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niqhtlord01 · 3 years

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Humans are weird: Assassins

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The soft light of the morning dawn slowly filtered into the room through cracks between the lavish curtains. Streaks of light bounded off the polished gold detailing of the rooms furniture and made the room appear as if the very stars themselves had come to adorn themselves upon the walls. So bright were the reflections that it managed to find their way underneath several layers of bed sheets and directly into the face of ambassador Glifin.

Roused from his seemingly peaceful sleep Glifin slowly pushed off the sheets one by one and rolled to his feet. The loud thuds of his hooves touching the floor sent a shudder through the room as he stood and stretched out, his general grogginess slowly shaking off. With a loud yawn finally leaving his throat he rose and shambled over to his desk to begin his day’s work.

Tonight he was hosting a party honoring visiting royalty from his home world on Argon. The prince had decided he wanted to visit this miserable planet he had been stationed on, though why anyone would want to visit this world was beyond him.

Glifin’s posting on the human homeworld had been sold to him as a great honor but in reality it had been a means to keep him from continuing his political rise. On Argon he had been a senator whose mere whisper was enough to make generals and minor nobles quiver in fear. His star struck ascension didn’t go unnoticed however and just before he was to be elected into the office of Artock Supreme and reside over the entire senate the royal family had stepped in and given him the position of ambassador to humanity.

Within the spam of a solar month he was shipped off the throne world and sent to this backwater dump of a world; were he had to smile and feign sincerity to these miserable sacks of flesh all the while his political powerbase slowly began to crumble in the senate.

Now fully consumed by feelings of dread over his situation Glifin did not hear the sudden knock at the door. Only after several more knocks did Glifin look up from his paper work.

“Come in.”

The door slowly opened and Glifin’s aide Jafal walked in and bowed.

“My apologies for disturbing you at this early hour, but Mr. Robinson has arrived with your evening wear for tonight’s event.”

Glifin nodded and shuffled his papers back into his desk and locked it just as a new figure entered the room.

“Say what you want about Argonian fashion, but they do have such a wonderful sense of aesthetics when it comes to room decoration.”

A slim human emerged from the doorway pushing a small cart with a metal rod built in holding up two clothing bags.

“You have a problem with Argonian styles?” Glifin said as he rose to his feet and walked over to Robinson as he pulled out a tiny box device and casually threw it down on the floor. The moment of contact it sprung open and in an instance a large set of mirrors emerged from it giving an impressive view from all sides.

“Oh far be it for me to question ones culture, “ Robinson continued as he opened the first bag and stepped aside for Glifin to see the contents, “but some would consider the amount of dead mammals your people adorn on themselves to be a tad morbid.”

From the corner of his eye Glifin saw Jafal’s face redden from anger but with a motion from his ambassador kept his tongue still.

“I would find it surprising for a human to find anything morbid with the amount of toxins you willingly consume.”

Robinson flashed a brief smile and shrugged. “You do have me there; personally caffeine will most likely be the end of me one day, but we’re not here to talk about my eventual demise.”

“An end that will come much sooner if you continue to waste my time with idle chatter.”

Humanities incessant need for small talk and idle conversation was something Glifin had never come to terms with; and this human fashion designer was by far the worst example he had ever put up with. Part of him viewed it as a challenge to see how long he could endure before snapping the tiny man’s neck, and though such a moment would no doubt bring him great pleasure the other part of him realized that Robinsons work was well regarded among prominent members of society. Not just with other humans, but with other alien dignitaries who had embassies on the human homeworld. It had been surprisingly an ambassador from the Hive that had recommended the human’s services when it was suggested that Glifin update his style to match his new role.

Walking up to the first black bag that Robinson had opened Glifin inspected the wardrobe.

Inside was a finely trimmed suit of Rygonian Leaper fur of a dark blue with a sash of Haponi tongue and a dashing pair of pants metal grey Roller Worm hide.

It was custom in Argonian culture to wear the skin of that which you have killed, thus the outfit before him was a prime example Glifin’s traditions.

“A fine work indeed,” Glifin said as he ran his fingers across the material, feeling the roughness against his skin. “For a human” he finished as he turned and smirked at Robinson.

“With the effort it took to obtain the materials you requested I would say it is nothing less than an example a miracle performed before your very eyes.”

Glifin stopped his examination of the attire and looked at the human. “For a miracle you sound so…displeased with your work.”

Robinson crossed his arms for a moment and pouted as if considering his next words.

“My work is perfection, I can assure you, but a man in my trade is not just meant to listen to the specifications of their client but their intention as well.”

“And your point?” Glifin queried.

After a moment he outstretched his hand and casually gestured to the Argonian clothing. “Is this really the message you want to be sending?”

Glifin looked at the suit again then back at Robinson. “I don’t understand.”

“If you go to the event dressed like this it will send the message that you still value your traditions, but I worry that it shows a disconnect with your current situation; almost as if you are attempting to relive the past.”

“You would appear as an old war hero trapped in past glories that the other guests would acknowledge, but not make to engage in conversation.”

Glifin opened to rebuke the human but stopped himself as he pondered the man’s words. Robinson stepped forward to the other black case. “Now this,” Robinson said as he slowly pulled down the zipper revealing the contents, “this would make you not only the talk of the party, but would make you the talk of the after party all the way back to your homeworld were many people would no doubt be very much interested in your on goings.”

“Each piece has been designed by some of the most dangerous animals on this planet, and in some cases far more ravenous then anything back on your respectable homeworld.”

Robinson went about and pointed out the specific materials used one by one.

“The body is made from a powerful species that inhabits the various swamps and wetlands around the globe with jaws so powerful they could cut you in two with a single bite.”

“Each of the buttons along the coat are the fangs of the most poisonous reptilian creatures on the planet; each one capable of killing a human let alone an Argonia ten times over with a single drop of their venom.”

“Now the pants I am particularly proud of as they are the skin of the deadliest hunter of all the planets seas. They can smell fresh blood from miles away and commonly take on prey twice their size.”

Gliffin heard Robinson go through the list of creatures but his expression remained emotionless.

“Why would these creatures be any more interesting than my own worlds?”

Robinson smiled. “Because everyone from your world already knows about them and have hunted the same creatures for generations. Yet I would be so bold as to wager my humble shop that none of them have ever faced down the black eyed stare of a great white shark, nor wrestled the deadly crocodile demons of the swamps, and most certainly have been quick enough to pluck out the teeth of rattle snakes just as they lunge to strike.”

“Neither have I,” Gliffin said with a hint of disgust in his tone, “and you would make a liar out of me for saying so.”

“My dear ambassador, who but you could say what you do or don’t in your free time?”

Robinson leaned forward and whispered into Gliffin’s ear “I am no doubt sure many of your females would find the idea of a striking Argonian such as yourself sneaking off to go hunting the unknown for sport a rather attractive quality.”

Glifin looked at the new set of clothing and then back at the original set of traditional clothes. He went back and forth for several moments before finally settling his gaze on the traditional garments.

“Take these away.”

_______________________________________

The lights outside Robinson’s humble shop slowly went off one by one as he walked between the displays straightening out garments and folding tossed aside pieces customers had casually put aside when the door rang.

“I’m sorry but we are closed for the night.” Robinson said as he returned behind the counter with a stack of clothes.

The figure slowly approached the counter and took off their hat. Robinson looked up from the register to see the figure was a Rohanan; a species known for its gel like appearance yet could collect random bits and bobs to create a sudo skeleton and present themselves as humanoid.

“That’s alright,” the Rohanan said, “I am here to pay for a set I ordered for a….friend.”

“Then they are most fortunate to have a friend such as you then.”

Robinson’s smiling nature unnerved the Rohanan but nonetheless they placed a small envelope on the table and slid it across. Robinson placed a hand on it and tapped his fingers several times against the contents inside before opening it and spilling the credit chips on to the table.

“Is it satisfactory?” the Rohanan said, their nervousness building as the human finished counting the chips.

“Oh yes indeed; I believe you have paid in full for your order.” With a swipe of his hand the human pushed the chips back into the envelope and sealed it. “Always a pleasure to deal with such an honest and upstanding man such as yourself during such troubling times.”

Robinson leaned in towards the Rohanan, his expression shifting from smiling to one of mild concern. “I heard there was a most unfortunate incident up at the Argonian embassy several nights ago.”

“Several guests including the visiting prince and ambassador himself all died from poisoning.” The Rohanan confirmed.

“How gruesome!” Robinson said as he recoiled in shock and finished putting away the remaining clothes while he talked over his shoulder.

The Rohanan regarded the human for a moment before continuing. “The strangest thing was that the poison was not native to this world, but is most common in the Hagar system under Dovorian rule.”

“A most embarrassing situation I am sure considering the Dovorian and Argonian people despise each other.”

“Indeed; one might wonder how such a toxin came into contact with them.”

Robinson shrugged and turned as he finished placing the final shirt back into the display. “With all of those fangs, bones, and animal skins I would not be surprised if someone grabbed a tooth or two that hadn’t been fully drained of its contents.”

The Rohanan laughed and placed their hat back on their head just as they stopped at the door.

“You were worth every penny, assassin.”

“An assassin you say?” Robinson’s smile returned and he casually waved to the departing customer “You must have me mistaken for someone else, as I am but a simple tailor.”

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #story #scifi #assassin

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demoneyesanddamagedsouls · 3 years

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One Way Or Another

Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo x F!Reader

Warnings: Helmut Zemo (He needs his own warning), canon typical violence, weapons, smutttt, unprotected sex, piv sex, FATWS spoilers

Summary: Helmut Zemo is someone you just can’t seem to figure out. But is this mysterious man more than meets the eye? What happens when the two of you are thrown into close quarters...

A/N: Ok this is my first Zemo fic I hope y’all enjoy! Let me know if you want me to make this more than one part I feel like I could definitely make more chapters if anyone is interested!

Word Count: 4.2k

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Kätzchen – kitten (german)

The evening was cool, the breeze from the water surrounding the island of Madripoor whipped through your hair as your cheeks and ears blushed red at the sharp sting of the frigid air. You leaned lightly on the cool steel railing of the large balcony admiring the incredible view from Sharon’s apartment in the heart of the island. The whole city was alight in an incredible neon glow, every building shining a different colour, the reflections of light bouncing off the water surrounding the island making the whole metropolis glitter against the deep black of the night sky.

The breathtaking scene in front of you easily rivalled some of the incredible stolen art which resided inside the apartment in amongst the clamour of the party. Music drifting from the boom of the speakers out of the ajar door that led to the outside space, the thin glass muffling the heavy noise but not barring the gentle vibrations of the bass that ran through the floor and up your legs.

It had been a long day, the five of you had managed to extract some information about Karli from the elusive Dr Nagel and you were all ready to set out the next day, excluding Sharon of course due to the price on her head. So tonight, they had decided to enjoy themselves. Sharon had already had a party to auction off some of the art planned weeks in advance, so the timing lined up perfectly, giving you all the opportunity to let go and enjoy yourselves before you were thrown into the heat of battle once more.

You certainly had been enjoying Sharon’s extensive liquor stash, letting the boys pour you drinks throughout the evening, enough that you were feeling a soft buzz of alcohol running through your veins, while your belly warmed itself with the final dregs of a dark spiced liquor which swirled around the glass you held in your fingers that you couldn’t quite remember the name of. You sighed softly, your breath puffing out in front of you in the cool night air, as you simply enjoy the stillness of the moment.

Not a second later, as if you had summoned him purely through the power of thought, you hear the door behind you creak slightly as more of the muffled music begins to pour out of the opened door frame. You hear him walk up to you, the heels of his boots clicking on the crisp stone tiles of the balcony as he approaches you. Feeling the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical touch as he traces the outline of your form with his eyes, moving up the thin stiletto of your patent black heels, up the exposed skin of your calves, your thighs, the soft curve of your ass hidden underneath the short black skirt of your skin tight dress, finally landing his gaze on the soft plush of your cheek as he stands next to you, mirroring your same stance, leaning across the balcony railing.

You turn to look at him, Helmut Zemo, the man who had been working with you and the boys to help take down the super soldier Flag Smashers. He was wrapped in a lucious black fur trimmed coat; the luxurious fabric draped over his strong shoulders broadening his physique making him look more imposing. All you could think was how broad he would look caging you in underneath his torso in the soft plush of his bedsheets. Beneath the striking coat rested a maroon turtleneck which adorned his torso tapering down to the silver buckle of his belt which secured the slim black slacks which hugged the strong muscle of his legs. You can’t help but envision his strong thighs pressed against the back of yours as he rails you from behind. Fuck. You shake your head attempting to break your train of thought, a hard task when all you can feel is his warm breath tickling the exposed skin of your neck.

You shudder gently at the feeling, which he mistakes for a shiver against the brisk wind, quickly moving to remove his jacket and place it over your shoulders. Suddenly your senses are full of him all at once, the warmth of his body heat that he had created in the jacket, the delicious smell of his cologne filling your nostrils. The gesture is sweet and caring only serving to further confuse you. You had no idea what to make of this man beside you. You couldn’t decide if you should hate him after all the terrible things he’d done, the people he had killed, the violence he had inflicted or, if you should look at him with fresh eyes, as a man who had changed and learnt from his mistakes. The man you had witnessed firsthand here in Madripoor. You knew you couldn’t trust him. Not completely. But something about him lured you in, a burning curiosity to find out what his mysterious persona hid beneath the surface.

Not a single word had passed between you in the minutes that he had come to stand beside you. The air crackled around you both with an unsaid tension thickening the space between you like a fog descending across a field in the early morning. You knew you were staring but you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away from the soft expression that rested in the features of his face, a mixture of concern and curiosity as he looked you over. His gaze rested on yours, holding eye contact with you, as he waited for you to say something, his eyes darting down to the soft plush of your lips as you finally managed to form some words to break the silence. Your filter substantially diluted by the strength of the alcohol you had consumed.

“I just can’t seem to figure you out Zemo.” You say, eyebrows quirked in a questioning manner as you analyse the features of his face. Trying to read his expression as he looks back up catching your gaze in his.

“What’s there to figure out Kätzchen?” He smirks, a teasing quality to his voice as he looks down at you.

You sigh in frustration, narrowing your eyes as if to articulate how you were studying him and his reactions as you spoke, lips moving slowly as you dragged out your words, giving them emphasis, “This whole broody mysterious but sweet thing you have going is not fooling me… I can’t decide if I should hate you or like you.”

He pauses, mulling over your words, “Why not a bit of both?” Quirking his eyebrow as he responds, a close-lipped lopsided grin spreading across his cheeks as you roll your eyes at his retort.

Resigning to the fact that you weren’t going to learn anything by talking his ear off with these probing questions. You lean back removing your elbows from the railing, standing upright once more, still not quite as tall as Zemo even in your reasonably high heels. Pulling Zemo’s warm coat off your shoulders, you grip the gorgeous fur trim as you pass it back to him, shivering slightly at the briskness of the outside air as the soft wool leaves your skin.

“Shall we go back inside and join the party then?” You say eyebrows raised, determined to enjoy the rest of your evening, trying to move past your complete inability to read the man in front of you.

“Let’s, little one. I’ll make you another drink.” He says smiling softly, slipping his coat back on and gesturing to the door with an extended arm.

You pass him your empty glass and strut forward past him and back into the electric energy of the party. Moving through the crowds of people socialising and looking over the beautiful artworks, you make your way through the dim blue light of the room to the illuminated tiles of the dance floor. The space was teeming with people moving to the music swaying in the strobe lights as the upbeat rhythm of a sultry song permeated the air. Washing over you like wave of movement, your body starts to move to the music, the familiar melody causing you to break out into a blissed out smile as you sway your hips to the passion filled lyrics.

Looking around the space as you gyrate to the music, you catch a glimpse of Zemo from behind the bar pouring a semi clear liquid into lovely matching crystal glasses resting on the bench top. He must have felt you watching him because in that moment he flicks his gaze up directly at you, catching you watching him. For some reason you feel drawn to him, knowing how much trouble he is, how dangerous he is. You’ve seen him kill with your own eyes. And yet you can’t help the strong attraction to him, his danger mixed with the softness he showed you. You didn’t even know if he was interested in you like that. But fuck were you interested in him. Throwing your inhibitions to the wind thanks to the bit of liquid courage you had been consuming you hold his gaze, continuing to dance, moving seductively as you sway your hips to the music running your hands over your body.

Tracing your own form with gentle fingertips, you close your eyes for a moment as you bite your bottom lip, enjoying the sensation of your caresses. Blinking as the light of the dance floor floods your vision once more you realise that Zemo had disappeared into the chaos of the crowd. You spin around looking for him, worried that you’d scared him away with your forwardness, suddenly coming face to face with that very grin you had been searching out. Zemo looked down at you, watching your lips form a small ‘o’ in surprise at his proximity as he extended his hand, the drink he had made you resting in his calloused palm. A broad smile breaks across your face as you take the crystal glass out of his hand brushing your fingers purposefully across his skin.

“Turkish Delight,” he whispers just loud enough for you to hear, “Irresistible.” A quiet confidence lingering in the air around him as it always did.

You pull the glass up to your lips, closing your eyes once more as you take a deep sip relishing in the delicious taste of rosewater and sugar mixed with the sharp tang of vodka flooding your taste buds. You let out a satisfied moan as you pull the glass away from your lips, looking back up at Zemo through your dark lashes and you catch him tense up slightly at the sound that had just escaped your lips.

The mood shifts as the next song starts to play, a slower melody with a deep baritone voice filling your ears from the speakers. You turn towards the speakers, trying to focus on recognising the song which sounded so familiar, when suddenly you feel an arm wrap around your waist pulling you swiftly into the warmth of the body behind you. Zemo had pulled you flush against him, your back resting against his warm torso, as he gently sipped his matching drink. You are swept up in the feeling of him against your back the feel of his arm over your waist, his splayed hand pressing against your lower stomach, the heat of his palm seeping into your skin through the thin material of your dress, making your cheeks flush a bright red at the effect he was having on you. The two of you sway slowly to the rhythm, your hips resting against his as your ass gently rocked against his thighs, his warm breaths ghosting the shell of your ear, making your skin prickle as he began to softly whisper the lyrics of the song into your ear.

“What's your name?... Who's your daddy?... Is he rich like me?... Has he taken… Any time… To show you what you need to live?” His sultry voice echoes through your head and desire begins to pool in your lower belly. The flush on your cheeks only growing redder as the words resonate with you. Your eyes drift closed as you soak up every part of the moment, letting it fill your senses, the scent of him, the heat radiating off his strong chest, the suggestive words he had whispered into your ear echoing and reverberating as you become lost in that moment in time. It felt as if everything was moving in slow motion, everything was him.

Your eyes are jarred open quickly as you hear the smash of glass nearby as one of Sharon’s drunk guests decides to pick a fight with another and a brawl breaks out on the dance floor. So quickly that you can barely register what is happening. In a state of shock, you look around trying to figure out what to do when Zemo quickly pushes you out of the way of a fist flying towards your face. He grunts slightly at the effort and you hear both of your crystal glasses smashing against the hard tiled floor as he rushes you into a small room just out of reach of the commotion. Still in a state of shock your finally register what was happening. You had been swiftly pulled out of harm’s way and into the small butler’s kitchen tucked away behind the main living space where the party that you had been attending, which had broken out into a full-on brawl, had been located. You suddenly take in the situation you were in, pressed up against the wall behind the door frame caged in behind the broad body of Zemo. He was crowding his body in front of yours out of instinct as he heard guns fire in the adjacent room.

All you can feel is his body pressed against you, protecting you from harm. You watch him as he eyes the doorway listening to the commotion outside, his features strained in focus as he listened out for any action moving in your direction. All you could think in that moment was that this man who was supposed to be dangerous, supposed to be evil, supposed to be the bad guy, had probably just saved your life and was determined to protect you even if it meant him getting hurt or even killed in the process. That was entirely evident in the way he had pulled you out of the crossfire and was currently using his own body to shield you from any impending damage. And fuck if that didn’t make your body heat up with desire and arousal flood your panties.

The attraction that had been mounting between you had just culminated in the ultimate grand gesture and you realised you could not bring yourself to tear your eyes away from him, half of his face illuminated by the soft moonlight streaming in through the door frame as you gazed at him completely entranced.

“Zemo…” you whisper as you trace the sharp angle of his jaw with a delicate finger.

“Kätzchen?” He whips around suddenly at the sound of your voice, panic riddled across his features. “Is something wrong little one? Are you hurt?”

“No no… but you are.” You whisper as you continue tracing his jaw to the place where you realise the man’s fist had collided with his face. The one he had pushed you out of the way of and instead, he had received the blow that probably would have cracked your nose. He winces slightly under your touch and you pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger, pulling him down to your eye line to analyse the small bruise that was forming at the base of his jawline. He watches you from the corner of his eye as his breathing hitches, scarcely moving as you caress his skin. Tracing the gentle outline of a forming bruise as you feel his searing gaze burn into you, watching your pursed lips and your worried eyes. You run a soothing hand over the bruise, holding his cheek and his jaw in your soft palm as you look back into his eyes.

“Thank you for protecting me.” You whisper with bated breath as you hold his gaze.

His eyes flicking down to your lips as you speak, unable to stop himself. Entranced by the proximity and the way you were touching him, the way your chest heaved in front of him just brushing against his torso. Suddenly he was on you, lips slanting over yours tentative at first, questioning, but as soon as you responded in kind, melting into his touch, the kiss became more bruising, desperate, ravenous. You moaned into his mouth as he ran a hand through the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you even closer. He took this as an opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue. The two of you tangling together as you both explored the warmth behind each other’s lips. His other hand running down the small of your back to grab at the luscious curve of your backside as you ran your hands across the firmness of his chest.

You both pulled apart gasping for breath. Small plumes of air mingling together in the dark of the room. You shouldn’t be doing this, you knew who Zemo was and yet you couldn’t help yourself, you were so excited, turned on even, by the danger, the mystery of the man.

He shook his head at you and whispered breathily, “I’m trouble little one…”

You look into his warm brown eyes slowly turning as black as the shadow of the room. Smirking back at him, the glint of mischief in your pupils evident as you respond, “I like trouble.”

His gaze becomes predatory as your words sink in. Removing the hand from your neck he quickly slams the door closed and locks it behind him taking all the light out of the room apart from a small sliver of moonlight coming in through a skylight above. He pushes you against the wall once more and hungrily slants his lips across yours, capturing you in a delicious but messy kiss, filled with passion and craving. He moves slowly from your lips, down across your jaw and then attaches himself to the pulse point of your neck, biting gently at the soft skin as you moan out in pleasure at the small sharp pain. He wraps his hands around your thighs and lifts you up, holding you against the wall. You respond in kind, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around the crook of his neck, pulling his lips to yours with a sharp tug of his hair. Holding you carefully, his hands wrapped around the muscle of your thighs, he walks you over to the kitchen counter on the other side of the room, sliding you gently onto the cool marble.

He pulls away once more, admiring your already dishevelled state, chest heaving as you catch your breath, drawing attention to the swell of your breasts, your slightly mussed hair falling across the glistening skin of your cheek, the skirt of your dress which had ridden up to reveal a glimpse of your lacy black panties. Fuck you were gorgeous.

“Are you sure you want this Kätzchen?” he says as he regains his own breath.

“Fuck yes I do.” Any inhibition you may have had earlier disappeared, as quick as the sound of the outside world had as soon as the door closed.

Moving slowly towards your figure, he reaches out to the silver press studs that run down your dress, starting at the top of your chest. You let out a small gasp as he touches the visible skin, slowly exposing the matching black lace bra beneath as he undoes the clasps slowly, the metallic clicks the only noise in the room apart from your shallow breathing. He grins up at you completely enthralled by how you were responding to him. He undoes enough clasps to fully reveal your bra and your chest. His movements are that of a man possessed as he traces the swell of your breasts with delicate fingers, leaving prickles of heat in the wake of their touch.

“So delicate, like a rose in full bloom.” He murmured, voice silken as he followed the trail of his fingers with his gaze.

He brings his hands to the front of your dress and pulls it open, one button at a time, the rhythmic click of the clasps bursting was a melody to your ears. Slowly exposing the rest of your body to him as your dress falls off your shoulders, you swiftly pull the rest of the fabric off your wrists, letting it pool around you on the kitchen counter. He slowly makes his way to the crook of your back to unclasp your bra. He makes quick work of the hooks and pulls the thin piece of fabric off you, exposing your chest completely to him. Massaging and squeezing at your breasts, his warm palms feeling exquisite on your nipples, hard in the cold air of the evening and from his ravenous attentions.

Moving his hands lower, he grips onto your hips with a bruising force, moving his head down to your chest, taking one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking languidly on your pebbled nipple, dragging his teeth across it nibbling lightly making you arch yourself into him, desperate for more. You wanted his mouth all over your skin, everywhere he could reach, his attentions are ravenous as he places a particularly cutting bite to your nipple then swiftly switching his attentions to your other breast, leaving a trail of delicate bites across your collarbone in his wake. You keen into his caresses as he begins to move slowly upwards, marking up your chest, your collarbone, and finally your neck with small red bruises made by his teeth. You revelled in the delicious pain of it, the arousal in your panties starting to drip down your thighs at the feeling of his teeth dragging over your skin.

