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elysianslove · 3 years

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haikyuu boys and tropes that suit them!

includes: kageyama tobio, iwaizumi hajime, oikawa tōru, sakusa kiyoomi, miya osamu, miya atsumu, suna rintarō

(possibly part 1??? consider this an apology for not posting as much 💔)

kageyama tobio — practice kissing.

kageyama is, as embarrassing as it is for him to admit this, inexperienced, greatly so. he’s in his third year of high school, 18, and is yet to have his first kiss. college is approaching him dauntingly quick, and he doesn’t think he can handle being as clueless as he is for any longer. so while you’re sat on his bed scrolling through his phone, he bluntly asks you if you’ve ever kissed someone. he seemed so confident, and the words were straightforward and lacked any sign of anxiety or uneasiness. but the moment they left his mouth, he’s red in the face and his hands are shaking. when you agree to help him practice, he’s scared, shy, flustered, and his heart is in his throat, but he lets you lead the, setting the pace yourself as you sit before him, his face in your hands, pulling him closer to you. it’s electrifying, to put it to the least. he’d heard a million horror stories from his upperclassmen about first kisses, but he finds himself unable to relate. everything about the kiss and you is perfect, and he asks for more practice, starts looking forward to theses ‘sessions.’ he starts growing more and more confident, until he’s the one flustering you, the one making you gasp and squirm and mewl, not the other way around. and maybe he’ll find it in him to confess. maybe.

iwaizumi hajime — friends to lovers.

in general, with iwaizumi, he has a hard time believing in that he’s meant for a relationship, in that he has his own person, and for many reasons. he tries to be rational about it, saying he has other priorities at the moment, that he won’t be able to give his all, that he’s not particularly ready or in the right headspace/situation to commit to a person and a relationship. but it’s also, deep down, because of this indescribable fear of not being enough, of his flaws being too much, of being too imperfect. he just chooses not to get a headache over it, honestly. that’s why friends to lovers is perfect for him. it’s this person who he’s known for a long time, someone he’s come to know so well, so deeply, and vice versa. they’ve seen the bad and good of each other, been through all the ups and downs, learnt all their quirks, their habits, their tendencies. this is someone who is already a priority, someone who is already a constant. of course, he still hurts his head thinking about how wrong it is to have feelings for his friend, and the shame and guilt eats at him from the inside out. but it’s just so— easy. to love them. it’s so, so easy, as easy as breathing. and iwaizumi spends such a large amount of time pining and yearning that the final straw, the snap, the breathless confession, is so satisfying.

oikawa tōru — enemies to lovers.

oikawa wants and needs someone that’ll both keep him on his toes, always pushing him to the very edge but not completely over. he needs someone that excites him, someone that he has to work to earn. the word enemies is blurry to him. all he sees is someone playing hard to get, and he takes it as a challenge. it’s not that he wants and needs everyone to be in love with him and how dare you not be swooning at the sight of me!! it’s more that this person intrigues him impossibly. this person challenges him, bites back, and bites back hard. and the transition from enemies to lovers is so smooth with him, because it’s unpredictable and unexpected. one moment you’re swearing at him across the hall, the next you’re tenderly massaging at his injured knee and reassuring him of his hard work and efforts. it’s beautiful, really. the snarky comments and the flirty comebacks and the glares returned with playful grins, and them the moment of realization that opens up a whole new door that this person isn’t so bad after all. the satisfaction of finally giving in, either so slowly, so carefully and timidly, or rushed, hurried and desperate. so good.

sakusa kiyoomi — there was only one bed!

sakusa does not share. it’s nothing personal (sometimes it is), but he just prefers to have his own private space, where he can be comfortable. but things happen! like a trip where you’re stuck in the same room! and there’s only one bed! and the person you’re stuck with is the same person you’re very confused in regards to your feelings about them! the trip is a couple of days, and so it starts with the offer to sleep on the couch. it’s very uncomfortable, but he does it anyways, because a) he’s a gentleman, and b) you both now each have your private, safe space. two days pass, and you both tiredly pass out on the bed next to one another. he wakes up before you in horror and falls onto the couch quickly, but he doesn’t fall asleep again. as if this were fate’s play, you find yourself unable to sleep, and neither can he, so you quietly scoot over, a silent invitation. reluctantly, he accepts. he doesn’t spend that night sleeping either, instead simply stares at you, his hand outreaching for you, but not quite touching. eventually comes a day when he wakes up with your face buried in his shoulder, and although his cheeks are as warm as ever, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable. he only feels grateful to be finally touching you.

miya osamu — soft only for their lover.

it’s not that osamu is rude to others, or hates everyone else, or anything along those lines. it’s more that he’s less likely to open up, be vulnerable, be softer, easier than compared to with his partner. with his lover, he smiles easier, expressions are readable, his eyes always a dead giveaway to what’s on his mind. he’s colder and less approachable to others, but it’s almost as if his resolve melts the moment he spots his lover. he could be yelling at someone, angrily, then turn to his partner and in the softest voice say, “just a moment, my love,” and go back to yelling as if it were completely normal. similarly, he will always take his lover’s side of the argument regardless of whether they’re right or wrong. and, he’ll be kissing his lover, but pause for a moment to deck his brother, then return to kissing his lover again even softer. it’s because his lover owns such a big part of his heart, and when osamu loves, he loves with every part of him. he’s been called out on it multiple times; the fact that he’s so much meaner and harsher and stubborn with everyone else, including his brother, but it’s always the opposite with you. you are his soft spot, really, and it tickles your tummy whenever you notice the little changes and shifts in his attitude and personality when it comes to you.

miya atsumu — enemies to lovers.

unlike with oikawa’s case, you and atsumu genuinely hate each other. you despise his attitude, his cockiness, his ideals, his approaches, his voice, his hair, everything, and likewise, he can’t stand you. he’d only ever been rude to you, and in response, you’d defended yourself by being equally as rude. this isn’t playing hard to get enemies, this is i hate your guts enemies. rarely does being in a room with him not result in some sort of argument. your mutual friends are all fed up, of the arguments, the fighting, the smack talk behind one another’s backs, the complaining, everything. it’s infuriating, and so they beg you to talk it out, to try and resolve whatever it was going on between you, but either he wouldn’t cooperate, or you wouldn’t. it seemed hopeless, until at some point in time, you get badly hurt, maybe mentally or physically, but atsumu finds himself worried unbelievably. it’s irrational to be, especially with your history with one another. but he’s worried, insanely so, and when he finds you, finds out you’re okay, or you will be, the relief that fills him is dizzying and so, scary. but maybe the both of you were just projecting onto each other, the fact that you so badly wanted each other but felt like you couldn’t do anything.

suna rintarō — brother’s best friend.

it’s a dash of forbidden love, a dash of friends to lovers. he’s your brother’s best friend, older than you, and it’s wrong, you know it is, but you can’t help it. on the days he’s invited over, you purposely make sure to stay at home, and you make excuses to pass by your brother’s room constantly, to talk to him. he knows you like him, knows you’re desperately chasing after him in your own subtle way, and for a while, suna lets you. he acts dumb, none the wiser, lets you have your little fun of sneaking snaps of him to send to your friends and when you purposely press your leg against his sitting next to him on the couch or when you offer your lollipop after you suck on it. he indulges you, slightly, subtly. and when he sees it suitable, finds it right, he starts to return the advances: he accidentally arrives a little earlier than planned to your home when he’s invited, and he passed by you in school more often, and he makes up excuses to text you all the time. eventually, the sexual tension is unbearable, suffocating, incredibly overwhelming, and when it snaps, nothing else matters. just the two of you. he’s experienced, good with his words and his hands and his mouth and he’s a dream. and all you do is fall deeper, and deeper, and deeper.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #kageyama x reader #iwaizumi x reader #oikawa x reader #sakusa x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #suna x reader #kageyama headcanons #iwaizumi headcanons #oikawa headcanons #miya atsumu headcanons #miya osamu headcanons #suna headcanons #sakusa headcanons

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hyperpsychomaniac · 2 years

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The Curse of the Black Hound

Summary: Sequel to 'Lost in the Wilderness'. Erik Ahlberg has a problem. And he’ll solve it like a man - by himself, and dragging no one he cares for needlessly into the whole confounded mess. Gerda is having none of it. She’s determined to figure out why he’s being so secretive and protect him, whether he likes it or not. But when Erik finally asks for help, he finds himself alone, with those he’d always thought would stand by him, his biggest threat.

Authors note: Ao3 is being a butt. So I'm starting posting this here, and will chuck it up there once it looks like it's cooperating again. Please feel free to leave comments :)

***

“Hilda, wait! We need to start on our project right away!”

Hilda winced and drew to a halt outside the Edmund Ahlberg School gates. She’d hoped to escape. Get away before her friends questioned her and simply apologise after the fact. And not because of the project; Frida would end up doing most of it, anyhow. It was because her friends would have something to say about her plans for the afternoon.

Frida caught up and skidded to a stop. She panted, hands on her knees, then straightened. “It’s due in just under two weeks.”

“It’ll take us two hours,” said Hilda. “Especially as you’re on our team. We don’t have to worry about it yet.”

Frida grasped Hilda’s shoulders and dragged her in so they stood nose to nose. “We always have to worry about it.”

David caught up with them. Clearly not worried about the short essay, he had not been running. “You don’t need to stress out, Frida. Hilda’s right, it’ll be easy. Although, I don’t think that’s why she doesn’t want to start on it today… is it?”

Hilda’s shoulders slumped. “I promised I’d hang out with Erik, okay?”

“Again?” said Frida.

“I don’t do it that often! Besides, he’s my friend now. I know you guys don’t get that, but…” Hilda cut herself off with a huff, folding her arms, scrunching up her face and looking away.

“No,” said David, “I suppose you don’t hang out that often. Or rather, he doesn’t hang out with you that often. Didn’t you say he’d left early last time?”

“Well…” It had been a couple of months since she and Erik got lost in the Wilderness. Since he’d apologised for the way he’d treated her, and they had become friends. The first month had been fine. They had seen each other sometimes twice a week, which was all her mother seemed happy to allow. But, one night, he’d become flustered and taken off in a rush. After that, his visits had been less frequent, and he’d seemed distracted.

Not that Erik had ditched her, although that was what both Frida and David made it sound like. “Last time he had to leave, he said his shoulder was hurting him,” Hilda explained. “He leaped in front of a Barghest to save me, you know.”

Frida sighed. “We know. But you don’t have to explain it to us. We’re your friends. If it’s something you want to do, we’ll support you.”

“Even if it doesn’t make much sense,” said David with a huff.

“David!”

“I know! I’m sorry.” He sighed. “At least can we walk you to where you’re meeting him?”

Hilda smiled faintly. “Sure.”

The coffee shop where she and Erik usually met was only a few blocks away, halfway between the school and the car yard where he worked. Hilda had no desire to spend much time there. It was simply a convenient place to meet. She’d usually find Erik waiting out the front, sipping an enormous paper cup of coffee. He said it helped perk him up. Especially since his new job was more boring than Safety Patrol paperwork.

Curious, one afternoon Hilda asked if she could try it. Erik wholeheartedly agreed. And, instead of letting her take a sip of his, he took her up to the counter and allowed her to choose whatever she wanted. Never having had coffee before, Hilda had been a little confused. Apparently, ‘shots’ didn’t refer to how much hazelnut flavoring you wanted. Meanwhile, Erik stood there, watching gleefully as she confused the poor barista, but never explained to her what she had asked for, nor what she ended up getting. It had tasted delicious, but Hilda hadn’t slept a wink. Johanna had not been pleased.

As they approached, Hilda felt her stomach sink. The table out the front, where Erik would wait for her, was empty.

“I thought you said he finished a half hour before school finishes?” said David, a growl creeping into his voice.

“Usually,” said Hilda. “Sometimes he’s a bit late if he has a customer. His boss won’t just let him leave…”

“Hilda,” said Frida. “I know he helped you and all, and I know you two worked out whatever bad blood was between you, but… that doesn’t mean you have to always hang out with him, especially because, well…”

“Especially because he’s Erik Ahlberg,” said David, cutting over Frida. “You know, the guy who nearly destroyed Trolberg, because he wouldn’t listen to you.”

“He said he was sorry about that!”

“Sometimes sorry is just words!” said David. “And I don’t know, maybe he meant them, and maybe he did mean to save you from that Hound, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop being a jerk overnight. Look at what he’s doing to you now - it’s like he’s only hanging out with you whenever it works in with whatever he’s up to.”

“Exactly,” said Frida. “And you can bet he’s up to something.”

“Neither of you were there. You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Hilda had tried to explain to her friends how she felt. Sure, he was still Erik Ahlberg. Frustrating as hell, and sometimes, if he got moody, a little mean. But when he was fun, he was fun, and he’d talk to her about adventures, both made up and real. He was always interested in her drawings or latest story idea, more so than Frida and David ever were.

Being around him, she just felt a safe. If a creature that was all teeth and claws attacked her, she knew he’d throw himself in the way. He already had. And got hurt. Every time she’d catch him wincing if he moved his shoulder a little too boisterously, which he often did when he got excited, Hilda felt a brief stab of guilt.

David sighed, and when he spoke again, some of the anger had left his voice. “We’re just worried about you, is all. We don’t want you to get hurt if he decides he’s bored with you.” He reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

Hilda snatched her arm back and threw herself into the chair at the table. She dug a book out of her satchel, wrenched it open, then plunked it down hard on the table and shoved her nose into it.

“Hilda,” said Frida, “please don’t be like that.”

Hilda scrunched down so her chin almost rested on the table, so she couldn’t see her friends over the horizon of the book.

“Fine,” said Frida. “Well, we have an essay to write, I guess. And I’m not waiting to rush at the last minute just because you’re pouting. Come on, David.”

“It isn’t due for two weeks!” David let out a long-suffering sigh. His shoes scuffed the concrete. “Well, um, Hilda? Look, I’m going to go with Frida. But if you need us for anything… we’ll always be there, okay? You know, in case Ahlberg isn’t.”

Hilda glared at her book until the words blurred. Finally, she couldn’t help but look up. All she saw was David’s retreating back as he caught up with Frida.

Her friends were gone. No longer challenging her. Hilda felt the tension in her shoulders seep out. The book was Erik’s. She shouldn’t have banged it on the table so hard. The pages were yellowing, and the spine had become a little brittle, but it wasn’t past reading as long as you weren’t too rough with it. Emil Eckhart’s, one Erik had taken a great deal of trouble to pick from his collection, after Hilda’s insistence that the female characters in the ones she had found at the library were boring and fainted far too often. Erik had been determined to prove her assessment wrong and had said he’d bring one which had a character who kind of reminded him of Gerda. Then he’d flushed and added, “Not like on page 307 though.”

Erik had been so excited to lend it to her. Even if he had, at the last minute, held onto it for a second longer than he needed to, like he was rethinking lending such a precious thing as a book to a child.

Hilda glanced up the footpath, towards the car yard, and gulped at the lump in her throat. She could see what was keeping him. Or rather, that he was still there. But she knew he wouldn’t be long. Maybe she’d draw Erik’s favorite character from this book. Just not what she was doing on page 307.

***

Erik Ahlberg was on a mission. He had a problem to solve. And he’d solve it like a man. By himself, and without dragging anyone he cared for needlessly into the whole confounded mess. All he needed, he’d decided, was the right reference material. But he still needed help to locate that material. That meant he had to talk to a librarian.

“Werewolves?” Kaisa raised an eyebrow.

Erik resisted the urge to tug at his collar. The woman was half his height, barely more than a girl. Besides, he was an adult now. If he lost a book all he need do was admit the error and pay a fine. No one would show up at his front door, dark as shadow, and ask his mother whatever had become of the book he’d borrowed nearly three months ago.

“Have you tried the fiction section?” said Kaisa.

“I’m not looking for fiction.”

“Well, I must not have heard you correctly, then. Because I’m certain you asked about- “

“I’m researching something!”

“Not much use researching something that doesn’t exist.”

“Well then,” Erik said tersely, “if you think it’s such a ridiculous notion, why don’t you recommend a—“

Kaisa whipped out a hard bound volume from under her trolley and slapped it into Erik’s hands.

Erik ran a hand over the cover. The spine was still strong despite the wear of the leather. “What’s this supposed to be?”

Kaisa shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea. You’re the one who needs it.” And with that, she grabbed her trolley, swiveled it expertly around him, and disappeared into the stacks.

“Wait…” Erik groaned. “Bloody useless librarians.” Despite his doubts, Erik’s hands worked with a mind of their own, opening the book and flicking over the pages.

It was a book of mythology. Erik supposed that’s what had brought on the ‘have you tried fiction’ quip, although he was sure mythology sat somewhere in between fiction and non-. His eyes caught the bold and gilded title of one section.

Erik slammed the book shut with a heavy thump, startling some college-aged students studying nearby. He checked the book out. And, within fifteen minutes, he was thumbing through the section as he headed down the footpath towards home.

It was a collection of stories. And the one which had caught his eye? The Monster King. Erik was unsure of what he was looking for, so going with his gut seemed as good a guess as any. And probably more useful than asking a librarian.

As with many older books, the story was wordy and took a while to get to the point. Erik skimmed the text as he walked. He’d always been able to read quickly. As a child, he’d felt the faster he read, the more he absorbed. That maybe he’d absorb a hero who always got things right and nobody laughed at, and even should the surrounding characters pressure him into preforming the tasks a hero should, he always pulled those tasks off with the greatest of ease.

It would’ve been a brilliant talent for reading Safety Patrol Procedures. If only his brain didn’t switch it off as soon as he lost interest in a topic. But this was worded as a story, and his interest in the subject matter he hoped to find was desperately high.

The Monster King told the story, funnily enough, of a king. He, like the heroes Erik used to love, was strong and mighty, and he pulled off many great feats - fighting and killing the monsters that plagued his kingdom. This the book went on about in great detail and Erik flicked through those pages quickly. But not so quickly that he missed the main point, which was that the king had not been mighty all on his own. The spirits of his people had bestowed on him his strength to protect them.

But the King became conceited. He forgot the spirits. He drank up his peoples’ praise and gave no credit to the supernatural powers that worked through him.

The spirits, as powerful spirits often seemed to do in these stories, became angry with the King. And so, they transformed him into one of the Monsters he had once fought. He wandered the land until he thanked those spirits, begged for their forgiveness, and only then did they restore him to his former glory.

Erik stared at the pages and swallowed hard. The king had been punished for his arrogance. He’d been turned into a beast.

But it was just a story. Fiction was right. In reality, arrogance could do far worse. Now, if the King’s actions had destroyed his people, that would have been realistic. The image of his mother rising beneath Trolberg stabbed into his mind.

Erik repressed a shudder and slammed the book shut. “Bah. Divine judgment? That’s no kind of explanation. I need facts! Not…” He looked around him. At the trees and rocks. And Trolberg and its encircling wall. Behind him.

“Damn it. Not again.” The sun was setting. He’d set out intending to head towards home. He would have thought that, even with his nose in a book, he’d find his way.

But not since the Barghest had ripped into his back. Tearing into him, putting him in hospital. He’d thought, once he’d got out, the worst of it was over.

But no. It was not just annoying exercises he couldn’t see the point of, that hurt, and wondering if he’d ever get full strength back in his arm, that he had to contend with. Not even the nightmares. Of the Hound. That brought back the nightmares of destroying Trolberg, and the two had blended into terrors that ended in waking in cold sweats. That had not been the worst of it.

