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autisticandroids · 3 years

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Oh patron saint of mpreg, tell us, what is the absolute gold standard canon divergent mpreg scenario with Cas and Dean?

so for me the gold standard is for cas to get pregnant due to some kind of magical or metaphysical situation that dean at least does not perceive as sex. bonus points is cas is hesitant about it but refuses to explain why (because he doesn't know how dean will deal with the concept of himself being able to potentially get cas pregnant), so dean is like "we're doing it anyway" and then they do it and then cas doesn't tell anyone that he is pregnant until circumstances force the information out of him. and then dean has to deal with the fact that 1) cas can get pregnant, 2) cas is pregnant, 3) it's his, and he does so pretty poorly.

the rest is under a cut because this post is over 2.5k words long.

my favorite times for this to happen are at the end of season nine, just before dean dies and gets demonized in do you believe in miracles, and at the start of season twelve, just before sam and dean go to jail, because the pining in both those scenarios is delicious but it is so much more powerful if cas is also pregnant, and never even told dean. double points if the truth somehow comes out while they're separated so when dean comes back it's like. yeah cas is pregnant. it's yours. welcome home dean now you have to coddle cas' emotions because he thought he would have to raise your baby alone.

the season twelve scenario is particularly delicious because 1) we can have lucifer slut shaming cas in front of crowley in rock never dies, so crowley knows before dean, and 2) much more importantly, mary is there, and i am obsessed with like. okay. several things.

- the idea of mary getting all baby fever because she misses her boys and this is like. a baby she can take care of because she never got to take care of sam

- the idea of dean working through some of his parentification trauma by coparenting a child with the parent whose place he felt he had to take

- the idea of mary coming in and projecting her insane 1980s gender roles all over cas, suddenly treating him like a woman, stripping him of agency, etc. and like. dean would also do this even though he's not from the eighties, but mary would do it double strength, and they would reinforce each other, it would be a nightmare

- also mary trying to relate to cas on the Travails Of Motherhood etc. and cas being like ?????????? like i cannot stress enough that the weird gender roles she projects onto cas are also standards that she held herself to back when she was a Wife And Mother. while cas is like mary i am not a human woman and also i don't see what "having to look pretty for my man when i'm all baby bloaty" has to do with anything. that's not something i feel like i have to do

oh and 3) could you imagine lily sunder has some regrets if cas was pregnant? unfathomable episode. like ishim and mirabel's reaction but ALSO lily's. and it would fix the number one issue i have with lily sunder, which is that the resolution of the moral dilemma is "well AKSHUALLY the kid was human and not a nephilim so killing it was bad" rather than "it was bad to kill lily's baby, full stop." like ishim's cover up and using the machinery of power to manipulate the truth is very compelling, but the fact that it results in the moral essentially being "it would have been okay if the kid had been a nephilim" suuuuuucks.

basically, there's a reason i have two entire mpreg aus set in season twelve.

and then the delicious part in the season nine version is like. one, dean is away for much longer and he could be anywhere. also he's a demon and he's cheating on cas with crowley. and then even when cas gets him back he's still cursed with the mark, so we can get all weepy over that. you know. i'm the one who's going to have to watch you murder the world and i'm eight months pregnant. etc etc.

but the other thing that's juicy about this version is that cas is still semi-involved with the other angels at this point, like he's roadtripping around with hannah and they're trying to get heaven under control, so carrying a nephil is going to really affect those relationships. so he's going to be probably disliked by the other angels, and there are MANY opportunities for slut-shaming, but at the same time, the other "outcast" type angels might respect him for violating heaven's dictates.

and then of course there's his grace vampirism victorian wasting disease. in canon he's perfectly happy to let himself die, but if he were having dean's baby he would absolutely not do that, that's dean's baby he's endangering there. so of course there's the terrible guilt of having to kill other angels so he can live, plus potentially preparing to die shortly after childbirth so he doesn't have to keep killing. delicious.

and on top of all this cas can get slutshamed by metatron in, depending on when exactly he gets knocked up, meta fiction, stairway to heaven, and do you believe in miracles. plus stairway to heaven would be insane like all the angels would know that cas is pregnant. they would see it in his grace. like cas' angel army would just. know that he was pregnant with a nephil, and have to accept that because he's their leader. in love with humanity indeed.

i'm trying to think of other good times for this drama with cas getting secretly pregnant through a nonsexual interaction to take place. it would be great in season six. like: he's doing a blasphemy with his body but at the same time he's this big important rebel leader so they can't say shit about him, and also he's pregnant while fighting these big important battles (fun and sexy), AND this is like, hot on the heels of the realization that something about his feelings for dean is untoward, expands beyond the bounds of ordinary friendship and camaraderie. like he realizes that, and maybe even that he has sexual feelings for dean, and then he gets immediately knocked up. stunning.

it would ALSO be extremely fun for it to be some kind of... i don't know, magical longer gestation times, whatever, but for cas to have gotten pregnant sometime in s5 and only realized during the Year Of Lisa. LOVE to watch a man rake leaves while both metaphorically carrying the taint of taboo sexual feelings for him and literally carrying his child.

but the thing about season six is, first of all, cas isn't really... envisioning a future with dean. not the way he does in the later seasons. like does he fantasize about a future with dean? yes. like. he really did watch that motherfucker rake leaves. but it's only fantasy. he expected to never speak to dean again after swan song until dean prayed to him in the third man. he's obsessed with dean, but it's distant. remote.

like, we talk about cas babytrapping dean in the later seasons with jack, and he absolutely does, and he would do it even more if dean got him literally pregnant, but that babytrap is about... how do i put this. it's about winning dean's affection. late seasons cas knows that he's going to die by dean's side. the difference that babytrapping dean makes is that maybe it will get dean to be nice to him in the mean time, instead of discarding him like so much toilet paper.