“You look so beautiful like this, all marked up, showing everyone that you’re mine…” he whispers against your skin, “I wonder how your boys would feel about that…” confidence and lust dripping from his words as he watches you react to him.

You whimper as he moves his hand down to your cunt, pressing against you with two fingers against the thin lace material, feeling how you had soaked through the fabric.

“It seems you like it too, Kätzchen.” His tongue languishing over every syllable of the little nickname he’d given you as he tugged your soaking panties down your thighs so that they dropped onto the cool stone floor.

You were now completely exposed to him as he stood in front of you fully clothed. You paw at his chest, feeling his strong torso beneath the fabric as you tugged at the lapel of the jacket, slowly dragging it over his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor to join your panties. Understanding your silent plea he pulls the top beneath over his head, revealing his toned yet soft torso to your eager hands. You run your fingers over his skin, tracing the small outlines of his figure with light caresses as you make your way down to the silver buckle of his belt. Deft fingers making quick work of the clasp then making your way to the buttons of his pants with just as much eagerness.

“Zemo… please.” You whine needily. Your craving getting the better of you. You needed him to touch you, needed him to fuck you, needed him to fill up every one of your senses.

He loved the sound of you begging, mesmerised by your desperate touches as you yank the fabric of his slacks along with his boxers down his legs, his member springing free and resting against his stomach.

You lean forward, watching him as you wrap your fingers experimentally around his shaft, swiping your thumb over the tip, red and leaking with small beads of precome.

He batted your hand away, his gaze burning into yours, “I want to feel you Prinzessin.” You nod your head trying to communicate how much you want that as well, unable to form the words under his devouring gaze. Gripping the backs of your thighs, he pulls you to the edge of the kitchen bench, letting the fabric of your dress drop to the floor amongst the other discarded garments. Your bare skin tingles against the cool marble and you draw in a sharp breath at the change in temperature which touches your most sensitive areas. Spreading your legs with exploratory fingers, he admires your form, taking in your soft skin dappled in the small red marks littered across your body.

“All mine…” He whispers as he slots himself between your thighs. Lining himself up at your dripping entrance.

“Zemo please… please fuck me.” You whimper, desperate to feel more of him.

Gripping onto your hips with bruising fingers he pushes into you, slowly and carefully. You gasp out as you feel every ridge and vein as he thrusts into you. He starts at a gentle pace, relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around his length. He fills you up incredibly and you can’t help the noises that escape your throat.

“Fuck Z-Zemo you feel so fucking good.” You moan out.

You wrap your thighs around his waist begging with your body language for him to go faster, to fuck you until you cant think. He moans at your words and the feeling of your soft skin wrapped around him. The deep guttural noise that had fallen from his lips mixed with the obscene sound of flesh smacking together was intoxicating.

He moves his hand, pulling at the crook of your knee, changing the angle of your body so he can reach an even deeper spot inside you as he increases his pace to a more intense rhythm. The new position makes you throw your head back in ecstasy as he thrusts into you, giving him the opportunity to lean down and pull your nipple into his mouth with his teeth. You arch your back into his touch, moaning as he assaults your senses with the feeling of him deep inside you and his warm mouth on your skin.

He holds your hip with bruising fingers as he palms at your breast with the other hand. You slowly pull his hand further up wanting him to replicate the grip he had on your hip around your throat. He groaned as you placed his fingers around your throat giving it an experimental squeeze under your guidance. You felt your walls clench around him as his fingers sunk gently into your neck cutting off your breathing ever so slightly.

“Fuck that made you even wetter Kätzchen…” he murmured, entranced by you and the way you reacted to him, “I want you to come for me little one, come all over my cock. I want to feel you come undone for me. SIng for me, little songbird.” He whispered, warm breath fanning the side of your cheek as he tightened his grip on your throat while his other hand snaked down in between the two of you, thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit.

You relished in the feeling of his fingers, completely overwhelmed by the incredible sensations as you gripped onto the muscles of his back and his bicep, digging your nails in harshly as he plunged into you with bruising force.

His filthy words ringing in your ear, his cock hitting the back of your cervix just at the right spot, his thumb working continuously on your clit as black spots started to form behind your eyes from his tight grip around the column of your throat. All of it together makes you completely fall apart beneath him, crying out as you ride out the earth shattering orgasm. He moves his hands to your back, tightly holding you upright as he fucks you through your aftershocks, hitting you deep and making you cry out at the oversensitivity. His hips start to stutter as he feels your velvet walls flutter around him, holding his cock in a vice like grip as your whimpers reach his ears. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your shoulder as his orgasm hits him, thrusting slowly as he comes hard, painting your walls with his release. His moans echo in your ears as he fills you up deliciously and all you can feel is him. His body pressed against yours, chest heaving as you both attempt to regain your breath.

Zemo pulls out slowly and you whimper at the loss. Looking down at you, skin slick with a light sheen of sweat as you gazed up at him with hazy eyes, you were slowly coming back down to earth from your high. Gently pushing a stray hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear, he smiles, expression soft and warm as he smiles down at you.

As your vision slowly clears Zemo’s handsome face comes back into focus and you return his soft smile with your own. He has a small flick of stray hair resting on his forehead, his usual clean cut presentation ruined by your roaming hands. You spot some of the fingernail marks you had left across his upper arms and bite your lip, excited by the idea of leaving your own marks on him.

“I think hate and like make a pretty good combination, don’t you agree little one?” He says as he traces the plethora of marks across your warm skin, running gentle fingers across the small bruises forming across your chest and around your neck.

You blush at his words as he repeats your earlier sentiment, suddenly becoming shy under his fervent gaze. Helping you off the kitchen counter slowly he holds you gently, keeping you upright as you regain your balance on shaky legs. Zemo grabs a small wash cloth from the other side of the kitchen, soaking it in warm water and quickly bringing it over to clean up the mess between your legs. You smile at the gentle, caring nature he was displaying.

After cleaning himself up he pulls on his boxers and trousers, looking over at you as he sees you reach for your lacy undergarments. Reaching out, he grabs your wrist as you clutch your panties and bra.

“Don’t put these back on Kätzchen… I-I want you to walk out of here without them.” He murmurs with lust blown eyes as he pulls your dress off the floor and begins to dress you in it, “I want to be the only one to know that all you wear underneath that tight fabric are... my marks…”

You shiver under his touch as he buttons up the front of your dress. Picking up his coat he gently wraps it around your shoulders, letting the fur rest around the soft skin of your neck as the soft outlines of his grip begin to appear on your throat. “There we go, my little songbird. hidden... only for me…” he says as he strokes the lapel next to your cheek, straightening the fabric.

You watch him as he pulls the top back over his head and combs his hair back into position out of his face. Grinning up at him you say, voice sultry and warm, “Maybe I’ll see you later Zemo.”

“If that is what you wish little one… how could I say no to such a good girl...” He whispers in your ear as he suddenly disappears out the door, smirking with a confidence only he could pull off.

You feel desire lick up in your belly again at his quiet promise. This man would be the death of you… one way or another...

#baron zemo #zemo #sugar daddy zemo #zemo fanfic #zemo x y/n #zemo x oc #zemo x you #baron zemo x female reader #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x oc #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x you #falcon and winter solider series #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #marvel #daniel bruhl

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btsficsforthehumble · 3 years

Text

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

A/N: Thank you to the glorious minjoonalist for this banner! Everyone give her some love <3

Part One

Warnings: none in this chapter

Word count: 2k

It’s your first day.

First day entering the world of higher education, on the path to betterment (or whatever the dean said in his boring introductory presentation). To tell the truth, you were pretty zoned out as various speakers talked to the thousands of students that would now become your peers. Those hard ass plastic seats were NOT conducive for attentive listening.

Regardless, you pushed through, and here you are, Monday morning, at 8:45 sharp, sitting in yet another hard ass plastic seat. This time however, you had a small wooden desk in front of you, in line with about a couple dozen others. This was your first class --- Calculus.

You were always good at math compared to the average student, however, being placed with the super smart kids all the time made you self conscience and at worst, made you feel stupid. You were too good at math for the standard curriculum, but felt too dumb for the advanced one. It’s no surprise that math quickly became your least favorite subject.

That hadn’t changed. You were dreading this class, even though you took calculus already in high school --- theoretically, it shouldn’t be that difficult. You knew however, that you had absolutely no willpower when it came to studying math. And considering the fact that you are now attending a prestigious university, one known for their STEM programs, you felt adequately nervous.

You glanced around the classroom, baron except for the desks and the large whiteboard covering the expanse of the front wall. A few other students showed up early as well, mostly looking either as nervous as you felt, or tired like they had just enjoyed their first weekend at college perhaps a little too much.

You yourself hadn’t gone too crazy, going to a single party on Saturday where you only had one drink --- lame even by your own standards. However, you were just getting to know your roommates, and felt it best to remain sober enough to keep an eye out on them or manage any situation this new environment would throw you.

You weren’t close with any of your peers from your high school that also attended your university, and it seemed your roommates were in the same boat. So, naturally, you all decided to go out together as new friends. They all seemed to be nice, and you got along well with everyone so far. You hoped that wouldn’t change.

You sigh gently to yourself while reflecting upon your less than thrilling weekend. You hope that one day you’d let yourself experience the wild college parties that you've heard about. You want to know what it felt like to get properly drunk and dance with a cute stranger without any worries in the back of your head.

Speaking of cute strangers, you take a glance around the classroom, steadily filling up with students. You might as well see if there were any hotties in the class that you knew you’d rather daydream about than pay attention to exponent integrations.

You spotted a boy sitting a ways away from you that caught your attention. His legs were stretched out in front of his desk, in a way that screamed “I don’t care if you trip over me, in fact, I dare you.”

His attention was glued to his phone, as he appeared to be taking snapchats --- probably for some obnoxiously beautiful girls, you thought to yourself, eyes rolling slightly. You had to admit though, he was quite attractive. He had dark brown hair, covering his forehead and slightly swept to the side. His eyes were a dark brown to match, and were quite cute. He had a nice nose and clear skin. His most striking feature was his lips however. He had lips that were larger than the average guy and they looked very kissable. And his frame was decently large, his shoulders wide and masculine, juxtaposing his cute eyes and lips.

You blushed at your own thoughts about the stranger across the room, knowing you were getting entirely carried away in your state of boredom. You still had five minutes until class was supposed to begin. You put away your own phone, which you were holding in your hands as some sort of social protection, in your backpack. You then pulled out your fresh new binder with graph paper, lined paper, tabs, dividers, the whole nine yards. You may not enjoy math, but organization always brought you some level of mental tranquility.

You pull out a pen just as you glance up to see a boy standing in front of you, with the brightest, thousand watt smile on his face. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, his hand in his jeans pocket. He had on a loose tee-shirt that somehow flattered his slim frame. You could tell that he wasn’t a meek first year still finding his bearings. He must be at least a second year. You feel your face heat up as you make eye contact, seeing that he’s looking directly at you.

“Hi there! Is this seat taken?” His eyes widen almost comically as he points to the seat directly in front of you.

“Ah no, no it’s empty.” You cringe internally as you notice your less than relaxed delivery.

He gives you another dazzling smile as he plops in the seat in front of you, pulling out his own simple notebook and pencil.

You rub your forehead trying to get yourself to calm down. You need to not turn red every time a cute boy talks to you, let alone look in your direction. This is so not like you.

You manage to calm yourself down, ready to begin your first class so your attention is off the boy sitting in front of you.

Your professor must have walked in as you were mentally reprimanding yourself, because you hear an authoritative man's voice come from the front of the room when 9 o’clock hits. You immediately began trying to pay attention, writing down all of the information he put on the board even though it’s stuff already in the syllabus. The truth was that you simply needed to throw yourself into a task to keep your mind from straying back onto the boy in front of you.

About seven minutes later, the door to the classroom swings open and another boy walks through, giving the prof a quick salute and grin in apology. You, as well as the rest of the class, had naturally turned your eyes towards the distraction. As soon as it was found to just be a straggler, everyone’s attention quickly shifted back to the professor in front. Your curiosity was piqued by his confident, goofy nature, however.

You couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him a moment longer. He had shaggy dark hair, tanned skin, and a smile that was strikingly unique as it was a little bit of a square shape. He was devastatingly handsome, and you had a feeling he knew it too. Your hypothesis was instantly supported as he made eye contact with you, noticing you looking at him longer than your peers. He flashes a smirk your way that you’re pretty sure could knock anyone’s panties off.

You mentally start screaming and feel yourself turning the color of a freaking fire truck. You quickly jerk your head back down to your notes and refuse to look back up to meet his eyes.

It appears he wasn’t going to give you a break though. You felt the air woosh past you as he walks down your aisle and stops immediately behind you, taking the empty seat.

Great.

Now, you were sandwiched between two guys that you're pretty sure were the most attractive you’d seen in a long while. Not to mention the guy several rows over that you were ogling before they even arrived. You quickly realized that there wasn’t a chance in hell your full attention was going to be on the lecture during this class.

Your entire body sagged with relief when your fifty minute class was up and the professor released everyone. Noticing, the boy behind you leaned forward and huskily whispered, “You’re not a morning person either, huh?”

You froze for half a second at the sound of his voice. It was deep and silky, and my god was it sexy. And he was talking to you.

“You could say that.” You were shocked at his attention but somehow managed to pull out a response that didn’t make you look like an idiot. You didn’t bother turning around to look at him as you answered, deciding not to let him see how pink your cheeks were as you returned your items to your bag.

He let out a little chuckle and stood up.

“I’m Taehyung. And you, my little night owl, are?” He drew out the are waiting for your response.

You too stood up, putting your backpack on.

“I, Taehyung, am off to my next class.” You were annoyed that he seemed to take notice of your attention on him in the beginning of the class and thought that you were a fun little target to flirt with. You knew he wasn’t interested, but merely found it fun to take advantage of his good looks. This allowed you to get over your schoolgirl crush behavior and return to your normal self, which you knew had more of a bite than necessary at times. You had developed a tough edge at a young age and you think that it has protected you a lot already in your short life.

He raised an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of sass and gave you another grin. You simply rolled your eyes and turned on your heel to march yourself out of the classroom, joining the other students that were filtering out. By the time you had turned around, the cute guy with the smile that made your heart melt had already left. You were slightly disappointed to your own chagrin. Why on Earth are you paying attention to boys when you knew you had other priorities? It’s not like anything would come of it anyway.

Throughout high school, you steered away from boys in a romantic sense and they more than happily did the same. You knew you were intimidating, as you had a sharp mouth and quick wit. No one messed with you and you liked it that way. You had kept to yourself, and kept your grades high. You just didn’t have any interest in the boys you’ve known since you were a kid.

As you walked to your next class, you silently cursed yourself for not being cool and collected the entire period. Where was that icy exterior that you had curated for years? How did a simple smile from the boy in front of you turn you into a puddle? How did that annoyingly hot guy behind you manage to blindside you at first?

You nearly stopped in your tracks and groaned when you realized that you had that class every. single. day. It was five credits, so that meant Monday through Friday, you’d be there 9 in the morning, attempting to not think about the cute boys around you.

You were giddy deep, deep down that such cute guys were in your class but the more level headed side of you knew it was in vain. It’s not like they’d go for you or anything. And besides, they would only distract you from the class that you already knew was going to be a struggle.

You pinched your eyes shut when you slid into your seat in your next class.

You had a feeling it was going to be a long semester.

#BTS #ot7 #ot7 x reader #poly ot7 #fanfic

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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years

Note

Smut, you say 👀

You're this cute, kinda innocent woman that gets the help of this handsome gigolo to not be as... innocent.

💕 The Professional: Chapter 1 💕

Chapter Two

Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter only)

Pairing: Danma Takeru (Hatter)/Reader (she/her

Tags: flirting, suggestive conversation, alcohol consumption, smoking, kissing

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

Notes: This is a kind-of sort-of AU—in the show, Hatter references his involvement with the host club business, and mentions that he “would do anything” to be the best. Although host clubs do not usually involve sex work (as far as I know), I believe that he would definitely offer that “off the books” in order to win over his clientele.

You’re nervous. Nervous and jittery and—oh, dear, there’s a lot of feelings going on in here, and all of them seem to fall under the umbrella of ‘mild to moderate discomfort.’ Not that feeling uncomfortable is anything new; in fact, there are very few times where you happen to feel truly comfortable outside of, say, the warmth of your bed or the soothing calm of a late-night bath. Places where you feel safe. Places where you can let yourself breathe and be, unhindered by expectation.

The place where you currently find yourself—this strange little pocket of a room in the buzz and bustle of a Friday-night Kabukicho—is full-to-bursting with expectation. From the polished wood floors to the glittering gold chandelier that hangs from the center of the ceiling, there is an inescapable sense of opulent whimsy that is tinged pink with a blush of sensuality. There are even fresh flowers on the table in front of you—a vase of ranunculus, blooming bright and orange like a green-stalked bunch of tiny setting suns.

Something like an itch tickles your sweat-damp palms, making you ball your hands into tight fists around the fabric of your skirt. Oh, you should have worn something different! Something sexier, maybe, with a deeper neckline and a shorter hem, that hugged the shape of your body as opposed to ghosting over it in fluttering chiffon. Not that you actually, you know, owned anything like that, but—

The pop! of a champagne cork makes you jump. Hell, you feel like you’re about to pop, too, from the nervous energy boiling and swelling in your chest. It’s so very difficult not to fidget, to keep your toes from tapping out a frantic little rhythm on the rug.

Looking back, you realize that the paperwork had been the ‘easy’ part. Not that it had been particularly easy—who knew there would be an application process for this kind of thing?—but it was less stressful to fill out a (surprisingly comprehensive) questionnaire in the privacy of your own home as opposed to this agonizing waiting.

And what, exactly, are you waiting for?

Why, you’re waiting for him.

His name is Takeru—or, at least, that’s what he’s asked you to call him. Whether or not it’s a stage name is difficult to tell; but what you do know is that it sounded so very nice in the deep clear of his voice. The only thing that sounded better was your name, which he said in a gently-sultry half-whisper that made you feel…many thing, and not all of them innocent.

In a devastatingly well-tailored suit of lipstick red—a vibrant pop of a color you would so often consider buying at the makeup counter but always put back—it’s nearly impossible to look at anything but him. A small collection of rings glisten from his fingers, most of them delicate little things that wink a tiny gleam when the light hits them just right. The dizzying black-white-gold pattern of his shirt is unbuttoned just a smidge too low, offering you a tantalizing view of his chest.

And although his back is toward you, concocting some kind of magic at the bar cart along the far wall, you can all but feel the warm-dark of his eyes on you. Oh, he has beautiful eyes, dark and warm with the glitter of laughter—or perhaps mischief, if the situation calls for it. A slim nose leads down to a shapely mouth, handsomely framed by a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache.

Also, his hair—oh, that man has a great head of hair.

Aesthetics aside—he has been undeniably lovely. Slipping the coat from your shoulders when you walked into the room, fingertips skimming the slope of your shoulders with only the barest of touches. Offering you a glass of champagne (“Yes, thank you”) as he leads you to sit on the green velvet settee, hand hovering above but never touching the small of your back. A serene smile on his lips as he talks, as he tells you that your dress is lovely (“Blue is definitely your color, darling”) and letting out an airy chuckle when you mention that this was as good occasion as any to dig it out of the back of your closet.

It is impossible to ignore the way he is so very provocative—subtly so, in a way that makes you second-guess whether his flirtations had happened at all. Did his eyes really linger over the shape of your legs, or was he simply taking a moment to admire your (new, very cute) shoes? Did his fingertips slip over the curve of your shoulder as he removed your coat, or were you just imagining it?

His gaze tiptoes over your shape as he sits down beside you, two flutes of pink-tinged something in hands.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making something a little special,” he says, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say as he hands you one of the glasses, “it…it looks nice.”

“Know what it is?”

“Uh,” you say after a moment of silent deliberation, “Maybe alcohol?”

He huffs a short laugh at your half-joke—a rather polite response, and it manages to soothe the bubble of regret that had risen up your throat the moment you’d said it.

“You’re not wrong. More specifically, though, it’s a Kir Royale—or, my take on one, at the very least,” he watches the bubbles fizzle to the top of the glass, “I find myself more or less incapable of keeping with convention, even when it comes to alcohol.”

“Well, uh,” you say, “it’s pretty. I like the color.”

You taste the drink, bubbles like tiny fireworks tickling over the surface of your tongue. There is a dry bitterness, no doubt from the champagne, but it’s softened by a fruity sweetness. Something familiar, something that reminds you of summer and shaved ice and walks along the river and—

“Cherry,” you say, half-lost in the hazy-warm memory of days gone by—until you remember where you are and snap back to reality, “it’s, uh, it tastes like cherries.”

“Very good. Usually, the drink calls for creme de cassis, but I used Kijafa instead. It’s a dessert wine from Denmark, made from cherries,” his brow raises just a smidge, “I thought it appropriate, given the situation.”

And it takes you a minute to understand what he’s talking about. Cherries. You. Ah. A rather crass comparison, but accurate all the same.

“Oh,” you say, picking a very uninteresting spot on the rug to look at in an attempt to avoid meeting his eyes, “I, uh…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he adds, “In fact, virginity isn’t even a real thing. Completely made up. Means nothing, really.”

There is a kind of lag—he’s speaking, you know he’s speaking, but it takes your brain a few extra seconds to figure out what he’s actually saying. It’s strange, hearing someone talk to you so openly about sex. Not unwelcome, by any means, but you need a moment (or two, or ten) to adjust.

“That being said,” he continues, as if he’s discussing the weather, “just because it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life doesn’t mean it’s nothing to you.”

He’s fishing. He’s fishing, and you kind of want to take the bait, but…well, you’re finding it difficult to get your thoughts in order. He’s the very picture of calm, all while you’re floundering over a simple conversation.

“Apologies if I’ve overstepped,” he says, taking a slow sip of his drink, “I thought you might prefer to talk it over a bit. ”

“No, uh, you’re fine,” you answer quickly, “I’m just…I thought the paperwork kind of covered all that.”

“More or less,” he answers, “however, I’ve found that the person who fills out the forms and the person who ends up sitting across from me are not always of the same mind.”

He reaches a hand into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a silver-plated cigarette case. Although he is not gentleman enough to ask your permission to smoke, he is gentleman enough to offer you a cigarette before taking one of his own. You decline. He shrugs and quickly snaps the case shut before laying it on the table.

“In fact, it’s not uncommon for my clients to have a complete change of heart the second they walk through the door,” he continues, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “Or, sometimes later on, for that matter. Depends on the person.”

Cigarette held between his teeth, he retrieves a lighter from his right trouser pocket. With a sharp little snick, he ignites it, pulling the little orange flame towards his face and hiding it behind his hand to let it catch.

“Really?”

You watch him intently, the way his eyelids flutter closed at the first inhale. The way his lips pucker around the filter and release, the red-pink sticking slightly as they pull away and let smoky white flow out and fade into the air.

“Really,” he confirms, “once, I had a client step inside, take one look at me, and promptly walk right back out. Never saw them again, which is fine. I’ll never fault someone for doing what’s right for themselves.”

“Are you, uh, trying to talk me out of it?”

“Not at all. Just making you aware of your options,” he says, “Doing anything for the first time is scary. Driving a car, swimming in the ocean, traveling abroad—sex is no different.”

“Yeah, well,” you respond, “you also get to do most of those things with your clothes on, so…”

“Depends on who you’re with.”

You can’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I still want to…you know,” you answer, “uh, do it. The…the sex part.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists, “I can’t imagine anyone being upset at the thought of having a pretty thing like you in their bed.”

“I’m not—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, taking on a tone that brokers no arguments, “I will suffer many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You are an attractive woman and I refuse to be told otherwise.”

“Sorry, I,” you say sheepishly, “I guess I just…wasn’t expecting you to…like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his cigarette and takes another long, slow drag, “You’re very sweet. A bit shy, maybe, but I happen to like the shy ones.”

And there is something about the way he says it, the way his voice wraps around the words—oh, there are implications to those words, and you find yourself growing warm at the thought of what exactly those implications could entail.

You sip your drink. He smokes. The quiet between you is almost comfortable. Maybe it’s the alcohol working it’s bubbly magic, but you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease in this strange little place.

Moreover, you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease with him. The thought of kissing him crosses your mind, then doubles-back and crosses it again. Oh, that sounds nice. He would be good at it, too; starting gently, mouth pressed soft and sure against your own, and then just the tiniest tease of his tongue—

“And there you go, biting your lip again,” he says, snapping you out of your impromptu fantasy, “You have no idea how sexy that is, do you?”

He is sporting a devilish grin—not only is he aware that you had been daydreaming about him, but he’s relishing the fact that he was able to catch you so off-guard.

“Didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you admit with a shrug. But you can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of being considered ‘sexy’—you never really let yourself feel that way, but now that it’s happening…oh, it’s nice.

“It’s absolutely delicious, darling. Makes me wonder what else you do when you’re turned on…”

And he’s got you—like a knife held under your chin, his sharp gaze pins you in place. He is impossible to avoid. Not that you particularly want to avoid him—there’s something irresistible about this man, something that you can’t quite name but definitely want more of.

It’s scary.

It’s exciting.

“I’m,” you say with a nervous chuckle, “not really sure, myself. Guess we’ll have to, uh, figure it out together.”

His gaze darkens. He takes one last lungful of nicotine before stubbing out his cigarette.

“I suppose we shall.”