Now, increasingly, he found himself drawn to the outskirts of Trolberg, out towards the Wilderness. Not so bad when he was working, or focused on something. But as soon as he became distracted, he’d find himself heading to the wall.

And then there was the night everything had gone crazy. Crazy enough, he felt he’d been turned inside out. And, once it was over, had sent him searching through books of mythology in the library, daring to speak with librarians.

“Alright, you’re fine, Erik. The book just distracted you. That’s all.” He backed towards the wall. “It’s not like last time. Before things went south, you started…”

He winced as a stab went through his shoulder, and the healed wound across his back began to tingle. He shifted his book under his other arm and rolled his shoulder. That usually helped loosen his muscles.

“It’s just carrying this big, heavy book. Your doctor said, don’t lift too much weight, and…” He looked at the book, and sighed. It was big for a book, but hardly a dead weight.

His shoulders slumped. “Who are you lying to, Erik? You’re the only one out here.” He glanced back at Trolberg. Lights were winking on, now that the sun had set. Despite the faint, wild tug on something inside of him, the thing that drew him to the Wilderness, he wanted to return to Trolberg’s safety.

But would it be safe for Trolberg if he returned? If what happened last time happened again… No. He couldn’t do that. His actions had already nearly destroyed his home. Nearly killed hundreds of people.

Yeah, the Monster King had got off light. Perhaps, Erik thought, as he turned to head back out into the Wilderness, this time by choice, the Monster King had taken himself away from his kingdom for the same reason. Erik smiled to himself. Here he was, doing the right thing. The unfortunate thing was no one was around to see him do it.

“So, here you are again, little human.”

Erik stiffened as a Troll stepped out of the trees and broke into a massive grin. Erik definitely recognised him this time. Both from the front lines that night outside Trolberg, and, as one of the three who had chased him and Hilda, and set the Barghest upon them.

Bastel slammed a fist into his open palm. “Hurn’s spell worked. And here you are. Oh, I am going to enjoy tearing you apart.”

***

Johanna sat at her desk in her apartment’s living area, drawing. She’d already prepared dinner. A pie sat in the warm oven, ready to go. She shouldn’t be worried. Tontu had yet to poke his head out of Nowhere Space, despite the smell of the pie wafting through the house. Hilda wasn’t late.

But her daughter meant to see Erik Ahlberg this afternoon. And, though Johanna had given the man permission, after laying down some well thought out terms and conditions, and letting him know this was against her better judgment, but she’d allow it so long as he behaved, it still felt uncomfortable. I mean, she’d been lost with Hilda too. Underground! It hadn’t made Hilda want to hang out with her mother, which seemed rather unfair.

The sound of footsteps running up the stairs reached Johanna’s ears, and then the front door slammed open. Hilda’s satchel thumped as she dropped it into a corner. Twig let out a startled yelp.

The slight knot in Johanna’s stomach worked itself loose. Good. Not too late home. Not too early either. She put on a smile and swiveled around to face her daughter. “Ready for dinner, Hilda? How was your time with Mr Ahlberg—“

Hilda rushed across the living area, bolted into her bedroom and slammed her door, far louder than the front one.

Twig turned to Johanna and tilted his head with a quizzical whine. What was that all about?

“Erik Ahlberg.” Johanna's fists tightened, and her pencil let out a faint crack of protest.

He’d been on his absolute best behavior at first. But, recently, Ahlberg had been late, distracted, and had left early. Hilda had made light of it, but she had told her mother about it. And now? He’d definitely upset her. Johanna shouldn’t have been surprised. But she would still make him regret it.

Johanna drew in a breath, steadied herself, then knocked softly on Hilda’s door. “Hilda? Do you want to talk?”

***

Chapter 2

#hilda #hilda netflix #hilda fanfiction #hilda fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #erik ahlberg #hilda johanna #hilda frida #hilda david #hilda kaisa #ahlhound

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avengerscompound · 4 years

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The Tower: Family - 15

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1841

Warnings: Pregnancy

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family. When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 15: First Day

“El, honey, time to get up.”

It took a moment for Steve’s words to seep through into my sleeping mind and when they did I became more aware of my nausea than of the sun coming through the window, how cozy and warm I was, or the press of Steve’s lips against my forehead and the touch of his hand on my arm.

I squeezed my eyes tight and curled up into a ball groaning.

“I know, sweetheart,” he soothed, rubbing my arm. “Everyone is up and eating breakfast. Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?”

I nodded my head a little and he scooped me into his arms and carried me to the bathroom. “You gonna throw up?” He asked.

I nodded and he placed me on my feet in front of the toilet. I stood staring at it for a moment as he gathered my hair back and rubbed my back soothingly. My stomach churned and I dropped to my knees and heaved into the toilet bowl, emptying my stomach. Steve stayed with me, rubbing my back and holding my hair off my face. When it seemed like my stomach was empty he flushed and helped me to my feet.

“Here’s your nausea medication,” he said, taking the lid of a bottle. I held out my hand and he shook a pill out into my palm and poured me a glass of water. As I took it he turned on the shower.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, pressing another kiss to my forehead. “Take a shower and get dressed. We’ll have toast and your vitamins ready for you so we can take the kids to school.”

“Thank you, Steve,” I mumbled.

“Of course, honey,” he said. “We don’t want you to miss this.”

He left the room and I showered as quickly as I could. When I was done, I dressed in a simple dress and braided my hair before heading downstairs.

“Mommy!” The twins squealed, running over to me and slamming into my legs. They were wearing matching blue gingham shirts and dark blue shorts. Riley had her hair in pigtails, while Pietro’s sat in wide curls.

“You dotta hurry, mommy,” Pietro said.

“We dotta doe to schoowl,” Riley added.

“I know, babies,” I said. “We can go.”

“Come drink some ginger tea and eat some toast,” Natasha said. “We have time.”

“Mama,” Riley whined. “We wanna doe.”

Natasha started laughing. “Riley,” she whined back. “You have to be patient.”

I chuckled and took a seat, and took my vitamins as I sipped the ginger tea Wanda had poured for me.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Bruce asked.

“Getting there,” I said. “Pills have started kicking in, so that’s good.”

He rubbed my back with one large hand and I smiled at him. “You’re going to be very popular at the school.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I considered pushing into just Bruce so I wouldn’t draw attention, and you know, maybe I’d fit through the door easier. But Hulk wants to be there.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” I said and finished my piece of toast.

“Weddy now?” Riley asked.

“Yeah, bug,” I said. “I’m ready.”

“Alright, family,” Steve said, getting up and moving the puppies into their playpen. “Assemble.”

We all got up and went to the elevator riding it down to the lobby. We left through the back entrance and Natasha engaged her powers, cloaking our very large group as we walked to their preschool. Wanda used her powers to make sure no one accidentally walked into any of us. Riley and Pietro were buzzing the whole way there, babbling happily about making friends and reading books.

When we arrived, Natasha lowered the cloak surrounding us and we checked them in. We immediately started drawing looks. Even the staff who had been prepared for our arrival kept glancing over. It was easy to tell that the parents in the halls were holding their kids back from approaching us. That all went out the window when we entered the twin’s classroom.

It was full of kids with their parents doing various activities. Some were looking for their desks, some were reading in the corner on the comfortable couches, some were hanging up backpacks, and some parents were soothing their crying children and assuring them they’d have fun.

When Steve and Tony entered the room some kids looked over. They all wrinkled their brows like they were trying to work out how they knew the two men at the front of the group. When Thor came in, more kids looked over and understanding started to dawn on some of the kids and a couple made happy squeak sounds. It wasn’t until Bruce ducked through the door that they all broke.

They all squealed and ran over, little groups of kids choosing their favorite Avengers to speak to. They all crouched down to get on the level with the kids as they were inundated with questions from the class. Riley and Pietro looked confused and Pietro ran over to my side and tugged on my hand. “Mommy…” he whined.

I picked him up as the headteacher approached. “Hello!” She said warmly, extending her hand to me. “I’m Alicia. You must be Elise.”

“Yes,” I said, shaking her hand. “Sorry about the chaos. We all wanted to see them off.”

“It’s fine. The first day is always a little chaotic, and this gives them all something exciting,” she said. “And who are you?”

Pietro hid his head in my chest and Riley grabbed my free hand and began tugging on it. “I don’t think they’ve seen their parents get mobbed by fans before,” I said.

“Plus I’m a new person,” Alicia added.

“This is Pietro,” I said, bouncing Pietro on my hip. “Piet, this is your teacher, Alicia.”

“Hello, Pietro, welcome to the class,” she said, before crouching down to Riley. “And I bet your name is Riley.”

“It is!” She squeaked, like her teacher had just done a particularly amazing magic trick.

“How about you two find your bag pegs and your desks?” Alicia suggested.

“Daddy…” Pietro whined, looking back at the group of kids who were swarming around the others. Clint managed to pull himself out of the pack and took Pietro from me.

“I got you, buddy,” he said. Pietro scrambled up onto Clint’s shoulders and we took the twins into the nook that had the kids bags.

“Why dose kids do dat?” Pietro asked as Riley tried to find her name.

“Well,” Clint said, and looked over at me, with his helpless puppy expression.

“Remember when we were on Asgard and everyone knew who you were and they were very nice to you?” I asked.

“Yeah, dey cawled me a pwince,” Pietro said.

“Well, it’s a bit like that. Mamma, Daj, and all your daddy’s are very well known because they go out and save the world all the time. People like them. Especially kids. So the kids are all just excited to see them because they like them so much and they’ve never seen them before,” I explained. “You’re gonna see some will have pictures of them on their bags and lunch boxes.”

“Pied!” Riley called. “Wook - dares daddy Steeb.”

Pietro began to wiggle down and Clint put him on the floor and the twins went from looking for their pegs to looking for their parents’ pictures on the other kid’s bags. In the end, they found two daddy Steves, three daddy Tonys, a daddy Bruce, a daddy Thor, Two mamas, one Daj, and a daddy Sam.

“Aww, man, no me,” Clint complained.

“Well there’s no me either,” I said, nudging him. “Or Bucky.”

“Damn, poor Buck,” Clint said.

I shrugged and looked out through the door. “He’s got a bunch of kids looking at his arm. I bet tomorrow there will be a tonne of Winter Soldier Merch. Plus you’re all gonna be invited to every kid’s birthday party now.”

“Sweet,” Clint said. “I love cupcakes.”

“Mommy, how come day don’t tawk to you?” Riley asked.

“Oh,” I said. “I’m not an Avenger. That’s all. I never did any saving the world.”

“Well, that’s not technically true,” Clint corrected. “Your mommy definitely did. But we kept it a secret. So the kids don’t know her.”

“Oh…” Riley said, putting her finger to her mouth. “Is a secwet.”

I laughed and rubbed her back. “Did you find your peg?”

Riley bounced over to the peg with her name on it. “Hewr.”

“Hang up your bag then, bug,” Clint said.

Both Pietro and Riley hung their bag up and we went back into the main classroom. “Alright, class!” Alicia called. “Let’s all go to the story area and we’ll do some introductions.”

All the kids reluctantly pulled themselves away from the Avengers and took seats on the couch and little cushions in the reading area, while the parents stood around the area. Alicia took a seat in the sofa chair.

“Everyone’s moms and dads will be going home or to work soon and they’ll come back at the end of the day. We’ll play an introduction game when they’ve gone,” Alicia explained. “But there’s a special situation today. You’ve all been talking to the Avengers, haven’t we? Do you know why they’re here?”

Pietro and Riley started bouncing up and down on their cushions and Pietro put up his hand. Alicia laughed. “Yes, I know you two know,” she said. “You see everyone, Riley and Pietro have seven daddies and three mommies.” There was a group gasp around the room. None of the parents really reacted in surprise. The news that we were in a ten-person polyamorous relationship was old now. It was probably more of a shock just seeing Steve walk into the room in the first place.

“So you’re going to see them all around a lot more, just remember they’re here because they’re Riley and Pietro’s mommies and daddies. You need to remember how when you’re tired or upset you might want to go straight to your parents. Riley and Pietro might need that too, and even though you might want to talk to Iron Man, he might just need to cuddle with Riley and Pietro or take them home.”

“Did any of you kids have any questions?” Steve asked.

There was a little while where the kids asked questions. There were a couple related to how a kid could have ten parents but most were just questions about the Avengers or asking them for hugs. It was pretty cute and eventually, Alicia called for the last questions. All the kids said goodbye to their parents and we were all shuffled back out of the room.

“You think they’re gonna be okay?” Bruce asked, looking back over his shoulder.

“They will be fine,” Thor said. “I am sure we will all be regaled with stories when we retrieve them.”

“Now,” Sam said, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist. “We have four hours with no kids. What trouble shall we get up to?”

// NEXT

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

Note

Do you have a fic rec list dedicated to John or Sherlock driving? Thanks!

Hi Nonny!

Ahhh, I don’t know many... here’s what I have:

CARS / DRIVING

Take My Hand, Knot Your Fingers Through Mine by patster223 (K+, 2,003 w., 1 Ch. || H/C & Friendship, Whump) - "I know this is an inconvenience for you, but I would really rather you were awake right now, John." John is unconscious, and Sherlock decides to talk to him anyway. Sherlock/John pre-slash.

Trapped and Upside Down on the M6 by BootsnBlossoms (E, 4,256 w., 1 Ch. || Whump, Car Accident, Hurt / Comfort) – Everything felt wrong. His hair was going the wrong way. His arms were bent in ways he wouldn’t choose to bend them. His neck hurt and he couldn’t really feel his toes. Something was dripping on his face – and rolling up. A car crash. He had been in a car crash.

Abatement by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 6,816 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Retirementlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Self Esteem, Grumpy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, PWP, Fluff and Smut, Bottomlock) – “What’s wrong with you? You love the cottage,” John glances over to the passenger seat, then quickly turns his eyes back to the road. Driving was still not his forte, but considering Sherlock still couldn’t properly bend and lift his new knee enough to press and release the clutch, he had to make do. Not that Sherlock hadn’t tried to argue his way into the driver’s seat. “I love the cottage for a week or two, John. Don’t be deliberately obstuse,” Sherlock grumbles, sinking further in his seat. Well, as best he can with a four-week-old knee replacement. “And that’s all we’re going for, love,” John says out loud. But what he’s thinking is, shit. He knows.

Drive by lifeonmars (M, 9,537 w., 1 Ch. || Virginity, Awkward First Times, Minor Injuries) – John and Sherlock are stranded by the roadside, and John is injured. They need to spend the night in the back of a humvee. Sherlock is confused. John is understanding.

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w., 4 Ch. || H/C, Injury, Slow Burn) – When John's left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she's about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm.

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,256 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

MARKED FOR LATER

Fly Very High by yalublyutebya (E, 46,533 w., 31 Ch. || Formula One / Car Racing AU || Rivalry, Permanent Injury, Hate Sex, Angry Sex) – John Watson was born to be a racing driver, and even a crash isn't enough to keep him out of a car for long. But coming back is not that easy, especially when he meets his new teammate, Sherlock Holmes. Part 2 of the Formula One AU series

How the mouth changes its shape by breathedout (E, 132,531 w., 20 Ch. || Underage, 1950′s, Femlock, Butch/Femme, Gender Issues, Gender Roles, Case Fic, World War 2) – 1955. Under the placid veneer of suburban playparks and middle-class conformity churns a hidden London: femmes and butches dancing close in basement bars; clandestine love between women. To Sherlock Holmes, struggling private detective and mistress of disguise, it’s a realm she renounced years before. To Johnnie Watson, daredevil ambulance driver turned auto mechanic, it’s become a little too familiar. But when someone is murdered in the washroom of the city’s most notorious lesbian club, the investigation will lead both women to reconsider their assumptions about themselves, each other, and the world in which they live. Part 1 of the One shape to another series

Red Lights Out by days_of_storm (E, 333,458 w., 103 Ch. || Formula One / Car Racing AU || Mechanic John, Driver Sherlock, UST, Friendship, Pre-Slash, Romance, Perfect Cooperation, Accidents, Manipulation, Slow Burn) – John Watson is an overqualified mechanic and former rally driver who works for McLaren. Silverstone GP is impending when he meets Sherlock Holmes, a prodigy driver whom nobody takes seriously, except for McLaren boss Greg Lestrade.

-------

Feel free to add your own, guys! <3

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #driving fics #racing au #my fic recs #Anonymous

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chairismaticchair · 4 years

Text

Star Crossed Enemies

Happy Holidays @yellowartistsunshine ! @sanderssidesgiftxchange

Summary: When two rival theatre majors get cast as the leads in "Romeo and Juliet", something blossoms between them. Something beautiful.

This is Roceit, there are some swears. I had lots of fun writing this, especially since this was my first roceit fic!

If Roman despised a single person in the world with all his body and soul, that would be Janus Taylor. He hated how snagging lead roles in plays and musicals always became a fight between them. He hated how smug Janus constantly acted. He hated his stupidly posh accent that was only really obvious when he was on stage performing Shakespeare. He hated how he couldn't have any straight (not that it was possible with Roman any other way) or slightly logical conversation with Janus. He hated him, from the tip of his dumb black beanie, to the soles of his beige loafers. Overall, he hated Janus.

Whenever they passed in the college, there would be a flurry of middle fingers and middle-school-grade insults like "shit head" and "dumbass" thrown about with as much malice as two theatre majors could. They seemed to lose all common sense when in the mere vicinity of each other, instead becoming caricatures of theatre rivals. Arguably, that was exactly what they were.

"Taylor." Roman spat out. "I heard the LGBTQ+ Club's putting up another play soon. Suppose you're going to want the lead role. But it's mine." He declared, as if no one had expected Roman Diaz Santos to want the lead role.

Decei - shit sorry, Janus hissed back. "I heard it's gonna be Shakespeare, and guess who always gets Shakespeare roles? Me. Shithead." He added the “shithead” as an afterthought, as if this was his first rivalry and he had almost forgotten rule #315 of the Rivalry Book of Rivals.

They then tossed each other middle fingers like mutual salutes and marched off, heads held up high and refusing to turn back.

"Man, Janus really is a dick isn't he?" Roman complained to his best friend Virgil Teo, who sighed.

"Yes, Roman. Just like the -" He pulled out a notebook and made a little mark. "534 other times you've told me. This year. I don't even know what's that bad about him."

"Well of course you don't get it. You two dated freshman year. Honestly, I thought you had better taste."

"And I do. That's why we broke up." Virgil slapped Roman's shoulder playfully. "Who are you to insult my dating life? You haven't had a single date since the start of college."

"I've had dates." Roman protested.

"Bad dates, Princey. Those don't count. Maybe you could send it to the Guinness World Records."

Roman gasped in mock annoyance. "How dare you, Virgil.” He gave a wistful sigh. “Anyways, I just want to find my soulmate. They’re out there, I can just feel it. A Juliet or Julien to my Romeo.”

"You're always are full of bullshit, aren't you, Roman?"

---

Patton, a senior, walked up to the front of the leture theatre and tapped the teacher on the shoulder. He whispered something in her ear and the teacher sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose frustratedly. "Hi! The LGBTQ+ Club is putting up two Shakespeare plays for this November! The first one will be a gay Romeo and Juliet, called Romeo and Julien. The other will be a sapphic 'Much Ado about Nothing'. Audition sign ups start next week Monday and end on Friday! Thank you!" Patton was very chirpy for 8 a.m. .