but season six cas doesn't think of it like that. if he were gonna babytrap dean, it would be in the more traditional sense of forcing dean to stay with him in order to raise their child together. and he would never do that. he wants dean to have a happy future, which in his mind does not include him. like, compare here "he's retired and he's to stay that way" in the man who would be king, where cas assumes that dean is happy without him and expects him to live out his days peacefully without ever seeing him again, to "i'm the one who's going to have to watch you murder the world" in the prisoner, where cas assumes that he will be by dean's side for centuries.

but anyway, the other, much more important problem with season six is that cas has a war to fight. like, in the later seasons, cas really has nothing. even when he's on tenuous good terms with the angels, he doesn't really have a home with them. the winchesters are his family, and he'd give up anything for them. he has nothing in his life. he's at rock bottom, and this becomes truer the further along you go. late seasons cas has nothing he would prioritize over serving the winchesters, and he would be happy dropping anything he was involved in to have and raise dean's baby. parenting would give him a purpose that he no longer has, because everything else has been stripped from him.

but in season six cas has a life outside of them. like yes, he has a war to fight, but he also has a place in heaven, with the other angels. he belongs somewhere, he has solid connections to the outside world. even if he didn't have a war to fight, i don't know how excited he would be to have and raise a baby (even dean's baby) because he simply has other things he could be doing. he's involved in the world beyond the winchesters.

like, the reason cas wants to be a parent is that he is totally alone and totally purposeless. having a child gives him both a reason for being and someone who will always love him and who he can care for. if he doesn't have that hole in his life he might not be so eager to fill it with a baby.

for all these reasons, this plotline really doesn't work in season six, because you simply cannot justify cas not getting an abortion, unless you do something nasty like make angel abortion impossible, which i don't love.

you COULD somehow put the impregnation just at the end of season six, maybe just before the man who would be king, such that cas doesn't realize he's pregnant until he's already godstiel. you guys are unfortunately very aware of how obsessed i am with pregnant godstiel.

actually, @jeanne-de-valois has a concept of like. a single, madness fueled midnight hookup immediately pre-tmwwbk (or maybe even during, but prior to the superman mistake), where cas is simultaneously so stressed from being stretched so thin from the war and the lying and the shady dealings, and so high on being The Big Man In Heaven, that he's bold and out of his mind enough to actually come onto dean, like he just appears one night in dean's bedroom and is like, fuck me, and dean is like 👁👄👁 okay. so they have one single adrenaline and madness fueled hookup, and then everything immediately goes to shit.

and i think that's a great place for cas to get pregnant, and then he doesn't realize until he's become god, or maybe he does and he's just like "i'll deal with it later," either way godstiel is like oh? i carry dean's heir inside me? i will have dean's baby. i will have dean's baby it is my right and also my boon to him and also a symbol of my great and magnanimous love for humanity. and also maybe i will put giant paintings of myself pregnant with his child up in churches. what about that. which would be fun. don't know when he would give birth though. actually it would be insane if he gave birth as emmanuel and was just like. raising dean's nephil when dean found him again. nuts. but it just doesn't really have the same flavor as late seasons mpreg. doesn't compel me nearly as much. like the symbolism of godstiel being pregnant with dean's child is fun and sexy but them actually raising the kid afterwards doesn't compel me nearly as much, so it's better to leave literal mpreg to the later seasons and let godstiel mpreg reside in symbolism and fantasy.

or maybe the fetus gets stolen by the leviathans when cas walks into the lake and dean has to battle his leviathanated nephil daughter as the main villain of s7. like she's dick roman's secret weapon. i think that would be fun, actually. kind of an emma situation but drawn out over the whole season. and he thinks cas is dead for most of it so she's all he's got left of cas and a mess cas left for him to clean up. big sexy.

and as a bonus, i will also tell you the best time, imo, for dean to get pregnant: near the end of season eight. possibly a single, tragic farewell fuck in sacrifice when cas is planning to lock himself away in heaven and they're never gonna see each other again. and this impregnates dean with cas' nephil.

but then cas is human. and he can't do anything about it. like generally if they managed to get dean pregnant somehow, cas would immediately talk him into an abortion (which wouldn't be too hard; dean's natural white midwestern man who doesn't vote aversion to abortion would be at war with the horror of being pregnant, and the horror would win), or might not even inform dean that he's pregnant, and just quietly end the pregnancy without dean's knowledge, because cas would never put dean through that. but if cas is human, he can't do that. and furthermore, that nephil is the last evidence of his angelic nature that persists. it's the last of what he used to be, the last of his grace. and there's something absolutely delectable about that.

then of course dean would have to leave the bunker if he was pregnant with a nephil, because angels would be after him, and he wouldn't want to lead them to gadreel, so i am imagining dean discovering that he's pregnant and then showing up in a panic at the gas n sip like "actually cas i'm also out of the bunker will you go on the run with me?" and then they go on the run and have to live in motels again and cas gets to live with take care of dean who is pregnant with his child which is essentially his dream, and he doesn't have to feel guilty because he's no longer capable of giving dean an abortion so he doesn't feel obligated to get him to have one. ideally cas gets re-angeled just in time to give dean an angelic c-section. or maybe they rely on a normal human c-section in a hospital and cas stays human and they are two humans raising their nephil, which is also fun to me.

#spn #asks #anonymous #mpregpocalypse

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tomtenadia · 3 years

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In your arms

Rowaelin moth - Day 15 - Bad day

This is set in the Island Dreams AU.

This fic is basically three years after the wedding scene and somewhere before the epilogue which is 5 years later.

Aelin had a bad day at the hospital and Rowan looks after her.

Aelin loved her job. A lot. When she got offered the job of senior emergency surgeon she had been ecstatic, especially after the London drama. She had many years of experience in a big trauma centre in London and a hospital on the islands would never be any close to the madness of the capital. There were days though, when a smaller sized hospital showed just how difficult it could get.