And he’s moving now, sliding himself down so that he’s closer to you. He stops when there is barely an inch of space between the outside of his thigh and your own. His right arm has draped itself over the back of the sofa, the fingertips of his hand now skimming the skin of your shoulder in loose, mindless sweeps.

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

He plucks the champagne flute from your grasp and sets it on the table in front of you.

“I, uh—“

The fingertips on your shoulder continue to make their idle little circles, almost hypnotic in their swirling pattern. His left hand catches your right wrist, his thumb pressing above where your pulse thrums beneath sensitive skin.

“Bit fast,” he observes, pulling your arm closer as if inspecting it, “Could be nerves, but I think it’s more from excitement, don’t you?”

You have no choice but to lean into him as he brings your hand closer. Your shoulder presses against his arm, and you feel the solid shape of him through the smooth of his suit. He’s strong underneath all of those layers—warm, too, judging from the heat that radiates from his person.

“I’m—“

The thumb that had been testing your pulse inches higher, stopping when it’s pressing into the center of your palm. His eyes lock with yours, a heartbeat of a moment, and brings your wrist closer and closer until his lips are ghosting over your flesh. When he finally decides to make contact, you gasp—it’s a delicate sensation, but sends your heart skipping in a shaking staccato.

And, then.

Then he sucks.

The sound you make is halfway between an oh of surprise and a desperate little moan—oh, wow, that’s really weirdly unexpectedly hot—and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed by your own reaction. He’s not even doing much, not really; just a little bit of pressure, lips parted just enough to let his tongue slip out and have a taste of you.

But, oh, it feels…it feels filthy, it feels decadent, it feels like something you should not be doing but very much want to keep doing for the rest of your life. Takeru’s eyes have since fluttered shut, and he hums the tiniest sound of pleasure as he maintains his seductive tease.

“Please,” you manage to sigh, sounding as breathless as you feel, “please, I, I want you to kiss me.”

His lips release from your wrist with a pucker-pop noise—which was no doubt intentional on his part, and does nothing to quell the thrill of desire in your belly.

“Hm. I’ll make you a deal,” he says, shifting a bit to the left so that he can turn to face you better, “I’ll kiss you for the rest of the night, but right now…you kiss me.”

And what a deal that is—you don’t even have to think about it, head bobbing in an affirmative nod as you wet your lips in anticipation. The hand that had so lovingly held yours is now guiding you to rest your palm just above his knee. You reflexively reach your other hand out to steady yourself, and it lands against his chest before you can stop it.

He’s so close now. There’s barely any space between your faces, barely room to breathe—

“Go on, darling,” he whispers, “if you want me, have me.”

And you do.

You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The anxiety that has plagued you since the moment you entered the room hasn’t completely dissipated—it would be foolish to think it’d be that easy to banish those feelings completely—but all that is now secondary to the feeling of his mouth on yours.

Kissing Takeru is warm. It’s soft and it’s sure and it’s…comfortable, in a way. Safe, even. He does not press, doesn’t do much of anything except mirror the way your lips slide against his own. A gentle rhythm, a push and pull between the two of you that feels as natural as the moon guiding the tides to shore—yes, kissing him is good and right and something you want to do many times over.

Unfortunately, you have to pull away to breathe. He doesn’t let you go far, though, one hand cupped behind the nape of your neck and the other pressing into the small of your back.

“Oh, you are sweet,” he purrs, his gaze dropping to your freshly-kissed lips, “and, seeing that I’m a man of my word…”

As it turns out, being kissed by Takeru might be better than kissing him, yourself. He is still so very careful when he presses his lips to yours, but this time…this time, there’s fire. He tastes like the best part of a cigarette, like warmth and alcohol and cherries, and it only intensifies as he tests the seam of your lips with his tongue.

Little by little, you begin to test him, too. Hands cradle the curve of his jaw, feeling the way his face shifts as he moves against you. Fingertips run through the soft dark of his hair—oh, he likes that, if the half-sigh that slips from his throat is to be believed. And when you nip at his lower lip with your teeth (he had, after all, very much enjoyed the way you bit your lip earlier), he genuinely moans and pulls you even closer to himself.

It’s when he begins to wander lower, with his mouth skimming the sensitivity of your neck and his hand splayed across your lower back in a way that flirts with the idea of indecency, that you begin to want more. Fear—and maybe that’s not exactly the right word for what you’re feeling, but it’s the only one that comes to mind—begins to creep up the column of your spine.

The “what-if’s” start filling your brain; what if you mess something up? What if you do something he doesn’t like? What if you freeze up later and—

“Alright, darling?”

His voice is a low soothe against your ear; he’s retreated, just a bit, and his hand has wandered to a chaste and respectable area of your mid-back.

“I—“

You want him to take you to bed. You want him to take off your dress and kiss you in all the places you thought weren’t worth kissing, to let his hands trace sparks along the curves of your shape and let him be close to you in a way that no one else has. You want him, despite the uncertain ache that burns between your ribs and bids you to hide yourself away and leave behind the pleasure of his touch.

…But all you can manage is a nervous glance to the bed behind you (the one you had been avoiding thinking about up until this point) and a stammered “Can we, uh…?”

“Ask me,” he says, his index and middle fingers idly skimming the notch in your collarbone, “I’ll give you anything you want, as long as you ask me.”

It’s difficult to make eye contact with him—every time you try, you feel embarrassment swell up beneath your tongue.

But Takeru is, as you have come to learn over the last hour or so, decidedly patient. He shows no sign of relenting, appearing to be perfectly content with giving you an expectant grin and continuing his little touches as you try not to squirm in your seat.

“I,” you gulp, “I want…“

You bite your lip—oh, wait, he likes that too, and he’s staring at you with those sharp and sultry eyes, and it makes something behind your heart squeeze and unsqueeze itself and punches the air from your lungs and—

“Take me to bed,” you manage to spit out, and it all sounds like one word with how quickly you pushed the words into the air. The “uh, please” you tack on at the end is an afterthought, but perhaps it’s polite enough to pass muster.

“Was that so hard,” Takeru asks with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you asked so nicely…”

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a kiss—and even that, after everything, still has you feeling a flutter of something giddy in your stomach.

“Darling,” he says, “it would be my pleasure.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

…and now, you’ll have to wait until chapter two to get to the “good stuff!”

It’s been a challenge writing this—I’m trying to make the scenario believable while still keeping it vague enough to allow for people to make up their own little details. It’s also been unexpectedly difficult to write him, since he’s kind of being himself while also playing a character who’s trying to mold themself into their client’s fantasy…it’s a lot of layers, but it’s been fun trying to figure things out!

#alice in borderland #hatter #danma takeru #writings and such #spicy boy #alice in borderland netflix #takeru danma #we did it fellas. we finally wrote the first chapter.#I’ve been working on this for WEEKS #now to write the actual spicy stuff lol oh geez

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wagner-fell · 3 years

Text

Spiders Are Ugly And Other Lies Capitalism Has Told Us (part one)

“Dad,” Astrid called out, shutting the coral coloured front door behind her. “Are you home?”

She dumped her cream tote bag spray painted with the words ‘Washing Machine Heart’ in big, rainbow letters onto one of the stools facing the granite countertop. The rest of the Merry Hoes followed suit. It was weird seeing a person as chaotic as Astrid in such a calm environment.

They were all spending the summer in LA with Astrid and her Dad. It had taken a while for Kevin to convince his family it was a good idea. Especially because he and Blessica had finally put years of pinning behind them. Making out on Kit’s bed at Mina’s third birthday party certainly wasn’t the way they had envisioned it but as the longing was over with, they were happy.

The Chu’s didn’t love the idea of their son living in a different country for three months with his girlfriend but we’re on board once Kevin assured them there was no possible way Blessica could get pregnant.

Kit wasn’t officially sleeping at the Yang’s but at the Institute with his boyfriend. Julian wasn’t so thrilled about the situation but Emma was. She was positively ecstatic about having a training partner as skilled as Kit was, courtesy of Jem and Tessa. Though staying a thirty minute drive away (on the wrong side of the road, Mari noted) wouldn’t keep Kit away for long. Even now he was with them instead of having his own reunion make out session.

Speaking of making out…

Mari rested their chin on the top of Astrid’s head and wrapped their arms around her middle. “Why don’t you show us your room while we wait for your dad to get home.”

It was kinda perfect, Mari often remarked, that she realized her feelings for their best friend weren’t so platonic as she previously led herself to believe at the same time they and Kit realized they were better off as just platonic.

Astrid hit her hand playfully. “That’s not fair!” she whined! ”How dare you take advantage of my constant hornyness when my God-fearing Presbyterian father could be in the next room? Shame! Shame on you, shame on your family, shame on your cow.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘dishonor’”, said Kit, who didn’t even look up from his phone when he addressed her, “but go off I guess.”

Astrid looked like she was questioning all her life choices up to this point. “A white boy knows Mulan better than me.” She shook her head in disgust. Mari could feel the loose hairs of her girlfriend’s ponytail ticking her exposed collar bone. “Mulan.”

Mari laughed before softly brushing their lips against Astrid mop of bleached strands of pastel yellow, pink and blue mixed magnificently with her natural inky black.

“Is hornyness even a word?” Kevin wondered aloud as he observed the knickknacks placed at even intervals utop the kitchen cabinets. Blessica was with him. She was gazing at one of a crab steering a ship when she spotted a slim piece of paper taped below it.

“Ast,” she called. The both looked in her direction, despite Blessica needing the attention of one. “Your dad says he won’t be home till seven. Emergency at work.”

“Which leaves us more than enough time to pack and head over to meet Ty, Dru and Thaìs at the arcade,” said Kit. He finally turned his phone off and shoved it into the back pocket of his ripped jeans. “Marstrid can do the ol’ devil’s tango then catch up to us.”

‘Marstrid’ wrinkled their noses. “I thought we agreed on Astari, Christopher.”

“Astari sounds gayer,” confirmed Kevin, his eyes never leaving the miniature decorations.

“Not to be rude but why does Astari sound gayer?” asked a visibly confused Blessica.

“Because,” answered Mari, unraveling herself from Astrid to slide onto one of the bar stools and reaching into the Jolly Rancher jar, blindly searching for a green, “Astari has ‘star’ in it. Star equals astrology. An obsession with astrology is the price you pay for the gay agenda. Besides, Marstrid sounds like an old southern lady.” Then she furrowed her eyebrows and swiveled to face Astrid. “Southern is Texas, right?” Astrid nooded, a smile so big the Cheshire Cat would be jealous.

Without looking, she stuck her hand in the jar and pulled out a green apple flavoured hard candy on her first try. She held it out to Mari, who snatched it out of her hand with an angry huff.

“Hey, Ast, where do you guys keep the crisps?” asked Kevin when he finished inspecting all the knickknacks.

“Uh, under the barbecue sauce, I think.”

Kit’s eyes lit up. “So I’m sitting there”- Astrid understood what was happening in just enough time to quote- “barbecue sauce on my titties” in unison.

Mari put her head into their open palms, still sucking on the pity candy. “Why is this my type?”

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Blessica as Kit attempted to parallel park outside the location Ty had texted him to meet at. Key word, attempt. When Tessa had taught him to drive, he’d been such a disaster at parallel parking she had instructed him to ‘take the underground when tight spaces might be a possibility.’ Which he prided himself in doing. But this was America and the underground was called the subway, so, technically, no rules were being broken.

“Yes, Blessie, I’m certain.”

“Okay. Just checking cause a few turns back the GPS said-”

“Blessie!” He nearly crashed into the car in front of him.

“Right. Shutting up.”

When Kit managed to park with minimal damage and the three were about to exit, the voice of Nicki Minaj boomed from his pocket. Ty was calling him. He accepted the call, putting it on speaker.

“Hello Tiberius.” There was giggling from the other end of the line. A groan soon followed it.

“It’s been a year,” came the annoyed voice of Dru. “Get over your British kink already.” Kevin’s laughter echoed from the backseat.

“Hey Ty!

“Hi Kevin.”

”Hey Dru!”

“Fuck off.”

“Ouch. Why do you feel the need to hurt me so?” Blessica laughed.

“Hey…Thaìs?”

“Here,” replied Thaìs cheerfully.

“Are you here yet,” asked Ty.

“Uh, yeah! We were just getting out of the rental car when you called. You didn’t tell me it was going to be crowded. I had to parallel park!”

“What are you talking about?” interrupted Dru. ”There are only four cars in the parking lot.”

“But,” Ty countered, “there are lots of Billy’s Fun Zones’ around here. You guys must have got mixed up and taken a wrong turn. I could have sworn I sent you the correct location on GPS.” Maybe Ty said more on the subject but Kit could hear anything or see anything except the superior smirk Blessica was giving him.

He covered the speaker. “Not. A. Word.” And no word came out of her mouth the entire ride to the correct Billy’s Fun Zone but the ‘I told you so’ look on her face spoke loud enough.

Kit slid back into the booth next to Ty, handing him his pretzel. Ty kissed him on the check in gratitude.

Dru and Ty were right. About this one being empty. He told him he had heard about it from Alyssa. Her pack frequented it often. They were left alone because, well, there was no one else there to bother them.

“Where are Astrid and Mari?” he asked.

“Fucking. I think. Or maybe just making out. I’ll know which one when they finish.” When Ty gave him a puzzled look he continued, “Astrid describes it all to me in full detail. I honestly don’t know whether she doesn’t have a filter or she just needs someone to scream to about how amazing Mari is.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“True, true.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Ty picked up the conversation again. “When Thaìs first met Astrid, she had a huge crush on her. They got along great. I always thought they would end up together. Or hook up at the very least.”

“Huh, that’s funny,” observed Kit.

“What is?”

“When me and Mari split, I was planning on trying to set them up with Thaìs. But then I caught her ans Astrid making out in a storage closet at school. Which, in hindsight, was pretty stupid cause they were in there so I wouldn’t be sad Mari moved on when I opened the door in the first place avoiding her to call you.”

“Hmmmm.”

The gears in Ty’s head were visibly turning. Kit loved watching this process. An idea was forming in his boyfriend’s genius mind, he could sense it.

“What is their stance on monogamy?” he asked finally.

“Um, fuck, hold on. Mari sent me this whole speech about it.” Kit scrolled through his phone at a rapid rate before he saw what he was looking for. He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:52 AM: monogamy is just another lie capitalism has fed us

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:55 AM: like, for example, the notion that house spiders are ugly and to be feared

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: it’s just to sell bug spray

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: same with monogamy

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: pointless!!!

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:58 AM: in conclusion, if I want to join a polyam cult, who tf is the government to stop me?

Kev-Kev, sent 2:01 AM: mari please go to sleep

Bless-ing_to_the_world, sent 2:04 AM: ^^^^^^^^^^^

Mitski_my_love, sent 2:05 AM: preach!

Mitski_my_love, sent 2:05 AM: go off queen

By the time Kit was finished with his dramatic reading, Ty’s plan was fully formed.

“That settles it! We are going to play matchmakers!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alyssa, Ty’s friend mentioned is @thechangeling OC, not mine.

@the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @adoravel-fenomeno @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @illusions-give-reasons-to-live @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @sofiatheskeleton @cncnbr @its-taff @noah-herondale-lightwood @maxboythedog @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @book-dragon-not-worm sorry if I missed anyone LMK if you want to be added or removed from The tag List!!

#mari machado sotomayor #mari machado #mari the werewolf #tiberius blackthorn #dru blackthorn #ty blackthorn #drusilla blackthorn #blessica reyes #the merry hoes #kevin chu #astrid yang #kit rook #kit herondale #thais pedroso #the secrets of blackthorn hall #the wicked powers

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

thoughts on a centaur au? Jask is a Buck and Geralt is probably one of those Draft horses! maybe when jask goes to Kaer Morhen they are fascinated with Jasks' antlers and Lambert hangs shit on them like Lil'Bleater or bowls

This ask made me do some happy wiggles of excitement because centaurs!! I adore your idea of Lambert hanging things on Jaskier’s antlers and we’ll get there, but first, I think a bit of tension is needed :D

The forest was overrun with men who hunted indiscriminately. Jaskier had been avoiding them y climbing higher and higher up the mountain he had always been warned away from. But he figured that nothing the mountain hid could be worse than what the humans were doing. At least, he thought that while it was daylight and he had energy. Now thought, it was dark, getting cold and Jaskier was hungry. He hadn’t had the chance to grab provisions as he had fled, an arrow glancing off his side, leaving a sluggishly bleeding gouge. Around him, the trees had stopped being large and welcoming with the sun peeking through them. Instead, they loomed menacingly, hiding any number of evil threats.

Exhausted, Jaskier couldn’t go on any longer. He found a small clearing next to the path, haphazardly gathered up a few armfuls of leaves for a makeshift nest and curled up as small as he could, hoping none of the howling creatures would stumble upon him. Sleep, no matter how tired he was, didn’t come easy. Every small snap of twig had Jaskier flinching, trying to listen out for anything prowling closer. Heart fluttering in his chest, Jaskier tried to calm himself yet he didn’t dare even hum to soothe his worries.

He was so caught up in calming his heart and stopping his trembling, Jaskier missed the soft fall of heavy hooves.

“You sure have strayed far from your patch, little buck,” a deep voice all but growled and Jaskier was up, legs buckling nervously as he looked up at the new arrival. He was big, taller and broader than Jaskier. “What brings you to our territory?”

Our?! Jaskier’s breath hitched as he twisted and saw that two more similarly built centaurs had materialised from between the trees. He was surrounded, outnumbered and outclassed. If he had been less exhausted and not injured, Jaskier might have been able to outrun them but, in his current state, he couldn’t even slip past them in all likelihood.

“I was hoping for a quiet, peaceful night in relative safety,” he managed to spit back, wit and tongue still as sharp as ever even if his body wasn’t.

Eyes glinted in the dark, positively predatory. Worse, moonlight filtered through the trees and Jaskier caught sight of scars littering torsos and faces. There was nothing friendly or reassuring about the new arrivals. What Jaskier didn’t expect was a low rumble of laughter.

“You won’t find that here.” And Jaskier didn’t think he could have heard anything less friendly. He braced to make a break for it, willing to risk his all because the only other option was to stay put and die.

“Stop being mean, Lambert,” the one behind Jaskier sounded amused and a lot closer than he was a minute ago. Jaskier whirled around, head tipped down to at least look like his antlers could do some damage if he was pushed. “Relax, little buck, we mean no harm. Could smell your blood and merely came to investigate.”

A hand merrily smacked Jaskier’s rump and he bucked, kicking out and skittering away, colliding into a firm chest with a squeak.

“That was mean, Lambert,” the chest rumbled under Jaskier as hands helped right him. “Go check the traps and pick up our bundles. We’re done for tonight and heading back. Eskel, take the rear.”

The one who was evidently called Eskel grumbled something under his breath about them not being bleeding hearted softies but he still moved as told, offering Jaskier a small half smile.

“Apologies about our herd. Brutish but well meaning. Come back to our home, we’ll tend to your wounds and you’ll be free to go whenever you want. We’ll even give you some food for whatever journey it is you’re obviously embarked on.”

Options were slim pickings and Jaskier could either go with them or run. He was too tired to run though so he allowed himself to be led up the mountain. The path was difficult, he delicately stepped over larger cracks and holes in the ground that the others seemingly avoided naturally, like it was a habit of theirs.

Sooner than expected, they were outside a giant, sprawling keep. Parts of it were crumbling away but a good portion of it appeared to be well maintained.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” the leader said, opening the doors.

“Geralt, what is the meaning of this?” Another large centaur asked, standing opposite the open door. In the flickering light of torches, Jaskier could see they were all draft horses but heavily scarred as if, rather than working in haulage, they fought for their keep.

“A stray. Found him just before the Forktail’s Pass.” Turning to Jaskier, Geralt smiled. “This is Vesemir.”

Vesemir looked about as welcoming as a pit filled with hungry wolves and when Jaskier was ushered past him, he tried to give the old and grizzly centaur a wide berth.

“Let’s have a look at your side then I’ll show you to bedroom.” Geralt said, ushering Jaskier into a room that looked like an infirmary. “Though Eskel’s usually better at healing.”

“Damn right I am,” a voice joined them and Eskel walked in. He should have looked so much more frightening in the light, what with scars marring his face and arms. Yet all Jaskier could see was someone who had a lot of pain in his past.

His side was gently prodded, cleaned and a light bandage was wrapped around it. All while Eskel was doing that, Geralt was silent in a corner and occasionally staring at Jaskier. Or rather, his antlers.

The bedroom Jaskier was shown to was basic but functional. Most importantly, is had a lock on the inside. Though what it would achieve was a mystery when any of the inhabitants of the old keep could probably very easily kick through the wood of the door. It didn’t stop Jaskier feeling a little better as he slid the lock into place. Exhausted, he pulled the knitted throws and pelts into a nest and curled up, leaning against the rest, pulling it away from the wall a little to make room for his antlers.

In the morning, Jaskier was disoriented and still tired. His stomach was actually hurting with hunger so, fighting down the worry, he opened the bedroom door and did his best to strut towards the sound of quiet murmurs and the smell of food. All chatter came to an abrupt stop as Jaskier all but pranced in. His rescuers were still terrifying but at least Jaskier didn’t think they were going to slaughter him immediately. At least, the pelts he’d slept on were all predator ones.

“Good morning my handsome heroes,” Jaskier forced a smile. Eyes followed his every step but nobody moved until Geralt cleared his throat.

“Help yourself to food.”

Permission granted, Jaskier helped himself, piling a plate high with food and trotting to the table. He could pretend this was normal, that he belonged, was one of the giants who lived here. Four sets of eyes were trained on him as he ate and he ignored them in favour of taking a bite and lauding the chef with a happy moan.

His hosts never stopped looking at him, sneaking glances even when they tried to get back to their own meal. Plates empty, it was Geralt who offered him a small smile.

“Shall I show you round?”

If Jaskier hadn’t had antlers, he was certain Geralt would have offered him an arm to guide him. However, too close, Jaskier had to turn his head so he didn’t take Geralt’s eyes out. They had stopped in the courtyard when Geralt finally mustered up some courage.

“May I?” His hands were raised towards Jaskier, reaching for his antlers.

“Of course!” Jaskier even dipped his head to allow it, appreciating how gentle and soft Geralt had been on their impromptu tour. “I shed them once a year. Probably due to do it in a few weeks.”

A wicked smirk split Geralt’s lips wide. “I have an idea.”

There was a general fascination with Jaskier’s antlers amongst the others. While Geralt asked for permission to touch them, Eskel only looked at them surreptitiously. Lambert, on the other hand, was on a mission to be secretive and mischievous. The first time Jaskier ended up with a sausage on his antlers, he thought he’d had a mishap at breakfast and thought nothing of it.

However, the incidents kept up. There was a paper chain, carefully crafted that was draped to span his antlers after Jaskier woke from a nap. For the rest of the day, he proudly wore it, suspecting Lambert was the culprit behind the draping. Though the crafting of the chain was much more the kind of thing Eskel would do. It became a game after that, Jaskier noticed. While the others worked tirelessly to keep their keep and surrounding lands safe and their gardens free of pests, they needed some downtime. Which was where Jaskier seemed to fill a hole in their lives. Singing and bringing a splash of colour and art into their lives, Jaskier was reluctant to leave. Especially when Geralt invited him to late evening walks through Vesemir’s rose garden. It was all incredibly sweet.

As sweet as it was, Jaskier was a bit outraged when he woke up to see Lambert hightailing it out of the room and half the kitchen hung on his antlers, clanging bad enough to make Jaskier jump which only dislodged more pots, adding to the noise.

His antlers had been itching for a few days and Jaskier longed to find a good tree to rub against. Instead, he got to ask Geralt to rub the bases for him.

“Payback is going to be so sweet,” Geralt rumbled and Jaskier nodded. The antlers were a little loose. All he needed was something a little heavier on them and they’d likely fall. “I’ll encourage him.”

Sure enough, when Jaskier was pretending to snooze the next afternoon, Lambert appeared with Eskel’s prized goat. It was a sweet, placid thing, Jaskier quite liked Li’l Bleater. He watched as Lambert approached and hefted the goat up. The weight of a happy goat settled on Jaskier’s antlers and there was a small snicker from Lambert. Eskel rounded the corner and he froze at the sight. Which was the exact moment there was a crack and one of the antler fell.

Lambert caught Li’l Bleater before he could fall but there was horror on his face as he watched Jaskier’s antler on the floor.

“Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuckity fuck.” Lambert backed away and even Eskel looked too stunned to do anything.

Pretending to wake up, Jaskier shuffled around and froze when he so obviously caught sight of his antler. Raising a hand, he patted where the antler had been and, with his best acting skills, looked up at Lambert with devastation in his eyes.

“What have you done to me?”

There was a shriek and Lambert crashed into Eskel as he tried to run away. They stumbled, legs tangling and Vesemir came running to see what the upheaval was.

Jaskier was already doubled over laughing and, from the other side of the room, he could hear Geralt hooting.

“I broke the buck!” Lambert cried. “I broke him.”

Vesemir took one look at the scene, stomped over to cuff Lambert on the back of the head and turned to give Jaskier the same treatment.

“Idiots. The lot of you.” However, his eyes strayed to the antler on the floor. “You got use for that?”

“It’s yours, parental figure of the herd,” Jaskier leaned down to pick the antler up and offered it to Vesemir.