Now, this was when shit hit the fan and our story gets exciting. Roman turned to Virgil enthusiastically. "I'm totally auditioning for Romeo." Meanwhile, all students in the near vicinity who wanted Romeo's role sighed in unison.

Across the lecture theatre, Janus turned to his friend Remus excitedly. "I'm auditioning for Julien! This is gonna be great."

"For fucks sake." Someone in the near vicinity groaned and his friend patted his back sympathetically.

---

Roman sat outside the auditorium, swinging his feet while waiting for his turn to audition. Walking down the corridor, Janus turned to Roman and picked up the chair beside him. He moved 6 feet away and plopped the chair down.

"So, Santos." He started, staring intensely at the auditorium door.

Roman found his shoes absolutely riveting. "Yeah?"

"What role are you auditioning for?"

Tapping the side of his chair, Roman said, "The lead one, obviously."

"Oh." Janus paused and turned to look directly at Roman. Sticking out his hand, he gave him a slight smile. "Well may the best one win."

Roman took the hand hesitantly. "Yeah Janus. Break a leg."

---

The large board outside the auditorium was a crowd favourite among students. It was constantly updated with rehearsal times, casting choices and upcoming performances, you know, the classic cool stuff.

Roman and Janus were the first to arrive at the board and glanced at each other before looking down the corridor with longing.

A boy with big circular wire framed glasses bounded down the corridor, an A4 paper in his hand. He waved excitedly at the two in front of him. "Hi Roman! Hi Janus! Waiting for results?"

The two nodded in synchronisation.

"Oh, well I got them here!" He got out a stapler and stapled the paper to the board, the sleeves of his turquoise hoodie large and dangly.

Romeo: Roman Diaz Santos

Julien: Janus Taylor

The two boys turned to each other in horror.

"Y - you mean -"

"You thought-"

"Julien."

"Romeo."

"WAS THE LEAD ROLE?"

The boy, Patton, looked at them in amusement. "Well, you both got main roles, so congrats! Rehearsals start in two weeks and I'll give you guys your scripts tomorrow. Have fun!"

He patted them both on the back before heading off, skip in his step.

Janus and Roman turned to look at each other in horror once more.

---

There is a moment in one's life, where they will reflect on everything they have done, and wonder what mistakes they had made to lead them down this path. As Roman flipped through the script Patton had handed him, that was exactly what he was doing. "You mean to say, I have to kiss this - this snake 5 times? Outrageous. Unacceptable."

They sat in a circle, everyone who participated in the play knee against knee. It was far too close for comfort and Roman was probably going to vomit onto the rest of the cast.

Virgil, who was in charge of lights and sound and sitting next to him, smirked. "Princey, this is literally a play about you two in love. 5 kisses are the minimum."

"And I am right here, you know." Janus looked slightly offended, leaning over and looking at Roman, who was a Virgil away. "And I'm not that bad at kissing. Ask Virgil. "

Virgil choked.

Before Roman could retort, Patton interrupted them. "Okay guys! Don't forget to practice your lines. Rehearsals start in two weeks so I hope you manage to memorise some of your lines."

As they left the auditorium, Roman whispered to Virgil. "Is Janus actually good at kissing?"

Virgil just shrugged.

Patton called after the leaving group. "Roman? Janus? Please get whatever feud is going on between you two and throw it away. You two need to cooperate so that we can all work together. Go bond over the next few days. Thanks!”

Bond? With Janus? Roman never wanted to hear those words in the same sentence ever again. There was an odd creeping feeling that grew in his stomach and crawled up his throat invasively. It was foreign and weird. Maybe an allergic reaction.

“Oy! Janus! We probably have to - to get to know each other better.” Roman could feel heat spreading from his toes all the way to his cheeks. Why was he blushing? He should not be blushing. “So, do you wanna go grab some food tonight?”

Janus’ eyes widened and he physically stepped back. He pointed at Roman, before pointing back at himself. “You? Offering me? Dinner?”

Roman shot a wink at Janus cheekily, before turning around to hide his blush. What was he doing? He never flirted with his rival. Was that even flirting? Tugging his hair down in a pitiful attempt to hide his burning red ears, he turned to Virgil.

Virgil wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, before elbowing Roman in the side. “Stepping up your game, Santos? Impressive.”

Roman blushed even harder, and looked away.

---

Roman had had his fair share of dates, if that was what you called a dinner like this, and he never knew what to say. He pulled out his best card.

“So...ya like jazz?”

Janus choked on his iced lemon tea. "Fucking Bee Movie?”

“Well, you do wear black and yellow 80% of the time, so you clearly like bees. Ergo, Bee Movie.”

An eyebrow was raised. “Impressive. You almost sound as smart as Logan.”

“I wish. He’s an absolute genius.” Logan was studying law, would probably become the valedictorian, and was dating Patton. Truly a legend.

“What’s your favourite animated movie then?” Janus asked. “Mine certainly is not the Bee Movie. There are loads of better Dreamworks films. I love Megamind."

“Oh, Megamind is really good! Choosing a favourite… that’s so hard though!” Roman bounced in his seat. Another movie lover? Perhaps, Janus wasn't too bad.

Janus laughed and the food must have been tainted or something, because Roman’s heart skipped several beats.

---

“Right! Let’s start at Act 1, Scene 5. You guys are at the party and this is when Romeo meets Julien for the first time. Action.” Patton, perched on the edge of a chair, announced, eyes shining with excitement.

Roman glanced over at Janus, clad in a hoodie and jeans. He was flipping through his script and mumbling lines to himself. It was their first rehearsal so they were still allowed to look at their scripts. It also happened to be their first kiss scene. Pink tinted Roman's cheeks at the thought. Kiss… Janus? The two words seemed so foreign next to each other, yet they felt as though they were meant to be. He couldn't stop his eyes lingering over Janus' light pink lips. He turned away quickly, glancing at his script. Romeo kisses Julien.

Romeo.

Kisses.

Julien.

Shaking his head, he looked up at the people on stage, waiting for his cue. He had to stop thinking so much. Thoughts were dangerous. Who knows where they may lead?

Roman wondered what Janus' lips tasted like.

Oh for fucks sake.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Roman shoved his face back into the script, mumbling his lines under his breath and waiting for his queue to come on stage.

Stepping onto the stage, he channeled Romeo Shakespearean thoughts. It was a little hard in his button up shirt and jeans, but he was a professional. “What lord is that which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?” He gestured towards Janus.

A server bowed politely. “I know not, sir.”

“Oh, he doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems he hangs upon the cheek of night. Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows. As yonder lord o'er his fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch his place of stand. And, touching his, make blessèd my rude hand.” He spoke to the audience, but couldn’t help think about how accurate this was. Janus too, was really hot.

Roman spoke some more about how hot Julien was, and the rest of the rehearsal was a blur. He wasn’t Roman anymore. In front of this audience? He was Romeo, a rich lovestruck teenager.

Then suddenly, he found himself staring into Janus’ eyes, and he was Roman all over again.

Janus’ eyes, a deep, rich brown that gave Roman a steady look, pierced into Roman’s heart. He spoke towards the audience, but he sounded so genuine and sincere as he uttered his lines. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”

Roman gave Janus a soft smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned in and brushed Janus’ lips. It was hesitant, and soft, and he could hear Janus' quiet gasp, as if he wasn't expecting it. It was barely a kiss, more like a peck, but Roman could feel heat rushing into his cheeks. “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.” He said, loud enough for the audience to hear him.

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took?” Janus cocked his head to the side, looking far more innocent and coy than Roman had ever seen him behave before.

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” This time, Janus stood on tiptoes and kissed him. A proper kiss that made the butterflies in his stomach flutter, and Roman wanted to stay like that forever and ever. The scent of Janus' cologne made him giddy and he took Janus' hands, pulling him closer. On one hand, they were playing parts in a play, and on the other hand, everything felt oh so real, from the hoodie toggles that tickled his button up shirt to Janus' soft fingers gripping his hands tightly.

When they finally pulled away, Roman gazed at Janus' shining brown eyes in what must have been a lovestruck expression. He found his Julien.

---

"You BITCH!" Virgil slapped the study table violently.

"What did I do?"

"1 year. 1 fucking year of you making fun of me falling for a white guy and here you are, falling for the exact same white guy." Virgil looked vaguely irritated. "Even my mom was like," He put his hand at his ear like a phone and did an exaggerated Chinese accent. "Aiyah ah boy, I know you like boys, but an angmoh gao is too too much already. But don't worry lah, 4 months is not long, you still can leave him.” Do you even know what that means, you ass?”

He suddenly burst out in laughter. "This is great, it's my turn to poke fun." He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "What was the kiss like? Was it...spicy?"

"Weren't you there?"

"Yeah, but I want a personal recount. Actually, no. Give me the P.E.E.L. format. Point, evidence, example and link on Janus' kissing skills. Go."

"Oh, er. Janus was a… good kisser?" Roman didn't kiss much. "Um, point. His hair is all fluffy and I feel it brushing against my forehead, which gives me butterflies and this warm tingly sensation that ran through my body and gave me goosebumps. And he makes this noise whenever we kiss that is so cute, he honestly sounds genuinely surprised whenever it happens, even though we're following a script. And his cologne smells so good, oh my god I need to get the brand name, it's like kinda ashy, but not quite and it was a bit light, like a nice stroll in a forest. Holy shit it smelled nice. And-"

Virgil raised an eyebrow and paused Roman's tangent. "He wore cologne? He never wears cologne."

"Oh." Roman's eyes widened.

"Maybe…" Virgil wiggled his eyebrows. "He wore it for the kiss scene."

The heat that decided to congregate on Roman's cheeks was undeniable. "Why - why would he do that?"

"He likes you, ya dumbass. And he wanted to impress you, so he decided that hoodie plus beanie plus cologne was a good combo."

Roman stared at his feet. "It was."

Virgil stood up and patted Roman on the head comfortingly. "There, there, it's alright. White guys aren't all that bad."

"Oh fuck off."

Virgil bowed and shot Roman the finger. Truly a man of eloquence and class. Roman opened a picture on his phone from his date with Janus. Janus was smiling, and Roman could feel himself smiling too as he looked at the picture of Janus. Of his Julien.

#secret santa #sanders sides #janus sanders #roman sanders #ts #thomas sanders

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

Beauty Chooses II-Chapter 17

A special thanks to @statell for all your help

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter 17 1776

The man hunched over, under a blanket, and headed up the mountain road. He was desperately tired and almost starved after hiding from people who would take him into custody. He narrowly escaped the first attempt to take him, but his papers had convinced the ruffians to move on. After that he took no chances and stayed hidden from sight, only moving under the cover of darkness. He could easily hide in the vegetation of the mountain road if someone was coming, so he felt safe walking in the daylight. He looked up the mountain and wondered how far it was and if she would still be there. He kept walking.

I looked up from my garden to see Brain walk out of the woods with a deer slumped dead on his shoulder. He was happy and tossed the thing onto our processing table to butcher it. It filled me with relief when he brought more meat to store away because I expected it could be a very unstable winter. Jamie has been gone for a week, meeting with the governor who is calling in his debt. This beautiful land, the Ridge, that allowed our community to prosper all these years had a price and Jamie would be the one to pay it. I wanted Jamie back home, to hear the news, and to hold him for as long as I could. I’m feeling powerless and scared, like the final days at Lallybroch before the blue stone saved us all.

Every man, young or old, that resided on the Ridge, was aligned with the rebels against the king's army. Many would fight against the loyalists when they were called. This secret was carefully kept. When the government came sniffing, they were told strong loyalists were present to stand at the hand of their leader, Jamie Fraser. It made my stomach turn to think of the dangerous game they were playing. I tried to concentrate on harvesting the last of the garden before it rested for the winter.

I stood up, stretching my back to ease the stiffness and thought, not for the first time, that fifty-four years of age was too young to suffer from constant back pain. When the ache passed, I walked to the gardening shed to put up my tools for the day. It was time to start the evening meal, my duty since Misses Crook was called home to heaven. It had been three years and I still looked for her from time to time and missed her always. As close to a mother I would ever know, a part of me felt empty without her. I walked toward Brian to admire his deer, but his love interest came out of nowhere and hugged his neck. He looked so happy, beaming a smile at her. I decided not to intrude and headed to the house.

Glavia was already adding chunks of vegetables to the pot in the kitchen. Since Daniel was away for his father’s funeral, we decided to feed everybody at one home, mine was far larger. It was so nice to have her here for the past week and I hugged her when I entered the kitchen. Glavia’s oldest son accompanied his father to the funeral, but the other two were there in the kitchen, getting in the way, regaling us with funny stories of their trip to town. I hugged them both and let them know that Brian shot a deer to add to our winter stores. Glavia looked at me with relief. We had seen our share of near starvation over the years when fate and the weather worked against us. It taught us to double our garden space and sell less of the harvest each year.

Jamie has provided for us quite well, however those lean years were terrifying. We all shared what little we had, and the men hunted ten hours a day with little to show for it. Jamie decided to do something about that and used every penny we had to purchase animals, wherever and whenever he found them. It started with three chickens and we feasted on the fresh eggs the first year. The next year he brought home a rooster and soon there were fluffy baby chickens all over the yard, sticking close to their mothers as they pecked the dirt. The chicken coup was enlarged twice to facilitate their numbers and we invited all families on the Ridge to take part in their upkeep, feeding, cleaning, and protecting. I dubbed it the Ridge Cooperative and it grew as we added pig breeding, then sheep, then a few goats. Through this effort, we added pork, eggs, chicken, goat cheese. milk, and wool to our daily existence. It took many years to build up a strong breeding and selling program and we made a lot of mistakes. I remember Misses Crook running across the front yard with a pan of chicken feed in her hand, screaming bloody murder, and a huge male pig chasing her. The giggle bubbled up when the kitchen was quiet, and I realized everyone was looking at me.

I turned around and shrugged my shoulders, “just remembering the pig chasing Misses Crook across the yard.”

Everyone seemed keen on sharing a funny story about Misses Crook, we laughed and held our stomachs until she was there with us again through our memories. I could feel her presence and my eyes stung from tears that were held back. Glavia yelled at her boys to bring the chairs in from the parlor and gave me a knowing smile.

Two years ago, Jamie returned from his spring run to town for seed and supplies with a skinny cow tied to the back of the wagon and I nearly fainted. A cow! I was thrilled to have milk again, real milk, after so many years. The poor cow was malnourished and half dead after the trek up the mountain, but I was determined to bring her to the peak of health and have fresh milk every day. I named her Bluebell, after my favorite ice cream in my century. Now she is three times that size and free-range, coming home each day to be milked and have a scoop of grain and fresh grass hay. I focused on getting stew into bowls and wondered where my daughter was.

Faith snapped out of her daydreaming and stretched at her desk in the schoolroom. She stayed late to prepare the lessons for the next day and got lost in her mind where she constructed her perfect life filled with friends and love, children, and a home. Whenever she allowed herself to think of such things it always left her emotional because she would never have such things. She was busy with learning to teach, helping the community with childbirth, and medicating cuts, burns, and headaches, when she should have been socializing and flirting with the growing number of eligible bachelors in the community. She couldn’t be bothered at that time and somehow the years pushed her over the proper age of marriage and to her horror sealed her fate as a spinster. She shook her head and yawned, reaching for her cloak to go home.

It was already dark when Faith closed the door to the schoolroom and the cold breeze seemed to go right through her. Hunkering into her cloak she hurried home until she saw movement in the trees. She stopped and set her eyes on one tree, the way she was taught, and stared straight at it. There it was, a figure, man or beast, moving slowly up the road to the ridge. She watched it struggle to put one foot in front of the other and finally collapse. She started running, realizing it was a human and called out she was coming.

“Sir, are you well? Do you need food or water?”

She struggled to pull the man to his feet and looked at his handsome face. “Who do you come to see?”

“Claire.”

“Come with me, I will take you to her.”

“Thank God.”

Claire heard Faith calling from the front door, and with her mother’s-hearing, knew something was not right. She wiped her hands on her apron and came quickly.

“Who is this Faith?”

“I don’t know, I saw him fall on the road and ran to help him. He asked…for you.”

“Come and sit down sir, I am Claire Fraser, you look like you could use some food and drink.”

Before I could walk away the man’s hand shot out and seized my arm.

“Pet.”

I felt paralyzed, stunned into silence. That name, Pet, was from a long time ago, and it once meant so much to me. The years of separation made my memory foggy as I tried to remember…

“Dear God, is it you, Joe?”

I fell to my knees and pushed the blanket off his head so I could see his face. It was all I could do not to faint when his incredible eyes found mine. I jumped up and hugged him for all I was worth, sobbing his name over and over. He pulled me to the couch and looked at my face smiling.

“I’ve missed you, Pet.”

I held his hand so tight and sobbed. I wanted to ask him what he was doing here, why did he come, where was Baritone, how long could he stay. But I couldn’t form a single word in my shocked mind, so I just looked at him and cried. Glavia was so happy to see him and hugged him with her own tears rolling down her face.

By now, everyone was standing in the parlor, watching us, wondering who this man was that meant so much to us.

“Joe, may I introduce you to my son, Brian, Glavia’s sons, Matthew and Jacob, and this is Faith, who you held as an infant. Everybody, this is Joe Abernathy, my dearest friend.”

The boys approached respectfully and shook hands in welcome and smiled with warmth. Brian was especially interested and remained close enough to hear every word. Joe spoke to each of them, asking about their lives, their age, their favorite things. He still held my hand and Brian was silently observing. We pulled him into the kitchen and got three bowls of stew in him while we continued to talk about superficial things. As Glavia and I cleaned up the kitchen, Joe continued to talk with the boys. His interest in them made them want to talk, so they did. I could tell Brian wanted to grill him about how he knew me so well, but he politely excused himself to fetch his little love for an evening walk. When Glavia took her boys home she hugged Joe and kissed his cheek, promising to visit every day while he was here.

Faith had not uttered a word since bringing Joe home. It was her nature to sit quietly and observe things she did not understand. Joe looked at her and beamed a smile in her direction.

“I cannot tell you how good it is to see you again, young lady. You have grown into a beautiful woman and I see parts of both parents in your face.”

Joe’s speech and mannerisms were not of this time or place and his statement about her beauty was taboo for a stranger, making her shrink into the corner. I wanted to speak freely with Joe and made a fuss about how tired he looked.

“Let me show you to the guest room, Joe. I will bring hot water for you to wash and then you can rest. We will have loads of time to catch up I hope.”

When we were alone, he asked if I could come to his room later and talk. I nodded yes and smiled, telling him to rest until then. I knew I had to say something to Faith, but what? One thing I was sure of, I wouldn’t lie to her.

“Mama?”

“Yes, darling, I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but I would like to talk when your father is here, the three of us. Do you mind terribly?”

“No, I can wait.”

She kissed me on the cheek and went upstairs to her room, brimming with questions I’m sure. Once in my own room, I tried to read, then paced for a bit, and finally crept downstairs and tapped on Joe’s door. He opened it and hugged me into the room. I was decidedly uncomfortable, in a closed room with a man who was not my husband. I shook my head like I was daft, but it didn’t help. After spending more years in this century than my own, I could not allow such impropriety and suggested we speak quietly in the kitchen. I poured whisky for us both and the strong spirit took his breath away at first, then he slid the glass back toward the bottle and I poured another round.

“We said your name every day, Pet, at least once, Baritone and me. He loved you like a sister. When I went through his things, I found a sonogram picture of Faith that he kept all these years and a picture of you and him in front of the fire talking.”

