the bnd members, leehan is JEALOUS(?), taesan is a (stereotypical intj), f-bomb is dropped, banter, food depictions, the beach and the sand and the wind and the water

a/n: wooohoooo i finished second-year uni which means i have more time to write and actually finish this HAHHAHAH this is longer than usual, so i hope you all enjoy <3

wc: 3267

taglist: @haechology @jenuinne @saintriots @badaspookie @yveol @yunextdoor @lailols @rawrbamgyu @amarecerasus @pandorahearts19 @luvvhaerin @saritahwang @bee-the-loser

chapter 6: mid-semester break blues

You get a text on your phone. It’s around midday on a Saturday, lounging in your apartment with little to no care of what the next week might hold. The one-week long mid-semester break was one that lasted way too short for your liking, and was meant to be a period to prepare for the last half of the semester. Though as a second-year, it got old pretty quickly. This break just seemed to be one to do absolutely nothing.

The mid-semester assignment submission dates and exams meant you didn’t see much of your friends, except for running into them on campus, at the elevator or when Jaehyun came over to help you with math. He tries to be subtle, looking at Leehan’s door whenever he comes to your place. You don’t question it much, everyone was usually equally as distant as each other during mid-sems.

That is, until the text you just received. Your jaw drops slightly, brows furrowed as you read the text over and over again.

Just as you read over the text once again, the doorbell rings and you jump in your seat on the sofa. With a sigh, you raise your voice, “Coming!” as you trudge to the door, still in pyjamas.

The door opens and you see the person who sent the text.

“Sungho? You just texted me, you weren’t serious were you?”

The boy scoffs, “Of course I was! When have I ever bullshitted you?”

“You’re horrible, you know that?” says Leehan besi— wait, Leehan?

You straighten up subconsciously with the sight of Leehan, dressed effortlessly in loose baby blue shorts, a white shirt and a long sleeve button down, not to mention a pair of sunglasses on his head. Bags under his eyes weren’t invisible either. Sungho was dressed similarly, except he was wearing a straw hat that would’ve given Luffy a run for his money.

“The beach? I didn’t think you were serious.” You look back at your phone to see the text Sungho had texted you moments prior. ‘beach day with the gang, be ready in 30’ it read.

“The others ready?” You ask.

“Pretty much. Jaehyun’s getting stuff from the store, told us to meet him downstairs in 30 minutes.” Sungho replied, checking his phone for the time.

“And who’s driving?”

“We can’t fit in one car,” Leehan speaks up, “Jaehyun’s driving, so am I.”

You gulp a little and Sungho probably caught you doing so. You let out a dry ‘okay’ and told the two you’d meet them downstairs after you get your life together for the beach.

—

You step out the elevator, a big calico-lined bag hanging off your arm filled with a bottle sunscreen, a beach towel, a picnic blanket and a bunch of other amenities. Unsurprisingly, the boys except for two (namely Jaehyun and Woonhak) had their smaller totes carried on each one of their arms. A silver hatchback is parked on the verge, which you know belongs to Leehan as you’ve seen him drive on some occasions on weekends.

It had been two weeks since you saw everyone together. It was refreshing, so you decide to savour it for now.

Leehan seems to be the only one to realise you walked out first, so he beams you a smile and approaches you.

“Nice hat.” He says simply, looking at the bucket hat on your head. You feel your insides do a backflip, but keep your composure.

“Nice sunglasses.” you reply equally as playful. Leehan’s arm somehow makes his way to the handle of your big bag.

“Let me take this.” He murmurs, and you oblige despite the way you slightly pull your bag closer to you. Though, your little crush on Leehan absolutely thrives in every little interaction with him. Who were you to refuse such a kind gesture?

A white sedan pulls behind Leehan’s (cuter) hatchback, driven by Jaehyun in his dorky glasses with Woonhak on the passenger’s side.

“Sit on the passenger’s side will you? I heard you tend to get carsick.” Leehan speaks up, looking at you. Your head whips to him.

“You sure? The others won’t mind?” You ask as you walk towards Leehan’s car, Riwoo and Sungho placing their stuff in the trunk of Jaehyun’s sedan while Taesan has already opened the door to the rear of Leehan’s car.

Taesan catches your eye through the window as he settles on his seat, and you pretend to not see his wink as you walk to the passenger’s side.

The sun was already blaring and Leehan had cranked the AC on blast to deal with the heat.

“All ready?” Leehan asks and you hum in agreement and Taesan groans behind his sunglasses, looking ready to sleep for the 30-minute journey ahead. Leehan grins as he sees Taesan lulling to sleep even as the car hadn’t started to move.