That was one of those days. She and Malcolm had been running around the A&E non stop directing the show and supervising the treatments. They had victims of a car crash happened just outside Stornoway, two different patients airlifted from two different locations with sever injuries, and on top of that the usual influx of people. Her day had got even worse when a 3 years old girl was brought in after an extreme allergic reaction to something she ate. According to the mother’s tale she had started having trouble breathing very quickly after the ingestion of the food. By the time the girl was brought in she had already been without oxygen for too long. Her heart had stopped beating soon after. Aelin had stood near the mother and tried to comfort the woman who had gone in shock herself at the sudden loss of her daughter.

Once free again she had rushed to the toilet and emptied the contents of her stomach. Then sat on the bathroom floor and cried. It did not help that she was pregnant and hormonal. The girl’s death had hit her badly.

Her two girls, Freyja and Morrigan were the same age as the girl she had lost. The idea of losing them was so painful that would just send her into a full panic attack.

And now she and Rowan had decided to give it a go and add another member to their family. After months of trying they were finally successful and they now had a boy on his way.

Slowly she made her way back into her office and plopped heavily in her chair, her head in her hands while tears still run down her cheeks.

She picked up her mobile and phoned the one person who could help her.

Rowan picked up immediately.

“Missing your husband this much?” His voice cheery, but her chest tightened and more sobs broke through.

“Aelin, are you okay?” He asked her when he heard her sobbing over the phone.

“I just…” her voice broken “I just lost a three year old girl.”

Rowan was silent for a moment probably looking at the twins who she knew were at the bookshop with him.

“How?”

Aelin sobbed once more “anaphylactic shock.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. I just needed to hear your voice.”

A moment later she heard a girl’s voice and realised that Freyja had rushed to Rowan and now wanted to talk to her mum.

Aelin spoke to her daughter for a bit until she stated that she had to go back slaying the dragon.

“How have they been?”

Rowan chuckled “Morrigan has been playing quietly on the mat and coloured a couple of pages of her book.” He sighed “Freyja in the meantime has slain three dragons, saved a prince in distress, went on a quest to find the perfect marker and now is helping me tidy the books in the history section. If she sits down for five minutes I call it a success.”

A small chuckle left Aelin. Their daughters were identical physically, but they were complete opposite when it came to behaviour. Morrigan was like Rowan, calm and quiet. Freyja was a hurricane. Constantly moving and full of energy.

“You could have left them with my mum.”

“Ach, mo chridhe, you know I love having them in the shop. I had a busy day and Freyja just loves to charm the customer with her babbling.”

After a moment of silence Rowan spoke again “how are you two?”

Aelin’s hand went to her stomach “baby and I are fine. The nausea today is not too bad.”

“You need to take it easy.”

Aelin huffed “I worked when I was pregnant with the twins, surely I can manage with just one tenant.”

“I know, but remember what Yrene said.”

“Tha.” She replied. She had been taking Gaelic lessons for a while now, especially because they had decided to raise their daughters to be bilingual, so Aelin had been putting effort in it. But her progress had been slower than she expected and she was still very shy in showing off her language skills.

In that moment her pager went off and she groaned. It was definitely one of those days “Ro, I need to go. Give a kiss to the girls.”

“Will do.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, fireheart.”

She hung up and ran outside, ready for more drama and a shift that didn’t seem to end. Malcolm met her halfway “Accident in a farm. Crush injuries and chemical burns.”

“This day just gets better and better,” she grabbed the protective gown he passed and while walking to the the A&E she donned the gear.

***

It was later than expected when she did manage to leave the hospital. It really had been the day from hell and all she wanted to do was curl on the sofa in Rowan’s arms while watching the twins play.

She stepped in the house and was quite taken aback by the silence. Their house was never quiet.

“Rowan?” She called, while dumping her messenger bag at the entrance and shedding shoes and jacket “Ro?”

He appeared a moment later with a towel around his waist and Aelin blamed the hormones because in that moment all she wanted to do was to jump him, but with the girls around that was a treat that would have to wait.

“Taking showers without me?” Seeing him in front of her, washed away the tension and the stress of a horrible day.

Rowan opened his arms for her and Aelin crashed in his embrace, his lips kissing the crown of her head.

“Where are the girls?”

“With your mum.” He explained “I thought that after the bad day you had, you could do with some peace and quiet and some care from your husband.” He took her hand and walked upstairs to their bathroom. He opened the door and Aelin gasped. The lights were off but there were candles all around the tub, which in turn was filled with bubbles and foam and Aelin could smell her favourite bath salts.

“I just thought you and I could relax…”

Aelin threw her arms around his neck and kissed him “you really are the man of my dreams.”

He kissed her back and then his hands started to rover along her body “but first… we need to get you out of these clothes…” he whispered and turned her so that her back was against his chest. Slowly he removed her shirt and then the trousers, his hand caressing her bump that had started to show. He then unclasped her bra and soon after her knickers were gone too. Aelin turned in his arms and begged for a kiss he did not deny her.

“You are stunning.” He said softly while his lips teased her neck.

Aelin in response snorted “I will be a stranded whale again, some of the weight I gained from the twins never left me and I have horrible stretch marks. Seriously, you need glasses.”

Rowan’s kiss deepened and her legs went weak. After three years of marriage he still had that power over her.

“You are gorgeous. And those marks are proof of the amazing job you did to bring our girls into the world. They don’t bother me.”

She seemed to believe him and hugged against his chest “sorry,” a small sob broke from her lips “It was such a horrible shift today.”

“Shhh…” Rowan took her hand “nothing a bath with your husband won’t solve.”

Rowan slowly climbed in the big tub and then took her hand for her to follow him.

She sat against his chest, water lapping against her skin. She dunked her head under the water and then leaned it against his shoulder. Rowan grabbed some shampoo and slowly started massaging her scalp.

“This is perfect,” she moaned and Rowan kissed her neck, while his hand trailed down her arms in gentle caresses “just relax in my arms, I am here for you. Let me take care of you.”

Aelin closed her eyes and let the feel of him wash away the dreadful day she had. The pain, the anguish and the fears.

“Thank you for always being at my side. For being my rock.”