A tear rolled down Joe’s cheek and I grabbed his hand, “what happened?”

“He died of a brain tumor. Diagnosis to death in six months. Inoperable and no treatment. I sold my practice right away and we traveled, lived the high-life, ate, drank, loved, and talked for hours and hours. We walked the surf of so many countries and talked until he couldn’t anymore. The tumor ravaged his brain in four months, so I brought him home, put him to bed, and kept talking. If there was a single piece of brain tissue left that could interpret my voice, I wanted him to know I was right next to him.”

Joe cried into his shirt, trying to stay quiet. I hugged him and he gripped me like a life saver to a drowning man. I just held him and rocked back and forth, saying how sorry I was that he lost his love. It was quite some time we stayed like that. Until he could speak again, I just rocked him.

“He is buried at Lallybroch. It was his wish, the only place that ever felt like home, he said. Every spring he would collect those hay cubes left from the last harvest and give them to a neighbor for his horse. We would go together when I could get away for a few days. To care for the house, prepare it for winter, drive into town, and visit Fiona.” Joe was quiet for a minute. “ We kept our room in the basement, it was comfortable, and the master bedroom just had too much of you and Jamie in it. After Baritone was laid to rest, I spent three days in that room and your energy seemed to wrap around me in comfort. I swear, Pet, I felt you there.”

“I’m so glad it brought you comfort, Joe.

“I couldn’t cope with losing both of you. I spent a week in the library and online, learning everything I could about this century, I found plenty of bills of sale in the archives, for… slave ownership, and had one forged with Jamie’s name on it. It got me out of being arrested when I first got here, after that, I only traveled at night.”

“I am so honored and overwhelmed that you came to find me. It was quite a risk though, how could you be sure we were still here?” I watched Joe struggle to answer and when he did it broke my heart.

“I am in a dark place, Pet. I wanted to see you and nothing else mattered.”

I could see his hands shaking and knew he was exhausted. “Do you think you can sleep, Joe? We can talk again tomorrow. Jamie should be home tomorrow and he will be so happy to see you.”

“Yes, thank you, Pet. See you in the morning.”

I turned the lamps down as I moved toward the stairs. I felt so sad about Baritone’s passing and Joe’s broken heart. Hopefully, some time on the Ridge will heal his heart and soul, meanwhile I have my best friend back.

I always woke early when Jamie was away. I had started the porridge cooking when I heard the front door close and looked around the corner. Joe was standing rigid, glaring at me, and I felt the hair on my neck stand up.

“What is it Joe, what’s happened?”

He looked at me for a whole minute before he answered making me very uncomfortable.

“You have slaves.”

“Certainly not, don’t be ridiculous.”

“What are all those dark-skinned men doing working your fields, Pet?”

I pulled his hand to the kitchen and pushed him into a chair. “They are not my slaves, they are working their own fields. We do not allow slavery on the Ridge, we never have.”

I put a bowl in front of him and noticed his expression was still concern and maybe some disbelief.

“It hasn’t been easy and we have had to fight for their right to stay here. Jamie has ownership papers on every person of color in our community. It’s against the law to free a slave in this time and we have been forced to prove our right to them. It is nasty business owning a human being but here they are equal to every other person on the Ridge. Maybe it’s not true freedom. They cannot leave here but they can choose to farm their own land or any other profession they fancy, they raise their families and all the children are schooled together.” I took a deep breath and looked at my friend. “It’s the best life they can have now that they are in this country and no one tells them what to do. They are happy here.”

I felt his hand cover mine, “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. You and Jamie have done a remarkable thing for these people. What of Murtagh?”

“He is with Jamie right now but normally spends most of his time in town. He has a blacksmith business there. It was his idea to free the ten slaves that were sent to work here by Jamie’s aunt. It all started with him.”

Faith had been listening from upstairs and meekly entered the kitchen and said hello to her mother and Joe. She ate her breakfast, cleaned the kitchen up, and went outside to collect eggs and wait for her father to get home. She agreed to wait for him before her questions were answered and it was killing her not to blurt them out. Why was her mother so familiar with this man? Why did he talk like an educated man? When and where did he hold her as an infant? Faith was sure Brian would have questions of his own.

I talked with Joe for most of the morning and when I heard the wagon outside, I flew to the door and rushed outside. It took a moment to find him with all the men around but when the sun bounced off those azure eyes, I made a mad dash for him and jumped into his arms. He hugged me to him and whispered endearments into my ear. I was so happy to see him and whispered that Joe was here. Jamie held me at arm's length and looked at me with shock on his face.

“Did ye say Joe, mo chridhe?”

“Yes, he came last night. He is heartsick because Baritone died, and he just had to see us and hopefully feel better. I left him a stone shard in case he ever needed to find me.”

Jamie’s face broke into a smile, “I canna wait to see him Sassenach, where is…”

Joe was walking toward Jamie when he looked up and the men shook hands and hugged both smiling and laughing.

“It’s good to see ye, Joe. I’ll be wantin yer time to talk in a bit but I havena washed in a week… and need to.”

Murtagh was next to shake hands and hug Joe, then the three of them headed for the stream for a chilly bath. I brought towels down for them and stopped in my tracks at the sight of them, laughing and talking, so happy to be in each other’s company again.

I put out the noon meal and we sat around the table and talked, about Baritone, Misses Crook, our children, Joe’s practice, and a million other things. We talked about the night Joe and I jumped to find Jamie in the wagon at Lallybroch and how Joe started his heart again once we were back, only to nearly lose him again from blood loss two days later.

“It was Baritone that found the blood you needed but I never asked him how, and now it’s too late,” I whispered, feeling a tear roll down my cheek.

“He was a good man. Let us toast our good friend.”

Jamie poured whisky all around and asked us to stand and held his glass up, “I swear by my hope in heaven that we’ll meet again my friend. To Baritone.”

“To Baritone,” said in unison, and the whisky was tossed back to fortify us during this heartbreaking memorial.

I watched for Faith to come in all afternoon to stem any talk of jumping and the century in the future. I wasn’t aware she was upstairs listening to every word until I ran up for my cloak and fell over her. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and when I tumbled to the ground, I sat up quickly, eye to eye with her and knew she had heard it all.

“Please Faith, wait for your father and me to have a moment to talk with you about this. I know it sounds impossible and you have questions that I promise to answer but it has to wait sweetheart.”

“Why? You were all there together. Why can’t you all answer them for me? It’s what I want mama, as soon as Glavia gets here.”

I wanted to speak with Jamie about this first, but Faith had heard almost every detail of our living in the future and then jumping back. I surrendered to what I felt was fair at that moment. She is an adult and we should treat her as such.

“Alright, Faith, why don’t you get Glavia back here and we will all fill in the details of an extraordinary experience you had as an infant, and who Joe really is.”

Faith was down the steps and out the door before I could get off the floor. I cursed my old bones and pulled my jacket down before getting my cloak for a meet and greet later with Joe. I walked into the kitchen and the three dearest men in my life looked up at me.

“Faith has been upstairs this whole time. I didn’t know. She has questions about Lallybroch, living in the future, jumping back to this time, and more. I asked her to get Glavia and we would tell her all about it.”

I looked at Jamie and he smiled and nodded, much to my relief.

“Come sit with me Sassenach, I need ye near me lass.”

He held my hand under the table and whispered to me, “have courage in the truth, love.” Not a minute later, Glavia and Faith joined the table and we began. Faith asked for each of us to add to the story and I suggested Joe start with our trip to Scotland and seeing me walk through the stones. Jamie picked up the story and described Master Raymond walking into the stone and just minutes later I shot out. He said prayers that the baby was alive and well after the demons tried to take her from my womb.

“It was difficult, saying goodbye to my pregnant wife the last night before the stones would open and allow passage. We were still on the ship and had no idea when we would see Scotland, the ship was already a week overdue. Murtagh was gravely ill and I feared takin his last breath as we heard the crewman yell land. He made a miraculous recovery after yer mam came out of the stone.”

Jamie wrinkled his brow and stared at his folded hands. “It was a miraculous recovery Murtagh and I never thought about it until now. Suppose ye explain it to us.”

“Ye wilna like my explanation laddie but here’s the truth of it. My last visit to the witch she tricked me, and I paid her to tell me how the lasses’ journey through the stones would go. She agreed and said ye would lose yer mind and die of insanity if I told ye how it would end. She said two hearts will enter the stones but only one would come out and she was mum about which one of them survive. Forgive me lad, I was so scared but couldn’t tell ye. It made me sick and I was tortured with worry. When the lass came out of the stone my misery stopped instantly.”

The silence was deafening and I struggled with Murtagh’s truth, remembering how mean he was to me on the ship and how close he was to death the last day I saw him.

“Murtagh, it was worry, about me and the baby that caused your temper and sickness!” I stood up and rushed to hug and kiss his cheek, leaving his face wet from my tears. I could see Jamie nod to him in understanding. It was a very heavy moment and we all pushed our glasses toward the bottle of whisky and Jamie poured.

Faith held her hand up, “why did you go to France, and where did you disappear to the last night.”

I explained how I would wake up in Jamie’s woods every night and we met and fell in love. We learned I could walk through the stones at Craig Ne Dunn on the summer solstice and stay in Jamie’s century forever, but I needed someone to come from the other side to balance the centuries. That person was Master Raymond who owned an apothecary shop in France. That’s why we went to France and he agreed to be my trade, but his heart stopped in passage. Joe can tell you more.”

We continued in a round-robin fashion, telling her this remarkable story. Glavia told her how she came to Lallybroch for a job and the very first day I went into labor and she delivered Faith with Misses Crook. Well, Glavia likes to talk so there were plenty of details, like looking between my legs and seeing the baby head and Jamie refusing to leave the room. Then she explained the man who tried to rape her during a robbery.

“I was screaming and so scared but your mam came behind and hit him on the head with a pan, and then tied him up until yer da came. I tried to hit his head again because he scared me so bad but yer da wouldn’t let me.”

I had forgotten about that horrible incident and the way Glavia explained trying to hit the man with Jamie chasing the pan to grab it away from her had us in stitches. A bit of comic relief made us all feel better and the whisky was poured again. I wished we could stop there but I knew the rest had to come out.

Brian walked into the kitchen around this time and although we were laughing, he could feel something big was in process. He pulled a chair next to his father and remained silent while every adult he knew and trusted told a story that shocked him.

I explained how Jamie was going to get us on a ship to the new world before the uprising but was kidnapped and press-ganged into service for the Jacobites. I told her about the blue stone and Jamie destroying it by throwing it into the gorge. How we fled the house for the cave, my final trip to the gorge in a rainstorm, and finding the blue stones in time to save them all from execution by the red coats. I was sobbing so Glavia took over describing a tremendous trip we went on clinging to each other and landing at Lallybroch two-hundred and fifty years in the future.

Brian sat up in his chair and Jamie put his hand on his arm to steady him. He needed to hear this. Murtagh took over describing a fantastical world with objects made of metal that took people across land at high speeds, warm water that poured out of the wall like rain to wash in, boxes that stayed cold inside so food didn’t spoil, and lights were bright without lamp oil or fire, instantly whenever you wanted to light a room.

“And no corsets or bum rolls, that’s right, women wore pants and sometimes dresses that were so comfortable. You put dirty clothes in a metal box and they came out clean and you didn’t do nothing! You could watch a play any time of day from a box in the parlor or a lady that told you to exercise, ya, that’s what Baritone and Misses Crook watched while they jumped up and down.”

“Faith, all of this is true, and we can stop here if you have heard enough.”

“How did you and Baritone come to Lallybroch, Joe?”

“Your mother is my best friend and the only family I have. She gave me Lallybroch and four million dollars, then she left and I couldn’t cope.” He looked at me and my eyes were starting to sting. “I knew she would never be back but decided to use some of her money to modernize the house and I put a cell phone in the kitchen just in case. I had a dedicated tune for that number and when I heard it ring, I almost passed out. It was…”

Faith stopped him mid-sentence with her hand up, “what is a cell phone?” She looked at me, “how did you come to own Lallybroch and where did four million dollars come from?”

The talking continued, the whisky flowed, and before I knew it Glavia was starting the evening meal. Fortunately, I was not scheduled for animal duty today so I hadn’t missed any obligations on the Ridge. It was eight o’clock when we all stopped talking. I was feeling numb from reliving so many events and Jamie was getting more insistent with is hand under the table. I suggested we rest and start again tomorrow if there were still questions. Brian went home, and Joe was in his room reading. Jamie made short work of turning down the lamps and banking the fire, then he pulled me upstairs.

He went back down for a basin of warm water and soap and held my hands when I reached for the cloth. He looked at my face for a long minute.

“I take this beautiful face and this loving heart with me when I go away, and they keep me company and calm my loneliness. It doesna compare to seein and touchin ye in the flesh. I’ve missed ye lass.”

He pulled my laces slowly, and then my skirts, and then my shift. He lathered the rag with my rose soap before smoothing it onto my skin. The warm water was delightful as were his kisses on my neck during the process. To be honest, it felt like months since I had seen him, rather than a week. I touched his face and he picked me up and laid me on our bed before pulling his clothes off. He smothered the wick of our lamp, so it was just the flames of the fire throwing shadows on our skin. He kissed his invitation and I accepted.

We made love slowly and Jamie stopped twice and just looked at me before kissing my arousal up again. He wanted to celebrate our love tonight and we made it last with dozens of I love you’s. I knew in my bones there was a truth lurking, like a black cloud to threaten all that I loved. I can wait until tomorrow to hear it because the rest of the night is for Jamie and me.

36 notes · View notes

angstyaches · 4 years

Note

Feverish puke for felix and elliot? You choose the sickie I can’t decidee

Hi anon! Sorry this one took so long, but this really helped me develop what’s been going on with these two.

CW: emeto, fever, bodily changes, anxiety, mention of deteriorating condition (maybe?), food mention, (un)death mention

Part of the Plan

Felix’s ears felt like they’d been filled with cotton wool. He could see that Ryan’s lips were moving, he could tell there were words coming out, but it wasn’t until he heard Elliott say his name that he managed to snap out of it.

He jumped and looked down to see that he’d been digging his nails into the back of Elliott’s hand, leaving tiny half-moon dints along his boyfriend’s warm, slick skin.

“Are you alright?” Elliott asked, even as something dulled the yellow fire that usually sparked behind his own eyes, making him sit with his shoulders sagged. Felix laughed out of disbelief and nervousness, because if he didn’t laugh, he thought he might burst into tears.

He glanced at Ryan; even she was looking at him with a strange expression from her chair, as though he was the one they needed to be worried about. She tilted her head inquisitively, her silver hair curling against the ruffles of her blouse.

“I’m good. No, I’m good. I’m sorry.” Felix cleared his throat, frowning in Ryan’s direction. “Sorry. I, um – I mean, is – is there no way to slow it down? For example, what if Elli cuts right back on blood, like me? I know it’d feel a bit weird at first, darling, but if it would help –”

“Well, I was just explaining this,” Ryan said pointedly. “Unfortunately, there’s no slowing it down at this stage. Elliott’s tendency to over-indulge on hunts, coupled with the fact that he was half-blooded directly by an Elder, seems to have caused his transition to accelerate by quite a lot. Reversing the transition at this stage, well – it’s unheard of.”

“But,” Felix said, “can we slow it down?”

Ryan pursed her lips. “I would not recommend trying.”

Felix could tell she was straining to keep her composure, considering how distressed the two of them seemed. He briefly wondered what this change would mean for her; Elliott had never planned on surpassing her status as Elder, but now he might just do it unintentionally.

Elliott shivered and hunched further forward in his chair. Felix leaned into the motion so he could keep a hold on his hand.

“His body is going to keep adapting,” Ryan said. “And if he doesn’t obey his new cravings? Well, it won’t be pleasant for anybody involved. I’m talking about intense nausea, muscle spasms, violent outbursts –”

“How?” Felix asked, his throat pinched. He held back the tears that stung his eyes, knowing that crying in front of Ryan would undermine anything he had to say. “If you knew that being blooded by an Elder would make his transition this unstable, how could you have let it happen?”

“Elliott was just as aware of what he was doing –”

“You knew he didn’t want to change.” Felix’s lips trembled apart with each word. “You knew I didn’t want him to –”

“Fee,” Elliott murmured, pinning him with a look. His expression was pained and exhausted and pleading. Come on.

“Felix, Elliott is capable of making his own decisions,” Ryan stated, draping her arms along the sides of her chair. “You both have my sympathy, since I can see it’s causing you distress, but I do not take responsibility.”

He looked at Elliott with the same anger burning in his throat, because Ryan was right. The way Elliott turned his face away, reluctant to make eye contact, suggested they were both thinking the same thing, so there was no point in Felix bringing it up; he’d told Elliott to take it easy whenever he went hunting – especially whenever he was traveling alone or with Nancy.

The feeling dissipated when Elliott slid his elbows onto his knees, hanging his head forward. Felix shifted in his chair, placing a hand lightly on the back of Elliott’s neck. His skin was much hotter than it should have been, and the contact from Felix’s hand seemed to make him tremble.

“Once the toxins are out of your system, the symptoms should ease. I would recommend cutting physical meals down to once every two days from now on, and upping your blood intake by half, at least until you’ve got a handle on your symptoms. So, for now, you should rest.” Ryan’s cool yellow gaze fell on Felix. “And you, Felix, need to adjust your attitude, quick-smart.”

Felix forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am. Come on, Elli, let’s get you up to bed.”

___

“I have a bad taste in my mouth,” Elliott muttered from where he sat at the edge of the bed.

Felix relaxed his hold on Elliott, having crawled across the bed to drape his arms around his shoulders. He was trying not to press too closely or heavily against Elliott’s skin, considering how much heat was already radiating from him, even after he’d taken off his shirt.

“I know, darling. Ryan said a lot of things that were hard to hear. Imagine, failing to take any responsibility for –”

“She only said things that were true, Fee. And I – I meant that I have an actual bad taste in mouth.” Elliott sat forward, reaching up to remove Felix’s hands while his own quivered. “I feel nauseous.”

“Oh.” Felix slid back from Elliott, watching as his shoulders clenched and he dropped his head into his hands. “Is – is there anything I can do?”

Elliott grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. “Just, um – just try to relax. I can tell this is stressing you out a lot. Put something on the T.V., maybe.”

Felix’s heart sank as he sat back on the bed. Elliott crossed the room and let himself into the ensuite. His eyes were pinned on the ground as he turned back to close the door. Felix didn’t want to put anything on the T.V.; the only thing that would make him feel better was being with Elliott, and he couldn’t do that while he was nauseous, or he’d get his arm bitten off. Metaphorically, not literally; or at least, he hoped.

Felix climbed off the bed after a minute, and started rearranging the duvet so they could get straight in once Elliott was ready to lie down. He took one of his own blood and sugar lollipops from the box on his nightstand and left it lying, still in its wrapper, on Elliott’s pillow, in case he felt like replacing some iron. He looked at it for a second and put it away in the box again, realising he didn’t know how Elliott’s body would react to the sucrose.

He wrung his hands after that and sat back down on the bed, unable to think of anything else to do. He started off kneeling, eventually letting his legs slide out to the side, trying not to look towards the bathroom door.

Trying not to picture Elliott gagging over the toilet, all by himself. Trying not to picture this exact same scenario occurring more and more frequently from now on, as Elliott’s body inched closer and closer to being undead, instead of simply off-human. Felix’s hand flew to his mouth to stifle a sob, and he closed his eyes, willing them to absorb the tears that threatened to fall. He wished he could bundle all the tears up and tie a string around them and tuck them away in his heart somewhere.