“There’s another reason why I wanted you at the front,” Leehan says to you as the vehicle starts to move out of the apartment complex, “when I first drove here from Busan, Sungho practically slept the whole way through. Taesan isn’t any better apparently.”

“Well,” you say as you put on your sunglasses, “don’t have to worry about that with me.” Leehan kept his eyes on the road but his eyes were as if he was facing you directly. He smiles.

“I’m glad.” he says, and a comfortable wave of silence falls between you two, save Taesan’s heavy breathing at the back seat. Leehan lessens the AC’s fan, and increases the volume of his playlist, which judging by the last two songs played, he seems to be a fan of Troye Sivan.

“So,” you say as the car drives at a steady pace on the highway, “any reason it’s Taesan in the backseat and not any of the others?” Leehan looks at you briefly before his eyes look forward again.

“Not Jaehyun for obvious reasons, Woonhak can only really be tamed by Jaehyun, Riwoo’s picky with the music, Sungho… moving on,” He laughs to himself as you laugh lightly with him, “Taesan’s the tamest, he’s like a cat. Take him anywhere and he’ll adjust.”

Though what Leehan doesn’t say is that the person he wants to be stuck in a 30-minute drive with the most was you. If anything, he was really willing to take a ‘wrong’ exit so he could keep the Troye Sivan vibes with you in the front seat. But alas, gas is expensive and Jaehyun’s convoy is right behind him, lane changing and all. Leehan decides that being designated driver isn’t all bad.

————

It’s almost 2pm when you all settle at the beach. You and the others set up near the damper part of the sand. There’s a few people on the beach already, you and the others make the noise levels raise a bit.

Just as you entered his car on the way rhere, Leehan carries your bag and his own tote bag all the way down to the sand, despite your attempt to carry your own bag yourself. Regardless, you find yourself flattered (again) at his gesture.

As soon as the others have set up the two picnic blankets, Woonhak speeds towards the water with an equally as playful Jaehyun in tow to chase him. Sungho feels an overwhelming urge to join them as he bolts for the two boys, leaving you, Leehan, Riwoo and Taesan with all their belongings. Riwoo decides ice cream was a good idea, so Taesan offers to tag along. Leehan makes no intent to move and is way more interested in the bag of convenience store snacks Jaehyun had bought earlier.

Riwoo and Taesan scurry away, leaving you and Leehan. You swear you feel the universe and the stars align, though your insides couldn’t say the same as you stay nervous. Leehan hands you a colourful packet.

“Gummies?” he offers. You smile while you take it from him.

“Thanks,” the plastic crinkles in your hand.

“Have the rest.” Leehan says as he digs through the bag again. The two of you stay doing nothing more than people watching (see: Jaehyun capturing Woonhak in his arms while Sungho splashes Woonhak with the cold ocean). At one point, Leehan plays his playlist from his phone and places it between where you two sit on the blanket. You decide to break the ice.

“You've been okay, Leehan?” He faces you at your question, another snack in hand. Leehan almost looks guilty as your question, and as if on cue, the clouds make the sun shine a little less.

“Is it obvious?” Leehan sheepishly says, playing with the snack in his hand. You feel your insides drop a little. You have the urge to reassure him.

“Well, I’m tired from all my mid-sems too,” You contemplated from the past week, “can’t believe you wouldn’t feel the same. Or worse actually, a new environment and all. It’s been a month since you moved hasn’t it?”

He smiles, a little sadly.

“Mhm, it’s been a month now. Though, if I didn’t have all of us here, I’d definitely have a harder time.” He fiddles almost nervously with the packet of potato chips in his hands. You hum, honestly you couldn’t imagine it, having to move away from a place you lived your whole life. A part of you starts to ache for Leehan.

“Well, if you ever need anything, I’m a door away. Literally.” you say with a smile to lighten up the darkened mood, and he diverts his eyes away from where he was staring into the sea to look at you. He smiles and you feel nervous again.

“Actually, that does remind me of something.” He runs a hand through his hair and leans back on the picnic blanket.

“Hm? What is it?” you ask as you pop another gummy in your mouth.

“I’m going to Busan for three days from Monday, and obviously I can’t take the fishes with me so…” he clears his throat trying to waver off his embarrassment, “I was wondering if you could feed and take care of them while I’m away? I know it might be too much so just let me know if it’s t—

“I’d love to!” you blurt out without thinking. It’s like that part of your brain driven purely by how smitten you are with Leehan worked faster than your own thoughts.

“Oh, it’s okay I’ll ju— wait really?” Leehan whips his head to you again with more fervour this time. You blink trying to stay calm. ‘He’s trusting me with his pets?’ you giddily think, then you remember Sungho’s words from when Leehan first moved in.