“You’ll do,” Vesemir snorted and took the antler, much more gently than Jaskier had expected. “You know your way round already. Stay as long as your heart desires. And maybe ask Geralt about his heart too.”

He gracefully ignored the snickering comment from Lambert about getting the old breeding block out. Though Eskel did cuff him on the back of the head for good measure. Jaskier had never felt more at home or more accepted. He decided he could easily spend several seasons at Kaer Morhen, seeing if it could truly become the home he’d craved all his life.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #centaur au #long post #tldr: buck jaskier finds a home with the draft horse witchers of kaer morhen

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sj-thefan · 4 years

Text

The Tragedy of Y/n of Asgard

Masterlist

Can be read as a sequel to The Tragedy of Loki of Asgard, but it isn’t necessary.

Warnings: Angst, major character death, fighting, pregnancy

Y/n carried her sleepy toddler in her arms as she made her way to his room. With Loki off retrieving Odin with Thor, she was in charge. They shouldn’t have been gone long, but after waiting for over half an hour, Bromm had started to yawn. It was time for his nap, so she left the Bifrost and Skurge to be watched by Volstagg and Fandral, knowing Loki would return to her as soon as he got back.

Her mind drifted to the thought of having another child running around. She could picture that life now; the quiet halls filled with children’s laughter, toys thrown all over the palace, and her husband, finally his true self. She felt the child in her belly was a sign of good things to come.

If only she could know how wrong she was.

As she reached Bromm’s bedroom, she heard the sound of boots running on the stone floor. She turned to see Hogun running towards her. Bromm perked up at the sight of his honorary uncle.

The warrior stopped in front of her and gave a brief bow. “My lady, there’s trouble at the Bifrost.”

Y/n knew she didn’t have much time to think. She placed Bromm on the ground and looked into his eyes. “Sweetheart, I need you to go to your room. I’ll send Ingrid, but I need you to stay there. Mummy has something she needs to take care of.”

With a nod of his head, Bromm went to his room. Y/n turned to Hogun. “What’s happening?”

The couple marched through the hall while Hogun explained a woman had shown up and killed Volstagg, Fandral, and maybe even Skurge. They didn’t know exactly what had happened.

Y/n instructed him to take the men that were currently available to stop the stranger at the bridge and to send word to the remaining soldiers to go to the castle in full armour. She would lead those men to the bridge once they had assembled.

Hogun ran off while Y/n entered the chamber so she could get ready.

As she strapped on her sword, she felt a presence in the room. She gripped her sword and swiftly turned around, ready to take out the intruder.

Heimdall blocked the swing with his arm.

“Heimdall?” Y/n exclaimed. The man cocked his eyebrow, and Y/n sheathed her sword with a quick apology. “What are you doing here?”

“I see all, my lady.” Y/n smiled at him before returning to getting ready. “We must leave.”

Y/n stood up straight. “I can’t leave. We’re under attack. Until Thor, Loki, and Odin return, it is my duty to—”

“Do you know who is at the gates?” Y/n shook her head, returning to strap on her boots. “Hela, goddess of death.”

Y/n paused. “It doesn’t matter who is attacking. The people of Asgard deserve to be protected by their leaders.”

“She will not hesitate to kill anyone.”

Y/n thought for a second. She couldn’t abandon the people, even if that meant she would die. “Take Bromm,” she suggested to Heimdall. “Take my son and however many people you can get out. Keep them safe, and don’t return for me until everyone is safe.”

Heimdall nodded and started towards the door.

“Heimdall,” Y/n called, halting his steps. “Are they okay?”

He had seen Hela come through the Bifrost and how she pushed her brothers out. The princes of Asgard were thrown out and tossed to the place of lost things. They were okay. But Odin hadn’t been as lucky. It was his death that set Hela free, and he would not see the consequences that followed. Heimdall knew Y/n was asking after her family, so he told her anything she might need to know about what had happened. Then he left the room.

Y/n knew she would have to act fast. Her mind was racing with the overload of information she had been given. Odin was dead. Thor and Loki were lost somewhere across space. Hela, the goddess of death, was here to take control and wage war against the realms. Hela had killed two of Y/n’s best friends and had threatened to kill any who opposed her. Y/n’s life was in as much danger as her people, maybe even more so due to her royal status.

It was a price she was willing to pay, though.

She felt a tear run down her face as she left the room and marched to the throne room where she would meet her soldiers. It wasn’t fair. She had been nervous, happy, fearful, and ecstatic all in the span of a few hours due to the life in her belly, but now—now she was terrified, hopeless, and scared beyond her wildest dreams at the thought of her child. It wasn’t fair that today had to be filled with such madness and that to protect her people, she might lose her child. It wasn’t fair, but it had to be done.

As she joined her soldiers, a loud bang was heard just outside the grand doors. Y/n knew that Hela had reached the gates. She held her head tall, took a deep breath, and ordered her warriors to be ready. She unsheathed her sword and waited for the door to open.

Y/n stood on shaky legs. All around her, the soldiers lay bloody and unmoving. She looked to the woman responsible for this death. “Why?” she spat at the woman. “What did you hope to accomplish?”

Hela turned to face Y/n. She had seen her when she entered; she was the only one wearing something other than the standard Asgardian armour. Her eyes scanned the girl, coming to a stop at the gold circlet atop her head. Hela smirked. “Let me guess,” she drawled. “You married one of my idiotic brothers, thinking life would be tea parties and silk dresses, but now—” she gestured to the chaos around them, “—it’s a dangerous job.”

Y/n scoffed. Her life had never been easy. She and Loki had fought for everything they achieved.

“I bet everyone loves you.” Hela looked back to Skurge to see if her assumption was correct, and he gave a nod of his head. “That could be useful.”

Y/n yelled as she raised her blade and charged at Hela.

Hela stepped to the side, sliding Y/n out of the way with a blade of her own.

Y/n stumbled but quickly regained her balance. She thrust her sword with all her might. It connected, making its way through Hela’s stomach.

Hela laughed, and Y/n stepped back in shock. “You’re pretty good,” Hela took the blade out of her stomach, “but I don’t have time for this.”

Y/n watched in terror as Hela approached her, aiming the hilt of the sword at her face.

Everything went dark.

Loki stood at the door, entering the code he had stolen and memorized, while Thor stood beside him.

“Hey, so, listen,” Thor said. “We should talk.”

Loki looked up. He knew what was coming. He had dreaded this conversation since he first saw Thor in the Grandmaster’s place. “I disagree,” he blatantly stated while returning to his work. “Open communication,” the door opened, “was never our family’s forte.”

The brothers picked up their weapons, heading towards the guards in front of the elevator. “Oh, you have no idea,” Thor said. “Been quite the revelation since we last spoke.”

They both loaded their weapons and aimed, sending an ironic greeting towards the guards before opening fire.

As the guards start shooting back, Thor and Loki hid behind a wall. They shared a look as they heard the sounds of the guards reloading. Revealing themselves, the brothers start shooting their opponents again.

Eventually, they made it to the other side of the room, where Loki began entering the second code. As soon as the door opened, a guard came out, pointing his gun at Loki. Thor, sensing the guard was about to fire, pushed the gun down. As the shot went off, the guard flew up into the air from the force, and the boys happily walked into the elevator.

Loki couldn’t take the tension hanging in the air anymore, so he spoke. “I don’t think I can go back.”

“Asgard needs us. You left it defenceless when you took father to Earth. We need to protect our people.”

“You think so little of me?” Thor gave Loki a look of confusion. “I don’t want to go back because I can’t see their lifeless bodies. I can’t be in a place where we were happy and pretend things will be okay.” Loki breathed a sigh of relief. He had finally said it out loud. His wife was dead; there was no way Hela would keep her alive. She was a threat to the thrown. And so was Bromm, for that matter. Hela had probably killed them both.

“There’s still a chance—”

“—And if they’re dead, what then, Thor? I won’t—I can’t do it. I’m better off staying on Sakaar.”

Thor glanced down. “If there was even a slim chance that I could save mother, or father, or any of our friends,” Thor looked back to see Loki watching him, “I would take it.”

The elevator was silent for a few moments.

“What if—”

Thor put a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Then I’ll be here. They’re my family too; I won’t abandon you or them.”

Loki smirked. “You’re a sap.”

Thor began laughing. “Never one for sentiment, were you?” Loki chuckled at him. “Hey,” Thor interrupted. “Let’s do ‘Get Help’!”

“What?” Loki questioned, wondering what brought this change of conversation.

“’ Get Help.’”

“No.”

“Come on, you love it.”

“I hate it.”

“It’s great. It works every time.”

“It’s humiliating.”

“Do you have a better plan?”

“No.”

“We’re doing it.”

“We are not doing ‘Get Help.’”

Less than a minute later, the elevator doors opened, and the brothers came out, performing the ‘Get Help’ act.

Thor carried Loki draped over his shoulder. “Get help!” he shouted to the guards. “Please! My brother, he’s dying!” Loki remained still as Thor began picking him up with both hands. “Get help! Help him!” Thor threw Loki at the guards, knocking them all out. He chuckled to himself. “Classic.”

“Still hate it.” Loki stood up. “It’s humiliating.”

“Not for me, it’s not. And it’s very effective.” Thor glanced back to the guards but spotted one of them getting up and running to sound the alarm.

“Apparently, not effective enough.”

The guard hit the alarm. Minutes later guards filtered into the room.

Loki turned to his brother. “Thor, you have to go. If they have a chance, it’s getting smaller with every second that passes. I’ll hold them off. You,” he gestured to the yellow ship behind them, “take the Commodore, and save my family.”

“I won’t leave you; we can take them.”

“It will take too long, Thor. Go!”

Reluctantly, Thor ran to the ship. He knew Loki wouldn’t change his mind, and the guards that started spilling through the doors hadn’t stopped. He just hoped Loki would follow on the other ship.

When the skeleton soldiers came for her, Y/n was afraid. Most of her armour had been stripped from her, along with her sword. She was powerless against them, and she had no idea what they wanted.

As they marched her through the castle, she pleaded with them. “Please,” she begged. “I am part of the royal family. As soldiers of Asgard, you serve me.” There was no response. “I have a child; he needs me.” Again, nothing. “Please, I’m with child. Please.” Still, there was no reaction.

When she realized she was being taken outside, she seized her crying and replaced her terror with a mask of bravery. She was still terrified, but if she showed a brave face to her people, they might feel calmer.

The soldiers led her to a courtyard filled with many Asgardians. On the steps to the castle stood Hela with her monstrous dog and Skurge. The soldiers threw her down.

Y/n tumbled down the steps, only to be met with more soldiers who dragged her to her feet. She glared at Skurge, the man she had trusted to guard the entrance to their world.

Skurge glanced at Hela before starting his address to the people. “Asgardians,” he yelled, “some misguided soul has stolen the Bifrost sword. Tell us where it is, or there will be consequences.” He stole another glance at Hela. “Bad ones.”

The people were silent, glancing between each other to see if someone would break.

“Well?”

Hela stepped forward when again no one responded to her executioner. “Bring her forward.”

The skeleton soldiers dragged Y/n forward and pushed her to her knees again, making sure her head and neck were exposed. Some of the people in the crowd cried out at the sight of their princess in danger. They knew she had fought to protect them and that she hadn’t run to the mountain because she wouldn’t abandon them, but the soldier held them back.

Hela gestured for Skurge to do his job. He stood beside Y/n, hesitant in raising his axe.

“You’re a coward,” Y/n spat.

“Well?” Hela drawled. “Executioner?”

Skurge lifted his axe. It was about to come down when someone in the crowd shouted.

“Wait!” The crowd parted, revealing the man who had spoken. “Wait. I know where the sword is.”

Y/n yelled and screamed while the man told Hela everything. She wasn’t angry at the man, not even disappointed; he had done what he could to save a life. Yet Y/n was afraid, more than she had been earlier. If Hela found Heimdall, she could discover Bromm. His life was in danger now.

Hela sent her back to the dungeons, the skeletons carrying her thrashing body.

Y/n calmed herself when they got inside. She knew that to get free, she would need to think it through, and the best way to do that was with a calm mind. As she stopped squirming, the soldiers’ grasp on her lightened—no longer needing to be as tight. Y/n scanned her surroundings, making a note of everything that might help her. There were only two guards with her; the rest were either travelling with Hela to get the people in hiding or with Skurge, prepping for war. Y/n felt her muscles tighten as she clenched her fist. That’s when she noticed it. The soldiers’ grip had loosened enough for her to move.

With quick movements, Y/n elbowed one soldier before swinging her body around and tripping the other.

She grabbed a sword from one of the suits of armour lining the hall. It wasn’t sharp, nor was it meant for actual use, but it was the best weapon she could find on short notice. With a few swipes of the heavy sword, one of the soldiers crumbled. The other grabbed her from behind, causing the blade to fall from her hands. Throwing her weight forward, she flung him over her back and onto the ground in front of her. She quickly grabbed the other skeleton’s sword and decapitated the soldier still moving.

Y/n glanced between the two unmoving soldiers, ensuring they were really dead. When she was sure, she headed to the weaponry to stock up before joining the fight.

As she ran out the door, she was shocked to find her brother-in-law heading in the opposite direction. She quickly grabbed him in a hug. “You’re alright. Oh, thank Odin, you’re alright.”

“I’m fine, Y/n.” He pulled back, scanning his sister. She was pretty bruised with several cuts all over, but she was standing and clutching her sword. She was okay. “You’re okay?” Y/n responded with a nod. “Where’s Bromm?”

“I sent him with Heimdall. Hela is headed to the right now. I have to go—”

“No, Y/n,” Thor soothed with a hand to her shoulder. “They’re headed to the Bifrost. I have some friends who will help you, but you should go too. I’m going to distract Hela.”

“Is Loki…” Y/n trailed off as she looked towards the Bifrost.

Thor shook his head. “I’m sorry, Y/n. He stayed behind, so I could get out. He sacrificed himself for you and Bromm. He said I had a better chance of saving you than him.”

Y/n choked back a sob. This wasn’t the time. Her son and her people needed her. “Okay,” she took a deep breath, “I’ll see you soon.”

They both took off in opposite directions.

Heimdall reached the bridge at the same time as Y/n.

“Heimdall, thank Odin,” Y/n breathed out. “Where’s Bromm?”

“Mommy?” his little voice rang out.

Y/n quickly fell to her knees as her son ran into her arms. “My baby, you’re okay.” Heimdall led the group around the mother and son and further down the bridge; they didn’t have time to waste. Y/n pulled back and checked over her child. He had no scrapes or bruises, no injuries that she could see. “This mess is almost over, sweetheart.” She stood up, keeping her hand locked with his, and moved with the crowd.

When the crowd stopped moving, Y/n knelt down to her son again. “Stay in the middle here; I’ll find you when it’s safe, but mommy has to go help Heimdall keep everyone safe.” Bromm nodded as his mother walked to the front of the group.

Y/n brandished her sword as she saw what had caused the group to stop. Hela’s giant dog was charging at the group.

Heimdall held his sword up, ready to fight.

Suddenly, a man fell from the spaceship that had been shooting at the dog. He crashed to the bridge, a crumpled heap.

The dog paused for a moment to sniff the body before he resumed his charge.

Y/n and Heimdall readied their stance, but just before the dog reached them, it was pulled backwards.

It was thrown back by a giant, green man.

Y/n was sure he was the Hulk. Thor had told stories of a scientist who could turn into a strong monster that had joined him in the fight on Midgard. On the other side, Loki claimed the Hulk was a savage giant with no respect. Whoever he was, she was impressed. He and the dog soon disappeared from view as they tumbled off the bridge’s side and into the water below. Y/n would have been worried if not for the hoards of Hela’s skeletal army that were rushing at them.

Y/n and Heimdall fought with everything they had, but there were too many of them.

Heimdall was slashed in his thigh, bringing him to his knees. With one swipe of his heavy sword, he took out three men, but another pushed him over.

Y/n rushed to help him but was stopped by another soldier. A loud blast startled her, and she jumped, narrowly missing the swing of his blade. She thrust her sword through his stomach, and he collapsed to the ground.

She turned, seeing a Kronan helping Heimdall to his feet. Beside him was a creature she couldn’t quite name but looked to be supported by a metal skeleton with knives for hands.

A loud noise called everyone’s attention. Through the fog, a spaceship appeared, and standing in front, with his arms raised, was Loki.

“Your saviour is here,” he called to the crowd. The ship was parked, with a ramp leading to the bridge. Loki climbed off. “Did you miss me?” he asked. His eyes scanned the crowd, and Y/n could tell he was looking for her and Bromm. Masking his fear, he directed everyone to climb the ship.

Y/n sheathed her sword and ran to her husband. “Loki!” she called, and he turned to her. She had never been so happy in her entire life. She launched herself into his waiting arms and breathed in the scent of her husband. She felt safe and comfortable in his arms, but she knew the time to celebrate was later. She pulled away.

Loki, not yet ready to let go, pulled her back. He cupped her face and kissed her like it was the first time. The rest of the world faded away as they got lost in each other.

It was only when Loki felt his leg be embraced that he was pulled back to reality. He looked down to see Bromm, hugging his leg. He bent down and picked up his son, hugging him close to his chest. “My boy and my wife,” he sighed happily, caressing Y/n’s cheek and bringing her closer. “I was so scared I had lost you.”

“We’re okay,” Y/n reassured.

The sound of fighting soon found its way back into their blissful minds, and they were pulled back to reality.

The adults shared a look of fear.

“Bromm, my love,” Y/n cooed, caressing his small face, “I need you to go on the ship and stay safe. Mommy and daddy will join you in a bit.”

“Y/n, you need to go on the ship, too.” Loki’s expression was stern, but so was Y/n’s.

“I’ve come this far; I am not going to sit back and relax until everyone is safe.” Loki knew she could not be argued with, but his eyes flicked to her belly. “We’re okay, Loki,” Y/n reassured, with a hand to her stomach. “The worst is over, but we’re not finished.”

Loki nodded with a huff. He set Bromm down, who joined up with his friends and made his way onto the ship. He gave one last look at his parents before he disappeared inside the giant vessel.

Y/n and Loki joined Heimdall and the rest of the new soldiers as they began fighting.

A bright lightning bolt filled the sky, and Thor jumped from the castle to the bridge, knocking down soldiers with his lightning blasts.

It didn’t take long for Thor to reach his brother.

Y/n was fighting one of the skeleton soldiers. As her sword thrust into its chest, she let out a breath of relief. She could see the brothers reuniting, and it filled her heart with warmth.

She didn’t even feel it at first.

All she knew was that she couldn’t breathe.

She looked down to see the sword protruding from her stomach.

The world went silent as the pain flooded her senses. She could see Loki running towards her, and she felt when he caught her, but she couldn’t hear his pleas. She didn’t hear him begging her to stay awake. Nor did she hear the whispered, ‘I love you’s.

As she started to fade, she could see his face. She smiled at him, raising a hand to his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered. She had no idea if he heard her or not, but seeing his smile, even though it was filled with sadness, was the perfect view as she drifted into darkness.

#sj writes #Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki #loki odinson #loki odison x reader #x reader #thor ragnarok #marvel

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out-of-jams · 4 years

Text

Vesper || jjk

↠ Vesper↞ “There’s a first time for everything.”

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings/Genre: doberman hybrid!kook. human reader. explicit language. fluff. PG 13. one shot.

This fic is apart of The Hybrid Collab hosted by @jeonggukkiepabo! A special thank you to Anna for bearing with my idiotic forgetfulness, aka me writing this and then forgetting to post it over my hiatus. 🥴 ᵖˡˢ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵃᵗᵉ ᵐᵉ (also it’s a lot shorter now than it had been when i’d written it bc sfw lol)

All works here are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission. That is illegal and you are stealing no matter if you give credit or not

Cold – adjective.

Definition: freezing your fucking ass off.

You were well acquainted with the word– all but became one with it– what, with how absolutely balls cold out it was. The line to get into Vesper was stretched all the way down the sidewalk outside of the building, and extended out of sight around the corner. Sounds of city life echoed through the streets, cars zooming in between traffic and music leaking out of the bars.

From the crack in Vesper’s backdoor, the beginning’s of a hip-hop song filtered from the expensive sound system. It was loud, eardrum-rattling so, and you closed your eyes, leaning against the brick wall off to the side. A cloud of white left your parted lips as your warm breath hit the biting chill in the air. It was too bad that you were nowhere near drunk enough for the weather not to bother you.

Why you’d chosen to follow your friends out in sub-freezing temperatures was a mystery. You hated clubs, how packed to the walls they were, filled with writhing bodies so close together like sardines. It made you feel utterly claustrophobic, but it was your friend’s birthday and so you couldn’t opt out of following along with the group’s plans for the night. Not that you were ever able to say no to them when they insisted on dragging you out to the place.

Vesper was a popular club that you were sometimes forced to go to, located in the heart of downtown that catered to not only humans, but hybrids as well. It wasn’t the first establishment to do so, seeing as how hybrids integrated into society more than a decade ago. No longer were they as discriminated against as they once were, back when they first came about.

No one was 100% certain on how they’d even come to be; some sort of radiation exposure. The first hybrids had been humans, before they changed, morphed. Due to some sort of exposure to radiation, their cells had multiplied and transformed over the course of a few weeks until half of their genetic makeup resembled animal genes.

While the blatant racism had died out over the years, some, the more elitist members of society, still discriminated against hybrids. Looked down at them because they were born to be ruled more by their animal instincts than their human counterparts. Treated them as less-than because they weren’t completely human, when they were really just misunderstood.

Because of the fact that they were more tapped into their animal side and therefore behaved that way, hybrids used to be seen as beings who could be let loose into society. Who could not “control themselves.” So they took them as pets, tried to tame and sell them.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you fished a cardboard box from the inside pocket of your coat. The sound of you tapping out a white cigarette was in time with the beat of the song pouring outside, and blended in with the cars honking out past the alleyway. Normally, you weren’t one for smoking. But after the stress of college finals week on top of the feeling of the walls closing in on you back inside Vesper, you’d asked one of your friends for their carton in hopes of calming your racing heart.

“Shit,” you murmured as you scoured your pant pockets for a lighter and then groaned when you failed to find one.

Because of course, your luck was anything but lucky and you really didn’t feel like trying to part the sea of sweaty people back inside in search of one. Pursing your lips, you let your head tip back against the brick wall behind you and let your eyes flit over the light polluted sky like it somehow held the answers to all of your life’s problems.

“Need a light?”

The addition of a new voice had you jumping away from the wall with a startled squeak. Hand pressed to your chest as if that would somehow restart your skipping heart, you whirled around. Standing in the now wide-opened back doorway into Vesper was a familiar face. Well, as familiar as a practical stranger could be.

Beneath the single, flickering light in the alley, his black t-shirt with SECURITY printed in white glowed in the surrounding darkness. It stretched itself over his broad shoulders, the bottom tucked into the slim waist of his pants. Your gaze slowly slid up his tanned neck, past his coral colored, pouty lips, sharp jaw, and the straight bridge of his nose. His wavy, dark hair was parted a little off-center, the sides falling over his forehead until it threatened to hide his stare from your view.

Finally, your eyes met his. Framed by long eyelashes, they were a bright, inhuman shade of lilac. Not all hybrids were equipped with the features of one, like a set of sensitive, animal-like ears or even a tail. If a human and a hybrid got together and had children, those kids would end up possessing more human cells than animal. Therefore, their appearances mirrored that.

But they were never completely indiscernible.

Just like every other time you’d ever laid your sights on him, your pulse skyrocketed and your stomach fell through the floor. And also like every other time, you pushed the feeling away and refused to acknowledge it. Because harboring a crush on a man who you’d only conversed with occasionally was a bad idea.

Especially when they were as handsome as he was.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Jungkook apologized shyly. His voice wasn’t too deep, nor was it high; lying right in the middle. Switzerland

“No, it’s alright.”

It was notalright, if only because the man made you feel flustered.

The only time the two of you really interacted was whenever he’d be scheduled to man security at Vesper’s entrance checking IDs. A small comment about the weather here, a compliment given with a flash of a smile with the reddening of cheeks there. Hell, the only reason you even knew his name was because it was etched onto the heart of his shirt.

“So,” Jungkook began, still standing in the doorway like some kind of club guardian. “Need a light?” He nodded his head at the unlit white stick tucked between your fingers, his parted hair brushing across his eyebrows with the movement.

“Oh. Yeah, you have one,” you asked.

He answered your query by pulling a lighter from the back of his pants pocket and finally slipped away from the door, leaving it open a crack so the two of you wouldn’t get locked out. The music flooding out from inside quieted down to a barely-there whisper. Pressing the cigarette between your lips, you almost faltered when he stepped close to you.

Jungkook’s body heat practically swallowed you whole as he entered your personal space with a cute smile pulling up at the corners of his lips. His two front teeth were a little too big for his mouth and you would’ve suspected his animal counterpart to be a bunny or rabbit of some sort if it wasn’t for his job. The small mammals tended to be pacifists and you doubted working as a security guard counted towards pacifism.

The lighter came to life with a clickand a tiny burst of flame, and you watched from beneath your lashes as he lit the end of your preferred cigarette. As soon as you felt the heat of the smoke sear itself into your lungs, a thought came to you.

“Wait,” you began, lowering the white stick from your lips to dangle from your cold fingers. “Doesn’t the smell bother you?”