He jumped as the handle of the bathroom door slammed down, and the door opened a crack. It sat like that without any further movement.

“El?” Felix scrambled off the bed again. He went into the ensuite to find Elliott shivering on his knees in front of the toilet, though it didn’t seem like he’d thrown anything up yet.

He looked up at Felix, that glassy look still in his deep yellow eyes. “Fee, can – can you hold me? Just for a minute?”

Felix shuddered with a sob, his resolve crumbling. He tackled Elliott into a hug and put hand out against the side of the bath to stop both of them from toppling over.

“Oh, don’t cry, beautiful,” Elliott begged in his ear. “Please.”

“I know, I know I’m just making it worse, Elli, I’m sorry.”

“No, I am. I’m so incredibly sorry. This wasn’t part of – of the – of the plan we–”

Elliott lurched forward, and Felix sank back, stroking a hand across his boyfriend’s shoulders as he retched over the toilet. His skin was practically on fire, his body fighting against what it now considered to be foreign substance, a potential threat. Toxins, as Ryan had put it.

A few hours ago, it had just been fried chicken and rice. Nothing toxic at all. The fact that Felix had made it was probably part of the reason Elliott had been holding back from throwing up all this time. Like he thought it would be a direct insult.

“Let it up, darling, it’s okay,” Felix stammered, just in case that was what was happening. He lightened his touch on his back, surprised he hadn’t already been whined at or shaken away. Not wanting to leave, but afraid of making his boyfriend feel too crowded, Felix edged around him and climbed into the bath. He it would make Elliott feel like they were separated enough.

Elliott threw him a quick, grateful glance, then choked on another unproductive gag. “Fee, we – we never… Rome, and – and Japan…”

“Darling,” Felix whimpered, folding his arms on the edge of the bath and resting his chin on top of his hands. “We can still see the world together. I know I talk like all I care about is food tourism, but there’s so much more I want to do. With you, Elli.”

Elliott gasped, trying to choke out more words through the nausea. “What – wh-what if –?”

His breath hitched, a shallow belch echoing against the toilet bowl. He sat forward a little more, back muscles contracting visibly under his skin. He made a noise like something had clawed at his throat before letting waves of vomit splash into the water. Felix wished he could scoop his arms around his waist.

He eventually took his hand away, in case his boyfriend was just cooperating with the touch so as not to upset Felix. He wouldn’t put it past him.

“God,” Elliott rasped finally, dropping his weight to the side and sliding his legs out so that his back was against the bath. His face contorted as he pressed a hand to his belly, letting out a couple of short, wet burps.

“Are you okay?” Felix sighed, crawling down the bath. “Can I touch you now?”

As soon as Elliott gave a weak nod, Felix sat up on his knees, reaching one hand down to rest on his boyfriend’s chest. The other, he placed gently on his cheek. “You’re still just like a furnace.”

Elliott tilted his head to show Felix the weak grin pulling at one edge of his mouth. “Give it a minute, boo. My stomach’s still halfway up my throat.”

Felix pressed his lips to Elliott’s damp, salty cheek. “Did you know the food was going to make you sick?”

“I… hoped it wouldn’t,” Elliott muttered. “I hoped yesterday’s stomach ache would turn out to be just that, not… not this. I didn’t want this, Fee...”

Tears looming in his eyes, Felix kissed the back of Elliott’s neck. “I know.”

Elliott lifted a shaky hand to hold onto Felix’s. Felix wondered if he was pressing so that his heartbeat would be a little more obvious against his palm, its pace slower than a human’s, but still ticking. The thought of it stopping for good, of him becoming truly undead, was clearly on his mind. His hand slumped away from Felix’s after a few seconds, arm resting heavily in his lap.

“Oh, darling,” Felix said, his voice echoing slightly in the empty bath. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

Elliott grunted. “That sounds wonderful. Sooner or later, it’ll be a silk-lined coffin for me.”

“Elli, I love you,” Felix whispered against the side of Elliott’s head. “But even if that were true, we’d be keeping the bed, because there’s no way I’m being spooned in a coffin.”

#swallow the world #emeto #emeto sickfic #tw emeto #tw fever #vampire emeto #supernatural emeto #sickfics #elliott and felix #angst #emeto and angst #i still don't know how to tag properly someone help me lol

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flowerfan2 · 4 years

Text

Aversion

David x Patrick, 1500 words, A03 ***The first story in my new series of Schitt’s Creek Season 5 Episode codas.

Summary: Instead of something useful like a sense of accomplishment, doing the ropes course leaves David with bad dreams.

David’s stomach is swooping, dropping out from under him. There’s a rush of air on his face and he reaches with his hands, unable to get a grip, his fingers touching only empty space. There’s nothing to hold on to, nothing to stop him from falling. He can feel himself slip, and terror overwhelms him as he falls, down, down --

“David? David, wake up.”

The voice cuts through David’s dream and he jerks and flails, this time colliding with Patrick’s strong arms instead of empty air.

“David, it’s all right. You’re okay. You were having a nightmare.”

This isn’t news to David – he’s had this dream three times since Alexis made him do that stupid ropes course last week. He had hoped that some breathtakingly good orgasms and falling asleep in Patrick’s arms would keep the dream away tonight, but he clearly underestimated the power of a nice old fashioned bad dream. There’s a reason they feature so heavily in popular media. Nightmares are the worst.

“David, open your eyes, it’s okay.” David forces himself to comply, focusing on Patrick’s voice and the feeling of his hands on his shoulders. He hears the click of a light switch and squints his eyes open. Blinking, he sees Patrick, his eyes wide with concern. He looks away, tracking around the room, each mundane piece of furniture and old knick-knack reminding him that he’s at Ray’s house in Schitt’s Creek, not flying through the air.

“Hey,” Patrick says softly, and David’s eyes find his again.

“I’m fine,” David says reflexively. Patrick ignores him, scooting closer and rubbing his arms and shoulders. The touch grounds him, and he leans into it.

“Were you dreaming about the ropes course?” Patrick asks.

“More or less.”

Patrick tilts his head in question, and David sighs.

“You’ve heard the whole sordid story now. I don’t have the best experiences with heights. Sometimes I dream about it, that’s all.”

David has in fact had vivid recurring nightmares about falling ever since the Anderson Cooper debacle, usually triggered by something reasonably related to heights. There’s more than one reason that he doesn’t ski, on top of the horrible weather and incorrect clothing.

“I’m sorry your attempt to do something fun for us brought the dream back.”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” David says under his breath. It’s his own damn brain that caused this problem. Then something occurs to him and he brightens. “Actually, I blame Alexis.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe she forgot about your fear of heights.”

“Aversion,” David reminds him, trying not to think about how pathetic he sounds.

“Shall we call her up and yell at her?” Patrick pretends to reach for his phone, and David lets a smile escape.

“Maybe we’ll save it for the morning. She probably turned her phone off. Too busy with Ted’s smoothly running generator.”

Patrick snorts out a laugh and settles back down on the bed. He holds an arm out to David, apparently expecting that things are resolved and David will be ready to be soothed back to sleep. But while that sounds delightful, David can tell from the way his heart is still racing that sleep is not on the agenda right at this precise moment.

“I’m just going to go freshen up,” he says, ignoring Patrick’s look of confusion as he untangles his legs from the blankets and slides out of bed. He shuts himself in Ray’s hallway bathroom and splashes some water on his face, taking deep breaths in and out, and trying not to think about dangling far above the ground.

As often happens, David’s nightmare has left him feeling overheated and shaky. He’d like to take a shower and wrap himself in a fresh set of pajamas, but he only brought the ones he’s wearing. He sits on the toilet seat and wills the adrenaline rushing through his body to calm the fuck down.

By the time Patrick knocks on the door, it’s far past time when he should have gone back to bed if he was anything resembling a normal person.

“David? Can I do anything to help?”

David lets out a long breath and opens the door, hoping he looks more composed than he feels. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Patrick tilts his head back towards his room. “I brought you something.”

David follows him back in and sits on the bed, taking the mug Patrick offers him. It smells like cinnamon and sugar. “What’s this?”

“Warm milk, with a little spice and vanilla.” Patrick looks at him hopefully, so David pushes away his knee jerk reaction of “milk, ugh” and takes a sip.

Surprisingly – or maybe not, since Patrick made it for him – it’s delicious, and he says so.

Patrick smiles. “Good.”

“Where’s yours?” David asks.

Patrick shrugs. “I figured we could share.” He holds out his hand for the mug, and David gives it to him as he gets back into the bed. Patrick joins him, and they pass the mug back and forth silently, taking small sips and sharing hesitant smiles.

“I really am impressed by what you did for us, David,” Patrick says, kissing a drop of milk off David’s lip. “Even if Alexis tricked you into it. That tree walk was hard. Especially given your aversion.” Patrick says this with genuine sincerity, not even quirking a lip.

“You said that already,” David says, deflecting.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure you heard me.”

It should be perfect and relaxing, all this attention and care, but David is just feeling more overheated and uncomfortable. Finally he can’t stand it any longer, and shifts away from Patrick, pulling off his shirt and tossing it on the floor. He’s too strung out to even bother putting it away, which is really saying something.

“Do you want to borrow a t-shirt?” Patrick asks mildly.

“I’m fine,” David says, pulling the comforter up under his armpits, ignoring the way his skin prickles with goosebumps.

“I’m pretty sure you left your black sleep shirt here last weekend, if you’d like that.”

David’s desire to play it cool wars with his need to cover himself back up. “The Ralph Lauren one?”

Patrick gets out of bed, leaving the mug on the nightstand, and goes to his drawers. The shirt is produced, and David gratefully puts it on. He really doesn’t like to sleep unclothed, especially not when Ray takes such a casual approach to the concept of personal space.

Patrick picks up the discarded shirt from the floor and folds it without saying a word. Then he gets back into bed and slides one hand under his pillow, gazing at David fondly.

“What?”

“You could have just said, if you wanted to borrow a t-shirt. My clothes might not be designer, but they’re not going to bite you.”

“I know that,” David says sulkily.

“Then why didn’t you-”

“Do we really need to pick apart my every insecurity right now?” David is embarrassed at how squeaky his voice sounds, and even more at his outburst. What is wrong with you, he thinks to himself.

“No, of course not,” Patrick says, and David chooses to think of his tone as simply accommodating, not patronizing. “I’m sorry.”

“No, fuck, I’m sorry,” David says, rolling to his side and grasping Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m being an ass, you made me warm milk, you’re perfect, I don’t know how to do this.” His words spill out and make no sense.

“Do what?”

“Be – together.” Not be a disaster, David thinks.

“You’re doing fine,” Patrick says. “I’m not perfect. And you’re not either. You don’t have to be. It’s okay.”

“Is it, though? I’m a mess,” David says, unable to keep his thoughts to himself.

“If people had to be perfect to be together, everyone would be alone.”

David knows Patrick is trying to reassure him, but it isn’t helping. David doesn’t know what to say. David is well aware of his imperfections, and they don’t lend themselves to happy endings.

“David, I don’t understand what’s wrong.”

David’s pretty sure he isn’t imagining the hint of impatience in Patrick’s voice. Patrick likes to take care of David, but he also likes to think he’s in control of every situation. And David’s emotional turmoil is pretty hard to control. He needs to get a grip, now, or Patrick’s going to head for the hills sooner rather than later.

“I’m fine, I just need some sleep. Thank you so much for the warm milk, baby.” David leans close and presses a kiss to Patrick’s mouth, then plasters a smile on his face and wraps his arm around Patrick.

Patrick snuggles closer, and David forces himself to make his body relax. Even if he isn’t going to be able to get back to sleep, he can shut the hell up and let Patrick get some rest.

After a few minutes, Patrick starts talking, a soft whisper into his ear.

“I’m not trying to make you tell me all your secrets, David. You can keep things private. We can talk about this as little or as much as you want to. But I’m gonna do whatever I can to make you realize that when you’re ready, you can tell me. You can say anything. You’re safe here, David. You’re safe with me.”

David digs his face into Patrick’s neck, overcome with emotion and trying hard not to cry.

“And for the record,” Patrick continues, a mischievous tone lightening his voice, “Ted may think he’s a smoothly running generator. But you, David Rose, are a goddamn Ferrari.”

#S05e01 #Schitt's Creek #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #Schitt's Creek fic #Coda series

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bonesaldente · 4 years

Text

Caliginous I Darth Maul x reader

Chapter 12: The Desert

read this on ao3

last chapter

chapter overview

words: 3200 +

____

“I know what you’re thinking, but my master was highly pleased with our work on Cato Neimoidia. And now that Gunray is Viceroy, we can finish one more job for them, to ensure their future cooperation.”

“But two Jedi, not to mention her own guards? It just seems like an awfully risky job.”

“They won’t be expecting me. I’ll catch them off-guard.”

“Wait a minute.” You straighten your posture that was previously slouched over, leaning on the pilot seat’s backrest. “What do you mean ‘expecting you’? We’re gonna take them on together, are we not?”

Maul heaves a sigh and turns to you.

“You said it yourself: Force users don’t fight fair - It would be dangerous for you.”

Your jaw drops.

“So you’re telling me I should stay behind and watch as you face them? Like some kind of helpless damsel?”

“I know you’re far from helpless. But they have an unfair advantage.” He pauses. “Please.”

You didn’t expect him to sound so pleading, so sincere, and the anger in you dies down, leaving room for rationality: He isn’t entirely wrong, and the fact that he obviously worries about you induces a fuzzy feeling in you.

Your scowl turns into a grimace. “I have one condition.”

He looks at you expectantly.

“You have to keep helping me practice with the lightsaber. I want to be able to at least defend myself. Just in case.”

His face relaxes again, obviously not minding the request one bit.

“We’ll have time on Tatooine for that.”

Tatooine. You’ve been on the outer rim planet only once, but one time is one time too many if you are asked.

Wearing heavy equipment makes one try to stray far from desert planets. The kriffing sand makes you slow, gets into your boots and blasters, makes your knives go dull, and it is still found inside your pockets for weeks after.

Needless to say, you are not thrilled to be flying to Tatooine.

“How much time do we have?” You hope it’s not too much. The sooner you get off that rock again, the better.

“A day or two, most likely. Depending on how quickly we’ll be able to locate them.”

You exhale audibly, praying you’ll make quick work of the two Jedi.

“So we- You kill the Jedi. Then what?”

You are slightly displeased still, having been left out of the planning, getting all information on a ‘need to know’ basis.

“We take the Queen of Naboo and bring her to Theed. The Trade Federation wants her to sign a treaty there.”

“Wonderful. Politics,” you mumble, then proceed to rub your temples. “Let me know when we arrive, I’m going to lay down for a while.” The prodding headache from the intrusion to your mind still hasn’t faded and serves as a constant reminder that your thoughts and memories don’t belong to you alone anymore. Weird; Before meeting Darth Sidious, you never really felt that way - like your thoughts would be used against you. Not even in the beginning, before you … got closer to Maul. But now, every idea, every little daydream (especially the ones surrounding a certain zabrak and his athletic body) is accompanied with a surge of embarrassment when you picture the dark lord of the sith going through your mind again.

You can only hope he won’t deem it necessary all too soon, if at all.

Maul shoots you a slightly concerned look.

“I wish he hadn’t invaded your mind like that.” He admits after a pause.

“So do I… ” Is all you say in response, scrunching up your nose. “So do I.”

You have hardly even stepped out of the ship and you already want to turn around and go back.

The suns are searing hot and the day hasn‘t even set completely yet, there is not even the tiniest breeze and nothing but desert safe for what looks to be a settlement in the distance, a mere dot on the horizon. You are still standing on the ramp and already feel sand settling in the wrinkles of your layered clothing.

“I despise this,” you mumble, “so, so much.”

Your companion swooshes past you, two probes levitating ominously behind him. He presses a few buttons on his wrist panel and they soar off into the distance.

“With the help of those we should be able to locate them soon. Then we can leave this place.“

“Marvellous. I think I‘ll just stay on the ship for as long as it‘s still cool inside.“

He shoots you a glance. ”You know, if you want to practice, this is as cool as it‘s going to get today.”

You groan inwardly, knowing that he is right, but also not feeling like stepping out into the desert at all.

”Probably,” you agree unwillingly. ”Give me a second and I’ll be ready.”

You disappear into the ship, gathering your lightsaber (you’ve taken to referring to it as ”yours” in your thoughts, despite the fact that it’s stolen from somebody who, too, stole it). In wise anticipation you take off your jacket, already knowing you‘re going to get a heat stroke if you wear anything over your tanktop. It’s bad enough that you don’t own any shorts, only heavy utility pants that - while much more practical and protective - get very, very hot.

It’s undeniable that your lightsaber combat skills have improved considerably. You are starting to feel confident enough to incorporate some of the moves you learned with a sword in your fighting style, and you now have an accurate enough sense of the lightsaber to know how you can move and jump without letting the blade touch you. This changes up your technique vastly, going from awkward, shaky strikes to much more controlled, agile movements. Are you any match for Maul? No. Will you ever be? Probably not (and you can’t deny the fact that you feel frustrated that after training your whole life, there is a level you will never get to).

But will you be able to give any assailant hell?

You are certain of it.

It doesn’t take long, however, for you to become agitated with the sand that keeps on giving in under your steps, slows you down and piles up inside your boots, as well as the heat that is making beads of sweat appear on your forehead.

Maul is executing a series of strikes that, despite you blocking them, are forceful enough for you to have to take a few steps back - and this is where the uneven ground becomes a real problem: Unaware of the deepening behind you, you yelp and stumble backwards, thankfully having the sense to deactivate your lightsaber before you fall once and for all.

As soon as your body lands in the sand, it is everywhere. In your eyes, between your toes, in your hair, under your shirt. You lie still for a moment, trying to calm the frustration, but to no avail. While pushing yourself off the ground with little grace, you are angrily shaking the hem of your top in an attempt to feel less restricted, less hot, and most of all less sandy. You kick at the sand, once, twice, as if every grain has personally done you wrong. A curse in your native language escapes your lips while you are quickly undoing your braid, trying to shake at least some of the forsaken substance out, but knowing well that you are still going to find it after multiple showers.

“I hate this!”

You kick your boots off and toss them somewhere close to the ramp. There is this pressing desire to destroy something pulsing through your veins - you need to take your frustration out on something.

“Come at me again.” Maul instructs you calmly upon witnessing your aggravation.

Now everything is boiling up, not only your hatred for desert planets but also your frustration at having to work under a ‘master’ again - feeling like somebody is always trying to control you. You don’t mind working with Maul, at all, but you do mind the fact that this Sidious is basically holding your life in his hands like a little bird; alive only because he chooses to let you live, still always ready to be crushed between his fingers. If you wanted to, you’re sure Maul would let you leave, but Sidious wouldn’t.

You allow yourself to let out your anger through jumps and hits and twirls, and the satisfying sound of sabers clashing is like music to your ears. The handle starts to feel like it’s attached to your body, an extension of your arm, the way it fits snugly in your hand and moves to your will. All inhibition out of fear of hurting yourself with the weapon fades away, and with it your ability to pace yourself - another jump, another backhand slash, your lightsabers colliding, and your energy is drained. It doesn’t take Maul much more effort to push you away.

You retract the blade in defeat, your legs wobbly with exhaustion, both physically and mentally.

Collapsing onto your knees, you exhale shakily.