“Just between you and me, nothing gets in the way of Leehan and his fishes.”

Right. That. You mentally slap yourself, of course. ‘Leehan’s only asking me for convenience sake, the guy loves his fish. Get a grip, y/n.’

“Well— yeah! I’m happy to! I know how much they mean to you. Plus, I’ve had hamsters before. Shouldn’t be that difficult.” you say to try to convince Leehan that you were more than capable of taking care of his precious Corydoras. Leehan snorts at the comparison,

“It’s settled then. You free tomorrow?” and you nod again, no hesitation.

“Well, come over tomorrow and I’ll show you how to take care of them.” He smiles again and you jokingly salute before looking out into the water again at a very damp Jaehyun and Woonhak with Sungho looking more like a drowned cat than the other two.

“Sounds good.” you reply simply. There’s a beat of silence between you two. You look out in the distance as the sun makes itself known from the clouds again, realising that today really was good weather for the beach, silently thanking Sungho for dragging you out of your house.

Meanwhile, you don’t notice but Leehan gulps, stealing glances from you almost every second. He liked you. A lot. So much that he would trust you with his most precious pets. And you’ve been kind and sweet and a helpful friend since he’s moved in. Being around you makes him feel so giddy. But then whenever he feels like this, he slaps himself mentally. Because whoever would ever like him back like that? The pit in his stomach turns.

‘Fuck it’ he says in his head. He clears his throat and it catches your attention.

“Can I tell you something?” Leehan starts. You look at him expectedly,

“Sure, hit me. You can tell me anything.”

‘I don’t even know if you could handle how I truly feel.’ Leehan decides at this moment to push those thoughts away. He needed to do something now, because even a split-second hesitation would cause him to do otherwise. He releases a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.

“y/n… Actually, I’ve been thinking. You know, I re—

“ICE CREAM IS HERE.” A loud voice from behind him interrupts him abruptly. He sees you turn your head towards Riwoo and Taesan, carrying trays of ice cream. The pit that was already in his stomach turns again, but the fear creeps up from his abdomen to his chest. It gets a bit harder to breathe. Did he just miss his one and only chance?

Meanwhile, Woonhak probably saw his older friends make their way back where you and Leehan were, so he was by Taesan’s side before you could even register. Riwoo hands you a tray with a thank you as the pit in Leehan’s stomach drops again. He was about to—

Taesan takes a seat on the other side of Leehan and hands him a spoon and the ice cream tray, ice cream slowly melting underneath the sun. Taesan waves the spoon when Leehan doesn’t take it immediately.

“Earth to Leehan? You good?” Taesan asks his friend. Leehan wordlessly takes the ice cream and the spoon from Taesan as the pit in his stomach makes him dizzy. He hadn’t told Taesan about his crush on you directly, but for sure with the way Taesan’s been playing matchmaker with Sungho, he knew one way or another.

‘Yeah… yeah I’m fine. Just a bit warm.” Leehan mumbles before he takes a bite of ice cream. Taesan looks, albeit suspiciously, at his best friend before digging through the convenience store bag for bread.

Leehan looks your way again. He sees Jaehyun sitting in the free spot next to you, yapping away again about who knows what. Leehan still wishes he could easily speak like Jaehyun did with you. But alas, he resorts to pining over you from a distance, and he knows Jaehyun can’t help it.

What Leehan doesn’t see, under the heat of the sun, is a Taesan and a Sungho looking at him sadly.

_____

As the sun had begun to set, you and the rest started to think of going home. It seems like Woonhak and Jaehyun ran out of their batteries a while ago and were lying down taking up most of his picnic blanket. Leehan was reading his book, lying on his stomach on the blanket you brought, occasionally taking bites of the rapidly disappearing snacks. You were approaching Taesan and Sungho, who were walking by the shore taking pictures of each other on Taesan’s digicam.

“y/n, come here!” Taesan beckons to you and you walk a little quicker, holding onto your bucket hat as the wind picks up. Sungho takes your arm and drags you next to him to take some photos. The both of you smile at the camera before Taesan suggests some poses, back to the camera, dramatic and all. You were facing the ocean with Sungho when you felt a presence on your other side.

“Y/n face here! Leehan you too!” Taesan calls out with his digicam in hand. Boldly, Leehan turns his head in your direction to face Taesan, and so do you.

“Oi, we’re all friends, get closer together!” Sungho points out to Leehan jokingly, moving his arm that’s around your shoulder to make a point. Leehan blushes internally and hesitantly moves closer to your side until your shoulders are touching and his hand bumped yours.