Rowan gently kissed her head “when I married you I promised I would be at your side in difficult times…” his hands covered her bump “You are my everything and making sure that you are fine after a dreadful shift goes under my job of husband.”

Her head turned slightly and kissed the length of his neck.

“At our wedding I also promised chocolate cake and, after we finish our bath, I have it ready for you.”

“Good,” she whispered while turning and straddling him. When they fixed up the house they got a bathtub large enough that would allow them to have some fun in it.

“Aelin…” his warning tone. She knew he was not keen on them having sex while she was pregnant, no matter how many times Yrene had told them it was okay.

“I thought you said you’d do anything to make me happy…” her hands slipped under the water and gripped him “your wife is asking you to help her forget.”

At those words he caved because knowing she was okay and happy was all he cared about.

And slowly, in her husband’s arms Aelin forgot about death and pain and only felt his love… healing.

In his arms, love pushed away all the pain.

#rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowaelinkids #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #aelin galathynius #domestic fluff #rowan x aelin

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mckinlily · 4 years

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Idea where the Voltron Paladins start to develop elemental powers from their Lions. Except...not the most obvious ones.

Shiro can teleport. Well. That’s the most visible aspect of his power. What he actually does is warp the fabric of space-time because of course he does that. You know how Shiro basically fights like gravity is optional? Yeah, that just got 100x worse. Shiro essentially floats and drops and moves however he needs, and now he affects space-time for everyone else, too. You can tell when Shiro’s gotten really pissed because there’s this immense pressure and everything is suddenly heavy. Or in a combat, his enemies who were grounded are now bouncing and floating. And if you think “space”= “no gravity”, you’re forgetting this is the star pilot of the Garrison who certainly knows about orbitals and gravitational assists. He doesn’t need any alien robot-lion bond to calculate multi-body trajectories instantaneously in his head even with changing gravitational fields. Teleportation might be flashy and all, but every member of team Voltron knows that’s the least dangerous thing he can do.

Lance is an empath. At first, he’s disappointed he didn’t get anything cool and flashy like Shiro. Actually, at first, Lance didn’t think he got a power at all. This is just a normal part of forming Voltron, right? Right?? Why is no one else so exhausted from all the feelings? Guess I’m just weak... Lance actually has a near breakdown before the rest of the team clocks it and realizes he’s constantly swimming in everyone’s feelings and yeah, no. No one can handle all that. Allura steps him to teach him how to build boundaries, and still, he has to spend a few days avoiding Keith and Shiro (”What the hell, you two?! Do you guys feel ANYTHING that’s not twenty shades of repressed trauma???”). But with time, Lance learns to control and use his power to help the team. His connection is strongest with the other paladins, and he mostly uses his power to look after them and help them out during the down times. Lance has learned the importance of being a support and takes pride in healing his team when they’re down so they’re ready to kick ass in battle. But he also shines on diplomatic missions. His ability to ping what other people are feeling not only helps him smooth over offenses or fears, but he can pick up on inconsistencies and unseen red flags. Not to mention, Lance can nudge other’s emotions. Normally just slightly, but it’s enough to swing things in their favor. Lance might not be flashy, but that doesn’t make him less powerful. And anyone on the other side of the negotiating table quickly learns that.

Keith has precognition. Think Jedi see-things-just-before-they-happen Force shenanigans. His instincts aren’t just on point--he’s often reacting to things just before they happen. Naturally, this makes him almost impossible to face in combat. Incidentally, this is also part of why Keith is so bad at communicating: he’s often thinking in multiple points of time at once and condensing that down to one point to talk about is just...it doesn’t work like that. But slowly, as Keith learns how to work in a team and, if he can’t quite communicate with words, to let the others in so they sense what he’s sensing, Keith’s precognition stops throwing him out of sync with everyone else and pretty soon Voltron has the same too-fast reflexes as Keith. The others have gotten used to the flashes of Keith-thoughts zipping through the Lion bonds and letting him move them when they do. Now not only are the Lions practically indestructible, but Voltron is nearly impossible to land a hit on in the first place.

At first Pidge is annoyed about the paladins powers because--Green Lion? Of course she’s going to get plants. And Olkarion might have helped her appreciate the natural world more, but she still thinks plant powers are lame. She’s not Poison Ivy. Give her computers and climate control any day. But then she starts talking to Green as she’s coding, and at first she just figures she’s a genius (which she is, thank you very much) but her programs are like nothing she or anyone else has seen before. Especially the viruses she writes for Galra tech. They grow. She can plant a “seed” on one part of system and later she’ll find that code sinking its roots into an entirely different part of the enemy ship. It creeps like vines, breaking through any firewall, tangling up any kind of security, alive in a way even the best AI isn’t. Pidge doesn’t even really need an access point anymore, just let her loose near some tech and like an invasive species, soon she’s overrun it all. Pidge’s code is like vines, like ivy or tangle weed, and once it’s in there, you can try to root it out. But you won’t succeed. Pidge likes this kind of plant.

And finally Hunk can kind of just...bend reality. Normally it’s little things, like cables that shouldn’t work suddenly don’t need an adaptor, the rust jamming certain gears is magically clean, that fuel cell that’s been on empty for the last three varga is still going strong. Of all the paladins, Hunk appreciates that difference little things can make (for good or for really, really bad. You won’t think changing the rotation rate of that star by half a second would make a difference, but turns out that changes the magnetic fields which create solar flares which...). Hunk’s happy making small, manageable adjustments to reality that he can predict the full consequences of. Mostly. But there’s still definitely been a time that someone’s held a gun to one of his teammate only to find--the gun isn’t there anymore? It never was? There wasn’t even a gun in existence in the first place? And occasionally someone will realize that aren’t really limits to what Hunk can change besides those Hunk sets himself. Those people start to back away very slowly as Hunk talks to himself about whether or not he should turn this rock into space chocolate That’s a pretty big molecular change, not telling what side effects with come with that. But if he took something that was already food, now there’s an idea... Hunk doesn’t use his power in combat that much. Or, at least, not in ways people notice (but isn’t it convenient that with Hunk around, armor lasts longer, equipment runs better, no one’s amo ever runs out...)