“You have improved,” he remarks, stretching out his hand to help you back to your feet. “You learn fast.”

Still trying to catch your breath, you only manage to nod in appreciation of his praise. How is he so unaffected by both the heat and the physical exertion, while you are reaching the limits of your body?

A grain of sand that has snuck into your eye causes you to start blinking rapidly, rubbing your eye in an attempt to get it out. But your hands, too, are covered in sand.

“I really need a shower now.”

The water does wonders in terms of instant anger and stress relief. It’s tempting to just stay in the refresher, where the temperature is controlled and where not everything is immediately covered in a layer of dust and sand.

But you can’t stay forever, so with a heavy sigh and in fresh, clean clothes, you open the door and reenter the ready room, surprised to find that the ramp is closed.

“Trying to keep the heat out.”

Maul’s voice from your left startles you. He is standing in the doorway that leads to the small storage space, still in the black robes he wore outside and looking like he himself is coated in a thin layer of dust.

“Oh. That’s good, that’s …” really considerate, when you think about it: He didn’t seem to mind the heat, and seeing as he was born on Dathomir, that makes sense too - but he knows you mind the temperatures. You gulp. “... nice,” you finish your sentence.

You notice water dripping from the ends of your hair, creating a damp spot on your shirt.

“Blast,” you mumble, rushing to your bag to find something to tie your hair up with.

You don’t even notice Maul is standing behind you until you lower your arms again, having thrown your hair in a lazy updo. Looking up over your shoulder, you give him a questioning look after seeing his concentrated gaze.

He catches a strand of hair that you missed between his fingers, holding it up to look at it intently.

“Your hair,” he mumbles, slowly stroking his thumb over it to feel the texture. “It’s soft.”

You never considered that the sensation could be new for him, but looking back, his hands did always end up buried in your hair whenever the two of you… got distracted. Heat rushes to your cheeks at his obvious fascination when his fingers graze the skin on your neck, but your flusteredness quickly subsides when you realize that he is still covered in dust.

You jump away from him, pointing your finger in a mock-threatening way.

“I just got cleaned up, so don’t even think about touching me.”

He flinches for the fraction of a second, then looks at you with arms crossed and mischief glinting in his eyes.

“You never seemed to mind me touching you before.”

Oh, you bastard.

You scowl.

“Well, I do now. There’s dust and sand all over you, and I just managed to scrub it all off of me.”

“If you say so,” Maul shakes his head in amusement, then proceeds to the refresher.

With the water running again, you realize you have some free time.

“What to do, what to do…” you mumble as your eyes scan the room for a distraction.

Your gaze gets caught on an empty wooden crate that is standing in a corner innocently.

It’s been a while since you’ve done some target practice (For safety reasons you’ve decided it would be smarter not to throw knives in the confines of a moving spaceship), and that crate would make an excellent target.

Quickly you carve a small ‘X’ into the wood to replace the bull’s eye, then you place your makeshift target on a shelf to get it to a proper height.

Target practice has always been one of your favorite kinds of training. Probably, because you are good at it, and it doesn’t involve people, as opposed to sparring.

The first three throws are good and land in the center, right where you want them. For the next round, you decide to change things up and spin before throwing, giving yourself less time to aim but more momentum.

Quickly, you find yourself getting lost in the monotone practice, tunnel vision on your target the only thing that occupies your thoughts - it’s almost meditative

Time passes faster than you expect it to, and midthrow, you catch sight of Maul leaving the refresher.

Without a shirt on.

You miss the ‘X’ by a couple of inches, the blade boring itself into the very corner of the crate; the furthest you have missed it today. An annoyed sound leaves your mouth, though you can’t fully bring yourself to be frustrated with it when the reason for your miss is so well built.

You desperately try not to stare at him, though it certainly isn’t easy.

The final knife you throw hits the target dead-center again, and you mentally declare your practice session over, only now allowing yourself to look at him.

Maker, he’s attractive.

The black inkings on his crimson skin only seem to enhance the lines of muscles spanning across his torso and with the way his pants are sitting so low on his hips-

‘Don’t you dare read my mind,’ The thought is loud and insistent in your head - an attempt to protect your pride, because you would probably die of embarrassment if he knew you really found him this appealing.

To be fair, it’s been a while since you had some… alone time. You are hesitant about doing anything in the shower, because you are almost certain he’d be able to tell through your heightened emotions. But it is getting to you.

And his upper body being on display like that is not helping.

“Now that I am clean enough for you,” He takes slow, self-assured steps toward you, until he is so close that you are forced to look up to face him, his voice dropping to a rumble. “Maybe you’ll finally let me ... ”

He doesn’t finish what he is saying with words, instead meeting you halfway when you stand up on your tiptoes, lips melting together. Your hands roam over his bare torso, feeling old scars, but also raw power in the hard muscles that contract and relax under your touch.

Suddenly, he freezes.

“What’s wrong?” You breathe against his lips, sensing his abrupt unease.

“There are people nearby,” he pulls away with a frown, summoning his lightsaber and a coat with the force. “Stay here, I’ll go check the area and keep them away.”

You snatch a dagger from under your bed and place it on your belt, just in case someone gets close to the ship, while he opens the ramp and rushes off to the right, where you assume he can sense lifeforms closing in. You follow him down the ramp and stay just a few feet away from the ship, watching him cross a dune and disappear.

It is quiet for a few minutes, whoever it was Maul felt must be far away enough to be out of your earshot.

A sudden clang from the front of the ship alarms you and you whip around, but see nobody. Cautiously, you crouch down and sneak around the ship, watching for an attacker, but the place where the sound originated is abandoned. Footprints in the sand trail the other way around the ship, meaning whoever is here could very well be…

behind you.

You catch the assailant’s hand just before it can wrap itself around your neck, twisting the wrist and forcefully throwing the creature to the ground, immediately recognizing the ghastly appearance of a Tusken Raider.

The sand person gets up before you can finish him and swings his spear your way, wildly, primitively. It’s easy to evade his attacks, and before the savage knows what’s happening, you’ve slit his throat.

The short lived fight leaves you slightly out of breath and on alert, your heart thumping fast in anticipation of another attack, but your gut tells you that this was the only danger lurking here.

“Ugh.”

You nudge the grotesque body with your foot, testing to feel its weight. The decision that the corpse is much too heavy for you to move without considerable effort is made fast, so you elect to leave it where it is and wait until Maul returns.

If it was really only the sand people, then you are not overly worried for his safety. They are brutal savages, yes, but they are not much of a threat for somebody like Maul (or you, for that matter).

As expected, Maul’s return is fast.

“Sand people,” he utters.

“I know,” you say, gesturing to the leg that sticks out from around the corner. “I’ve had the pleasure already.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“I did not feel the presence of one so close. I must be more vigilant in the future.”

It is evident that he blames himself for leaving you behind with an imminent threat, so you try to ease his mind.

“It was more annoying than anything else. I have faced bigger challenges than a Tusken Raider, believe me. Now, would you do me a favor and help me get rid of the body?”

He nods absentmindedly and lifts one hand, using the force to raise the body into the air while at the same time creating a hole in the ground, where the body lands with an unceremonious thud.

‘Convenient,’ you think to yourself, remembering all the times you’ve had to drag and lift bodies that by far exceeded your own body mass.

It’s around noon right now, and the sun is beating down on you two mercilessly. You are about to go back inside the ship, when a quiet whirring catches your attention.

“The probe!”

It flies straight to Maul, where it stops and starts a series of beeps that you assume are its way of transmitting information.

“We have the location of the Jedi,” Maul declares finally with a certain gravity to his voice. “Wait here. Please.”

You sigh. “You be careful, yes?”

“I don’t need to be careful,” He lifts his chain proudly, “It’s them who should be afraid.”

“I don’t doubt that. Just… come back fast, won’t you?” You can’t mask the fact that you feel hesitant to let him go on his own - that you feel worried about his safety.

“I will.” He sounds softer now, seeing your concern for him. “Until then,” he pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead.

Then he’s gone.

____

next chapter

____

Reader doesn’t like sand. It's coarse, and rough, and irritating... and it gets everywhere.

I’m a sucker for throwing knives ever since I played Assassin’s creed syndicate (can you tell?). The stealth? The coolness? superb. Mwah.

This time less of a wait, though I can’t promise the same thing for the next chapter. I’m going to try to post it in less than one week, but you know how things get :,)

As always, thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

____

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @bagpipes606 @secretnerd00

#maul #darth maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #star wars x reader #sith #star wars fanfiction

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inanotheruniversemusings · 4 years

Text

got your green eyes in the back of my mind (it’s true)

fill for Supercorptober2020 prompt: baking

read on ao3

“Hi, what can I get you today?”

Lena starts a little. She’s gotten used to the cheery voice, having frequented the coffee shop for quite some time now—it’s her favorite, really; not that anyone’s asked aside from her best friend, Sam—has known its owner even longer, being that they’ve shared half of the same classes the last two semesters.

This, though, is a tad bit new. This being the name tag pinned over the shirt pocket of the cashier’s chest. It usually says Hello, I’m Kara, but now it has the I’m blotted out by black marker ink so that the Hello is perfectly—correctly—followed by prettiest girl I’ve seen today.

(How she managed to fit all those words within the tiny space and in such a neat scribble, Lena has no idea.)

“Uhm,” Lena tries to say; wants to tell the equally beautiful blonde girl who smiles like the sun that she wants her usual. But Lena just can’t stop wondering, and she just has to ask. So she does. “Did you forget the, umh,” she tries a second time, yet she ends up merely pointing at the name tag instead.

“Oh,” Kara mumbles. A well-timed dip of her head hides the sudden flush that blooms on her cheeks. Though there’s really nothing she can do about the redness that crawls down to her neck but fiddle with her glasses. “It’s—there was a dare. There may have been a dare involved.”

Lena nods, her brows arching in barely-contained amusement. “I see.”

Kara flushes even more that she starts swallowing quite visibly, and in a fast, admittedly slightly worrying phase. “Anyway,” she attempts to press on, waving her hands in an added gesture. But she’s still stiff and so flustered that she ends up looking like she’s slicing at the air.

Lena laughs, more to herself—and the adorable state she’s seemed to have left Kara in—than anything; decides to save the other woman from further embarrassment by speaking. “Can I get my usual?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Kara answers. Her voice is unnaturally high, not that Lena knows the sound of it or anything, even as she tries to squeeze in one of her quips. “Or, well, I guess Nia’s, since she’s our barista.”

“Yep, that’s me,” the woman in question chimes in from somewhere behind Kara. She even brings a hand to where her very own name tag is pinned on her apron as she starts to approach the counter to stand beside the other woman; places it palm-up right beneath the scrawl that reads Nia in all caps.

Kara, in turn, just lets out an exasperated sigh and closes her eyes, tight enough that Lena can hazard two guesses on what she’s thinking: she’s wishing for Nia to disappear, or for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

She twists a little to meet Nia, despite also having known her three days after her first ever visit to the cafe, smiles at her teasingly. “Enchanté?”

“Oooh,” Nia hums, eyes sparkling with amusement and looking impressed as she turns to whisper to Kara. Or at least she thinks she does. “Your lady doth speaketh French. Taste, muy bien.”

“That’s not even Fr—I—” Kara fumbles for words, but ends up just pushing Nia out of Lena’s view when she fails to come up with something else and before Nia can wreak further havoc, especially on Kara’s already dwindling spirits.

Lena watches her walk away, the sound of her cackle filling in the air until Kara speaks again. “Sorry about that.” She pushes her glasses back up, shaking the last ten minutes away with a more steady smile this time. “I—your usual right? That’d be two dollars and fifty cents.”

Lena hands Kara a ten matched with one of her charmed smiles. The rest of its change goes to the shop’s tip jar like it always does, and the effects of the same smile colors the tips of Kara’s ears, charming Lena right back.

(There’s a reason why Lena has always been Nia’s favorite customer. A ton, really, though Kara will always have more.)

“Thank you!” Kara tells her—more like squeaks, really. Lena doesn’t stand a chance of not being endeared. “I’ll be right by your table to bring your Au Lait once it’s ready. Same spot?”

“Of course. You know where to find me.”

Kara beams at her then, wide and bright, as if the remnants of her earlier nervousness she has completely shaken away.

And it’s like a shock to her system that Lena only ever gets from coffee, as warm as the first sip she takes after she’s let it cool a little, with a sprinkle of sugar and something else incredibly nice that Lena doesn’t quite have a name yet.

…

Seven minutes and fifteen pounding lub dubs later—when she catches Kara’s eyes just as she’s handing the change to another customer, and Kara sends her another one of her smiles that Lena’s honestly starting to think she’s more hooked into than coffee itself—her Au Lait arrives.

Nia’s drawn a gear over the foam, which Lena incredibly appreciates and kind of also hates because of how steady Nia’s hands must have been, and she may be a tad bit jealous of that.

“It was just half yesterday,” Lena says by way of greeting, though she’s unable to keep the awe from her tone.

Kara laughs softly, and then lifts the mug up the tray to set it in front of Lena. “Nia’s been practicing. I think she’s trying to find a better gig than this.”

I am not, floats from behind the counter, a feigned affronted sound that Nia easily follows with, “But if Lena wants her own personal barista, I am very much open to discussion.”

“And if I do,” Lena replies, equally teasing. “You’ll be my first call.”

“Hear that, K?” Nia yells towards Kara this time. “So if I were you I’d chop-chop.”

“Ignore her,” Kara says; even makes a show of doing so.

“Like, today, Miss Danvers.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kara mouths.

A part of Lena does feel sorry for her, for the helpless look that’s starting to take over her face. But a bigger part of Lena is admittedly enjoying such banter; feels like Kara is more at ease here than when she’s at university, and Lena loves that for reasons she’s still resisting to name.

(But it’s there, was at the back of her throat the week before, but then Kara’s asked her what she knew about quantum entanglement during their shared walk to Quantum Mechanics class and it slid further up and then out; now dangles at the tip of her tongue, so ready to be let loose.)

She’s saved from saying anything that she can classify as stupid by Kara clearing her throat. Kara’s smile is back, albeit it’s a little shaky. Though the tremble her hand makes, as it sets the slice of cake right next to where Lena’s coffee mug is, is much more noticeable.

But Lena chooses not to comment on it, much to Kara’s relief. She pulls her hand back, wiping them both on her apron more as a nervous habit than a conscious move.

“I don’t remember ordering cake,” Lena says, but it’s not unkind.

Kara nips at her bottom lip, then frees it before answering. “It’s on the house.”

“Oh.” Lena isn’t—definitely isn’t—mesmerized by that sight. “Well, thank you.”

“It’s—I’ve been working on my baking. Alex says I may have the knack for it. She’s my sister by the way. She—she owns this place. She and her girlfriend. You may have met them once, when Nia and I had to miss work for some symposium thing at school. Not—not that I’m saying you’re here every day. Or that that’s a bad thing. In fact it’s a good—I’m very glad. Just super glad. That you are. Here, I mean.”

Lena’s able to pick a ton of things from that. But she doesn’t really think she has the emotional capability to unpack most of it right now, not when Kara’s standing right in front of her, fiddling with the hem of her apron nervously as she tries—and fails—not to stare at Lena, and Lena feels a weakness in her knees that only Kara has ever made her feel. So she chooses on the closest—lightest part to focus on. “Baking, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kara nods. “It’s my first cake of the day.”

Lena playfully narrows her eyes. “So I’m your guinea pig?”

“What?” Kara panics—well, almost does, if not for the laugh Lena cushions her teasing comment with. “It’s—no! I tried it first.”

(Just in case she somehow has mistaken salt for sugar again. But of course she doesn’t tell Lena that.)

“I’m just kidding, Kara,” Lena appeases. She shifts her gaze towards the slice of sweet pastry, noting the minced pieces of carrots spread cleanly all over the two layers. Lena knows it’s a total coincidence, but no one really has to know that she’d like to think it’s more, that Kara has picked her favorite out of all the possible choices.

Like quantum entanglement, her mind echoes.

“I’m sure it’s delicious. It certainly looks like it.”

“I really hope so,” Kara answers, nipping at her bottom lip again. “Or I’d be really, really embarrassed.”

“You’d never have to be.”

Silence fills the space again. But Lena feels something stretch over between them, feels it stronger when Kara twists as if to return to her spot by the cashier and says, “Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your day.”

It stretches further as Kara starts walking away, and then snaps taut when Kara gains one more step. It snaps Lena back into attention in turn, her mouth moving before her brain can even catch up to her. “Kara!”

Kara wheels around, tilting her head to look at Lena expectantly. “Yes?”

“Do you give baking lessons?” Lena then asks—and, okay, maybe her brain hasn’t really fully caught up yet.

“Sorry?”

“Do you—can you teach me how to bake?” Yes, definitely hasn’t caught up to her thought process yet. Her mouth and her brain really needs to cooperate. “It’s just, my brother’s birthday is coming up, and I was thinking I’ll make him his own cake instead of buying one.”

Maybe even put Happy Birthday, Baldie as the message, and, okay, maybe it isn’t too bad of an idea after all.

“I—” Kara begins to say, looking like she’s at a loss too. Lena can’t really blame her either. Yet, Kara agrees in the end, and Lena definitely doesn’t know how to deal with that. “Sure.”

In the heat of the moment—Lena will later on say, will refuse to call it anything but that—she grabs the book she’s set on the table, flipping to one of the blank pages at the very back. And then, she looks up at Kara, tipping her chin up to gesture towards the pen tucked inside one of the pockets of Kara’s apron. “Can I borrow your pen?”

Kara hands it wordlessly, and it’s only the slight crinkle in between her brows who speaks for her own confusion.

Lena will also later on say that there is a part of her that feels pained as she tears off half of the blank page. But for now, she does it without a single hint of remorse, and then scribbles out ten digits that may or may not set the next years of her life.

“Call me? And then we can talk about it.”

…

(Much, much later on, Lena will definitely say she’s never been more thankful for a slice of cake and a half-sized piece of paper.

It’s not in her vows, but she does tell Kara at some point, under a sea of stars, and amidst the sound of calm waves hitting the shore and her very own breathing finally coming down from a soaring height.)

…

“Figures. Your lady likes veggies in her pastries. That’s just so wrong.”

“Your favorite pie is literally pumpkin.”

“It’s an ancient recipe and has been proven to actually taste good. Carrot, though? It’s like, just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

“Nia.”

“Yeah, yeah, it got you the girl anyway.”

#supercorp #supercorptober2020 #myfics

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myownwutheringheights · 5 years

Text

Detour: A Mandalorian Story

AN: A Mandomera one shot (for now), that has been spinning in my head for a time. Planning a NSFW sequel, let me know if you want it! #soft

Warnings: TW: pregnancy, and Din in Oberyn’s gold robes ;)

The Crest hadn’t received a message in several months. But that particular day, or night, (time seemed to ebb at a different speed while flying in space), while searching for the Child’s origin planet, he received three different beeps, three different encrypted messages, three different scattered message sources.

To any Imperial, New Republic or Guild fool, it would seem all unrelated. The time the messages were received would show either hours or days between each message, confusing anyone who sought to cause harm or pry to deeply. And they’d only see two messages; the third vanished from the system almost as soon as it had been received by the man who needed to see it.

To a Mandalorian, the messages all came from the same source, one at a time, from the same location and said the same thing; come now.

“OM-451 is in need of care.” The first message read. Din Djarin’s turned his head

“Arrive as soon as possible.” Was the second message. Yes, I’m trying to. Get on with it, he thought. The Child giggled behind him.