Taesan does a thumbs up and takes a few pics after a countdown, and you, Leehan and Sungho change poses every few shots, and yet neither you or Leehan move your hands that were occasionally touching. After the group picture, Taesan kneels on the sand and angles the camera towards himself this time, and the three of you go closer. You kneel one knee down towards Taesan to stay in frame, but Leehan almost loses his footing so he uses your shoulder to steady himself. You feel his hand and instinctively grab the hand on your shoulder as you look back.

“You okay?” You ask as he steadies himself on the sand. He huffs out a ‘yes’ and an embarrassed laugh before he poses for the camera once again. Taesan does a countdown, and Sungho gives Taesan a cat ears pose with his index and middle-fingers. Leehan, too, with a sudden drive of confidence, does the same cat ear pose for you who was kneeling in front of him. After that round of photos, Taesan stands and you start to get up from your spot when Leehan offers his hand to help you up from the sand. You smile as you take his hand, and your hand lingers for a second too long before he lets go and you both start to walk towards where the others were.

Soon enough, you were all back into the same cars as the sun was almost fully set. This time, Taesan wasn’t asleep as evident from the little smile Leehan catches from the rear-view mirror.

“What’re you smilin’ at?” Leehan says in a slight Busan accent, catching you off-guard.

“Nothin’ just the pictures.” Taesan replies in the same fashion, and you turn your head to the backseat.

“Since when could you do that?” You ask confused. Taesan looks up from his digicam with a raised eyebrow.

“Do what? Take these pictures for you? A long time actually.” Taesan replies sarcastically as he hands you the digicam. You scroll through the pictures of your candid photos and the ones with Sungho until you get to the ones where Leehan had magically appeared beside you by the shore earlier. Your eyes widen and almost choke on air when you see the pictures, and hand the digicam back to Taesan before you feel your face burn up.

Leehan doesn’t see this (because he’s a good and safe driver).

“Did they turn out good? The photos?” Leehan asks as he changes lanes and squints when he can’t see Jaehyun’s car in the rear view, internally shrugging and trusts that Jaehyun has his GPS on and knows his way back to the apartment.

“Very good! They turned out great.” Taesan drags out the last word, Leehan eyes him in the rear view mirror and feels his best friend’s smirk from the back seat.

“Send ‘em to me later, yeah?” Leehan decides to say instead of questioning Taesan’s tone, and Taesan lets out a grunt of agreement. You recall back to the photos you just saw. You didn’t realise how close Leehan really was to you in the pictures until you saw the selfie, and only then you realised the hand Leehan used to steady himself on your shoulder never left. It was beyond endearing yet so humiliating that you felt butterflies in your stomach from such a small gesture. You wave it off, and hide your face from Leehan by looking out the window until you get back to your apartment.

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xxscarletxrosexx · 3 months ago

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Kiss Distance: When Feelings Can't Reach | Linguistic Analyses on Rick & Rachel's lines foreshadow for TwiYor, DamiAnya, and Marthanderson from Ch. 105.5 (PART 1)

This is gonna be a take from the linguistic + literary lens regarding Rick and Rachel's lines from Spy x Family's Ch. 105.5.

Spoilers beware.

So let's talk about the film: Kiss Distance.

On X/Twitter, all I said was my analysis senses were tingling. There was a strong linguistic and creative writing/literary devices indicating foreshadow from the movie, and this just surprisingly got attention.

So now, I'm finally addressing this specific section in a long analysis post.

I cannot stress how much I love Endo-san's short chapters. There are so many things going on in terms of literary devices, and now, I think he plays with linguistics in them. I believe that the last time he did this was during Ch. 90.1 when we learned that Ania's name turned into Anya. I remember freaking the hell out that linguistics was touched upon, cuz honestly, what manga does that? Someone is finally paying attention to linguistics in a story, and it's just further pulling me into my rabbit-hole fixation and obsession with Spy x Family.

Although the chapter is only 5 pages long, it has SO MANY THINGS TO COVER. I won't be able to do that in this post, but I DID cover the entire thing in a video analysis that you can watch here:

What I will mainly cover in this post will be the film: Kissing Distance and the characters (Yor, Anya, Becky, and Martha) watching it + post-watching it. I cannot stress the ridiculous efforts embedded in just 3 pages, so I need to divide these sections into a linguistic lens (part 1) and a literary lens (part 2).

Let's start with the linguistic lens.

Spelling reflects language association + cultural history + maybe it's a meme too.

Spelling reflects language association

At the top right corner of page 2, we've got some English texts on the movie's billboard. "Interesting" and "Entertaining" are stacked on the left while "Movie" and "Theater" are stacked on the right.

Of these words, the word that stands out the most to me is Theater. English experts recognize that there are 2 spellings of this word: theater and theatre. These spelling tell you that it is either American (theater) or British (theatre).