All these abilities would be chaos to work with, except that the paladins have grown to develop a low-level mind-meld like they have in the Lions. Normally it’s white noise far in the background, but it can flare up when needed and nothing is quite as disconcerting as when Keith pings something and all of them turn as one to look a second before something happens. Sometimes people swear that even when the paladins are outside of their Lions, doing separate things, they still move unnervingly like part of one unit. And in the Lions--

Gone are the days of inexperienced pilots attempting to survive. Pidge is turning your tech against you. Keith is predicting your every move. Shiro and Hunk are wrecking havoc on reality and all known laws of physics. This in addition to all the bells and whistles and impossible weapons they’ve unlocked in Voltron. And while you’re panicking, trying to figure out how the hell you’re supposed to fight this thing, Lance is there cranking your dread to eleven. Suddenly, it’s no longer surprising that Voltron is the most powerful weapon in the universe.

“Don’t they ever scare you?” ask some planetary leaders after witnessing the might of Voltron. Sure, the paladins are supposed to be the good guys, but... “What if they stop listening to you?”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” says Allura, the woman who has the power to heal and destroy planets in her fingertips. She smiles like her teeth haven’t turned sharp and blinding white in the last minute.

“I am their Princess.”

#voltron #vld #shiro #keith #lance #pidge #hunk #allura #shiro and hunk trying to serve cookies to the locals: why are they scared of us :(#pidge: maybe because you guy are kinda big?#shiro: [distressed shiro noises]#lance: *sighs* [gets to work soothing emotions so his scary-but-sensitive friends don't get their feelings hurt]#voltron paladin powers #mckinlily writes: vld fic

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 21, part one

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Reunions

All together in The Unclean Realm, The Yunmeng trio find a spot inside where they can sit down and have a proper Yanli-Wuxian reunion, while Jiang Cheng sits across the table watching them.

For years Jiang Cheng has been rejecting Wei Wuxian's free and easy affection; now Yanli might be the only person Wei Wuxian offers to hug until Wen Yuan comes into his life.

Jiang Cheng is really going through it. He'll do nearly anything for Yanli--except, uh, stay in the goddamn inn with her when she's sick and the Wens are hunting them--and what makes her happiest is Wei Wuxian. He's brought them together, and so he's happy, even though he's excluded from their dynamic. This absolutely fucking kills me.

Here Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian are sweetly pledging to always keep the trio together and put each other first. Neither of them will keep this promise.

Wei Wuxian will leave first, to take the Wens to the Burial Mounds. Jiang Yanli will leave second, staying in Lanling at Jin Zixuan's request instead of accompanying Jiang Cheng to retrieve Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng will be the last to let go.

(more after the cut)

Nie Huaisang comes literally running in, filled with joy at Wei Wuxian's return. When he goes to pat his shoulder Wei Wuxian flinches away.

I feel like something important is happening in this rapid sequence of glances and expressions between Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang. NHS is startled, and WWX realizes he's shown something about himself that he didn't want to show. He glances at Jiang Cheng and back at NHS before laughing and covering his slip with a squeeze of NHS’s hand.

NHS switches from shocked to cheerful just as quickly, helping with the coverup. It’s like they have a quick mutual agreement, rooted in their history of shared shenanigans, to not point out that something is wrong.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji is wandering around the grounds, having feelings. At this point it's presumably been at least a couple of weeks since their breakup fight.

He sees Wei Wuxian sitting contemplating his flute, and as he sees him he goes from sort of neutrally apprehensive to full on angry judging, complete with sword clenching.

Part of this may be that his feelings are hurt over their fight, but the larger issue is his distress over Wei Wuxian's apparent heretical cultivation. That, at any rate, is what's on his mind when he's selecting music, later in the episode, and when he's selecting flashbacks.

Party Time

Later, the Nies host an excruciating party to celebrate Wei Wuxian's slaughter of Wen Chao return. Jiang Yanli is sharing a table with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng is sharing a table with his crippling social anxiety.

Everyone starts grilling Wei Wuxian about his sword, because that's suddenly all anybody cares about even though Jiang Yanli, Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao, and probably plenty of other people don't carry swords most of the time.

Wei Wuxian says "after the Wens caught me, Wen Zhuliu crushed my core, so I can't use my sword any more, too bad so sad, can we change the subject?" And everyone is very understanding and admires his resiliency. HA HA HA HA HA. Of course he doesn't opt for that simple lie, but instead mopes audibly without saying anything.

Nie Huasiang tries to change the subject by asking how he killed Wen Chao. Apparently "I had a sexy ghost mostly flay him" isn't good party chat, though, so neither Wei Wuxian nor Jiang Cheng opts to tell the story.

Everyone lapses into awkward silence, all the more noticeable because there are no dancers, musicians, or entertainers of any kind at this event. OP has gone to audit-kickoff meetings that were more fun than cultivator banquets.

Moment of Clarity

While the awkwardness builds, we hear the sounds of the Song of Clarity. Lan Wangji is skipping the party, which is part of why Wei Wuxian is so mopey. But instead of sitting and stewing in his anger, Lan Wangji has shifted gears, and is starting to work on his "save Wei Wuxian's soul" plan.

This isn't the God-botherer version of soul saving, however. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian disagree about correct practice, but they both are still practitioners within the same spiritual system, and the majority of their beliefs are closely aligned.

Lan Wangji has powerful magic at his disposal, and now he's taking a step back from his plan of forcing persuading Wei Wuxian to give up heterodoxy, and instead he's preparing to use his magic to offset the consequences of Wei Wuxian's choice.

He still isn't ready to accept that choice, but he's working on it. This is a big moment for Lan Wangji's relationship with Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji is a deeply, deeply uncompromising person, as well as being super bossy, and he’s taking his first steps toward supporting Wei Wuxian’s free agency.