The last message was a set of coordinates, that he memorized quickly, knowing they’d vanish and he’d not receive them again.

“Ready for a detour? There’s someone who needs to see us.” He said looking back to the green child, who made a happy sound, it seemed, at the prospect of a new adventure. He entered the coordinates and saw the path ahead. “Batuu.... Outer Rim.” Maybe not his first choice to have resettled the Mandalors, but beggars also couldn’t be chooses; especially since they’d had to move because of him.

The Mandalorian altered the flight pattern and set off into hyperdrive. “Please be alright...” he whispered through the voice modulator as they flew the charted course. The Child cooed at the movement through hyperspace, but the Mandalorian could only think of one thing, and that was making sure that his Mate was safe.

Batuu was an eclectic planet. It was a place where people stopped, gathered supplies, and left. It meant it would have everything his people needed. It was a jumping point for travelers of all kinds. Few stayed. Locals went back generations. And those who were new to settling there were trying to lay low and not be found. It had a bit of everyone and everything, including rumors of illegal Coaxium runs and Jedi lore and artifacts, along with elements of both Empire and Rebel bases. Perhaps it was a better place for the remainder of his people to hide out than he originally thought; Mandalores were a dull afterthought compared to all that.

Even so, after docking his ship and bringing the Child with him and setting out in the market, looking for signs of his kind, eyes turned and focused on him and the shining beskar metal armor. Oh yes, the Mandalorians were here. The eyes said they’d seen others of his kind.

Din made his way through the crowded covered market. Lanterns hung all about casting different colors and glows. Various creature sounds echoed about, and smoke rose up from the cooking of the street food. Everywhere was the sound of machines and droids. He picked up the Child and kept him close in the mass. The best thing to do was wander. His people would alert him at some point and show him the way.

They likely already knew he was there...

He watched the hive mind of the people, and he avoided that path. He saw the route to the cantina and went the other way. If he needed work, then he’d go there. For now, his eyes were on the antiquities shop that had little traffic, but the merchandise shop had a large covered back area, more than what was necessary for the shop. Above the door was a Mandalor crusaders symbol. It was old, and to those unaffiliated, it would go unnoticed. The door hissed, opening, and he stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed were the old Sith and Jedi symbols. And the old languages and images on the wall....ancient things. Things that could send a shiver up the spine. He walked slowly up to the main counter, looking up at all the objects around him and above his head. The Child cooed once more, mouth open to show his little teeth as he looked about in awe at all the items cluttered in the shop.

He recognized the face of the man behind the counter; he was a Mate to one in the covert. The man looked up. “About time.” There were no further statements made. Behind the counter he pressed a hidden button, and a set of stairs descended into the hidden Mandalorian underground homestead.

“Is she alright?” Din asked, voice steady as he moved to the steps and prepared to descend.

“Sickness spread through the underground, as it does when we move the Covert and acclimate. But she will be alright....Winta will be happy to see you.” Din gave one nod and headed down the steps, and as soon as his feet touched the ground, the staircase lifted back up. He walked under the archway with the Kry’bes symbol, and it felt like home.

Mandalorians nodded to him left and right, life bustling here, hidden underground with his people. The ones uncovered were Mates, and all masked and unmasked were at work in some way. Everyone had a purpose and a place here, or the system they had created would collapse. Cooperation was key above all else. He didn’t see Omera, or Winta, and he moved faster. He headed down towards the small apartments, searching for the one that belonged to his Mate.

OM was crudely marked from a knife into the wall. He touched the mark. Omera. He knocked once, twice. He waited for permission to enter or for the door to be opened. A Mandalorian never stepped foot into the housing quarters of another, in case they were unmasked, or their Mate was in any type of compromising position. But he knew this apartment was his when the door opened and Winta grabbed him in a hug he didn’t know how to return just yet.

“You got the message!” She hugged him tight and then reached for the Child.

“Are you alright Winta?” He said touching her shoulders. The young girl nodded.

“I’m fine. It’s mama...she’s really sick....” His eyes tilted towards the ‘fresher, and he handed Winta the Child.

“Watch him, I’ll be right back. I need to check on your mother.” His voice was soft through the voice modulator, trying to be gentle with the girl. He touched her under his chin in a basic caring gesture and she responded gloriously, nodding in understanding and not feeling brushed aside, knowing her mother needed care. Besides, she was eager to care for the small green babe, carrying him to the small dimly lit gathering room. He looked around; the entire apartment was dark and cool. If not for Winta’s laugh and smile, the place would seem empty of all life.

Din stepped into the ‘fresher and closed the door. It hissed shut and he was met with warm steam, and the smell of exotic healing oils. They were highly sought after and valuable; his people were in short supplies. If his Mate had been given some, she surely was considered valuable to the group, but also...she was very ill. On the hooks, he saw two robes; his that hadn’t been touched in months, and hers. They were the finest objects in his possession besides his beskar, that had been a trade object from a mission an age ago that he hadn’t parted with. The second robe had never been needed till Omera agreed to be his Mate. He touched the golden fabric with his gloves, and he heard her heavy cough before he saw her in the tub. “Winta?” She asked, having heard the door. Her voice was scratchy and soft.

Steam pods were going off, resting on the corners of the tub and burning the oil into the warm steam around the room and filling the senses, intended to clear them and calm them. The water was colored with spinning colors of blue and green, and flecks of gold, fizzing from salts put into it, again with the intent to cure and to calm. He saw her long black hair covering the swell of her breasts, but it wasn’t long enough to cover the swell of her belly.

Under the helmet his eyes went wide in shock at the sight and the news that had been kept secret till now. But his presence on the outside was unflinching. His head tilted to the side. “Well. That’s new.” Omera gasped, startled at the voice she hadn’t expected but always longed to hear.

Omera’s hands were rested on her swollen abdomen, moving her fingers over it in a steady pattern, the soft sound of trickling water followed her movements. She smiled softly, and the light of her joy reached her eyes and brought a spark of life back to them. “You found us.” He stepped closer and into her view. She was pale, but her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the water. A blood vessel had burst in her eye from cough, leaving it red. As she sat up to draw closer to him, she was wracked with another fit of coughs and the Mandalorian was brought to his knees at his Mate’s side. She wrapped her arms about him, water dripping over him.

Her hands instantly lifted to touch his helmet, needing to see his face. He touched her hands and put them down and he stood. He gripped the sides of the helmet and slowly unmasked himself. The feeling was still strange, to part with his helmet even in her and Winta’s presence. It reminded him of the first time he had shown her his face, on the day they’d said the words and vows that made her the Mate of a Mandalore, and one of his people. He’d never imagined taking part in the Ritual. She, and their children, were the only ones permitted to see his face. His gaze now settled on her as he undressed from the layers upon layers of gear. Piece by piece he stripped himself down, out of the unnamed Mandalorian gear, to become Din Djarin, her Mate, before her eyes. It took time to remove first the beskar armor, then the protective layers under, and the rest of of clothes. Piece by piece, she saw more of her mate till he was bare before her. Her hands reached out to him, eager, silently asking him to join her, needing him by her side after all these months.

Now fully naked, he stepped into the tub of warm, healing water. Omera’s hands lifted to caress his face. His eyes closed on instinct at the gentle touch. She touched his cheeks, and moved her fingers over his facial hair. Her fingertips brushed over his lips before moving up to comb through his black hair. No words were spoken or necessary as his forhehead touched hers, and they rested there for just a moment. It was their moment, their reunion. But Din needed more contact. Sick or not, he leaned in to kiss his Mate. It was a long time coming, months....her belly showing the passing of time since their last night together on her planet, on his ship, when she’d chased after him with Winta, saying they’d not leave him. In the nights that followed, he’d had to teach her and Winta as much as he could to prepare them for the life ahead. They’d had to rendezvous to a meeting point with other Mandalores and tell them to take her and Winta: that they were part of the Covert, and to keep them safe and valued like any other Mate and offspring, while he continued to travel and keep the Child safe, till every one of his bounty fobs was destroyed, or the Child’s home was discovered. The memories played like a holo in his mind but he came back to the here and now with her. She tasted like medicine, and yet the taste of what was inexplicably Omera lingered. His fingers lifted to tangle into her incredible hair, wet and the ends moving weightlessly in the water. Their tongues danced together as the kiss was deepened and heated, breath mingled and warmed them both up even more. There were soft gasps and sighs of reawakening bodies, yearning bodies. Even in her illness he felt her move closer in longing and stars how he wanted her. But Din finally broke the kiss, and Omera took his hands and pressed them eagerly to her belly.

“Are you happy?” She asked, searching his gaze that he could usually hide behind a helmet.

“Yes. And terrified.” He said with brutal honestly. He’d never expected to claim a Mate, to have children. But Winta and the Child waited outside, and their own babe kicked in her belly under his fingertips. “Are you happy here? And with this?” He said looking around, referring to her new home. She was used to more freedom, to the outdoors. Here, secrecy was their survival. It was so different from the life she and Winta had led.

“Yes, I am.” She reassured him, squeezing his hands. Her smile was warm and he swore it held some type of magic. It was like nothing Din had ever seen. “They did not care that they’d never met us; your people took us in and we were instantly treated as one of them. I’ve never seen such loyalty.”

“You said you would not leave....” He countered, recalling the fight. He always wondering if she would regret her choice to follow the Way as a Mate. She thought for a moment. Yes, she had said that. But her smile only returned.

“Homes change...paths change. Winta is my home. And so are you, Din Djarin. So is this one,” she said, their hands on her belly. “This is the way,” she whispered, hesitant to say it for the first time.

“This is the way.” He answered her with firm confidence in support of her bravely speaking the words. He touched his forehead to hers once more, filled with pride at hearing her initiate the phrase, as was her right as a Mate. He touched the silver ring on her finger, taken from a piece of his beskar breast plate, as was tradition and crucial in their culture.

“Will you stay?” The question every Mate always asked every Mandalorian when they came home. “The medic told me she’ll be the first born of the covert on this planet...”

“She?” Din’s voice was soft, hands continuing to move over the baby bump. She nodded, still searching for his reaction. He barely reacted, it was still just taking in the news. But then he leaned in and he kissed her forehead, and he made it linger, and it was the softest thing she had ever felt.

Omera beamed, and held him as close as she could in the water, her arms wrapping around his strong back. Just as Din had never imagined such a future, she had doubted she’d find love again, and never imagined carrying another child. And so she responded to his touch, despite how weak and sick she felt. But when she coughed again he gave her space and helped her to stand in the tub. “Come, you need rest.” Together, they got out of the swirling colored water.

He wrapped a gold robe about her, and then himself. “I’ve done nothing BUT rest,” she muttered in agitation. The corner of Din’s mouth curved in a knowing smirk.

“But you still need it, and you’re not going out there where you could spread the illness to the rest of the covert and the foundlings.”

Omera sighed, turning off the steam pods and taking his hand in hers as they left the ‘fresher together. “I know you’re right. But you haven’t answered my question. Din...will you stay? I know it will be come and go. But will you stay?”

He caressed the silver band on her ring finger once more, and he gazed down at his own mate band. He rarely saw it, it was mostly covered in his gloves. Din hadn’t been prepared for the joy and pride he’d felt at watching a small piece of his chest plate be cut off and melted to form a ring just for her, and just for him. The chest plate covered the vital organs and the heart and as such was the proper place to take ancient metal for the Mated rings. Omera’s eyes were curious and still very much waiting for his answer. “I’ll stay. Till you heal and after the baby is born, for the first few months....as long as it’s safe -” She threw her arms around Din in joy as the Child and Winta played. It was more time than most Mates got for one stint of time. He held her firmly, protectively in his embrace; of course he would stay as long as he could. Then he hoisted her up into his arms and carried her to the small bedroom, while the two children continued to play.

Omera coughed again, deep and gasping, her hands tightening around the fabric of his robe as he hurried to bring her to the bed, laying her down and propping her up onto the pillows so she could catch her breath. He found the medicine that had been provided and he got her two med tabs. Din found himself looking around; he hadn’t been here yet, it was still unfamiliar surroundings. His focus and gaze turned back to his Mate; he could assess his surroundings later. As Omera’s breath returned to normal, her hands moved over the golden fabric of the robe in a more intimate manner.

“Incredible...I feel like this yet I still want you...” She whispered. Din lifted her hand and kissed her palm intimately with a promise. She closed her eyes at the sweet contact. It had been too long.

“As do I....there will be time. As soon as you are well.” His voice was low, husky in want for the beautiful woman in front of him. Away on the Crest, he’d thought of her more than even he wanted to admit. His work required focus; but now that he was back with the covert, and with her, Din could let go, just a bit...just a bit. And the part of him that let go was all for her, wanting her, wanting to pull the covers over them and rip the robes off their bodies and have her again and again. But not yet. No. Not till she was better. He touched his forehead to hers once more, closing his eyes in longing, before kissing her again. There would be time, he thought once more to himself. There would be time for them to have each other, to celebrate the act that brought forth the little one inside her. His hand coming to her belly, where he felt a firm, strong kick, as if the child was answering his thoughts. The couple smiled together, and he was in awe of what he had and what he felt.

“You really are happy...” Omera said, touching his hand over her, settling back into the bed, letting out a little hum of contentment as the little girl kicked once more announcing her presence in the galaxy.

“Yes. I am.” He answered simply. And it was more than enough.

He heard the Child and Winta giggle...he saw Omera smile and lean back further against the pillows to rest. He would stay, see her healed and see his daughter be welcomed to the covert. He would...he would be a father. And he was flooded with a strange rush of feeling....since he had sworn the Creed he had been on the move. Running, fighting, hunting. Never settling, never staying, never taking off his helmet. The concept of home was both foreign and long past. It had seemed unnecessary, and if nothing else, well out of reach.

But in this moment, hidden underground on this strange planet, Din felt for the first time since he was a foundling, that he was truly home.

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vminity21 · 4 years

Text

Meet Me in the Garden | myg

Pairing: student!Yoongi x student!reader, college!au, friendshiptolovers!au

Genre: fluff/mildangst

Word Count: 2k

Warning(s): stress involving college, rating: pg, other: forever dedicated to my dearest friend Mo

Summary: When the stress of life seems to get in the way, your newfound friend steps in- becoming a place that you can finally call home.

It doesn't help when the hounding of your alarm flutters your eyelids to the greeting of the dark window haunting your weakened limbs with the reminder that sends a bundle of nerves cocooning within your tummy. And, it coincidentally doesn't help when you prepare your morning for the first day of college that none of your friends will be there to welcome you. Motivation, you find, can be derived from a freshly brewed cup of coffee which now rests in a holder next to your steering wheel tempting frequent sips to awaken your senses.

The front of the building comes into view once you park; your fingers unintentionally tighten their grip upon your backpack straps once you halt your steps, gulping down whatever anxiety trying to breakthrough your swarming mind. Students walk along the sides of your peripherals, books decorating their arms, scuffling shoes against the cement, faint sounds of hushed conversations, yet you can hardly make yourself continue forward, trying to remember the exact direction of your first class.

Preferably, you'd much rather explore the grounds as you have before, but obviously with lack of time, you must proceed to your eight am definition of purgatory, letting the adventures of the campus disperse for now. You're not even aware, once sauntering into the room, choosing a seat farthest away from any individual, that a gentle pair of brown eyes can't seem to avert from your tense frame. He observes the shaky way your hands gather your items before you, gliding the tip of a pencil upon a freshly opened notebook awaiting the, what he predicts, monotone voice of the professor to begin. It takes weeks for the young man to finally collect the bravery to approach you one day when he discovers your presence within the library where the side of your head firmly rests against the palm of your hand steadied by the tip of your elbow upon the table.

You're fighting the urge to fall asleep due to hours of studying, and he can tell; gently, he hangs his bag off the side of the wooden chair to then carefully taking a seat across from you. By this point, you're cognizant of a few names within your classes, and you hardly want to look up at whoever unexpectedly decided to join you within your space, but your rigid shoulders give the stranger enough warning to not cause any trouble.

"Hi," he eventually murmurs, your eyes widening while they move to view the timid voice. Blonde tufts are hidden away beneath an upright beanie leading to almond eyes that mirror the timorous way he folds his hands together- a small grin apparent in his features bringing memories of the recent projects that were randomly selected for presentation- you immediately remember being a fan of his powerpoint that spoke of taking care of the earth and all it has to offer.

"Hi," your hand slips to rest onto the table, the pace of your heart quickening in reaction to the reddened hue of your cheeks. When meeting new people, there are moments where you tend to be shy, especially with the unforeseen situation involving someone you happen to see as striking with a minuscule sprinkle of mystery. There are times you'd catch yourself glancing in his direction, but with the muddled state of homework and numerous assignments as well as the starting of a new job, you haven't found the time to ponder it, nor wonder when a friendship from anyone will finally progress to where the loneliness disappears. You just didn't think that your noticing the quiet pupil who assigned his seat diagonally behind you would take the initiative to befriend you.

"My name's Yoongi," he offers a soft hand that yours swiftly nestles into, "May I ask yours?"

"[Y/N]," you nod politely, "It's very nice to meet you, Yoongi,"

Life leads into another month where laughter exuberates from a gummy smile- fluffy tendrils of blonde hair tickle at the bottom of your chin where he leans into you- his eyes scrunch into crescents, his hands clapping to the joke you made encircling your heart with streams of emotion you suppress into secrecy. "You mean to tell me you've never been there?" When the hour dims to accepting the fate of an essay, it is professed to you that the campus, that you assumed you have seen the entirety of, happens to have a garden hidden away at the edge of where the college borders the surrounding community.

"I mean, I never noticed it on the campus map, is it new?" Your eyes fondly gaze at your newfound friend enjoying the proximity of where his knee brushes the side of yours taking everything in you not to reach for his thin fingers.

"According to the website, it's been there since the college was built,"

"Well, then I guess I've been living under a rock-"

"Not anymore," Yoongi springs to his feet whirling around to showcase his flattened palm whilst bowing elegantly, "Follow me, perhaps?"

You hesitate on purpose reading his umber eyes that sing adventure reluctantly grasping his hand to sprint behind him until the path breaks into the opening of what exposes myriads of flourishing pink petals encompassing greenery in the forms of trees, stems, or vines that wrap around golden traces of railings where dark benches rest along the stone walkway. The trickling sound of water perks your auditory senses in the direction of where a tall fountain lives within the center of the area prompting a gasp of awe while your eyes scan the scenery.

"Yoongi, it's beautiful," you breathe, hardly registering the squeeze of his hand still wrapped around yours. "I wish I would have brought my camera,"

"I knew you'd love it," he whispers- although your eyes are entranced by the beauty enveloping your sight, Yoongi's eyes remain on you, because from that day forward he knows, if he can do anything to make you this happy, he will never stop trying no matter how long or how much it takes. It's funny how the tables turn in the sense of, the next visit to the garden, after a long morning of exams, that you can't seem to take your eyes off him. His blonde hair fluffs upon his forehead with a wavy tint exposing small hoop earrings adorning his earlobes completing the way his faded blue shirt fits loosely on his figure.

After the time he introduced you to this land of tranquility, you haven't failed to bring your camera, creating panoramas of colorful roses that perfume their fragrance throughout the location. When you turn to see a skipping Yoongi, you know exactly what you would love to photograph next. The mere second his rump plops onto the widened railing between two deep, brown pots painting nicely with giant palm trees scattered behind him- he poses instinctively, kicking his leg out in front of him, embellishing a small smile where the pearls of his teeth shine.