I'm no expert on geography, but I believed that Ostania and Westalis were loosely based in Europe. I think I read someone talk about the architecture in Berlint also reflected European style houses--I'm so sorry that I can't recall who addressed it. The wars also felt like they were influenced by WWI and WWII. But what I do know is English it's my goddamn expertise. I'm not gonna be an uptight ass about pointing out every nook and cranny of inconsistent English, because that's just a whole lot of work for a creator and his team can do, realistically speaking. If Endo-san wanted perfect control in the language he's portraying in SxF, then he would need a dedicated team of linguists to help with translations. It may surprise you but there are many variations of a language (ex: English has AAVE. It's still English but used by this group of speakers--more on this later). But this is a hell hole of work, so I'm giving him so much slack on it as well as the translators handling the translations (like, really. No hate. Thank you for your services <3).

Another caveat: the English translation may also be a reflection of the translators. Maybe they favor American English than British English--who really knows? But I digress.

I'll stick to what I already know of the Ostanian language: It's English (variety is unspecificed, feels American) + Japanese.

Spelling shows cultural history

Next, let's address that these are adjectives slapped on a movie billboard. Normally, American movie theaters do not post adjectives. They post about the movie, the actors, etc. Comments about movies theaters being "family friendly" are subtext under the current film, etc. Here's an example of a movie theater from the 1950s found on gettyimages:

So this brings me to consider that English is being used as kazari eigo which means 'decorative English' in Japanese. In Chris Broad's (AbroadinJapan) words:

"... English in Japan is most commonly used as a form of cheap decorations and prestige, or value to a product and because so few people here understand it, the companies that plaster English all over their products and items rarely bother to check that it makes any sense." Reference:

Maybe it's a meme

This chapter, overall, felt really silly. There were silly drawings, silly play on words, silly foreshadows, etc. I couldn't help but think that maybe Endo-san was throwing in something amusing in these small things (cuz he's got attention to detail). Is it:

Interesting Entertaining Movie Theater OR Interesting Movie Entertaining Theater

It reminds me of:

Endo-san does have a tendency to incorporate memes into his manga/anime. Like... was Anya's jump not a Jojo's meme...? //sweats

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I don't know if I'm severely poisoned by JJBA memes but, yeah, I saw it since the day this chapter came out. I just thought:

ANYA = DIO BRANDO

Anyway... whether it was intentional or unintentional (for this section), I love when mangakas incorporate something meme-y

2. Ricky's English Variety

This is where I went berzerk in this chapter with all of these small linguistic details. Ricky's speech says so much about him.

His introduction of himself is that he's a broken razor. Essentially, he's painting the bad-boy ML image. But he's not just any bad boy. He's a bad boy with issues controlling himself/the situation. In other words he's toxic and not good for us healing men/women //joking. However, out of all of these words, the one that stands out to me is shaddup. His speech suddenly changed because romance conflicts need to have a wall between the main couple. In this case, other than Ricky's pompadour, it's his speech. What we have here is a clash between English varieties.

To understand what is variety in linguistics, you might be familiar with these words: language, dialect, vernacular, and accent. Language is the most obvious, but dialect, vernacular, and accent can be a lil confusing to distinguish. So here's a definition and a chart I made to help distinguish them:

- Language: a system of communication that uses words, grammar, and spelling to convey meaning, languages can be spoken, written, or signed-- Ex: English, Spanish, Arabic, etc. - Dialect: is a variation of a language that is spoken by a specific group of people, such as a community, culture, or region. It includes differences in vocabulary, grammar, and how the language is used -- Ex: American English vs. British English vs. Australian English - Vernacular: is a type of dialect that's used by the "common people" of a region. It's a non-standard dialect that's spoken rather than written. Vernacular language is often made up of slang or regional terms -- Ex: African American Vernacular English (AAVE) - Accent: is the way people in a specific group pronounce words, which is also know as the prosody of speech. Prosody refers to the tone and musicality of someone's speech -- Ex: Boston accent

In Summary (a simplified version of the above info): Language is the standard language (aka what you learn in grammar class and in public speaking class) Dialect is born from language where it becomes variations of the language and adopts different grammar, vocabulary, and language use (like American English vs. British English vs. Australian English) Vernacular is a type of dialect used by "common people" and often include slang words and regional terms (think African American Vernacular English, or AAVE) Accent is a type of dialect that is mainly focused on prosody, or how a person pronounces a word (think Boston accent)

Now that you understand the linguistic terminologies, here's a fun exercise to show you what I see:

Ricky predominantly uses the standard English language in the film:

The moment a language's word has a (legitimate) spelling change, it automatically turns into a dialect (which touches on my previous topic about theater vs. theatre).