Wei Wuxian leaves the party in the middle of Yao's toast, saying "I have to see you and your lover all over my tumblr dashboard but I am NOT going to listen to you talk!" He takes his wine to go roam around near Lan Wangji's quarters to pine and feel conflicted. Lan Wangji has thoughtfully set up a projection scrim to catch his shadow and make the pining easier.

Jiang Cheng comes looking for Wei Wuxian, partly to reprimand him for rudeness and partly to see what the hell is wrong with him. Jiang Cheng is trying very hard to be pleasant. He's bad at it, but he's trying.

Wei Wuxian is trying to be unpleasant and he's pretty good at it. He won't say why he isn't using his sword. He’s obviously super fucking depressed about it, calling his former self childish for liking to spar, and only smiling once during the whole exchange.

He finally tells Jiang Cheng that he will always want to do the opposite of what Jiang Cheng tells him. Jiang Cheng lets this go with an eyeroll.

(Point Break Quote Alert)

But actually this is a sign of trouble, right here in River City, with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for abandoning the Jiang Clan. Wei Wuxian has just told Jiang Cheng he has no intention of obeying him; not just about the sword, but in general. That's no way for a disciple to talk.

OP has nothing to say about this gif. OP watches gif over and over and over and over

Wei Wuxian ends the conversation by tapping Jiang Cheng's chest with his flute and then walking away. The (still nameless) flute has no problem with this - does it, like Subian, recognize Jiang Cheng as an extension of Wei Wuxian?

The next day, Wei Wuxian is chilling in his room, looking ungodly sexy in his bold slashed robe, holy frack. I mean, he is sex-on-toast at all times, but the cut of his post-burial-mounds combo is particularly heart-stopping when he decides to stick a knee or two out.

He's meditating and flashing back to being in the burial mounds, where he was also meditating. I admire his ability to fractally meditate about meditating.

Chenqing

He didn't put a sock on the doorknob, so Jiang Yanli comes in and startles him. He brandishes his flute at her before calming down. The flute definitely does not see her as an extension of Wei Wuxian, because when she touches it, it smokes and then knocks her out of the frame so fast it's comical.

Did they put her in a jerk vest for that shot?

Wei Wuxian hides the flute from her, freaked out by its behavior. She, however, is unfazed, and gives him the first & only affirmation he's gotten about his new cultivation path, and says the flute is "like Mother's Zidian." She kind of walks him through the whole "first class spiritual tool" concept, beaming with approval and telling him he must name the flute.

Jiang Yanli is hardcore Jiang Clan, seriously. Freedom and impossibility. You survived 3 months of mystery trauma and now you're all fucked up? We'll roll with it. You have a demon flute now? Rock on. You're going to use necromancy to beat the other clans in a group hunt? Gold star for you.

He names the flute Chenqing, which @hunxi-guilai translates and explains in depth over here.

Bichen

Lan Wangji has finished practicing the Song of Clarity, and regardless of whether it's had an effect on Wei Wuxian, he himself seems much calmer.

As Wei Wuxian contemplates Chenqing, Lan Wangji contemplates Bichen and remembers Wei Wuxian's assertions about resentful energy way back in Gusu summer school.

This time when he grips his sword, it's loosely, as if he's made some progress with his anger.

Soup

Jiang Yanli sits Wei Wuxian down for some soup, and talks to him about what's going on with him, saying he's changed. He insists he's fine and works very hard to be convincing.

She's not convinced but says she won't press him, and then abruptly shifts tone and works very hard to act like everything is fine. She leaves, taking a lot of soup with her, and Wei Wuxian remarks that it's unfair she is giving so much to Jiang Cheng. But of course, some of it is secretly for Jin Zixuan.

Everything isn't fine, as Wei Wuxian scream-meditates with resentful energy just rolling off of him. He's got some of the dark energy stored in the Yin sword in his bag of holding, but I get the impression that a lot of it is just stored in his body.

Club Ruohan

At some point in the episode we stop in to check on Wen Ruohan. He and his wind machine are mad that Wen Chao is dead.

Meanwhile, his interpretive dances with the Yin iron now turn his puppets into...Klingons? Sure, why not.

Literal Stand-Up Meeting

Jiang Cheng needs Wei Wuxian at games night a meeting and comes running to Jiang Yanli to find him. He is freaking out and she tells him to chill.

No matter what fuckery is going on in the world, Jiang Yanli is going to find herself a nice little outdoor table and she is going to sit her ass down and have some tea and civilized lady activity. Queen.

This shot of the meeting is composed so nicely. The blocking (placement of actors) in this scene encapsulates the familial dynamics, and I’ll talk about that as soon as I finish admiring Jiang Cheng’s proportions.

Here we have four clans represented by four family pairs around the game war table. The Jin cousins, despite their differing personalities, are side by side, matchy-matchy, in lockstep. Jin Zixuan lets Jin Zixun do the talking for him, so maintains his own rep as a reasonable guy.

The Nie brothers are even closer together, also in matching greys, Nie Huaisang giving all of his attention to his brother/clan leader. You can see his careful watching of his brother's temper...not fearful for himself, but fearful for Mingjue.

The Lan brothers have a growing distance between them; they are in different colors (which is pretty usual for them), and Lan Wangji is standing well away from his brother and the rest of the group. Partly this is his personality, but it's also symbolic of his growing distance from his brother and other proper cultivators. He's carrying WWX-related secrets, and he's wrestling with what he's learned.

While Nie Huaisang is looking at Mingjue, Lan Xichen is turning around to see what's up with his own volatile sibling.

Lastly you have Jiang Cheng, alone in the room, with his shidi nowhere to be found, and seriously feeling the heat because of his isolation.

He's alone in his purple, but the color value (lightness/darkness) of his robes exactly matches Xichen's.

And Xichen, bless him, makes a point of speaking to him respectfully as a fellow clan leader, gives him a path out of the "where is your brother" conversation, and is just generally his kind and helpful self with Jiang Cheng.

Next: Awkwardness Increases!