"Okay, that's enough-" he prepares to hop off.

"No!" Your free hand flies out in front of you, "Just one more, Yoon, please,"

"[Y/N]" he teasingly whines leaning back to cause the knuckles of his hands to turn pale from the way he grips the railing, "You know I detest pictures,"

"Incorrect sir, you detest being in them. Now, diddly done cooperate, so I can get a closeup of them heavenly cheekbones of yours,"

His lips press into a tight thin-lipped smile before he relaxes into another position, "Okay, are you done?" He voices the very instant the click of the camera enters the atmosphere, him landing on his feet from where he shoves off the railing. Shaking your head at him playfully, you check for confirmation that the photo was taken, sighing in joy when indeed it was.

Pictures that will forever be etched in your heart for the memories he continues to burn into your existence. Sporadic trips to the garden are all you look forward to in the months to come- whispering shared secrets no one has ever known, boisterous laughter reverberating to the sky, subtle glimpses where words are left unspoken, and the very moment his fingertips brush the back of your hand leading to surprised eyes and quickened pulses- never in your wildest dreams did you think someone so special could take a hold of your heart as much as he has.

It's when bouts of sudden financial battles seem to outweigh the thrills bringing you to your darkest times where you detach yourself mildly from the man you've been growing to love. His heart is so broken from the way your eyes pain with tears that he can't seem to diminish- wishing with all his might he can rescue you from the commotion life seems to curse you with. It's been a long time since the pair of you have visited your favorite destination, and though your distance has been devastating to Yoongi, there is one day in fact, while you are compiling your things to zip into your book bag; you stumble upon a note pinned between the windshield wipers of your car.

Fingertips snatch the note, the light breeze bending the corner, your heart swells at the words staring back at you,

Meet me in the garden, xoxo

The handwriting is undeniably recognizable and for the first time in a long time, your smile lifts with a wave of elation that you've been longing for. Hoping for. Locking your belongings in your car, you run. You run toward the one place that dissipates the world outside- the place where your soul finds a way to escape- the place that fights to see your smile to end whatever tears threatening to spill onto your face- the one place that you know, the moment your eyes find him- hands in his pockets staring at the sunsetting sky-

your heart belongs.

"Yoongi," your voice echoes. Tears roll down your face when he turns abruptly- eyes connecting before you leap to crash into his arms- him embracing you so close that nothing else seems to matter other than his warmth. "I love you," you whisper into his chest, completing the answer to the question he's been aching to know; because at last, he can proclaim his undying love for you- planning to cherish every bit of the woman he has fallen completely and irrevocably in love with.

Yoongi moves to press a tepid kiss to your forehead, your lids squeezing shut from how much you wish he would do it again and again. Frames swaying tenderly, he refuses to let you go; instead, faces near, the tip of his nose tickles your cheek just enough to where his parted lips pause almost a centimeter from yours. The gesture is just enough to still your breathing before the beautiful beat of butterfly wings soar through every inch of your chest- eyes flickering to stare into his that are creased at the corners from a growing smile,

"And, I love you, [Y/N],"

With that, all turmoil disappears the instant his fervid lips sweep yours in the most graceful motion resembling the gentle sensation of rose petals- emotions blossoming nothing but endless bliss fulfills every ounce of happiness the pair of you have dreamed for each other. Just when you thought life would continue to deem you with loneliness, there came a hero to brighten your days to follow, and the days that have yet to come; a hero who has shown you what it's like to discover a form of ebullience when you need it most. The garden may have always given a wondrous background- an ethereal view of solace- a natural world of simplicity; but more than anything, beyond what words can illiterate,

the garden became a home for your place which is right here in Yoongi's arms.

#heartsforbts #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #minthlynet #bts min yoongi #yoongi #yoongi fluff #min yoongi #bts yoongi #yoongi drabble #2k

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its-a-branwen-thing · 5 years

Text

On Qrow: Part II

Back at it again with the white vans an over-analysis of one of my faves! In my last post on Qrow, I focused a lot on how legacies play into his character. How he’s slowly becoming a character who can leave a legacy, but that the journey there is still ongoing. And it always is.

Disclosure, as always, this is all pure speculation, enhanced by my personal opinions, and for fun! :)

Legacies play into all of these characters. RWBY is about stories. Especially in regards to our heroes: specifically Ruby, Yang, Oscar, Juane, and Ren. All of them have character legacies that inform who they are today. Summer, Raven, Ozma, Pyrrha, Li Ren. These are all characters that we know had/have their own motivations, destiny, and ideals--and those echo through the narrative in such grand ways.

Mementos are a big part of these characters’ stories. While not all of these are explicitly physical items that serve as reminders, there are stories behind these shots and the objects or focus of them. Ren killing the Nuckelavee with his father’s dagger, Ruby’s mother and their shared silver eyes.

That’s why taking a look at a particular spot in V4 sparked a new idea:

Qrow is also a part of legacies. But this is one he was upholding. In V6 we saw his realization that his own followed legacy was in jeopardy--the one thing he’d staked his life on--and that continues to inform his faith in his nieces and the younger generation going forward. Because it isn’t Oz’s path he’s following, but theirs. Even if it is is hard letting them go it alone.

Qrow chooses his path at the end of V6, and it’s to help uplift this new generation, so that they can create their own stories in honor of or in spite of the ones that were left for them. It’s subtle, but it illustrates that Qrow’s growth has been in doing the things he believes is right, which is why he cautions James on so many of his decisions, why he seems to hang back, to lash out less, why he seems...well, softer. He’s not drunk, for one. And two he’s not as worried for his proteges. They’re taking fine enough care of themselves. Which is why the emphasis on his connection to Clover is so fundamentally important. Because if I look at it from a storytelling standpoint, we see these two characters express very similar ideals with completely different views of how to follow them. But it’s the story Clover has, the one where he’s a beloved leader and soldier, that impacts Qrow’s future the most.

It’s also between them that we witness one of the most brutal death scenes in RWBY.

My knee-jerk reaction to this scene was that it was the beginning of the Scarecrow “losing his mind”, so to speak, because it has been the pattern of the Oz generals to fall by the thing they were seeking in their allusions. But every time I followed this thought I couldn’t realize why it felt so wrong to me. I thought for a bit that Qrow might turn, the he might really and truly go crazy, but I honestly can’t see it. Why? Because if I’m reading Clover’s character right, we see that the fundamental differences between him and Qtow are what the story’s been pointing to all along: one is part of a legacy he never questioned, while the other has no tethers to his old legacies. Qrow’s placing his faith, quite certainly, on the future. (Also, if you wanted to make a point about the cruelty of reality, you could do it elsewhere. RWBY hasn’t really been that kind of show). And what really hit me as an important factor in this is the final shot of Qrow:

He isn’t angry. He isn’t gunning immediately for Ironwood. He looks heartbroken. He looks as he has all season--quiet, but in control.

He’s also holding onto...that’s right, a memento.

Yeah, back to talking about mementos, I am.

In seeing what was said about their relationship by the writers (communication not being 1:1 with writing/animating--also, again, not looking to discuss the implications of that at the moment, I understand and sympathize), I think I’m beginning to see some of Clover’s decisions, as they’re written, in a completely new light.

He’s cocky. He’s proud. But he’s a good guy. He encourages Qrow. He obviously likes him as a person. And this whole season we’re rooting for them to be good partners why’d you sneak in all that sexual tension though, yo, in whatever way that is. But then it’s made clear that Clover and Qrow both prioritize entirely different things until E12 when Qrow nods to Tyrian and...you know what I won’t even....no, I’m not even gonna poke that. The same different things that ultimately split team RWBY and the Ace Ops up. It’s even in their fights. If Qrow is the “Clover” to RWBY, Clover is the “Qrow” to the Ace Ops. Both the oldest and wisest of the de facto teams. Those fights are set up like that for a reason. Even them sharing shifting focus in E12 is significant. And RWBY wins because the Ace Ops don’t “care” about each other as they do, that’s the whole point that I can see. And so Clover shares his teams’ fate...but, like, way worse.

Clover knows when his orders seem harsh but he doesn’t question them. He’s never been shown to do so. He hesitates, sure, but so does Marrow. And unlike Marrow, Clover isn’t a new addition. He’s older. He’s their leader. It’s his charge they’ll follow. He’s not a character easily changed. We knew who he was the moment he swung in to arrest our heroes.

(Side note: I used to think this was a conspiratorial look that they were planning something. But I think now what I see is Clover noticing and then ultimately ignoring Qrow’s concern. His look hardens back to Ironwood with what I can now see as resolve. It’s why Qrow looks down. It’s almost like he’s hurt.)

So when we encounter this duo in the tundra, after their plane crash, and we see Clover’s character attempt to negotiate with Qrow, we see Qrow’s resolve harden. He isn’t going to follow Ironwood’s orders. He finds them wrong. But Clover is Ironwood’s right hand, he can’t listen to any personal feelings he may have, as Qrow and Robyn do. He even parallels Marrow in his conversations with Robyn, in that they both advise her to follow the law on two separate instances, and she makes it abundantly obvious that she thinks the law is rubbish. But Clover is the law. He’s supposed to uphold that trust. Because he’s entirely loyal. He’s a good person upholding a man he trusts. We don’t know his history, but I assume as the elite of the elite he earned his position. He spent years earning Ironwood’s trust (as Winter says--”You can’t buy loyalty you have to earn it”). And he isn’t a disingenuous character with sneaky ulterior motives. He’s how he’s presented. Point blank, heart presumably on his sleeve. I thought he’d turncoat to join our heroes, but now I see why he didn’t. (Then again, not having all the information is...testy)

Which is why this hits so damn hard.

“Sometimes the right decision is the hardest to make. I trust James with my life! I wanted to trust you.”

I wish I could emphasize that last line more. Clover is making an extraordinarily hard choice. He’s choosing loyalty to Ironwood over his partnership and relationship with Qrow. Because he trusts Ironwood more. This isn’t a character failing, it’s just tragic.

And with that last line I think he feels that Qrow betrayed Ironwood as well and, by effect, him. Because if Qrow had just listened to Ironwood’s plan and given himself up, none of this would have happened. But now that Qrow’s gone rouge, so to speak, he has to see him as an enemy. He has to use tactics to lure him to cooperate. Clover wanted to trust Qrow too. And at the end, like a lot of other trusting partnerships this volume, it ended in a loss of that trust. Also Qrow breaking Clover’s aura after the Ace Op has Tyrian on the ropes is SO. GODDAMN. PAINFUL. And when Qrow sees that Clover’s willing to follow these orders, he probably thinks he’ll follow any, and likely why he sees this as a betrayal. Because he’s used to that which i will discuss next time thank you.

What makes this scene so poignant, what makes me realize Qrow’s next arc is going to tie into what Clover left for him, is because Qrow likely understands exactly what Clover was going through. Once upon a time he defended Oz. He ran Oz’s missions. He put those priorities first. He bet his life on this fight. And in the end he didn’t even know the truth of what he was fighting for. Oz lied to him (Yes, I understand why). Meanwhile this whole season has been built on the prospect of lies. Qrow knows the cost of blind trust. He’s trying to tell Clover to listen to his conscience, not silence it. He’s trying to tell him to do the right thing.

And at the end, Clover seems to do just that by telling him, infuriatingly, “good luck.” Not just in the broader sense, although what an absolute madlad. But in the sense that he understands why Qrow chose that path. Why Qrow made that decision to refuse arrest although I’d be hella pissed about him teaming up with Tyrian! tho Why you done did me like that, bruh?!.

Clover’s telling him, really, to do what Qrow thinks is right. It’s the final note of evidence for my theory. Clover’s spent this season prepping Qrow to have faith in himself, and now it’s Qrow’s turn to realize that potential. It’s a blessing, really, that he gives him. To finish what he started.

And Qrow clearly keeps Clover’s charm. Because he’s carrying on Clover’s legacy too, and the mistakes that may have been made along the way. He has to remedy them. And this isn’t the only instance of a “baton pass” between these two. If Qrow is in search of a new legacy (which, truth be told, might involve bringing Ironwood down), then he needs a new team to do it with. And, as it’s been stated countless times by this show, he isn’t the waste of space he say he is and it is a damn shame he doesn’t have a new team yet.

Which brings me to my final desperate reach point.

“What would you guys do without me?”

#awe yeah carpal tunnel #rwby #qrow branwen #there will be a part III!#one day....#rwby meta #long af sry #im so flexible now ive reached so much #look i want qrow to also join the happy huntresses but i want him to interact with the ace ops too #savvy?

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drawlfoy · 5 years

Text

Mirror, Mirror P.3

masterlist request guidelines requests are open! just please be sure to read my guidelines before sending one in :)

pairing: draco x femravenclaw!reader

request: the original idea is all mine, but p.3 has been requested

summary: while on their prefect rounds, y/n runs into both an issue and a mirror that she knows nothing about (but her partner certainly does).

warnings: foul language, light physical violence. i hesitated to write the slap since i don’t believe that anyone should ever hit someone. especially in a romantic relationship. but also this is magic and fictional and this draco is getting on my damned nerves

a/n: fr i’m so flattered that you all wanted a third part, i really am, but oh my GOD this particular draco is being such an intolerable dickwad and not cooperating with anything that i want him to do. thank you for your patience

music recs: i listened to the hp soundtrack while writing this so that’s pretty meta

word count: 1,239

tags! tags! @accio-rogers @geeksareunique

Y/N huffed as she stamped off to find Professor Flitwick, her hair falling loose from her bun as the sharp movements jerked it out of place.

That git that git that git that git that git....

How had he known? Y/N was secretive and so were her friends...as far as she was aware of. Perhaps she had fallen asleep in Potions that day and uttered her undying love for her fantasy Malfoy, but while the Slytherins were cunning and sly, there was no way they all wouldn’t have laughed at her. And she wasn’t even tired, thanks to the Wide-Eye she was permitted to take after her 10-12 shifts.

She was pondering the thought as she neared the end of an unfamiliar hallway, suddenly struck with the realization that while she was deep in concentration, she had missed the turn to Flitwick’s office. The end of the corridor was oddly familiar, though, and when she turned to the left, she knew why.

The mirror she had seen with Draco was right in front of her. If she squinted in the dark, she could make out the letters ERISED on the top, something she committed to memory for her next library visit. But before she could spend too much on her many tricks to memorize a word, a movement in the mirror distracted her.

“Aah! Malfoy!”

He had appeared next to her, gazing into the mirror with a teasing expression on his face. A smirk formed as he closed the distance, resting his chin on top of her head and shutting his eyes contently.

The only problem with the picture was that when Y/N looked to her side, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. He only existed in the mirror, and it appeared as though her reflection wasn’t a perfect copy as well when she looked closer. Y/N was donning formal ministry robes that only high ranking members of the Ministry wore...the very career path she wanted to follow. She laughed, lacing her fingers through Malfoy’s and squeezing.

Y/N watched, speechless, as the pieces all began to fall into place. Just like the many riddles she had had to solve in the past to enter her common room, the confusion slowly drifted away until she was left, staring right at the answer.

Erised was simply the word Desire reflected. She desired a high ranking career in the Ministry and Draco Malfoy. That was no secret, at least not to her.

But Malfoy knew now. She had confessed to seeing their reflection in the mirror when she was holding onto his sleeve to make him stop. While she thought the claim of it being a regular old mirror innocent enough, she had been dead wrong. And, somehow, he had known what the mirror was.

Now she had to find Professor Flitwick.

“That’s kind of funny,” Rena admitted, dicing her beetroot with practiced precision. “But mortifying. What are you gonna do?”

Y/N sighed, adding her own ingredients to the shared cauldron between them. “I don’t know. I talked to Flitwick, but he refuses to switch us. Something about house unity and maturity. I would push harder, but I want him to choose me as a prefect next year too, so I’ve just got to roll with the punches.”

“So how are you going to act around him? Are you gonna be the same or come clean?”

“Well, he knows now,” Y/N mused. “But I was thinking that instead, I could tell him that he was getting his knickers in a twist about nothing because I went back there and just saw my simple reflection.”

“That’s evil, and you know it.”

“You say that as if he’s not evil.”

“Fair, fair.”

The two worked in silence, finishing up the extra credit assignment in the cold dungeon air. Y/N shivered as she began cleaning up the ingredients and noticed that Rena was yawning profusely.

“Rena, you don’t need to stay. I know you stayed up late studying last night. I’ll take care of it, you hurry up to our dorm and I’ll be there soon with some tea.”

Rena smiled. “You sure? You don’t look too well-rested yourself.”

“Absolutely. You forget that I fell asleep watching you lean over your desk last night. You deserve to sleep a little more.”

“Okay. Love you, Y/N!”

“Love you too.”

Rena skipped off, suddenly revived. Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled after her, gathering up the rest of the ingredients and washing the cauldron.

While she knew that she had done the right thing sending Rena back to their room, she couldn’t help but wish that she hadn’t. The dungeons were creepy at all times of the day, but especially so if it was 11pm and you were alone. Y/N thought that she had heard some suspicious sounds from the corridor but brushed off the notion.

No one’s down here except for the Slytherins, and they’re all holed up in their swanky common room.

Ah, yes, the Slytherins. Y/N cringed at the thought. She was in Malfoy’s territory, something she wasn’t too pleased about. The most disobedient part of her mind wanted to catch a glimpse of Malfoy in his natural habitat, but she knew that that was a bad idea.

Before she knew it, her station was completely clear and it was time for her to depart into the dark and freezing corridor. Gross. She didn’t understand how Rena had managed to look so cheery skipping into a corridor that probably had its own budding rat civilization.

She shut the door quietly behind her, hissing as a water droplet fell on top of her head. The chill as it slipped down her neck caused her to yelp, jumping nearly a foot in the air. In her surprise, she almost didn’t hear the amused snort from the shadows somewhere to her left.

“Who’s there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Shit. She could recognize that drawl anywhere.

Draco Malfoy stepped into the dim lighting by the torch, wearing his signature silk suit. Does he ever take that off? His hair was annoyingly nice looking considering how late it was, and its silver glow, brought out by the torchlight, made her knees weak.

He cocked his head expectantly, waiting for her scathing comeback. She just stared, her eyes wide and dilated from the dark. What could she say to him?

“I went back to the mirror after our rounds.” The words just tumbled out of her mouth, quick and shaky.

“And?” His mouth quirked and his eyes sparkled.

“And I don’t know why you’re so enchanted by it. I just saw my reflection again.”

He frowned, but she could still see a shadow of amusement dance across his features. “Really, now?”

Y/N was frozen in place, but she so desperately wanted to run away from the situation. “Er...yeah?”

Before another word could come out of his very well-shaped mouth, the frozen spell over her had broken and she was already speeding halfway down the hall.

“Hey! I wasn’t done talking to you!”

Refusing to look back, she turned to the stairs and began jogging up them, praying that he couldn’t hear her feet on the stone as she was literally running away from him.

This was so, so embarrassing. Ravenclaws didn’t run, they remained and outsmarted their opponents with their wit and wisdom. But, for some reason, when it came to Draco Malfoy, all of that went away.

final a/n: so the wait for this one was long and it didn’t even turn out that cool, but i want a lot more time to actually construct the next meeting of them during their rounds, and that should be out soon. i’m sorry for making this one so short!! i’m thinking there will be either 1 long part or 2 more short parts before the end of this is reached. thanks for reading!

#draco #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco imagine #draco x y/n #draco x oc #draco x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x you #slytherin #ravenclaw reader #harry potter imagine

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