These are Ricky's English accents:

Finally, this is Ricky using an English vernacular:

POP QUIZ!

Now that you know what English variety is, can you guess which one Ricky has? If you guessed dialect, then you're half a step there. If you guessed accent, you're so close! But the correct answer is vernacular. This is because accent overlaps with vernacular, but accent stops at word pronunciations. Vernacular has accent and slang.

3. Discourse Analysis on Ricky's Vernacular

You should now have a good understanding of Ricky's vernacular, but now let's talk about why this is significant in discourse analysis.

Linguists who specialize in discourse analysis are responsible for analyzing why and how people speak a certain way. Many linguistic features are observed (lexicons, syntax, phonology, semantics, etc.) but what they share in common is who it's presented to. They're looking at the relationship between interlocutors (people who take part in the dialogue/conversation). In other words, depending on who you converse with, the way you speak is affected.

You may have already realized that Ricky is code-switching (a speaker switches between one or more languages and/or varieties) between standard English and his English vernacular.

Now, pay attention to who Ricky speaks to and when he code-switches.

We can observe in the above panel that Ricky uses standard English when speaking to Rachel. This is because Ricky has linguistically profiled her.

How am I so sure that he's linguistically profiled her? Well, because the majority of human beings unconsciously linguistically profile their appearances. Linguistic profiling does have a similar general word: stereotype. The only difference is that based on appearance, we make a split-second assumption and decision on how we talk to that person.

In this case, Ricky spoke first (exercising dominance through initiation) and used standard English. From a linguistic lens, Ricky is telling me: hey, I know I look like a bad boy, and you may have linguistically profiled me as someone who didn't have good education, which would have reflected in my speech, but I'm more than competent to use standard English. And because I can use standard English, I'm on the same equal playing field (metaphorically and linguistically speaking) as Rachel.

But then, notice the moment, Rachel tells him that she hates Ruffians like [him], Ricky's replies with an accent of shuddap (shut up). Linguistically, he's drawing a line between them. This also indicates that they're no longer on the same side before adding his threat: "I'll cut you!"

In this scene, notice Ricky's accent comes back again, but who is it directed to? An enemy or someone from his linguistic background. He uses this accent with an interlocutor of the same English variety background to make it clear to the person he's beaten up that he's speaking in the "language" that they both completely understand.

But, the moment Ricky speaks to Rachel, he reverts back to standard English. What this means is that Ricky is linguistically assimilating/aligning himself with Rachel to show that he's on her side. This can also mean that he's making himself appealing to her through discourse. On the other hand, Rachel makes herself appealing through physical means (her taste in clothing has changed--more on this under literary analysis).

In this scene, Ricky changes appearance (more on this under literary analysis) and he speaks using standard English. But the moment he loses his pompadour, guess what happens?

Ricky goes back to his true self and shows it through using English vernacular.

Rachel has never changed in her English, so she's always been true to herself. It's Ricky who goes through these changes. And it becomes a beautiful and romantic moment of a man undergoing change not only visually but linguistically.

4. Language parallel/mirroring between the anime and the manga

The fact that Endo-san decided to give Ricky an English vernacular in the English translation of the manga reflects his attention to details between the manga and the anime adaptation.

Linguistics in Anime (what you hear)

Maybe you've noticed, maybe you haven't, but Takuya Eguchi, Loid's voice actor, ingeniously incorporated different prosodic features when assuming roles for [redacted], Loid Forger, Twilight, and Robert. Catte-b covers this in her Leitmotifs in the Spy x Family soundtrack. Piracytheorist also provided a video demonstrating Loid, [Redacted], and Twilight's voices. In both posts, Eguchi's changing voice is called timbre (Catte-B and Piracytheorist have a music background). Timbre is defined as:

In other words, timbre is an individual's voice quality or vocal signature. It's how listeners can recognize a singer regardless of what song they sing and how anime watchers can identify a VA's voice by the character's name in another anime--there's just a certain quality in a person's voice that makes them identifiable.

Because of this definition, timbre is unfortunately not the correct terminology. Using vocal/voice timbre when describing vocal register, at the end of the day, is just pitch. Catte-B and Piracytheorist, however, are not wrong in their analyses. They have correctly identified one of the characteristics of speech and even provided vocal qualties (sharp, flat, soft, etc.) but the more appropriate term should be prosodic features.

I want to highlight the most important thing about prosodic features and it's the features that make it up: intonation, stress, rhythm, pitch, and pauses.