Jungkook’s cheeks puffed up beneath the weight of another smile and he stepped back from crowding you to lean a shoulder against the brick wall. “My roommate, Yoongi, smokes. So I’m used to it.” He tapped a finger to his nose.

“If you’re sure,” you said hesitantly.

“I’m sure.”

Humming, you resumed your position of leaning against the brick, your shoulder only a few inches away from his. Hybrid’s tended not to wear perfume or cologne because of their elevated sense of smell, but Jungkook must have been wearing some. Or perhaps it was just the scent of his laundry detergent that drifted from his body like an invisible cloud.

It was comforting. In a way that you couldn’t quite understand.

Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, you took a slow drag from your cigarette and made care to blow the resulting smoke away from him. “Ditching work?”

He was looking out past the alleyway and towards the busy street beyond. Jungkook’s side profile was stunning even in the near darkness. “Technically, I amworking.”

“Oh?” Your voice was filled with amusement. “Expecting someone to pop out from the darkness like Batman and attack the club?”

He snorted, his tongue darting out to wet his soft looking lips. “Batman would never attack a club.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Shrugging, you sneaked a peak over at him again to notice him already looking at you. His violet hued eyes glowed brightly as they roved over your features appreciatively.

“How about a first date then?”

You sputtered, choking on nothing except air at his blunt words. “I–what?”

Jungkook broke eye contact for a moment, your reaction coaxing a light shade of pink onto his cheeks. “I like you. And I know we don’t really know each other, but we always end up running into each other, which is why I want to change that.” He looked back at you, expression soft. “If you’re interested, of course.”

“I..,” swallowing, your mouth opened and closed in shock before your tongue finally let the syllables slip. “I would like that very much.”

His answering grin lit up the shadows lingering in the alleyway.

#bts #bts fic #jungkook #Jungkook fic #bangtanarmynet #networkbangtan #magicshopnet #ficswithluv #btsbookclub

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fanfoolishness · 4 years

Text

Finding the Way (The Mandalorian)

(Cara Dune & Din Djarin. After the events of The Rescue, Din Djarin could use a friend. Cara Dune doesn’t know what it means to be a Mandalorian, but some things are universal. Friendship, angst, alcohol, religious questioning. ~2400 words.)

***

She found Din Djarin alone, after the Jedi left with the child.

Cara wasn’t sure exactly when he’d slipped away from the bridge; there’d been a lot happening. Bo-Katan and Kosca had been deep in conversation about their next destination, Fennec was pinging Boba to set up a rendezvous, and she’d busied herself with gagging the unconscious Moff and stowing him away in a corner with extra restraints. The bastard had a lot to answer for.

In all that, though, she hadn’t wanted to look at the Mandalorian without his helmet. It had felt too private, too close, to watch his goodbye with the kid. Once the Jedi left, it seemed he’d taken advantage of her inattention.

Without a ship, though, he hadn’t gone far. He’d only been missing for fifteen minutes or so when she realized and started searching for him on the security console. She gave a hasty request for the others to watch the Moff -- not as if Bo-Katan would let him try anything else -- and took the lift downstairs.

She found him the next floor down from the bridge, inside the officers’ mess. The half-opened door was scored with blaster fire; likely Din’s work when the doors wouldn’t open for him. She peered in through the half-opened door, glancing away when she saw his mussed brown hair, a glimpse of his face. She still wasn’t used to it, and still wasn’t sure if it was okay for her to see him like this.

“It’s me,” she called, rapping on the door with her knuckles. Surprising a Mandalorian was a surefire way to an early grave. “Can I come in?”

His voice sounded strange without the mechanical filter. Human. Almost small. “Do what you want.”

That was encouraging, at least. He wasn’t kicking her out entirely.

She entered the room, rolling her eyes at Imperial waste. Real wood paneling lined the walls, and instead of the spartan standard issue bench tables in the rank-and-file’s mess, individual tables with sleek surfaces and cushioned chairs dotted the room. Gideon himself must have taken meals here.

Din sat at the bar at the back of the room. There was a half-drunk cup of liquor beside him, his helmet resting next to it, its visor turned away from him.

“So… you okay?” Cara hazarded, taking the seat beside him. It looked like he’d made a decent dent in a slim bottle of aged Corellian whiskey. Only the best for the officers, of course. This stuff went for big credits in the Core, enough so that she’d never tasted it herself.

“I’m fine.” He didn’t look at her. He just stared straight ahead at the wall, brown eyes fixed on nothing in particular. From the corner of her eye she could see the color of his face seemed off, red and blotchy in places. Hell. He’d been crying.

Her stomach twisted. “Look… I’m sorry about the kid. I know that had to be hard.”

He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. “Grogu.”

“Sorry?”

“I found another Jedi a few weeks back. She said she couldn’t train him, but she was able to talk to him, mind to mind. He told her about his life before I found him. His name is Grogu.”

“Huh. Grogu.” She chuckled. “It’s cute. Suits him.”

A slight dip of his head, angled toward her. He was very still. She could see a muscle in his cheek twitching.

Blast. She was no good at this crap. She fished around for something to say, something that could help. Maybe she could get him to talk; listening might be easier. “You’re sure you’re fine? Because you don’t look fine.”

“I needed to help him find a Jedi,” Din said hoarsely. “I did what I was tasked to do. This is the W—“

But he cut himself off, turning his face away from her. His whole head moved to the side to shift his gaze, remnants of long years wearing a helmet. Every martial style had its tells, and she could see the differences between the ways Bo-Katan and Koska moved, and how the man beside her moved and battled. He was different from them, in fundamental ways, but she wasn’t sure why they could remove their helmets and he couldn’t. Until he did.

Cara shook her head. Think of something helpful. You can do this. “He’s gonna be okay, you know,” she said suddenly. “I know who that was. We droppers heard rumors during the war that a powerful Jedi took out the Emperor on Endor. It has to be him. Skywalker. What other Jedi would fly in here in an X-Wing?”

“Good,” said Din. He still wouldn’t look at her. “So the Imps will never take him again.”

“I’d like to see them try. I never knew a Jedi could do that,” said Cara. She’d heard stories, of course, but stories were one thing. Proof was another. “I’m just glad he was on our side.”

Din turned back to facing forward, jaw tensed. He nodded, a tight gesture that somehow seemed too broad for him. Without the helmet, it was disconcerting to see emotions popping up on his face, vanishing as quickly as they came -- sorrow, pain, shame. It almost would have been funny if it wasn’t so hard to look at. Live your life in a helmet, guess you never have to learn to control your face.

She took a guess at the emotion that flicked past, marked in the set of his eyes, the downturned lines at his mouth. “I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

“Maybe,” he said, and his gloved hands clenched on the table surface. He reached out and took a drink.

“I didn’t know you drank,” she said.

“I don’t.” His throat worked as he swallowed and drained the glass.

Oh. “Right.”

She reached out and took the bottle from him, pulling back a long slug on it. It burned, clean and fierce, but it was strong stuff. No wonder it sold for the price it did; she was surprised he wasn’t slurring already. “Be careful with this stuff, then. It’s not for lightweights.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, then lapsed again into quiet.

Like talking to a durasteel wall, she thought. “Look, I wanted to make sure you were okay. That was rough up there. I just -- if you want to talk about it, or something, I can listen.” She leaned back in her chair, taking another drink of whiskey. It seared. “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

He turned toward her, canting his whole head instead of just moving his eyes. There it was again, the tell that he’d lived in his helmet for a long, long time. He took a deep breath, but he still couldn’t make eye contact with her.

“I know he has to do this. I can’t teach him, not the way he needs. I have -- I had to let him go,” he said. The words sounded well-practiced, like he’d said them many times before.

“I know,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” She tried a small smile, though her eyes watered suddenly. “He -- Grogu -- he was crazy about you, you know?”

A slight shrug, shoulders scarcely moving.

“Well, he was. Looked up to you like anything. You guys have a bond.”

“I did what I could for him,” said Din, closing his eyes. “I hope it’s enough.”

“It is,” said Cara fiercely. “You loved him, man. No kid could ask for more than that.”

He was silent, and when he opened his eyes again, she could see that they were damp.

She swallowed, took another drink, unsure of what to say. The quiet filled the space around them, a weighty, crushing thing.

Eventually she forced herself to speak again, casting around for something to say. “So…. They’re making arrangements upstairs. We’ll be rendezvousing with Fett soon, but you’re always welcome on Nevarro, too. Greef was heartbroken when I told him the Imps had the kid again, so I know he’d want to help you now. Have you thought about where you want to go?”

“I don’t know.” He turned away again, shoulders squaring beneath his armor.

“Well, if you don’t want to stay planetside for a while, it sounds like those other Mandalorians want your help. Honestly, if anyone could take back Mandalore, I’d put even credits on them. And on you. Dank farrik, you even have that sword now.”

“I don’t want it,” he bit out.

“Yeah, I heard. But you have it. May as well use it, right? Why give up a tactical advantage?” asked Cara. “Sounds like it belongs in the hands of a Mandalorian anyway.”

“All the more reason for me not to wield it,” said Din, and there was something sour, something wrong, in the way his face twisted.

She stared at him, raising her eyebrows. “What? Wait. Are you saying —“

“I broke the Creed. I showed my face,” he said, his voice cracking. “I had a choice, and this is what I chose. I am no longer worthy of my beskar.”

Cara tried wrapping her mind around it, remembered dragging him in from the battlefield, his blood hot and slick on her hand, the panic in his voice when she tried to remove his helmet to save his life. “You chose to show your face to your child who needed you. You did the right thing for you both.” It didn’t make sense to her. “I thought your people wanted to help foundlings. Well, you helped him!”

“It is forbidden,” he forced out.

“You’re still a Mandalorian—”

Anger, grief, pain, rapid-fire flashes in his eyes and face, every muscle tensing for battle. “You have never sworn the Creed. You know nothing about it!”

She bristled, fighting the urge to say something harsh, or worse, throw a punch at him to knock the sense back into him. Beside her he was breathing harder, chest visibly rising and falling rapidly. She bit her lip.

“Okay, okay, maybe I don’t know what it’s like to be a Mandalorian,” Cara admitted sharply, lifting her hands to calm him. “But I do know what it’s like to turn away from something you spent your whole life believing. Alderaan had no army, remember?”

He breathed a little slower. The flush of red in his face receded. “You never told me why you became a soldier. I assumed, after what happened --”

Her mouth twisted. “Close, but not exactly. I started seeing what my people couldn’t, before it happened. The Empire was rising and people were dying. Diplomacy stopped working a long time ago. When I told my family I had to fight, even if that meant killing, they turned their backs on me.”

“They were blind,” said Din. “The Imps weren’t going to stop expanding with peaceful protest.”

“Maybe,” she said. This was the hard part. The part that had taken her years to understand, that she was still trying to figure out. “I think now… we wanted the same thing. We just saw different paths to peace. They thought pacifism was the way. I saw the Empire killing people, terrorizing them, and that wasn’t peace. I had to fight for peace to even begin to exist.” She wiped her cheek, fingertips brushing over the tattooed Tear. “So I was offworld, trying to become a new recruit, when the Empire showed Alderaan what they thought about peaceful resistance.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him a tight, painful smile. “But the thing is, Mando, I’m still Alderaanian. No one can take that away from me but me. Not the Empire, not my family, not the royal house of Alderaan. Even if my family didn’t understand why I did what I did, I knew I was fighting to bring peace. That’s what makes me Alderaanian.” No matter what.

He gazed at the beskar helmet, shining beneath the overhead lights. Its black visor was an empty void, disconnected from its bearer.

She let out a bark of a laugh, blinking away tears. “I don’t know, man. It’s your life. Your Way. But if your Way won’t let you show your face to your own kid when he needs you, maybe some of those rules should change. If you still feel like a Mandalorian, I think that’s what makes you one, and not what anybody else says.”

He closed his eyes, hanging his head slightly. He shifted in his seat with a small clink, one armored arm now resting against his helmet. “I don’t know what I am now.”

Cara took another drink from the bottle, finishing the last of the whiskey. “We’ve got two women up there who’d kill you in a heartbeat if you said they weren’t Mandalorian, and they show their faces clear as day.” She shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to them about some of this stuff. You could put it together with the old Way and make something new, something that feels right. But for what it’s worth, Mando… you’ll always be a Mandalorian in my eyes.” She clapped a hand over his shoulder, the beskar cool beneath her palm.

“It’s not --” He struggled, mouth thinning, before he let out a long breath. “That’s very kind,” he said slowly. He turned his head to look at her at last, searching her face. He looked strangely vulnerable like this, far more so than he had dying in the dust of Nevarro.

She nodded, attempting to smile, her mouth not quite getting there. “Well, it’s true.”

His face shifted into uncertainty. “Perhaps the Way of the Mandalore is not… the only way to be a Mandalorian.” He looked down at his helmet and swallowed. “I’ll speak with the others, at least.”

“It’ll take time,” Cara said softly. “You don’t have to figure it out right away. Just… maybe hang on to your armor for a while, that’s all.”

He was quiet. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Sure,” Cara said, nudging him with her shoulder and giving him a quick smile. “Any time. After all, what are friends for?” She leaned over the counter, pulling down another bottle of Corellian whiskey and grabbing an empty glass. “What do you say to a toast?”

A dry chuckle. “Sure. You’ll have to tell me if I’m doing it right. I’ve never done this before.”

“I think you’ll get the idea.” She poured them each a glass, and raised hers high until it caught the light. “To Grogu.”

The edges of his mouth turned up, just slightly. Just enough. He raised his glass to clink to hers, his brown eyes bright, his voice warm. “To Grogu.”

The whiskey burned in her throat, clean and pure. To finding the Way.

#the mandalorian #cara dune #carasynthia dune #din djarin #noromo mando #star wars #the child #grogu #my mando fic

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potahun · 4 years

Text

Some rough translations from Liu Yuning (HYJ’s actor)’s Live Broadcast on 7 January 2021, because he talked about Ultimate Note (and HeiHua) a lot:

LYN (18:45) - about the wooden knife: “(...) With Hua’er Ye, the separation scene between Xiao Hua and I, and with Tuo Ba too, you see which one, right? (...) That scene was in the original script. The lines were already complete. (He makes a parenthesis here to talk about how this adaptation really respected the original works, including the words used) But during that separation scene, there’s this one part -- the one where I gift a knife to him. A small wooden knife (...) That’s something we added ourselves.........That’s something we added, because it wasn't in the original script. How did that small knife come about? At that time, I was filming. I have an acting teacher who, while on set, saw one of the staff from the props team carving that small wooden knife. (...) So we discussed with the director, I said “that scene is a separation with Xiao Hua, right? For a separation, just using words might be...I think perhaps we could add an item there. We might not even need to add any lines.” (...) But this item strengthened the ...bond between these two people. So that knife is something that we added. (...) I think it’s quite nice, at least it doesn’t ruin the original script, and it strengthens the feelings - the bond between these two people (...)”

LYN (22:50), talking about the comments he saw on Ultimate Note: “(...) In the first few episodes, I saw “I cannot accept that this Hei Yanjing has a round face”.....This comment stabbed my heart for 3 days straight. Really. (...) Well, let me explain first to everyone what was going on back then! Right now my face isn’t that round, right? Why? First, because I added the filter that makes my face slim - no that’s not it. First, it’s because the me at that time had just done a small surgery on my vocal chords. (...) After the surgery, I had to stay home for a whole month without speaking. So what to do? Eat. I ate for a whole month and went straight afterwards to film that show.”

LYN (57:52) - about any chance for a S2 and budget use: “A friend is asking here, will Ultimate Note have a 2nd season? (...) First of all, I’m just an actor. (...) Ok, I’ll talk about it properly. Will it have a 2nd season? To be honest, I personally hope it will. (...) I believe if you asked me to act Hei Yanjing a 2nd time ...I can’t say the 1st time was good, it wasn’t. But I might be able to -- because I’m also growing, right -- to express this role a bit better. (...) So I hope it will have a 2nd season. (...) Because let’s be honest, I think the crew took a lot of care in making this show. (...) Most of the budget and everything went into the production...the special effects, the scenery, things like that. So the actors like us....*smiles* well of course, they gave me money too, I shouldn’t say it like that, but what I mean is, a lot of the attention went into the making. It’s not a show where, for example, the actors use up a lot of the budget and the production gets less in comparison. (...) So I’m thinking, well, this show could be considered a small, small success? -- I don’t dare to issue a judgment on it, but in my heart, it is a success. (...) So will it have a 2nd season? I hope so, but until now, I haven’t received news that we can film such a thing. (...) Don’t expect too much. For other shows, sometimes, S1 is popular, and then they have trouble shooting S2, because after the 1st season’s success, all the actors increased their prices, so they might not be able to sign on for the 2nd one. But I think for this show (...) each of the actors really like this show. So they might choose to accept to play in this show, even if it means they get paid less. Starting from me, if you tell me this show’s got a different revenue from what I usually get, I’d still want to play it -- that’s how good it is. (...) *reading a comment* “Careful with what you say, boss”. Yes, I almost didn’t control myself just now.... Almost.”

He later mentions that to film certain scenes, they’d really go deep into the mountains, drive for hours and then actually have to climb very steep roads, to places inaccessible by car.

LYN (1:02:02) - about Xiao Hua’s actor Liu Yuhan: “*reads* “Talk about your CP”. Oh, you mean Xiao Hua, right? The actor for Xiao Hua, what I want to say is, I was very happy to collaborate with him, because he...really is a nice person. Just talking about getting to know him outside the story, and not as a character, he’s a very nice little fellow. He’s very honest. He’s also from Dongbei like me. His usual state is of course not as cold as the Xiao Hua in-story, not as “cool”. In reality, he’s still quite laid-back as a person, quite...fun. Kind of like a kid. Well, not really a kid, but...he’s younger than me, so in my heart, he’s like a little brother.” He explains that they tried to have a meal together more than once post-filming, but never managed.

LYN (1:03:35) - about the postcard: “That postcard at the end, the one about the 1,000 sheep...Many people didn’t understand when they watched it. What was that 1,000 sheep about? Actually, it’s because Hei Ye jumped down at the end....with the hairy monster...he jumped down. (...) So that postcard first paves the way for what comes after (aka the storyline in Sha Hai). And on another note, it’s to prove that Hei Yanjing isn’t dead. Because that postcard is what Hei Yanjing left to Xiao Hua. (...)”

LYN (1:07:38) - about Hei Xia Zi as a character: “Actually, he’s not a real miser. (...) He does really like money, there is a little bit of a greedy vibe to him. But you’ll discover that many times, he didn’t actually receive money, and still went ahead and did the thing. (...) He’s actually a lot more about loyalty, and courage, and responsibility. There’s not one thing where he was like “if you do not transfer 10,000 to me, I definitely won’t do this thing for you”. But he will have a vaguely threatening air, and make it seem like he doesn’t care that much about bonds/friendships. (...) He simply has his special way of doing things. He might also have his own type of apathy. After all, a person, after experiencing so much - because as I said, he counts as a person who’s lived a long life (...), he wouldn’t care as much about many things related to time. So in reality, he doesn’t care that much about money either. His love of money is a personality trait, but the premise to anything he does is definitely not money, it’s rather loyalty. It’s feelings.”

LYN (1:09:39) - about Hei Yanjing’s real name written in the sand: “Someone asked “what did Hei Yanjing write in the sand, is it ‘Liu Yuning’?”......Yes. I wanted to write ‘Modern Brothers Liu Yuning’ at the time.”

LYN (1:12:00) - about Hei Yanjing’s age: “As someone who just acted this role, I don’t know how old he is either. But he’s definitely someone who’s lived a long life. (...) In the state I was acting him, he must have at least been a few hundred years old. (...) How many hundreds, I have no way to ascertain.”

LYN (1:12:49) - about the fried rice prop on set: “It tastes pretty good. (...) But the problem is where we were filming, (...) we were mostly in Yun Nan. The temperature there was over 40°C. When it was low, it was a little above 30°C. (...) The fried rice would turn sour in no time. (...) So you’ll find out that, throughout this entire show, Hei Ye loves to eat fried rice with green peppers and meat, but hasn’t eaten a single mouthful. He’s just feeding Xiao Hua with it. And the reason why Xiao Hua looks disgusted is because it’s really sour.”

LYN (1:14:00) - more bts stories about the heat and stench: “That scene where we first fall into the tunnel. That tunnel from the time of the Republic. (...) That tunnel, my God! (...) The temperature outside was 40°C. Inside, most of the scenery was made from foam. (...) The temperature inside that environment was incredibly hot, unimaginable, and on top of that we were wearing leather. (...) And do you remember when we first fell into the tunnel with Xiao Hua and we dug up a place? (...) The bones on the floor were all purchased real bones from sheep or pigs and so on. (...) Think about the temperature in there. In one night, the stench was impossible. (...) When we were filming, the stench was so bad, you felt like you couldn’t live on anymore (...) My God...At the time, as soon as I walked into that place, I was dumbstruck. Xiao Hua and I made eye contact and just went... “do you smell this?” He went “I can’t even hear what you’re saying anymore, I’m already knocked out.” (...) The director went “Let me see! ...............My God. Props director, what do we do with this?” And the Props director said “What our show cares about is making things realistic. We want to make the original works real. We want the props to be as real as possible.” (...) We also have to respect that Props director’s professionalism, right? (...) So the Director said “Ok, then let’s do this, let’s prepare some cologne.” (...) Poured it. Poured 2-3 bottles of it into the place... It made everything WORSE. The normal stench was simply stinky. But the cologne -- that thing has volatility!! (...) Do you know how stinky it was, exactly? It felt like even my arms could feel the stench. We held on for 3 days to film that part. That stench, my God. It’s a smell I can remember my whole life.”

#hei yanjing #dmbj #ultimate note #liu yuning #liu yu ning #liu yu han #liu yuhan #xiao hua #xie yuchen #dao mu bi ji #dmbj cast #Liu Yuning talks a LOT #but anyways I found the bts stories amusing #and yeah so the knife was added during filming and it stuck til the end #bless #heihua

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sometimesiwrite · 3 years

Text

The Way It Is

Prompt: Fake Dating

Pairing: Lambert & Essi Other Characters: Julian (Jaskier), Eskel/Geralt

Rating: Teen Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings; platonic/queerplatonic dynamics; pressure to engage sexually; coarse language; alcohol/intoxication; modern AU.

Summary: When Essi and Lambert are setup on a blind date, they don’t expect to get along as well as they do. However, when they decide to keep their relationship platonic and non-romantic, they realize they might face some uncomfortable pressure. For the sake of simplicity, they decide to tell people they’re dating, but is it sustainable?

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Essi fidgeted with the bent corner of her cafe menu, looking around at the various styles of local artworks hanging on the walls. She was early by about ten minutes, but that didn’t stop her from checking the pearlescent dial of her watch every thirty seconds. Finally, the bell above the door tinkled and a man walked in. Essi could tell from the way he was looking around that he was there to meet someone—her. The only other people sitting alone in the cafe were working on laptops and tablets; no one else waiting for a date. And this man was most certainly looking for one.

He was handsome in a ruffled sort of way, though he’d clearly put in a bit of effort. His black casual dress shirt and slim light-wash jeans fit his lean frame impeccably, and a subtle quantity of mousse was clearly doing its best to tame his short, scruffy brown hair. Even his bristly beard appeared to have been trimmed recently. Though there was nothing particularly remarkable about his clothing, there was something striking about the way he carried himself, a devil-may-care sort of presence that Essi appreciated. For a blind date, she thought, it certainly could be worse. Allegedly, they knew each other, at least based on his abruptly out-of-the-blue text, and the closer she looked, the more her memory of him crystalized.

A loud ping! emitted from Essi’s phone and the man looked up from his own cellular device, clearly having just texted.

“Uh, Essi? Essi Daven, right?” He took a step towards her and leaned in, pointing to his phone screen.

“Yes,” Essi stood to shake his hand, “hi.”

“Nice to see you again. Lambert.”

They sat down awkwardly, both struggling to find the will for smalltalk.

“So…” Lambert had become keenly interested in a black-and-white digital photograph behind Essi’s shoulder.

“Listen,” Essi could feel the words start to tumble out of her mouth, and it was too late to do anything about it. Lambert raised an eyebrow, “I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just going to be honest and probably regret it later: I don’t really do this. Dating. I find it strange and uncomfortable and if I’m perfectly honest I think I’d rather die.” She didn’t cringe apologetically, which would have been the expected behaviour to accompany an outpouring of disinterest. Instead she stared at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly pursed as a muscle in her neck twitched, waiting for his response.

Lambert laughed. Genuinely laughed—a joyful release of tension and dread, “Oh, thank Fuck!” Essi blinked in pleasant surprise and watched as Lambert began to relax.

“Excuse me?” Her startlingly blue eyes widened in amusement.

“No, no, I just mean—I would absolutely and one-hundred percent, without a doubt, rather die in a hole than date,” Lambert slotted the edge of the menu under his fingernails and let his eyes wander a little more freely around the cafe.

“So then… why?”

Hm. Direct, frank, amusing lack of filter… the memories were starting to come back from what limited, heavily inebriated, time they’d spent together.