#the untamed #the untamed gifs #wangxian #the untamed meta #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #restless rewatch the untamed #my gifs #canary3d-original

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “What You Missed.”

Hope you all are having a good day, and hope you enjoy!

The rumbling continued deep within the planet’s lower crust. Projections on the seismic map estimated the eventual collapse of the bran mining operation on the other side of the planet. Though they didn’t plan to go long enough for the tunnels to completely collapse, they planned to used the abandoned mining ground as the stage for their own setup.

Mining precious metals in the GA territories were highly regulated, and the products made and sold from those precious metals were also highly monitored, however, the GA could hardly monitor what they didn’t know about.

The biotin sniffed at the dusty air hating the way the dirt clung to her skin like a glove of fuzzy filth. The air here tasted sour and fake like most terraformed planets, and all she wanted to do was go back to her home world and relax where it didn’t smell so bad, but she knew she had to get this job done.

She glanced down at the paper she held, and idly walked her way over to where the staging operation had been set up, made out of several interlocking grey tents that were designed to look like the rocky surface of the planet if anyone was looking, as well as bloc their transmission signals so they couldn’t be spotted if anyone where to have an eye keen enough to spot them.

She stopped just inside the Tent to where the…. Human was sitting staring at the screens and tapping his long bony fingers together.

She hated this human, he was annoying and self centered, and likely thought he was enigmatic with the strange clothing he wore, and the mirrored glasses that covered his eyes, but she just found him wildly pretentious.

“How goes it, sir.”

He nodded, “The mining companies have left with the help of the Omen..” he sneered as the word passed through his lips, “The property is benign abandoned, and we should have a couple of months until they send someone to take a look and see what happened, at least until they send a force large enough for us to have to worry.”

She nodded but didn’t bother to agree or contradict him. It wouldn’t matter either way.

Besides, she didn’t care what happened as long as she got what she wanted.

The GA was too large and too involved in everything in the galaxy, The leaders of her planet were too lax with their tariffs and trade deals, and because of their poor economic management, the Iotin planet had fallen into relative anonymity and been ignored by the rest of the galaxy. She believed they could be doing so much more, but it's not like they could really compete with humans and Tesraki.

She was sick and tired of the GA thinking they could control everything.

And so was this human.

As much as she despised humans on principle, at least this human and her had similar goals.

She could work with the enemy for a little while longer while they hashed out a true plan.

The human turned to look at her through his mirrored shades. The man was an older human who she was sure dyed his hair to cover the grey, and she did her best to conceal her disgust as she moved forward and handed him the drawn schematic.

He glanced down at it.

“Where is the rest?”

“He said he would deliver the rest upon payment. This was just a show of good will.”

“A show of goodwill.” he snarled, but then slowly sat back in his seat, “Can he guarantee that it works.”

She bristled at his tone, but didn’t rise to challenge him, “He assures me it has already been tested on a human and achieved the desirable results.

“That's hardly comforting if I haven’t seen it.”

“Then take it up with him yourself. You should have worried about all this BEFORE agreeing to hijack an entire mining operation to build the damn things!”

He bristled right back at her but she didn’t care. She was coming to learn that not all humans were so like the ones the GA had met first hand. IN fact most humans weren’t loyal and honorable. Most of them were greedy, cowardly predators, who wanted nothing more than to push for their own personal gain while leaving others to rot in the dust.

This human was no different.

But soon it would all be over.

Very very soon.

She glanced down at the half schematic and the Kree seal stamped on the back.

***

“The seismic activity has escalated since evacuation. So far my scientists have been unable to pinpoint the source, as far as we knew, the planet wasn’t supposed to have plates, but something seems to be disturbing its stability. We were wondering if perhaps the extensive cave systems could do it, but, as far as we could tell the systems weren’t nearly large enough to disturb the lower crust of the planet.”

“And the evacuation?”

“The larger mining companies shipped off most of their employees on their waiting station ships, and I took some of what remained. We will be bringing most of them back to the Bran homeworld for recovery.”

“And you admiral, how do your people fare?”

“The rescue teams managed to make it out alive. I was almost crushed, but some quick thinking by Lord Celex’s son saved my life, but other than that no one was injured too badly, but I would take some scientists to keep an eye on the strange underground activity. We have never seen anything like it, and are worried that the planet might be destabilizing. It isn’t o dire considering that the planet was originally uninhabited, but I am told this mining station carries the highest percentage of Terbium to minerals in the galaxy, so it would be a loss.”

A few feet away, Ket lay curled on a ball on a pillow with a warm up of glowmoss in one hand. A few other miners sat around the room idly listening to the Admiral who was talking over communication to the GA council, a council that had grown a lot bigger since Ket had known of it five years ago.

In fact a lot of things had changed since the humans had arrived, and not for the worse as he had once suspected.

He munched on some of the moss and turned to watch the human as he paced across the floor. How strange it was to see the creature from his nightmares in such a…. non -nightmarish circumstance. He could still remember the chase all those years ago and felt the horror and concern that had almost driven him to madness down in the mining tunnels, but, there the human was talking like a civilised creature, apparently head of the GA’s coalition fleet, and some sort of bigshot ambassador.

Not to mention all the strange alien creatures that he had come across since stepping on the towering four-armed warriors and the fuzzy fluff balls of anger. The one that had come to rescue him was still sitting on the human’s shoulder, interjecting the occasional point to the council when the human missed something.

It was all so surreal.

For years he had been hiding in that tunnel, what he originally only saw as maybe half a year turned out to be around five years, and the galaxy had grown in scope and involvement. What had once been a coalition of uneasy allies held together by economics, the GA was now a thriving galactic metropolis based on mutual backing and delicate diplomatic involvement.

Or at least that’s what he had seen so far.

“Thank you.” The human said before shutting off the hologram and walking back across the room full of evacuees

His single green eye fell on Ket skin still dusted with the grime of rocks and dirt, and stepped over to kneel next to him and where he sat on his cushion. It had been a very long time since he had been aboard a spaceship and even longer since he had talked to anyone. He was still getting used to that.