Intonation: is the variation of pitch across a phrase or sentence. > in a way, it's creating a melody when speaking. > its purpose in spoken language is to convey meaning. This is usually the case in tonal languages that require a specific pitch to indicate a word. However, in English, intonation is present when we ask a question (the last few words tend to be higher-pitched) vs. a statement which is either consistent in pitch or can sometimes be lower-pitched. Stress: involves giving prominence to one or more syllables in a word. This is achieved through increasing the length, volume, or pitch of a syllable, or by changing the vowel quality. > stress is important for helping listeners understand meaning / word class and distinguish words during rapid speech (ex: address, graduate, permit etc.) > it can be used to emphasize a specific word of a sentence (ex: Where did you go last night? vs. Where did you go last night? vs. Where did you go last night?) Rhythm: refers to the sense of movement and flow of speech. It's a combination of stress, length, and number of syllables. > mostly concerned with syllables and larger parts of speech rather than phonetic segments like consonants or vowels > important for making speech sound flow well and helps us understand what's being said > 2 most common types of rhythm in language are stress-timed and syllable-timed (English typically uses a stress-timed rhythm) Pitch: indicates highness or lowness of sound. > A person's pitch can reflect friendliness and warmth from the upper register (higher pitch spectrum) to mysterious and sexy with the lower register (lower pitch spectrum)--or at least, this is a consensus opinion that I've heard in English-speaking communities when it comes to the opinion of an individual's vocal pitch for both men and women. Pauses: a break in speaking or a moment of silence that can help add structure to the speech. Pauses have several functions: > gives listeners time to comprehend and digest the information > can be used to emphasize words or ideas > helps speakers transition between ideas > prevent rambling > can signal speech breaks, especially in languages that utilize pausing as a prominent cue > can denote high-information content

There are more prosodic features listed like juncture, loudness, duration, and tempo, but this is where it'll get too specific. Rhythm kinda already accounts for duration and tempo. Juncture is relating to annotating pauses (like indicate when a pause is greater than a certain milisecond), and loudness could kinda fall under the category of rhythm.

Timbre isn't listed as a feature, but I think it should simply because timbre is what makes your voice your voice. And because timbre is the "vocal signature", the shouldn't change--not unless you're as vocally talented as Tara Strong, who can easily change her timbre with different characters.

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Eguchi-san does, however, have some roles where his timbre does change, specifically as Shuuji Hanma from Tokyo Revengers and Kazuya Kujou from Gosick (he does have some moments when he slips back to his familiar timbre).

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Now that you have an understanding of what prosodic features are, you'll be able to hear that Eguchi-san's timbre doesn't change as [redacted], Twilight, Loid, or Robert. I believe Eguchi-san intentionally kept the same timbre for [redacted], Twilight, Loid, and Robert because they're all staying close to home. You can still recognize it's still the same person. But what changes are other prosodic features (intonation, pitch, rhythm, stress, and pauses). The following video is from Piracytheorist's post and the YouTube video is from Calle-B.

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Here are my descriptions of the 4 voices:

[Redacted] - Intonation: N/A. Japanese is not a tonal language. - Stress: vowels and consonants are even for syllables - Rhythm: slow and steady - Pitch: low register, feels like it can be the middle (makes sense since this is the voice he's born with) - Pauses: frequent pauses (also, no way in hell you can convince me to measure the mili-second of his pause) - Tone: warm and soft - Other quality(-ies): reminds me of slight head-mix dominant (60% - 70%). In singing, a mixed voice is when a singer mixes his/her/their head voice and chest voice together (you might commonly know this as belting). But with mix voices, the singer can choose to make it an even mix of both head and chest, or leaning to either more head or more chest. Twilight - Intonation: N/A. Japanese is not a tonal language - Stress: consonants, vowels, syllables, and long phrases are rushed - Rhythm: his speed is fast. it's like water gushing out - Pitch: low(est) register. This is probably the deepest voice he can go while maintaining his timbre - Pauses: They only exist when a completed thought is finished. Twilight, BREATHE, man - Tone: cold and sharp - Other quality(-ies): sometimes his low register have a bassy quality to it Loid Forger - Intonation: N/A - Stress: His consonants and vowels are spoken fast in some syllables but also have a slight elongation typically towards the last few words of a completed thought - Rhythm: fast like Twilights, but has an upbeat rhythm to it - Pitch: upper register (it's the customer service voice lol) - Pauses: It's a mix of Twilight and [Redacted]'s. He has moments where he pauses after a long completed thought. Sometimes, he pauses in between a few words/syllables. Pauses feel irregular here--like he doesn't know if he should relax of speed up (as if he's being pulled to either Twilight or [redacted]'s pause pacing) - Tone: sounds cheerful - Other quality(-ies): 80% head-mix voice. The chest voice is still there, but head voice stands out Robert - Intonation: N/A. Japanese is not a tonal language. - Stress: elongated vowels and consonants -- similar to [redacted]. - Rhythm: originally slow and drawl. But as soon as he realizes that "Robert's mission is over", he starts speaking fast like Twilight - Pitch: low register and soft - Pauses: He has similar pauses to [redacted]. There seems to be a lil bit of longer pauses to indicate passiveness (reinforce the boring image of Robert) - Tone: monotone and soft - Other quality(-ies): head voice. The chest voice seems to be absent (chest voice is perceived as the power in singing and speech) as to reflect Robert as someone who is small and doesn't have much personality (as to not stand out during this identity). This voice is achieved by keeping your voice low but above a whisper. When "Robert's mission is over", the chest voice emerges and his head voice becomes head-mix.