There was something about the straightforwardness of this endearingly odd woman that made Lambert feel infinitely more comfortable. Usually, any kind of interaction with the potential of building mutual interest made him feel like he was playing a game he didn’t know the rules to. The signals, the code words that never meant what they said: having sex on the first date means you’re a slut; not having sex on the third date means you’re a prude; grabbing coffee means this; having dinner means that; if they your arm but don’t invite you up, it means that they’re actually a KGB operative and need to give you the launch codes for a super secret missile...

Fuck that, we have words for a reason. Say what you mean and don’t waste my time. For that reason alone, Essi was already scoring quite well in Lambert’s books.

He shrugged, “You somehow remembered me from the KM Christmas party almost six months ago, and still asked for my number. I figure that at least deserves a coffee and a conversation.”

Essi was bewildered, “I didn’t ask for your number, you texted me.”

Lambert shook his head, “Impossible. No offense, but I absolutely guarantee you I did not.” He produced their short text exchange and scrolled to the top of their conversation:

Hi, is this Lambert? From the KM Christmas party?

You might not remember me, we got talking about

the political situation in Kashmir after about…

Too many drinks. Eeep!

Anyway, I’d love to get a coffee sometime, if

you’re interested.

Sorry, this is Essi Daven.

You called me Goldilocks at one point and

seemed amused XD

Hope you’re well!

Essi snatched Lambert’s phone, shocked and slightly outraged as she reached for her own device, opening her thread with Lambert. The text at the top was not from her, but from the man across from her:

Yeah, hi, this is

Lambert-from-the-KM-Christmas-party.

As it happens, I remember you and our

conversation quite well. Not many folks

happily get into drunken political discussions

You know what, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a

coffee.

Let me know if you’re free in the next couple

weeks!

Lambert gestured emphatically at Essi’s phone screen, “In what world is this an acceptable way to ask someone out?! I wouldn’t have said yes to that!”

“I don’t know,” Essi fired back, “It was straightforward! I found it charming, okay? Is that a crime?”

“No, but I have some serious concerns about your taste in men.”

“Like you’re in such a fine position to judge after the hollow, paltry invitation you accepted—which I absolutely did not write, by the way. I want to make that perfectly clear.”

“Alright, alright, cool your jets, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Lambert narrowed his eyes as he passed Essi’s phone back to her, “You didn't fire the first shot, so who texted me from your phone and cleared the history?”

Essi nibbled the inside of her cheek, “I can think of a few.”

“Okay, next question,” Lambert pocketed his phone, “who added you to my contacts before you texted. Because we did not exchange numbers six months ago, but your name was already there when I received it.”

Essi shrugged, “Who has access to your phone?”

“I dunno. Really just Eskel and Geralt and neither of them would—”

“Geralt.”

“Why him?”

Essi’s bright blue eyes turned steely and murderous, “Julian… They’re working together.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me that Geralt the-last-thing-I-need Rivia and Julian Alfred these-aren't-my-pants Pankratz think we're so helplessly undateable that they decided to secretly set us up?”

“Eskel doesn’t know me that well; he wouldn’t try to set you up with someone he hadn’t vetted. Who did you talk to first when you got that text from me?”

Lambert’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, they’re working together.”

Essi nodded, a flood of embarrassment warming her cheeks. “Sorry to waste your time. You’re very nice but, um, I should just…” she got up to leave.

“Wh-hey, hold up. I mean, if you wanna go, go, that's fine, but there's something you might want to know first.”

Essi tossed her yellow bangs out of her eyes, “Oh? What's that?”

“This,” Lambert produced an Amex credit card from his breast pocket, “is Geralt's.” The cheeky glint in his eyes was a very convincing argument.

“Fine then. Coffee and a conversation.”

The coffee was hot and decent, and the conversation meandered through the usual topics of music, movies, and television, but also dipped into deeper waters as they grew more comfortable with each other’s company. Of course, it didn’t hurt that neither of them had any stakes in the outcome of this “date”. It made it easier to be frank and open, which in turn led to them quickly enjoying their time together. So much so that coffee turned into lunch, which turned into a long walk in the pleasant weather, which finally landed them outside Essi’s apartment, just around dinner time.

“I have to say, this was actually a pleasant encounter,” she said, turning to face him with a characteristic toss of her bangs.

“Yeah, who’d’ve thought two people forced together by meddling friends would actually find it enjoyable?”

“In light of that,” Essi squared her shoulders and found Lambert’s hazel-brown eyes, “I think it’s fair to say I want to see you again.”

He cringed regretfully and scratched the back of his head, “Ahh, yeah, so… I don’t know if that’s really--”

“Oh, relax,” Essi smirked with a casual touch to Lambert’s forearm. “I don't mean like that. I just mean--you're interesting and fun and, well I don't have many close friends and I feel like we connected well today.”

“Well…”

“I'll make it even simpler: I absolutely, one-hundred percent, am not interested in dating you.”

“Easy there, you know I love it when people get all straightforward with me.”

“I mean it, I just want to be friends,” she toyed back, trying her best to look sultry. It kind of worked.

Lambert bit his lower lip in mock arousal, “Mmm, oh yeah...”

She swayed her shoulders forward and back, doing her best to emulate the seductive actresses and models of the 1950s, “I want to Netflix and chill with a documentary about Soviet propaganda.”

Her last comment prompted a playfully stern look from her companion, “Careful now, you’re wading into actual turn-on territory.”

“You're such a weirdo,” Essi chuckled, giving him an endeared shove. “Seriously, though, would you like to do this again? Friends?”

He nodded sincerely, “Yeah, I think I'd really like that. Just one problem, though.”

“If we claim not to be interested in each other but keep hanging out we’ll never hear the end of it?”

“Bingo.”

Essi hummed thoughtfully and nibbled the inside of her bottom lip, “Well… we could always… pretend?”

***

“Sounds like you two are hitting it off. I’m glad. I know Essi’s been feeling a little isolated between work and being new to the city.” Geralt closed the fridge with his foot and headed towards the sofa, popcorn in one hand, three beers in the other. “I’ll take my card back, by the way.”

Lambert reluctantly handed the Amex back in exchange for a beer and perched on the arm of the sofa. “She’s really something. We’re, uh—yeah, hitting it off is a good word.”

And hitting it off, they were. The last ten days since their first “date” had been more enjoyable than all the dates he’d had in the last year combined. Essi was a fantastic companion: sharp, witty, kind, took no bullshit… They had done absolutely nothing but hang out, and no one had pried them for many details about the nature of their relationship. As far as their friend group was concerned, they were simply dating in the way that most adults dated. This also meant more time to themselves without unwanted interruptions (namely Julian barging in with his spare key to gossip about whatever fires were currently alight on twitter). The first night Lambert had been over, it took Julian all of five minutes to “grab something from the fridge” before parting with a knowing wink.

To her credit and imagination, Essi had expertly fielded her cousin’s initial barrage of questions when she first announced their “involvement.” It wasn’t that she didn’t like her cousin, Essi adored Julian, but she was also the first to admit that the man had no boundaries. What he lacked in that arena, he certainly made up for with opinions, which he was always more than happy to bestow on his younger cousin—usually dating advice, almost always unsolicited. Lambert had a much easier time convincing his side that he and Essi were taking it easy to see where things went. Between Eskel being a consummate gentleman and Geralt having his own Delicate Sensibilities, neither of them had demanded any details.

“As long as you’re both happy and everything’s healthy, that’s all that matters,” Geralt’s partner reiterated, reaching into the bowl on Geralt’s lap.

“Jesus, Eskel, you sound like my Nonna.”

“That's no way to talk to your father,” Geralt smirked into his hand of popcorn

“You're no better,” Lambert took a swig from his beer, lips popping as he lowered the bottle. “I swear, you've turned into a couple of mother hens since you two got together. Quit fussing and watch the game.”

Geralt put his arm around Eskel’s shoulders, “We have gotten a little soft haven’t we?”

Eskel huffed out a laugh, “Probably. Hey, Lambert, don't fuck it up or I'll kick your ass into next week.”

“Thank you. See? Was that so hard?”

“Eh,” Eskel shrugged, helping himself to another handful of popcorn, “I stand by my original statement. Geralt agrees.”

“It's true,” he said between mouthfuls. “Essi’s a good woman. Smart, talented, kind, attractive.”

Eskel cleared his throat.

“Eskel, she is, it's just a statement of fact it doesn't mean that she doesn’t have other…”

“I know it doesn't but I still think you could bear to be a little more…”

“Funny thing,” Lambert interrupted, “I still can’t figure out how this smart, talented, kind, attractive woman’s number programmed itself into my phone. Because I may have been drunk the night we first met, but I have never in my life forgotten a successful number grab. Fess up, fellas. Who was it?”

Eskel’s eyes widened, “Geralt, you didn’t.”

“I… may have… helped Julian gain access to Lambert’s phone.”

“Unbelievable. The betrayal,” Lambert shook his head, eyes still on the game. “If only there was some way to square things up…”

“You charged everything to my company card, didn’t you?”

“First two dates and a fresh pair of pants. Thanks, bud.” Geralt accepted a pat on the back as Eskel began gently but sternly berating him.

Lambert shook his head, smirking as he took another swig of beer, leaving the two lovebirds to bicker amongst themselves. His hip pocket buzzed and he checked his phone: Essi.

Next Wednesday? Pizza and a movie? Still can't believe you haven't seen Ocean’s Eleven.

Yeah, okay, fine. Jeez :P 7:30 my place? I'll provide beverages.

If by ‘beverages’ you mean watery beer…

Fuck off, I'll get the good stuff. Unless you prefer Arbor Mist or some shit.

*gasps* I am offended! (but also it's delicious)

*sigh* do you want me to get you some?

*turtles into hoodie* ...peach or cherry pls?

Haha okay, fine, I'll get a bottle. Can't promise I won't judge you forever, though ;)

It's okay, I deserve it. g2g, see you tomorrow! xox

***

Lambert groaned contentedly, massaging his stomach as he sprawled back on his aging brown sofa, long legs resting habitually on the coffee table. The now-empty pizza box lay abandoned on the far edge, accompanied by four empty beer bottles, and a nearly-empty, unfavourably warm Peach Arbor Mist. The toilet flushed and Essi emerged. Her dark gold hair had long ago been pulled into a messy bun, but her indigo skinny jeans had been replaced by soft-looking grey leggings.

Lambert shook his head in amusement as she settled back next to him on the couch, "I still can't believe you brought your own lounge pants"

"That's because I'm a genius," she quipped, crossing her legs and adjusting the height of her waistband. "Besides, when else will I have the opportunity to actually be comfortable during a date?"

"You took your bra off, too, didn't you?" Lambert asked without missing a beat, eyes never leaving the screen.

"Yup!" Essi confirmed, her sparkling blue eyes glinting with joy as she raised her glass to her lips.

The movie continued as the new friends settled into comfortable silence, their food-drowsy, alcohol-fuzzy states lulling them into a new level of comfortability around each other. Legs fell asleep, positions were adjusted, and shoulders leaned on as the two sought maximum comfort for minimum effort. Soon, an arm was around Essi's shoulder as she settled her cheek on a comfortable spot on Lambert's chest.

"You good?" Lambert asked, only half-irritated at her seemingly endless search for the perfect angle.

"I'm sorry, I thought I'd found a good spot, but..." A few more adjustments of her head and Lambert couldn't take it anymore.

"Jesus, woman, here. Get up for a sec."

Essi sat up as Lambert rearranged himself into a sort of semi-recline with one foot on the floor so his other leg could make room for the tiny pain-in-the-ass that was taking up the rest of the couch space. At his invitation, she wriggled up to the crook of his arm and quickly settled in. Lambert hadn't really thought about what they were doing. Not when Essi had harmlessly leaned against his arm; not when their weight settled into each other; not when Lambert had put his arm around her; not even as he was rearranging to get to where they were now. It had all just... happened. Now, though, with Essi lying still, Lambert felt the weight and warmth of her body shifting gently against his, and it dawned on him that this had the potential to be, well, weird.

But the strange thing was, it didn't feel weird. He'd fucking cuddled before, but there was always a sense of holding back, a tension in his body, being on the lookout for signals from the other person to move onto the Next Step. But now, he actually felt comfortable. There wasn't anything that was supposed to happen after this. Nobody was asking anything of him, no one sending signals he could pick up on but never read properly, no sinking feelings of dread as the other person moved in for a kiss that always felt too soon. Essi was just there, breathing, content. And Lambert was relaxed.

The woman half-on top of him gave a twitch as the credits started to roll, and Lambert let out a private laugh, "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, show's over."

Essi inhaled heavily through her nose and lifted herself up, "Hmmm?"

"Movie's over."

"Did I fall asleep? I'm sorry!" she sat and rubbed her eyes, taking a sip of water to rinse the stale taste from her mouth.

"Eh, only a little." Lambert exited Netflix and tossed the remote back on to the table. "Thought you might wanna start heading home before it gets too late."

Essi nodded in response as she grabbed the pizza box and brought it to the kitchen trash, leaving Lambert to bring the empties.

"You going to finish this atrocity of a beverage?" Lambert waggled the near-empty wine bottle at Essi as he passed on his way to the sink. She merely scowled and shook her head, letting him pour it down the drain 'where it belonged anyway'.

Essi gathered her things and met Lambert by his front door, checking her pockets for her phone and keys one last time before putting her shoes on.

"You okay to walk? Want me to come with?"

It was only 10:30 on a weeknight, and she appreciated the gesture all the same, but it was fine to walk. "Thanks, though. And thank you for tonight. I really needed to get out of the house. I hope, um..."

She trailed off, not sure how to ask. She didn't have the same physical boundaries that most others seemed to have. She was affectionate—often overly so, and it had led to more than a few misunderstandings in the past. She didn't want Lambert to feel as though she had ulterior motives when the simple fact of the matter was that she hadn't really been thinking. Between the instant relief of not actually being on a date and Lambert's easy manner all evening, she'd forgotten that most friendships didn’t generally involve that much physical contact. Would Lambert be confused now? Thinking they were onto something more than friendship? Had he been wanting more? Had she pushed past a point of no return and doomed their friendship?

She inhaled, "Were you comfortable tonight?"

For a split second, Lambert flailed, wondering whether he’d made her uncomfortable. Fuck, she'd seemed comfortable, if anything it felt like he’d been following her lead but maybe...

"I—yeah. That was, I enjoyed that. Were... were you not—?"

Essi smiled and Lambert relaxed again, "No, I was. I wanted to ask in case, that's all. Boundaries and all that. I'll text you when I'm home."

Lambert opened the door and waved her off toward the elevator, "'Kay. 'Night!"

The door clicked shut.

Okay, alright. Fine. Did they cuddle? Yes. Did he enjoy it? Fuck yes. He absolutely didn’t care what anyone might think about how he chose to enjoy his time with other people. However, this didn’t stop him from acknowledging that he was in uncharted friendship territory. More than anything, he was worried about how Essi really felt. Of course, she had no reason not to be honest with him. But the last thing he wanted to do was play fast and loose with someone’s emotions, especially not a friend, and definitely not one as close as Essi. Time would tell. As Lambert’s head hit the pillow, the memory of her warmth and weight settled over him again, and he slept soundly for the first time in months.

***

“Yes Poppet, but have you slept together yet? Honestly, you’ve been dating for almost three weeks now, what could you possibly be waiting for?”

Oh, I don’t know, hell to freeze over? You to mind your own business? Whichever comes first…

“I mean, you clearly adore one another, I’ve never seen you happier. What’s there to lose?’”

Essi scoffed.

Julian placed his hands on her shoulders, “I know it’s been a while for you, but I think you can afford to let yourself go a little, have some fun, hm? Besides, it’s better to find out sooner rather than later if you’re sexually incompatible.”

She took a deep breath, “That’s a very good point, Julian, I’ll think about that.” The dating act was starting to wear a little thin, but it was worth not having to explain to anyone that they weren’t doing exactly what it looked like they were doing.

Julian took time to give his cousin a scrutinizing look, “Well, by the look of things it won’t be long anyway. If you spend all of your time together as tangled up as you were the other night when I came over, it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Just trust your gut, and when in doubt, a little hint never goes awry.”

Needless to say, Essi more or less ignored her cousin’s advice.

As the weeks stretched on, it became evident that they were quickly becoming what most people would consider to be more than friends. The first time they pulled the covers back and climbed into bed, each on their half of the mattress, they were aware that yet another boundary of friendship had been pushed a little farther into the grey zone. But, they woke up the next morning feeling happy, content, and refreshed, and surely there was nothing wrong with two people sharing a comfortable bed. Essi had woken up with crust in her eyes and her nightgown bunched around her waist. Lambert had woken up with morning wood and his hair a mess. Neither of them cared. People wake up in the morning, big deal.

Still, it didn’t stop the questioning that oscillated in the background of Lambert’s mind. Was he unknowingly leading Essi on by allowing her so much closeness without a clearly defined relationship? She’d made her own disinterest clear enough on their first “date”, but feelings change over time. What she’d told him three weeks ago might not be true anymore…

And then there was that soft warm tingle in the middle of his chest every time she lay her head in his lap, every time he ran his fingers through her hair. He knew he wasn't in love. Not that he was an expert, but what was all that "when you know, you know" bullshit if he couldn’t trust his own feelings? He loved her, sure, but more like a... not a sister, that would be weird. He didn't know what like. Whatever. Fuck it. Eskel had said it best three weeks ago: “As long as you're happy and everything’s healthy, that’s all that matters.” Yeah, sure. We’ll stick with that.

As far as Lambert and Essi were concerned, it was what it was, and whatever it was was working… wasn’t it?

***

"Fuckin' finally!"

The door to Essi's apartment clicked closed as the tenant wilted against it, emitting an exhausted groan, "Two. Hours. It took me two hours to get home!" She toed off her penny loafers and abandoned her purse and jacket in a pile by the front door, ignoring the hook three inches to her left. She flopped heavily onto her living room carpet.

"I see you found my spare key," she added, not at all surprised that Lambert had managed to let himself in.

"Yeah, you should probably put that in a less obvious spot," he answered, crossing to the door to hang her things up. "So, I see it's a lying on the floor kind of evening. Can I interest you in a drink to start? Vodka pairs well with the general vibe of Done-With-This-Shit, or we also have tequila if you feel like shouting out the window after a couple shots. Alternatively, there's gin if you want to cry later."

Essi smiled with her eyes closed, feeling her body slowly relaxing into the spongy throw rug underneath her, "You know me so well."

"Vodka?"

"Vodka. Euch, I need to vacuum!," Essi peeled herself to a seated position as clinks and clatters began in the kitchen. She hopped in the shower to rinse the day off, and after a few minutes, there was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Yeeees?" she called, playfully.

"Drink delivery!" Lambert hollered back, "you want this now or later?"

"Why are you so good to me?"

There was a draught of cool air as Lambert opened the bathroom door, "Because you only marginally annoy me. Here," he passed his hand between the shower wall and the opaque fish-scale-patterned curtain. "What's on the docket for tonight?"

Essi groaned, "I don't know, I'm sorry. I used all my brain cells trying not to murder people on the streetcar."

"Okay," Lambert sat on the lidded toilet, "here's the thing. I kinda maybe figured that might be the case so I kinda maybe picked up a few things to make dinner."

A shampoo-piled head poked out from behind the curtain, "You're kidding."

"Nuh-uh."

"I love you."

Lambert chuckled, "Yeah, you're alright. Come on, hurry up, this bathroom's a fuckin’ sauna, and I don’t want the croutons to get soggy." Essi burbled an answer about conditioner and almost done, and Lambert took that as his cue to leave.

Dinner was simple: pan fried Salmon with crispy skin (delicate and buttery on the inside); wax beans in butter (tender and not overcooked); grilled brussels sprouts (just beginning to brown on the edges); and a fresh caesar salad. Everything done to perfection. Full, content, and ready to take their relaxation to the next step they settled themselves on Essi’s blue-grey sectional to begin the arduous task of deciding what to watch.

This was proving particularly difficult with the addition of Essi's caveat that whatever they chose not be "too plot-heavy" which so far had included Masterchef, an interior design show, and program about shepherding in the Orkneys.

"Sweetheart, you gotta give me some slack here. I thought I was on track with the sheep!"

"I know, I'm sorry!" Essi muffled into his shirt sleeve. "I do like animals..." She gasped loudly. "BLUE PLANET."

Lambert stopped the endless scrolling and pushed play as the soothing voice of David Attenborough filled the small living room.

"Hey! Why'd you pause it?"

Lambert was standing up, "If we're going to do this, then we're doing it right. Hang on."

Essi slumped on the sofa as the microwave kicked on. In a few minutes, there was popcorn in their laps and half a bottle of vodka on the table with an ice bucket and lemon wedges in a bowl. Lambert read off his phone screen.

"We will take a drink when:

-David says 'Extraordinary' -David uses a clear understatement such as 'But then again, living in an active volcano is not without its risks' -An animal is being eaten -An animal is mating -There is sped up footage of a plant growing."

"Oh no," Essi lamented, chewing her popcorn ungracefully, "I'm going to get so drunk."

"You got it, Goldilocks. Fill up."

And with that, they were off, taking it slow with their vodka twists, but nonetheless feeling the warm buzz start to tingle under their skin. The box of microwave popcorn was empty by halfway through, and the remains of Essi's exhaustion had almost dispersed entirely.

"Ooh! Understatement! Drink!!"

By ten o’clock, pink-cheeked and feeling boisterous, they had finished with their favourite parts of Blue Planet, or at least the ones they had patience for, and had moved on to Planet Earth II.

“Holy fuck, that’s a lot of snakes—Go, you little fucker! Go!”

The drama on the screen had caused the two to separate from one another while Lambert invested himself in the success of the small lizard. Once the baby Galapagos Iguana had made it to safety, they were once again able to recline without Essi risking an elbow to the face.

She bundled against him, scooting farther between his legs where he leaned in the corner of the sectional. He gathered her hair and draped it over her left shoulder so it wouldn't get caught in his buttons—they'd learned that the hard way. It was still damp, cool to the touch, and smelled like verbena sea salt shampoo. He felt a pulse of affection ripple through him as her weight resettled. He loved that feeling. It had taken some time to get used to it. But now it was high on his list of favourite things. He was happy. And it was healthy. And that really was all that mattered.

Right?

Eskel’s words turned themselves around again in his mind as he wrapped his arm around the front of Essi’s shoulders. He let himself indulge in the texture of her cotton knit nightshirt under his fingers. He relished in the peace of mind at being able to just be there with someone who meant something to him and made absolutely no demands. He let himself relax.

Essi felt a kiss land on the top of her head with a playful, "Muwah!"

She giggled quietly, "Thank you!" Then, upon further thought… Did he want to kiss her? Her mind did a double take as she tried to get on top of the ball.

It wasn’t impossible. They were close after all, and she wasn’t opposed to the idea. She’d recently found herself in a balancing act of realizing she could, in theory, have a deeper kind of feeling for Lambert. Only if, for whatever reason, it turned out he felt the same way. These weren’t the helpless uncontrollable feelings of ride-or-die infatuation; they were malleable, translatable, general feelings of affection and fondness that belonged in any number of different relationships and dynamics.

No sense risking it, she thought. They'd found a liminal space of comfort and safety that she'd never experienced with anyone else before, and if the options were between being a little confused and ruining everything, the choice was an easy one. Then again, if Lambert was developing feelings for her, she didn’t want to miss an opportunity. Shit. Her cheeks burned as she felt the question rise closer to her lips.

"Lambert?" she sat up abruptly and turned to her friend who was still moulded into the corner of the couch, watching the mating rituals of exotic birds with bewildered skepticism.

He jolted at Essi’s sudden movement, "Hello, yes."

Her bright blue eyes were now slightly unfocused, "Do you—? Nevermind." She lay back against him, suddenly skittish..

"Mm, nah, try again," he said, sluggishly. "What’s up, buttercup?"

She swayed a little when she sat up, "Are you happy with what we are?"

Lambert blinked, caught slightly off-guard. The question was easy enough to answer, "Yeah! I mean I don’t know what the fuck we are, but I’m feeling pretty good about it. Shit, why? Are you not? I can be less… whatever. Or… more?" It wasn’t like he was repulsed by the idea of anything else happening between them—in theory it was a possibility. In practice, however...

Essi put an emphatic hand on Lambert’s knee, her glassy eyes going wide, "Do you want more?"

"What? No! I dunno, I—maybe. I haven’t really thought about it. I mean…” Lambert searched Essi’s face for any clue that might help him know how to proceed, “I don’t not want anything else. Fuck, I don’t know! I’m used to doing things the other way around. You know the drill: uncomfortable date, smoosh faces together, have sex, hope feelings fall out. Lather-rinse-repeat. I dunno, do we have to… But what if we try something and...? I don’t wanna lose this."

Essi leaned in close and whispered, “I have an idea.”

"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?"

"We should kiss."

Lambert nearly swallowed an ice cube, "What?!"

"Just once. Quickly. Just... in case."

"You want me, Lambert, to kiss you, Essi Daven, on the lips."

She nodded sincerely, "For science."

There was a brief pause during which Essi felt the beginnings of panic brewing in her stomach, but by the time she'd finished grappling with potential consequences, Lambert was filling their glasses.

"Alright. Fine. My friend wants me to kiss her for science? Fuck it. I'll drink to that."

They downed their drinks and squared up, knee to knee on the edge of the sofa as they each prepared for their best form—or as good as they could offer given the circumstances. They counted down, 3-2-1...

The kiss was quick, over as soon as it had begun, and both friends pulled away with questioning looks. Inconclusive. They tried again for a little longer, still returning with the same quizzical expressions. They went in for a third time, committing more thoroughly, and for a brief moment it seemed they might have found the semblance of a spark. But it didn’t build. It felt… fine? But no different than if they were lying together on the sofa. It was just another thing they were doing. They each tried to find the right word for what they were feeling, but were soon distracted by the oddness of it all.

Essi started to giggle. Less than a second later, Lambert joined her, and they both pulled away, thoroughly satisfied that their experiment had yielded a strong No on the subject of More. There was a dull thud as Essi slid from the couch and onto the floor, still holding her drink in one hand and laughing hysterically.

Lambert sighed and shook his head, "I think it’s time we got you to bed."

Headaches and dry mouths greeted the two friends the next morning when they blinked awake. Essi’s hair was a cotton-candy mess, having still been slightly damp when Lambert put her to bed. The brunet himself didn’t look much different from his usual scruffy state as he gathered Essi up in an armful of duvet and squeezed tight.

“Gods, Lambert, I still need to breathe,” Essi chuckled, pressing her back into his chest.

“You’ll get over it,” he teased and self-indulgently nuzzled even closer. “You feeling alright? I mean, aside from the hangover. About last night?”

“Oh no,” Essi groaned, “I’m so sorry, Lambert. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just—you kissed my head and then that got me wondering about whether you might want something else, and then I didn’t really know what was happening and—”

“Hey, easy on the rambling, okay, I’m running on limited brain cells, here. Look,” Lambert sat up to find those big blue eyes, now shining brightly, “I have no idea what the fuck this is that we’ve got going on, but I like it fine just the way it is.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And we can keep talking about that. Just, you know, maybe next time something’s on your mind, don’t wait ‘til we’re wasted at 2am?”

“Okay, deal. Can we go get bacon now?”

Lambert chuckled, “Yeah, alright, fine. Make me put pants on, I see how it is.”

Their conversation continued over strong coffee and eggs benedicts. Between their check-in that morning and everything that had happened the previous night, it was well-established that they were perfectly happy where they were. Rather, the main topic of conversation was their growing desire to level with their friends about the nature of their relationship. Eskel and Geralt, they both agreed, would be the easiest—Lambert could tell them that evening. Julian and Essi’s friends on the other hand would be a little more difficult.

Telling Julian together would be best, Essi thought. He was bound to have questions, and if both she and Lambert were there to answer them definitively and explain that no, they didn’t have secret feelings for one another; and yes, they really were just friends and not at all interested in exploring the relationship further thank you very much. Exactly when this discussion with Julian would occur still wasn’t clear. Realistically, they could pick any time, but they decided to wait until Lambert could tell the Old Men. At least then they were assured some less invasive support.

Their reaction was easy enough to predict: Eskel reassuringly repeated his standby “As long as you’re both happy with things…” and twirled a forkful of pasta; Geralt tilted his head thoughtfully and said, “That sounds very nice. I’m happy for you.” Lambert had expected mild disapproval, concern that they were deviating too far from the norm and into a complex dynamic that would be too messy to manage. Instead, Geralt simply said it ‘sounded very nice.’ Lambert smiled into the open refrigerator on his way to get a beer.

The following weekend was Julian’s birthday, and, as per their annual tradition, the group all gathered on Friday evening at the birthday boy’s favourite restaurant—Vegelbud’s. The two decided to tell him the week after his birthday so as not to detract from his Big 3-0. Just one more week, and it would all be in the open. Easy breasy.

The afternoon of the dinner, Eskel and Geralt received a group text: Haven’t told Julian the details yet. Keep the beans to yourselves please (I’m looking at you, @Eskel).

“Why me?” Eskel turned to Geralt over his paperwork, looking a little hurt.

Geralt chuckled, “You have a slight tendency to overshare when you want to be supportive.”

“I do?” He turned on the bar stool to follow his partner on the way upstairs.

“It’s not a bad thing, but…” Geralt sighed, “Lambert has always needed to feel in control of situations like this. He doesn’t want one of us bringing this up before he’s ready to talk about it, especially in a public place, you know how he gets when he feels cornered. And Julian is Essi’s cousin…”

Eskel raised a hand, “You’re right, you’re right. All points taken. Are you showering?”

Geralt smirked as he headed for the stairs, “Come on then.”

Four hours later and halfway through dinner, everything had gone swimmingly. The food had been expectedly delicious, the company and conversation excellent, and so far no one had felt the need to bring up Essi and Lambert’s relationship on any level. That is until Julian got a few drinks under his belt, and decided it was time to document the occasion. Geralt and Eskel were the first victims.

“Aww just look at you two! So in love, so vivacious and full of adoration,” Julian held up his phone as Geralt touched the side of his head to Eskel’s. Beep-Chk! A perfect image of a happy couple was captured and posted to Instagram (#julianturns30 #dinneratvagelbuds #dinnerout #cutiesofinstagram #favoriteotp #gaycouplesofinstagram #livelaughlove…). There were a few more photos of the three of them together, the white chocolate raspberry cheesecake with the candle in it, a group shot taken by the waiter. It was all so close to being over, Essi could practically taste the refuge of the streetcar.

"Come on, lovebirds, show us a smooch!" Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Essi’s stomach lurched and she felt her cheeks start to warm. Lambert’s hand landed gently on her knee under the table, his fingers pressing firmly into her leg as she desperately tried to think of something to say.

"Oh, um..."

Across the table, Geralt and Eskel shared a wordless communication: de-escalate, distract, redirect.

“You’ll want to eat that cheesecake before it gets warm” Geralt offered. “I hear it’s so light it’ll disintegrate in a heartbeat.” Eskel nodded in encouragement, taking a bite of his own.

“I know, I know,” Julian shrugged, “Just a quick one. Say Cheese!”

"Not right now, Julian," Essi tilted her head, her eyes flashing a little.

"Oh come on, Poppet! I know you don't like PDA, it's just one little picture--"

“Don’t call me Poppet.”

Eskel cleared his throat loudly, "Doesn't seem they're that keen on it. Maybe let's try for one another time."

"It's past your one-month-a-versary, let everyone see how in love you are."

"Julian," Geralt growled, "leave it."

Julian covered his mouth in alarm, "I’m so sorry, have you not used that word yet? I didn’t mean anything by it, I just want the world to see how happy my beautiful cousin is!"

“Really Julian, it’s not necessary we—” Essi’s fingernails were starting to dig into Lambert’s palm from the sheer effort of maintaining composure. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cry or disappear, and with neither of those being an option, it seemed the only possible escape was for them to kiss. They’d done it before. No big deal. It would feel off, but they’d just go back to her place and drink about it after.

“Essi, what’s the matter with you, it’s just one little picture, and we all know you’re not camera-shy. On three, ready? One, two…”

"For fuck's sake we're not dating!"

The table all silently turned their attention to Essi whose cheeks had been turning progressively redder.

“What?” Her cousin laughed incredulously.

“We’re not a couple, Julian. We’re friends. We have been from the beginning, but we didn’t want to tell you because we knew you wouldn’t fucking leave us alone until you could boast about having set us up.”

Lambert shared a brief look with Eskel before lowering his eyes to the tablecloth, his hand still firmly clutched in Essi’s.

Julian gaped, “So, it was all… the cuddling, the laughing, that time I came over and you were asleep on the couch, that was all… a ruse?”

“No, Julian, that was real. I told you, we’re friends.”

“That’s not friends! Since when have friends watched a movie half-on-top of each other?”

“Two people can enjoy each other's company lying flat, Julian,” Eskel’s rich voice interjected across the table and the discussion ground to a halt.

Geralt shrugged with his tea at his lips, “It is the twenty-first century after all.”

Julian’s cornflower blue eyes flitted back and forth between the two friends, utterly bewildered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well what with your complete and utter invasion of privacy for the sake of hooking us up, we didn’t necessarily trust you to believe us,” Essi answered curtly, her hand shaking slightly.

“Poppet, you could have just told me—”

“Stop. Calling me that. And I did tell you, Julian!” she exploded. “I told you the first day I moved here. The first. Day. I said, ‘Julian, I think I want to take a break from dating until I’ve been settled for a year.’ And what did you do? Conspired with my well-meaning former mentor to hook me up with someone I had one good conversation with at a Christmas party. And do you know what? We are happy. But we’re happy in our own way. And maybe our boundaries with each other seem a little strange to you, but we’re not fooling ourselves. We don’t want to kiss each other, we don’t want to have sex, and we don’t want a relationship. And even though it’s absolutely none of your damn business, I’ll tell you anyway: we’ve talked about it. All of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t think I want to be here anymore.”

The chair legs scraped against the floor of the restaurant as Essi stood to leave, throwing her purse over her shoulder as she went. Lambert looked hesitantly around the table, “I should probably, you know…” He gestured after Essi with his thumb. Eskel gave Lambert the go ahead and he quickly stood to follow his friend out of the restaurant, leaving a very stunned Julian with the other two. He found her perched on the parking barrier in the small lot to the left of the front doors. He called to her and she looked up. Eyes shining, mascara running...

“Ah shit, you know I’m no good with this kind of thing.”

“I’m sorry, Lambert, I just—” she blew her nose, “—he just wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what to do or say, and it all just came pouring out. I didn’t want it to. The whole time I was begging myself to stop, but I just couldn’t, it’s been bottled up for so long and-and—but it’s his birthday, and—oh, he must feel so awful! I didn’t want to make him feel bad, but—and with Eskel and Geralt there too! They must think I’m horrible! I’m so sorry, Lambert, I didn’t want it to be like this, I wanted to have him over and sit him down and be patient, and instead I’ve just made a complete mess of things. And on his birthday! It’s his birthday, oh God, this is the worst thing I could have done.” Essi choked back bitter tears as she tried desperately to stem the flow with her soggy tissue, “Are you upset with me, Lambert? If you are, I understand. Maybe we should take a break of some kind, you know. Not see each other for a while and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it right there. Look, I’m probably not going to say any of the right stuff here, but I am absolutely not upset with you. You got that? And for what it’s worth, I don’t think us taking a break from spending time together is going to do anything. Unless you’re looking to punish yourself by taking away a nice thing which, okay. But the fact that you’re willing to ditch me instead of Arbor Mist says something about our friendship I’m not too pleased with.”

Essi turned her wide, pleading, bloodshot eyes to Lambert who cracked a smile, “Jesus, I’m kidding! You adorable fucking mess, c’mere.” He pulled his petite friend into a hug and rested his chin on the top of her head until she quieted down. Neither of them was quite sure how much time had gone by, but Essi found herself wishing it had been long enough for everyone to have gone home so she didn’t have to face whatever aftermath she’d left behind.

Meanwhile, Eskel and Geralt had settled the bill and offered to give Julian a lift back to their place for a night cap, not wanting to leave the evening on such an unsettled note. Essi needed space, and whatever company she needed, Lambert was clearly capable of providing. It was for the best, they suggested, and dissuaded Julian from trying to call her.

“Best to sleep on things,” Geralt said, tucking his card back into his wallet and giving the waiter a nod in gratitude. “We can meet for coffee this weekend and sort this out. For now, just let her cool down.”

Eskel clapped Julian encouragingly on the shoulder as they made their way into the damp summer night air. As they turned into the parking lot, they came face-to-face with Essi and Lambert who had clearly just turned to come back inside. Both cousins looked like they had seen better days: Essi’s eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks blotchy and streaked with inky makeup stains; Julian was perhaps less dishevelled, but the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, his boyish features now dejectedly weighted down with remorse and hurt.

“Juian, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

Essi’s cousin raised his hand, “Don’t. Please don’t. Essi, I am so, so sorry. I never meant to push you like that, I didn't realize... you both have been so happy this last month and—"

"It's okay, really, we can talk about this all another time. I'm just so sorry I ruined your birthday. We wanted to sit down with you and talk properly but..." Essi's tears welled up again, and Julian smiled weakly.

"But we both did what we always do?"

She sniffed, nodding emphatically with a tearful, "Yeah.” Julian pulled his cousin into a fond embrace while the other three clumped together to watch the reconciliation.

“Oh! Here,” Essi reached into her purse and pulled out a small, neatly-wrapped box. “Happy birthday!”

Julian opened his gift without a second thought, his face brightening instantly. The box contained a set of premium ultra-light guitar strings and a pair of concert tickets. The perfect gift. Overwhelmed with gratitude, and the atmosphere having been recovered, Julian suggested they all attend brunch together that Sunday morning, his treat by way of apology. Geralt offered to split the bill as a peace offering for his part in the initial setup, and the five made a date.

A fresh start, a promise of spending time together with fewer secrets and, Julian conceded, a few more boundaries.

#witcher rarepair summer bingo #wrsb #Platonic #queerplatonic #no romo #Geralt/Eskel #Essbert #Gereskel #Jaskier #Julian Alfred Pankratz #alcohol #drunkenness #Essi & Lambert #Essi Daven #Lambert

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heartsofbeskar · 3 years

Text

from the ashes

chapter 1

din djarin x oc

warnings: blood, mild violence, swearing, drinking, drug mention

words: 3.1K

excerpt: The smell of her own ship was a damn relief. Mos Eisley always seemed to leave a thin layer of stink and grime on her skin that took multiple showers to scrub off. Stepping into her shower, she began to attempt to do just that.

She indulged in some hot water, since she’d been able to pick up extra power cells in the town. Taking full advantage, she dialed the temperature high, the water nearly burning through her skin. She stood there, reveling in the ability it gave her to feel something so vividly. Even if it was pain.

(gif credit @moonaisle)

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The edge of the knife bit into her skin, and all she could think as blood welled up was how damn cold it was.

“I asked who the fuck you’re working for,” the man snarled into her ear, putting on what he no doubt imagined to be an intimidating face. She wasn’t impressed. “And why the fuck would you be snooping around Corran Felth’s personal residence?”

Her hands twitched where they were tied together tightly with cord. She cursed herself for letting this guy get the jump on her as she exited the building, assuming that she’d been too quick for anyone to take up wait in the alley.

It had been sloopy on her part, she had to admit that. And she knew why. Despite accepting the client’s down payment, she did not see this quest coming to fruition, so her heart wasn’t really in it. Though some would say she didn’t have a heart to begin with — but the pounding of her own pulse in her ears said differently.

He snarled and opened his mouth again, but she’d already decided that this was enough antics for one job. She delivered a sharp jab with the heel of her bound hands into his abdomen, leaving him gasping from the unexpected blow.

“You little bitch, I—”

As he spit his venomous words at her, she felt the pressure on her throat leave, opening her window. One of his hands tightened where it grasped in her hair, and she reached up to grab the corresponding wrist, propelling him by it into the nearby wall. When his hands left her, she grabbed him by the back of his head, smashing it into the wall a second time. There was a satisfying crack.

“Idiot,” she scoffed, lowering down to grab the knife that had left a small nick on the side of her throat. Flipping it around, she cut her hands free. If he actually knew what he was doing, he would’ve just cut off her hands instead.

She patted him down, turning out his pockets. Instant caf packets, baggies of spice, a small collection of credits… she sighed. Not what she was looking for. This was probably nothing more than a street runner — albeit a stupidly brave one.

Pocketing the knife and credits, she rose and exited the alley, pulling her collar up higher over her neck. Not that anyone on Tatooine would really bat an eye at fresh cuts — but she was nothing if not careful.

With the suns just beginning to set, the streets of Mos Eisley hummed with its seedy nightlife. The only place where someone like her, who bathed in violence and destruction, could ever really fit in.

Music poured from the ajar doors of the town cantina, and she hesitated outside of it. Hell, one more try at a lead couldn’t hurt. She had the extra credits to spare, after all.

There was an open stool at the bar against the opposite wall from the door, and she felt a few knowing pairs of eyes fall to her as she walked towards it, but she ignored them. A reputation was always an asset in her line of work, so she was content to let minds fester. The bartender eyed her weapons belt for only a second before serving her a drink happily.

The liquid burned her throat on the way down, just as she’d hoped it would. It didn’t taste particularly good, but Mos Eisley wasn’t known for its fine dining and cocktails. Moisture gathered on the outside of the drink, and she ran her index finger along the glass slowly. A scar stood out along the knuckle.

“You come here often?” A husky voice spoke up from beside her. She turned slightly, eyes roving up and down, taking in the rough man who had pulled up to the neighbouring stool. His hair was dark and seemed like it hadn’t been brushed in years, and his skin shone with grease and grime. A pretty standard Outer Rim pond hopper.

“Too often,” she muttered, bringing the drink to her lips again. “And you?”

“Ya know, I get ‘round these places every so often,” he leered at her, leaning in closer. She shifted slightly, not moving any closer but adjusting her jacket over the knife belt across her chest. “Name’s Zeth.”

“Liana,” the lie rolled off her tongue smoothly. “Ya know, I was actually supposed to meet with someone here … have you ever heard of Corran Felth?”

At the name, his eyes narrowed, but a smile played at the corner of his chapped lips. “Yea, I ‘erd of ‘im. Not any courier going through Eisley who hasn’. Now what is a pretty thing like you doing meeting a Tatooine drug lord, mm?”

She rolled her eyes, but matched the upturn of his lips with her own. “We had some business regarding some new … merchandise he was interested in market testing. I have some connections he thought might be useful. I don’t suppose you know anything about that particular economy?”

“Ah, ’fraid I really don’t,” he sighed, and she knew he was being honest as his eyes scanned the bar behind her. “Wish I could help ya, but I did hear a rumour, just between you ‘n me…”

Now she did lean in, her hand falling lightly on the edge of his wrist. She didn’t miss the way his eyes briefly flashed there. “Yes?”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Strange he agreed to meet you … rumour has it, he been off world for months. Some nasty business ‘bout a girl he knocked up who’s in with the Hutts … they were none too happy about it as you can imagine.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Really? You’re sure about this?”

“Listen, all I knows is he likes to take nightly scrolls through the hangar I dock in. Haven’t seen heads nor tails of him in a long while.”

Taking a long swig to finish her drink, she smiled at him, fully grasping his wrist in her hand. “Well, I’m grateful to you for saving me all that time waiting. Have a nice night, Zeth.”

He looked a bit disheartened as she turned away, but by the time his brain could even formulate a response, she was halfway towards the door.

Leaving the cantina, she rolled her eyes, kicking a stone down the street. Of course he was off world. Of fucking course.

As the hangar bay loomed in front of her, she keyed in her entry card, registered under the same name she had given Zeth. Her own ship was parking a few lanes back, nestled among some smugglers and traders, but she header for the ship she knew was waiting in the furthest back corner of the bay.

A small droid floated outside the ship. When she approached, it flashed red light at her, and she stood still as it gave a retinal scan. Upon confirming her, it gave a happy little beep, and the ramp creaked slightly as it lowered.

“Liana, my dear, I do hope you’ve brought me good news.”

A large Klatooinian stood in the hold of the ship, arms clasped behind his back. She stopped in front of him, the ramp staying open behind her. Moonlight filtered into the ship around her figure.

“I think you know I don’t, Arn,” she told him coldly. “The word around Mos Eisley is that Felth’s not even here. Hasn’t been for months now. I searched his home, dug through his logs … no mention of the strain you say he stole.”

Arn fidgeted uncomfortably. “Just because he isn’t here, doesn’t mean he can’t be holding it with his men. Did you even check the lieutenants?”

“You look me in the eyes and tell me honestly that you would trust something like this with any of your lieutenants.” She glared at him, and waited for a beat to pass. He fidgeted more. “That’s what I thought. You’d keep it close to your chest. And since there was a man stationed outside of Felth’s home, I’m very inclined to believe the local gossip that he’s gone. It was dusty enough in there.”

“So what happens now? If it wasn’t Felth, do you have anything on who actually stole from me?”

“Frankly, Arn, this job has begun to bore me. Too much Tatooine isn’t good for the soul, you know? So as per the non-recovery clause of my contract, you’ll receive a holopad of the relevant information I did find, no further payments required. I’ll be keeping your non-refundable deposit, of course.” She pulled a slim holopad out of her jacket and extended it to him. He grumbled, but took it nonetheless.

“For someone they call ‘The Finder’... along with those prices …” he continued to grumble as she turned to leave the ship. She shot a look of venom back over her shoulder, hoping it made him shiver at least a bit.

“I am the Finder, Arn. There was nothing to find.”

—

The smell of her own ship was a damn relief. Mos Eisley always seemed to leave a thin layer of stink and grime on her skin that took multiple showers to scrub off. Stepping into her shower, she began to attempt to do just that.

The hot water made the scars stand out against her reddened skin. As she washed, she catalogued them, as she often would. A long, winding, and narrow one wrapping around her right forearm. A short, jagged one sitting nearly in the centre of her chest. The one slashing diagonally across the left side of her abdomen, that disappeared below the waistline of her pants when she was dressed. And in the small mirror at her eye level, the thin but noticeable scar that ran over her blue eye, stopping just shy of her lip. Her other eye, unsettling brown in contrast, sat on her face unmarred.

She secured the towel under her arms as she settled into the pilot’s seat, turning to the comm panel. She hit the audio switch.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Miss Finder!” a deep voice boomed from the panel. “I must say, I was a tad worried you wouldn’t pick up. You’re hard to get a hold of these days.”

She smirked despite herself. Greef Karga’s jovial spirit in the face of even the seediest business always amused her.

“You’ve caught me at a good time, I suppose,” she said. “I just finished up a job, was taking a night in.”

“A very good time indeed, then! You see, I’m calling for the purposes of a job I have in mind for you!”

“You know I don’t do bounties, Karga. If I wanted to be in the Guild, I would be.”

“Of course, of course! It’s a job fully suited to your own contract, off the Guild books. For me.”

That did have her interest. Every once in a while Karga would call or even visit and try to convince her to become one his hunters, telling her it was so similar to what she did, and he had all the infrastructure. But it wasn’t the same.

“Let me guess — I have to come to Nevarro for full details?” As she spoke, her fingers traced the lower half of the scar on her face subconsciously.

“You know me too well, especially compared to how much I know you! Hell, I don’t think I even know your real name. Something about Halla just doesn’t fit your face.”

“But does it matter?”

He laughed at that. “You’ve a point there, Miss Finder — no, it does not.”

“I’ll see you when I land then.”

—

Din Djarin was a proud man, and he didn’t like to admit when he’d made mistakes. But he was starting to think he’d done just that.

Sitting on the upper portion of another damned rockface, pulse rifle beside him, he rolled the small metal ball between his fingers, as he’d done countless times. The surface of it shined. All that was left of the Razor Crest. All that was left to remind him of Grogu.

It played in an endless loop in his head, Grogu’s eyes as he was carried away from him, every nerve in his body screaming that this was wrong, wrong, wrong. They had taken his foundling, his son. And he had just stood there and watched.

He had made a mistake.

The Jedi were Grogu’s people, the ones who had been raising him before the days of the Empire, but he barely knew anything of them, and he wasn’t sure he liked what he did know. In the time since Grogu’s departure, he’d made it a mission to track down more information, but the Jedi were like ghosts in the universe. If he hadn’t met them, he wasn’t sure he would’ve even believed they were more than myth.

That was hard to do without a fucking ship, though. Which was why he was here, taking low level bounties near Nevarro, in a rental ship. Karga had been generous with him, throwing him high volumes of nearby bounties so he could earn the credits to replace what he’d lost. Still, he was barely halfway there. The pace was frustratingly slow.

Motion along the horizon pulled his attention. Stowing away the ball, he picked up his rifle, bringing the scope to eye level. A human man was rushing across the rocks, glancing behind him every few paces. It was his quarry, no doubt. Right where Din had expected him.

Sighing, he slung the rifle across his back, making his way down the rock face. By the time he’d reached the bottom, the quarry was almost upon him, but an outcropping had shielded him from view thus far. Drawing his blaster, he waited a few more beats until the man was well within range, before stepping out, levelling his weapon at the scared man’s head.

“Stop where you are,” he said shortly. The man looked up at him, wide eyed and horrified. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

“L-look man, you can have w-whatever you want, I got some credits in here—” the man scrambled to open his bag, attempting to pull out the mentioned credits, but Din didn’t let him. He fired a warning shot in the ground, just shy of the man’s left foot.

“I said, show me your hands. I don’t want your money, I’m here to collect a bounty on you.” The man sputtered even more.

“T-they sent a fucking Mandalorian after me?! I didn’t e-even think they had the c-credits for—” He was cut off again as Din fired another shot at the ground, by his right foot now.

“I’m not in a patient mood. Hands.”

The man shook as he put his hands over his head, relenting. Din pulled the cuffs from his belt, yanking the man's hands behind him as he snapped them in place. He began pushing the man in the direction of the rental ship.

“If it helps, you weren’t worth much. I’m just in a tight spot.”

—

The quarry was silent on the entire walk, though Din could see a faint outline on his pants that indicated he’d soiled himself. He almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.

The rental — the Desertwalker? No, maybe it was the Starhopper? — only had space for three carbonite chambers, so he’d have to stop on Nevarro next before chipping away further at the mountain of pucks he was sure Karga had lined up to give him. He was grateful, but also had a feeling Karga was just as happy to unload these on somebody.

After sealing the latest quarry, and his ruined pants, into a chamber, Din climbed into the tight cockpit. People had complained to him about lack of space on the Crest, but this was even worse. His knees hit the panel in front of the pilot’s seat.