Prosodic features are best accurately portrayed in discourse, meaning it's exclusively for speaking, not writing. So, how can Endo-san incorporate any linguistic feature in writing? We've already answered that with the analyses above: spelling.

Linguistics in the manga (what you read)

I've already went into great detail about spelling reflecting dialect, so I won't regurgitate what I've already covered. Instead, I want to focus on the fact that Endo-san actually acknowledges and uses prosodic features to mirror the 2 mediums of Spy x Family. This is significant because it reinforces the mirroring characters between Ricky and Loid. After all, it's going to be a foreshadow. Normally, I'd talk more about foreshadow under a literary lens, but for once, foreshadow is illustrated through linguistics.

In discourse analysis, the way you speak almost always portrays your identity.

Ricky's English vernacular is his real speech. > [Redacted]'s voice is Loid/Twilight's real speech, which often came out in the presence of Yor Forger.

Ricky speaks in standard English to mask his real voice and make himself more appealing to Rachel. > Loid's voice is used to mask both Twilight and [redacted].

Ricky gives up his pompadour (the most important thing in his life--which also happens to be a part of his identity) to destroy the "barrier" between him and Rachel. In doing so, he goes back to speaking with his English vernacular. > FORESHADOW: Loid will give up one or two of his identities for Yor (it might be Twilight and/or Loid). In exchange, [redacted] will come back.

Another possible foreshadow is what Rachel says about recognizing the importance of Ricky's pompadour to him. Because Rachel is a parallel character to Yor Forger, it can be implied that Yor would recognize how important Loid's identity is to him. In a previous analysis, I mentioned that Ch. 90.1, is the closest thing to an identity reveal. When Yor carved out Anya's name as Ania, she never once questioned it. She also didn't question when she had to carve another sign and spelled it with Anya. I'm aware of the caveat in this claim, such as Yor lacking education in Ostanian orthography which is why she doesn't react.

Be it grasping at straws or not, Yor has the emotional maturity to bounce back from the shock of an identity reveal. Yes, Yor would be sad and hurt to find out that Twilight is a spy from the opposition, but she would understand. They know they're both orphans because of the war. Yor already has a positive bias towards Loid based on observing his behavior at home, in his efforts to provide a better future for Anya, regardless of blood relationship. The point is, Yor is already infatuated with him and her feelings for him will influence her compassion and understanding for the person he's become, so bouncing back from feeling betrayal (not the romantic kind) would be faster for her than Loid.

Loid, on the other hand, may have more reluctance towards accepting the identity reveal (this is also mentioned in my Ch. 90.1 analysis). This is mainly because he's been conditioned to be skeptical and overanalyzing. So, he'll definitely need time to brood and reflect on their situation. Or, maybe he just might have already reached a point where he's just tired, and deflatingly accepts the situation. He'll self-loathe himself for being Westalis's best spy only to have married a legendary Garden assassin--seeing both as a win and loss (he'd be the type to say that he should be dead right now because his identity was revealed to the deadliest enemy). The confession of their love for one another just might be the thing to smooth out the wrinkles.

Someone once commented that, technically, losing Twilight as an identity isn't technically a loss. Twilight was born from a sacrifice. Loid technically isn't a loss either since he was born as a role for Twilight to play. Which leaves [redacted]. Like the film for Ricky, [redacted]'s foreshadowed arrival is just an opportunity for him to come in full circle.

PHEW.

This was a long linguistic analysis of these few pages, and in real-time this took me 8 hours to write. I did lose a night of sleep cuz my brain hyper-fixated on writing this. Help. But we're not done yet. The knowledge that you've acquired will definitely be beneficial through a literary lens in part 2.

I'll update this post with a link when Part 2 is finished.

#spy x family #spy x family ch. 105.5 #spy x family manga #linguistic analyses #linguistics #discourse analysis #orthography #English #English variations #scarlywroteathing #yor forger #anyaforger #becky blackbell #martha marriott #twiyor #damianya #marthanderson #Youtube

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