He sighed, removing his helmet with a hiss, running his hand through his sweat tainted hair. As he set the course for Nevarro, he returned to contemplating the Jedi, and all the information he did have on them.

His first instinct had been to call them wizards, and honestly he still felt that was an apt description. He’d seen Grogu perform acts he could only describe as magic, moving things with his mind and healing the otherwise damned, and he was only a child. A powerful one, yes, but it begged the question of what a fully trained adult Jedi could do.

Then there were the laser swords — lightsabers. Though still no match for beskar, they were impressive, and seemed to be less of a weapon and more of an extension to their bodies. His eyes fell to the darksaber, hilted on his belt. He didn’t necessarily like carrying it around, but it felt immensely foolish to leave such a thing unguarded on a ship. Still, he much preferred his rifle and his blaster.

Beyond their powers and lightsabers, information on the Jedi was scarce. That was the core of their mythos, but any practical details seemed to have been washed from time. How did their training work? How did one graduate? Did they swear oaths? If they did, what did they entail? Din’s mind was constantly buzzing with questions that it seemed no one in the galaxy had the answers to. He felt helpless. And he fucked hated feeling helpless.

He leaned his head back against the seat, watching the characteristic vivid streaks of hyperspace fly past the window. So many stars, so many planets, and his son was on one of them, doing Maker only knows what. Without him.

He had made a mistake.

—

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#the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x original character #din djarin x oc #fanfic #fanfiction #the mandalorian x original character #the mandalorian x oc #mywriting #from the ashes #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic

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chrysalispen · 3 years

Text

iv. never give the heart outright

AO3 link HERE Chapter under cut.

====

The day Aurelia Laskaris left Gridania dawned damp and foggy: as mundane and unremarkable a sendoff as one could possibly wish. The heat wave had relented overnight and the wind with it, and the trees’ leaves hung still and sparkling with droplets of dew. Pale rays of early morning sun filtered through the low-hanging wisps of cloud and collected dust motes and small insects in their wake. The quality of it reminded her of L’haiya’s lace curtains, the way their softness and the delicate patterns and filtered sunbeams had always framed the sitting room windows of her girlhood home.

The driver of the chocobo carriage aimed to set out from the city before full daybreak. Thus she stood in drowsy silence along with half a dozen other passengers set to board, watching the lalafellin teamster as he and the Canopy’s porters secured the larger bags. Barring any unforeseen incidents, the carriage’s route would take them south past Quarrymill, through the marshes near old Amdapor, and south into the high desert of northeastern Thanalan until they reached Ul’dah.

It had taken her all of three days to conclude her affairs: there was, after all, no property for her to sell, nor any anxious relatives to wheedle her into remaining.

Watching the small man loop his handfuls of hempen rope to secure over boxes and bags and other people’s assorted belongings, Aurelia felt a certain twinge of wistfulness that she had not expected. The forest city was not quite home, but it had served as the closest thing she had to one for nearly five years. But it was not enough to keep her. The excitement of the road ahead had not left her, and she faced the morning with bright eyes and a clear mind. The sun was up and so was she.

Keveh’to did not share her optimism, that much was obvious with a mere glance. The Miqo’te stood at her side with an expression one could only describe as pained. His ears lay flat against his fluffy hair, and his fawn-colored bottlebrush tail lashed emphatic and agitated beats against her leg.

“I know I’ve asked you half a dozen times now,” he said quietly, “but are you absolutely certain about this?"

Her answer was the same as it had been each time he had asked:

“As certain as I shall ever be.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“Yes, well,” she felt a twinge of annoyance at his pessimism surface at last, “as one recalls, ‘twas you who made the suggestion that I consider further study afield.”

"When you told me you’d give the matter some thought, I didn’t expect you to come back to Miounne’s place the same day with a letter of introduction already scripted and sealed.” His arms folded over his chest and he stared up into the canopy. “E-Sumi-Yan must have had that letter already waiting to give to you, whatever he said.”

“Perhaps. It’s not as though he would have told me if he did.” Aurelia looked down at herself and smoothed the pleats of her skirt yet again. All of it, from head to toe, was new. It felt so odd; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had new clothing. “Thank you again,” she continued, somewhat awkwardly. “For the traveling attire. It's quite fine.”

Keveh’to shrugged. A dull rosy flush crept up the sides of his neck. “It’s Ul’dah,” he said. “They’ll toss you out the gates on your arse if you show up looking like a beggar.”

“Hells below,” she tried to make a jest of it with a soft laugh, “you make it sound as though they’ll have a fashion inspector awaiting my arrival.”

“No. But I’ve known my share of that lot, and ‘tis not unlikely they’ll hit you with a demand for a hefty bribe at least once.”

“Yes, I’ve heard stories from some of the others.”

“And for goodness’ sake, Relia- please do yourself a favor and be careful about the company you keep. No one needs to know about you-know-what.” He tapped his temple with a humorless smile. “Ul’dah is a great deal more cosmopolitan than our humble little forest abode, but even they might balk at that.”

The stare she gave him could best be described as obstinate, with the hard set of her jawline. “...I might be ignorant of many Eorzean customs, but I should like to think I am not that much of a fool.”

“I’m trying to watch out for you.”

“Rest assured, I do appreciate the thought.” Still so glum. She frowned at him, “I thought that this decision would have pleased you. You made no secret you were tired of watching me mope about.”

“I- yes. But-”

He opened his mouth, stuttered into empty air, then sighed.

The other passengers milled about them in a somnolent shuffle, muttering to each other and passing bags back and forth. A pair of snowy-haired elezen twins in clothing as new and fine as her own brushed past Aurelia and Keveh’to without sparing a second glance, their identical braids and hair-ribbons stirring in a cool and sluggish breeze from the riverbank. She waited for the pair to pass well out of earshot before she continued, as gently as she could manage:

“This isn’t goodbye forever, you know.”

“I know.”

“They gave me honorary citizenship. I think I’m obligated to at least visit from time to time.” Another jest, one which failed in a like manner as the other to crack his solemn visage. “But I do fully plan on returning once I’ve completed my studies.”

“Right. I understand that. It’s…” His ears swiveled forward, then back, still flattened unhappily against his hair. “...Never mind. It’s not important.”

“No, go on.”

“It’s a trifling personal matter. Naught that you should worry about.”

“If you have something to say-”

That stony stoicism faded at last, relaxing into a smile, but it was as sad a smile as she had ever seen Keveh’to Epocan give anyone. “Matter of fact, I did. Once. But I see now that I’ve gone and waited too long,” he said cryptically. “Saying it now won’t change anything, and I wager I’d only feel worse if it did.”

“I’m sorry.” Aurelia worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “Truly, I am.”

His smile stretched into a grin. It made him look far more like the man she had come to know, the friend who teased and needled her and let her talk herself into momentous decisions. “You’ve no cause to be sorry for anything, my friend. The fault is mine own if there’s fault to be placed. I’m just being sentimental, I suppose. And, mayhap, a touch selfish.”

“Last call for luggage,” bellowed one of the porters. “If ye don’t bring it up now, ye’ll be carryin’ it yerselves! ‘Tis a long road ahead! Last call for luggage!”

Aurelia looked down at herself, then the bags at her feet. She only had the three pieces: her salvaged field kit, her herbal bag, and the pack which held in it those few trifling personal possessions she owned, including her mother’s memento mori. The field kit’s thick carbonweave strap perched on her shoulder, its tripartite-link imperial insignia long since removed by her own hand (Rhaya Wolndara’s angry reaction to the sight of it had been a valuable lesson in precaution) and its once-hefty weight now considerably lightened with even her most conservative usage of its contents over the years.

“Well,” he said after a moment, with transparently forced cheer, “let’s be about it. This lot won’t load itself.”

“The field kit needs to stay with me,” she drew out of reach when he stretched out a hand to take it from her shoulder. “Too many fragile items. Glass and the like. I’ll not trust it to the vagaries of a draught chocobo.”

“Fair enough.”

He picked up the others and made his way toward the waiting porter as the small collection of passengers began to mill towards the slatted steps. A Highlander man drowsed near the front of the carriage, hand wrapped loosely about a wine bottle and otherwise oblivious to the world. Aurelia double-checked the small leather belt she wore to make sure the letters Miounne and E-Sumi-Yan had penned were intact; a fine mess it would be if she were to lose them on the journey.

“Aurelia!”

The matronly Duskwight proprietress of the Carline Canopy stood head and shoulders over most of the passengers, and she quickly drew their attention as she made her way towards the small gathering with a swift and decisive stride. The Garlean offered her a small smile.

“Good morning to you, Miounne,” she said. “Come to see me off, have you?”

“I certainly have. I hope you weren’t planning on leaving us this morning without breaking your fast, girl,” was Miounne’s brisk reply, though she returned the smile as she held out her hands. In them, she carried a steaming tin cup and a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “I set aside one of my eel pies for you. ‘Tis a bit chilly as well, so I thought some hot tea might do you well on the road. Don’t worry about the cup; I have plenty of them.”

Touched by the gesture, Aurelia carefully took the cup and the wrapped pie, one in each hand.

“You didn’t have to do this-”

“I know,” Miounne said, a wry smirk tilting her lips. She wiped her hands on her apron. “But I did. The pie is heavy and should keep your belly full for a day or two. You’ll be changing carriages at the station in Highbridge to the Sunroad trail; you’ll want to get more supplies while you’re there-- make sure you have plenty of fresh water. There’s naught betwixt Drybone and the city save malms of scrubland, and this time of year the water holes will be too low to sustain travelers. I imagine the Calamity will have made the pickings slim for hunting as well.”

Aurelia nodded.

“Once you pass through the city gates, make your way to the Quicksand. That’s where the Ul’dahn Adventurers’ Guild operates; the proprietress’ name is Momodi Modi. I sent word ahead that she’s to expect your arrival within the sennight. All you need to do is give her your name and mine.”

“I... yes. I’ll do that.”

“And please, Aurelia dear- do take care in Ul’dah. It is a very different sort of city from ours. You are a kind woman with the best of intentions and there are those who would…” Miounne hesitated. “...Well. I’ll not fearmonger; I’ll wager you’ve heard enough of that. But I would ask the Twelve to watch over you nonetheless- if that’s all right, of course.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, she watched Keveh’to’s back, the way his officer’s overcoat pulled taut across the shoulders as he passed her bags to the porter, then cast her eyes down at Miounne’s parting gifts.

The sight brought back a memory of the last time she had left behind the familiar to set out for the unknown: fresh from her schooling, set to board a train at the capital’s processing center after she had enlisted in the imperial army. No one had accompanied her. Not to give her well wishes or helpful directions, or even to wave their farewells from the platform as the train departed for the tunnels bored beneath the mountains and into the heart of Castrum Pinnaculum. She had gone to the station alone, had left alone, and for the first few weeks of basic training, she had struggled alone.

But she was not alone now. Perhaps she no longer owned a marvel of a garden, or slept in a fine bed, or wore silks, but since coming to Eorzea she had made more friends in this past handful of years than in the previous decade. That had to count for something.

Aurelia stared into the steaming teacup and swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat with considerable effort, then looked at the other woman with glassy blue eyes.

“I’d like that,” she said at last. “And thank you, Miounne. For everything.”

Before the woman could muster a response Aurelia had turned away and hurried towards the lowered carriage steps. She didn’t want to lose her nerve or shed tears, not today, and she still had one more farewell to give.

Keveh’to reached the steps first; he plucked the carbonweave strap from her shoulder and slung it over his own the moment she drew near. “Let me pass that up to you once you’re seated,” he said. “You can’t carry both your breakfast and this great bloody thing onto the carriage.”

She was the last to board. The wooden stair was showing its age and it creaked even under Aurelia’s slight weight as she made her way onto the covered deck. The platinum-headed Elezen twins she had seen earlier sat in the back near the cargo across from the last empty space: the one in blue was wholly absorbed in perusing a tome while the one in red dozed upon their companion’s shoulder. Neither of them paid her any mind as she set her teacup and snugly wrapped meal upon the open seat. Nor did any of the others, for that matter.

Mayhap this part was not so very different from that long ago train ride after all.

Aurelia chuckled aloud, though the sound lacked humor, and turned towards the other end of the carriage at the sound of swift footsteps. Keveh’to had come up behind her to deliver her remaining bag. The half-empty imperial field kit, still large and cumbersome for all it lacked much of the weight it once bore, smacked with a quiet dull thud against his thigh with each step. His expression was unreadable as he set it down at her feet.

“Suppose Mother Miounne already said it so I don’t need to,” he said, “but I will, anyroad. Take care of yourself and be careful who you trust. And if there is trouble and you need to leave for any reason, you always have a home here.”

“Keveh’to-” Before she could finish what she had meant to say his arms had wrapped about her shoulders in a heavy embrace, tail wound around her calf.

“Write to us once in a while, will you?” he muttered in her ear. “Just… just so we know you’re doing alright. Even if it’s something about your alchemy that I- I mean, we don’t understand.”

“Or care about,” Aurelia said wryly. She knew full well that Keveh’to was not asking her to write to Miounne. Her arms tightened about his shoulders in return, just for a brief moment. “...I’ll write as often as I can manage.”

“Good.”

The Miqo’te looked for a moment as though he wanted to say - or do - something more, but instead released her with all haste, tail flickering and ears swiveling with his discomfiture as he went. Aurelia said nothing further as she took a step backward and turned to the seat where her tea and morning meal awaited. It was easy enough to spare him his blushes, to pretend that her focus lay upon how best she might secure her bag under the seat. Once that was done she picked up the teacup and took a thoughtful sip, placing Miounne's eel pie upon her lap. She was too full of nerves to be terribly hungry but that would no doubt change within a bell or two.

His retreat down the narrow steps came just in time for the porter to lift and shutter the low-slung door behind him with a brisk snap. Aurelia felt her eyes prickle and burn but her composure held fast, and when she turned about and lifted her free hand to wave at her friend it was with a bright smile on her face.

Her minder - her friend, now - gave only a half-second’s hesitation before he waved back. At his side, Miounne too lifted her hand in silent farewell.

“Quarrymill!” the driver shouted. “Next stop, Quarrymill!”

Following upon the heels of the teamster’s call came the draught chocobos’ twin kwehs. She braced herself and her teacup a moment before she felt the sharp initial jolt of the carriage’s forward motion. Within seconds it smoothed into a sedate and seamless drift as the wind aether filled the balloons overhead, and they were off down the half-paved cobbles that led to the Blue Badger gate. In moments they would pass out of the city and turn onto the southbound road.

For the final time, Aurelia allowed herself a glance over her shoulder, back over the lip of the carriage and in the direction of the Carline Canopy. Keveh’to, it seemed, had chosen to remain outside the chocobo paddock. He stood stiff and unmoving save for the tail that lashed erratically at the air, his hands shoved into his deep pockets and his mouth turned in a downward bow she could see even from here.

His words drifted across her mind like errant clouds.

I’ve waited too long. Saying it now won’t change anything.

She kept her gaze upon the dwindling figure until the carriage had rounded the bend and that splash of bright yellow was no longer visible through the foliage.

~*~

Watching the commotion below from his perch upon a flight of corrugated metal steps, Nero tol Scaeva knew what was coming next. The cohort’s work had come to a screeching halt and several of the engineers had gathered about to investigate the rear quarter panel of the left leg. None of them seemed to know what orders they were to give or be given if any, and the resulting confusion left them milling aimlessly about like ants puzzling at a stray piece of food someone had dropped on the floor.

Thus it fell to him to restore order, as much as he would rather not: his presence alone would subject him to fearful kowtowing and stammered excuses. He knew he could be a hard man when the situation called for it, but he liked to think he was also a fair one, and even the greenest of the signal corps had no reason to fear his wrath so long as they could explain themselves to his satisfaction. Still, he was a Garlean, and the provincial fear of his countrymen was deeply ingrained into the army's conscripts -- ingrained when it was not beaten.

No help for it, I suppose.

He made his way beneath the iron scaffolding that surrounded the warmachina's exoskeleton at a brisk pace. The clatter of his sollerets upon the metal tiling set an easy and unhurried rhythm as he crossed the open floor until his stride slowed to a full stop mere fulms away. The engineers’ chatter, quiet but idle, dwindled into an anxious silence.

One of the engineers, a tiny Auri woman with her lavender-tinted hair bound in regulation braids, went visibly pale at the sight of his approach but to her credit did not make a show of flinching from him, and even had sufficient courage to offer up a salute as was proper. He folded his arms over his chest and peered down at her through the visor of his helm. They stood close enough that he could see how her forearm - still stiffly crossed over her chest - trembled at his proximity.

“Architectus,” he said very calmly.

“Y-yes, my lord?”

“As you were,” she dropped her salute, but her back remained ramrod straight and the tension did not leave her shoulders. He continued as if he had failed to notice, “I mark a number of you performing a very serious study of this warmachina’s leg joint, in lieu of performing your assigned tasks.”

Her swallow was audible even through his helm’s transceiver, but her stone-faced stare did not waver. “Apologies, my lord. There is-”

“I believe I have stated on multiple occasions that we have a schedule to keep, and not a terribly lenient one at that. Perhaps the cohort is in need of a reminder.”

“My lord, please,” the woman blurted, then winced almost immediately, “I am sorry to interrupt. But you see, there’s a problem.”

Shite and swiving hellsfire, if I never hear ‘there’s a problem’ again in my lifetime it will be too soon. Still, unlike sas Junius it was not in Nero’s nature to vent his spleen upon hapless messengers. He released a long-suffering sigh instead - only somewhat dramatized for her benefit - and watched those large ocean-blue eyes break their impasse at the sound. They flickered nervously up at his face, then down, then back out to stare at that fixed point past his waistline.

“Of course there is,” he said aloud.

“My lord?”

His own fault, he surmised, for expecting any other response to his bit of japery. “Never mind. Continue.”

“Yes, my lord. We ran the initial tests using the Vanguard H-1’s specifications, as dictated. The operating system ran as expected upon startup. But when we tried to proceed with full activation... well, we tried to switch over from the H-1 but it caused a power surge and nearly started a fire- as you see here. As it is we’re dead in the water. She won’t power on at all now.”

“I assume our engineering teams ran down their checklists for aught that might have compromised structural integrity, prior to attempting the activation.”

“Just so, my lord. Circuitry, fuel lines, motherboards-- it was all green.” She bit her lip. “If… perhaps we might speak to the quartermaster and requisition another part. Or perhaps a larger-”

“The next step up would be the specs for a low-velocity assault craft,” Nero interrupted dryly. “While I share your readiness to explore all possible options, I think it unwise to blindly run through every single spare part at our disposal hoping for a result. Aside from the obvious risks, ‘tis inefficient. We do not have a great deal of time to make what amounts to an educated guess.”

“I- yes,” she stammered. “I apologize, my lord, I should have thought-”

He waved an impatient hand. She fell silent as instantly as if he had slammed a door shut in her face. “Who is your immediate superior?”

“Valens nan Varro, my lord.”

“Kindly inform him that the activation test has been delayed pending an internal review. We will reschedule after I have spoken with the legatus.”

Now she was staring at her feet, her face pale once again. “...He will be sorely displeased if he discovers we have failed you, my lord. Sorely.”

“Ah, yes. A terrible burden indeed, the primus architectus' personal inconvenience. Unfortunately, we shall all have to bear it,” Nero said briskly. He did not care to argue the matter with a subordinate; such behavior would undermine his authority, and the engineers present were well aware that his word was the final say.

“But-”

“If nan Varro is displeased with the decision and wishes to contest it, then he may take his grievance up with me directly.”

Her shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly, not in relief but defeat. Beneath his helm, Nero raised his brows at the response but said nothing further.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And I expect an incident report on my desk by 0700 tomorrow morning. Posthaste.”

Her answering salute was stiff and formal, expression as stony and unyielding as a statue’s. Whatever emotion he had spied was carefully hidden now; the wall was back in place. Curious. Irrelevant. He had neither the time nor the wherewithal to waste in wondering after it.

Nero passed her without another word, her fellows hastening to clear a path for him as he approached the enormous back leg. There were scorch marks on the edges of the chassis panel, he noted; exposed copper fibers trailed from the opened casing like wilted ivy creepers. The ends were blackened and a thin line of smoke still curled in slender lines; the smell was acrid and familiar and the castrum's ventilation system would disperse it within a half hour.

One hand hovered just over the scorched plate as he studied the sight, with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

Retrofitting Allagan technology was not a precise art, as much as it pained Nero to admit it. Some artifacts worked so readily with Garlean magitek that the process was utterly seamless, as if it had been meant for their hands. Others were far more complex, and thus more time-intensive. The Ultima Weapon had been his longest project to date, and the tribunus laticlavius had to remind himself that the machina had been experimental even to the greatest scientists of its age: a groundbreaking anti-eikon countermeasure that partnered the arcane with the mundane. A seamless blending of aetherology and engineering, borne of man’s ingenuity.

Blended---

Ah.

“My lord?” a timid voice echoed at his back. The engineers were watching him; they had gathered a respectful six fulms away.

“...This is not a public spectacle,” his hand fell away from the plating. “See to this mess. I want the machina checked from top to bottom for aught that could possibly cause further delays. Exposed joints, chassis warping, blown fuses, exposed wires, all of it.”

"My lord, the test-" "Is no longer your priority," his impatience filtered through as a short, barked command. "Attend to your tasks. I will not ask you twice." The gathered cluster of engineers sketched their salutes and scattered like mice, scrambling to obey before any of them could experience the implied consequences for perceived insubordination. Nero watched them in silence for a few beats before taking his leave. He made his way back along the catwalk and up several flights of steps, to one of the administrative bays that oversaw the hangar. Once he was certain of his privacy, he removed his helm with a soft and relieved sigh. It was a mere press of a button after that to open the transceiver link and set it to a specific frequency. Static hissed in the confines of the empty office for one second, two, before the link became stable and there was smooth air and Gaius van Baelsar's gruff baritone:

“State your business.”

“Lord Gaius. Have I interrupted something?”

“Yes, but naught of particular importance. For a small blessing.” The legatus of the XIVth Imperial Legion sounded vaguely put out, but not irate. An encouraging sign which meant he was like to be at least somewhat amenable to the discussion Nero wished to have. “I take it you have something you wished to discuss.”

“I do. The activation test failed. I should have an incident report within the next 24 hours that will list the particulars.”

“Again?”

“Indeed. This is why,” Nero took a deep breath, “I should like to request that the Weapon and all hands involved in the project be transferred to the research facility in Agelyss Wyse.” “The Vylbrand coast? That is not exactly shouting distance from Gyr Abania. And there are certain dangers present which make your proposition quite risky.” Refusal to take risks will not garner the results we seek. "With all due respect, my lord, you did not assign me this project with any fond hopes that I would remain complacent,” he could almost feel his commanding officer bristling at his bluntness, “and these failed tests have made it abundantly clear that - as you will recall that I posited, against protest from certain quarters - ceruleum combustion alone will not be sufficient to bring the Weapon back online. Not at full capacity.”

“What do you propose?”

“I will get to that eventually, but first and foremost: I need data. Current data. Simulations and conjectures will only get us so far.” He glanced out the bay window at the massive machina, a dormant monster, each opened claw the size of a juggernaut. “The Weapon was designed to do far more than subdue eikons, and we have merely scratched the surface of its capabilities. But scratching is all we will manage if we remain here.”

Nero managed - only just - to keep the excitement out of his voice. The Black Wolf of Garlemald was a straightforward man, he knew from long years of experience: interested in results, not theories.

“I understand this, but you are also asking to upend our timetable for the sake of a hypothesis.”

“A hypothesis with its foundation in the methods the Allagans used to create and maintain Dalamud- as Lord van Darnus would attest, were he still with us. I think it a safe assumption that the Ultima Weapon operates upon a similar methodology.” Van Baelsar’s only response was a sigh of consternation. Nero continued, “And yes, it would move our overall timetable forward a few weeks. I admit it.”

“Nearly two months,” the legatus said sourly. “You understand that even if I agree to your proposal, it is not something that can be immediately enacted.”

“I would not expect to presume thus, my lord, of course.” There was bureaucracy involved, and the logistics of moving entire teams between castra -- not to mention the machina itself. Well, Solus zos Galvus had not built the Empire in a day, either. “I realize there are protocols to follow. I only ask for consideration-”

“And due consideration will be given, tribunus- in due time. At the very least I must needs contact the Occidens praefectus and discuss the matter. We will speak on this anon.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He could afford the wait. In the meantime, there was much yet to be done- and new plans to be made. When the legatus called for him again, as he inevitably would, Nero would be prepared to explain what must be done ere their goals could be met. Allag’s mighty Weapon would awaken from its slumber by his hand, and he would receive his fair due at last. There was no one and nothing now to keep him from reaching forth to take what was rightfully his.

This victory shall be mine and mine alone, he thought. And you, old friend, will be as chaff in the wind. Discarded and forgotten.

Beneath his twin veils of tempered glass and chromed crimson steel, Nero tol Scaeva began to smile.

#aurelia laskaris #garlean warrior of light #keveh'to epocan #gaius van baelsar #nero tol scaeva #mother miounne #werlyt cameos sort of?#and the leveilleurs #you get a cameo! and you get a cameo!#this concludes reborn by fire #off to ARR we gooo #upon pale dawns #chapter 4

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