And the human still managed to unnerve him.

“How are you feeling.” “Overwhelmed.”

The human’s rubbery, mobile face deformed a bit so one corner of its mouth stretched upwards for a moment, “I can hardly blame you for that. You’ve been away a long time.” The human paused, and Ket watched him curiously as he reached up to rub the back of his head, “Look I, know i've already apologized for what happened five years ago, but it was sort of a half assed apology considering that we were being crushed at the time.” He shifted his weight so he was now resting on his other knee, “I want to explain myself. Before I saw you, my entire planet thought that we were the only living things in the galaxy. No one believes in extraterrestrial life, and upon seeing you, I was just excited, and wanted to make sure it was all real.”

Ket waited.

“I know that doesn’t excuse years of psychological trauma, but I promise, when I was…. Chasing you, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was excited, and I should have been more diplomatic about it. I can see that now, but back then we didn’t really know anything about politicking with aliens. I am not trying to excuse my behavior, but I just want you to understand that I made a mistake and I am willing to apologize for it.”

It seemed so strange, and unusual coming from the mouth of a predator, but he found that he…. Believed it?

How odd.

“I understand…… I admit I am a bit surprised as to how things turned out.”

The human showed its teeth, which he was coming to realize was supposed to be a good thing, “Yes, a lot of things have changed in the last five years, come and I'll show you.” ket let the empty cup of moss fall to the side by his cushion and stood to walk at the feet of the human who was at least four feet taller than him since ket stood on six legs and the human stood on two, they might have been around the same height if the human had decided to walk on al fours, but at this point ket had to crane his neck up to look at the human.

“We began peace talks with the GA shortly after you were relocated to your new post. We signed the treaty in a little over a year and I offered to help in the Drev war, which I believe you might have heard of since it started before we showed up.”

Ket nodded his head.

“We won the Drev war for the GA and the Drev began peace talks after the war ended. I Was promoted to captain shortly after and given command of the ship under loan from the UNSC to the GA in order to support diplomatic relationships between our people. Since then the Gnarlak nation has fallen, and those remaining have been confined to a plot of land on their planet where they can no longer hurt the FInnari, a subjugated species which was farmed by the Gnarlak. Other notable discovered species have been the Tvek, Lumin, Mikes, Iotins, Celzex, dort of, Starborn Tricar, and hopefully I am not forgetting anyone. We have fought in two burg wars and won them both releasing the burg population from total supremacy under an unfeeling tyrant. Interspecies relationships are legal now, though the discrimination they face is still something we are working on. Planetary GDP has risen for petty much everyone and our job market is only getting better. The tourist industry is becoming a gib thing. My Tesraki market analysts say that humans, the Tesraki and and Rundi are currently galactic superpowers in regards to power and economic influence, but as far as we can tell this hasn’t caused to man problems between the other less influential groups. The Bran for instance.” he glanced down at ket, “are selling precious metals used in electronics at ten thousand percent higher output rate than you were a few years ago and selling at a fifty percent markup. As far as I know, no one is hurting.”

He tapped his fingers against his arm, “I think that is most everything important you need to know, oh I forgot the Kree war and discovering that, somewhere out in the universe, there is another sentient, and likely multi species galactic coalition, though we haven't had the pleasure of meeting or interacting with them just yet.” he frowned, “Well, I have, but I hardly consider it interacting because they kept me in a cage most of the time.”

Ket stared at the human, and the human shrugged, “that should catch you up to speed.”

It most certainly did not, but he supposed it was as good of an opening as he was going to get.

Honestly he had no idea what he was supposed to do or think. It was all so new to him, and all so strange. How was he going to actually catch up?

How was he going to integrate back into society after all this?

After months of being nearly incoherent?

He could still feel that part of him lurking somewhere in the background and knew that it was not gone.

He was going to have to figure out something eventually….

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lovelessdagger · 3 years

Text

Starlight - Prologue: Before

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Explicit Language, Trauma

Words: 2000

Summary: What's past is prologue.

There's a new trend since the fall of the Empire, everyone is rising from the dead.

She's haunted by memories of the Empire that abandoned her, he's plagued with thoughts of what if and doubts of the future. The stars align in a string of constellations which guide them to their fates, decided long before them.

Tortured with echos of before, they're alone in an endless galaxy. But orphans have a funny way of finding each other, and the gods have a sick sense of humor.

Read on AO3 Here

Tatooine was the galaxy’s own personal hell, Mustafar at least had the pleasure of fauna. Demonic nightmarish fauna that was more than likely poisonous, but fauna nonetheless. Tatooine? Tatooine was a barren wasteland that had gone to the dogs, and even the dogs had decided they wanted no part in its misfortune. At least on Mustafar she could go inside and be relieved of the heat, at least Mustafar could be considered home.

Or at least it used to be, before.

“Maker,” An assassin mutters, crossing over a sand dune. The red tracking fob in her gloved hand sounds, it’s light flashing a similar color. To her relief, she was close. The sooner to the target, the sooner she could leave and never set foot on sand again.

She could count the total number of visits to Tatooine in her lifetime on one hand. The first she couldn’t have been more than fourteen, then again at an older age to meet with the Hutts. Nine years ago, her father had sent her on a reconnaissance mission to some abandoned moisture farm. It had been terribly boring, full of memories of family dinners and old beaten up droids.

The irony that that very mission essentially caused her to lose everything wasn’t lost on her.

Five years ago she sat in the very cantina she walks to, warned to run away. A mere twenty-one years old—give or take, her birthday after all was a random day chosen by her and the waking sun. There was no telling her true age, so with her knowledge of human anatomy and development, nine years ago she decided on being seventeen.

“Why seventeen?” He asks her. Entering hyperspace she sits behind him, tracing passing stars on the window.

“Because,” she begins matter-of-factly, “Seventeen is a completely insignificant year to be alive. Sixteen is old enough that I won’t be questioned for traveling alone, but still too young to be taken seriously. I’m not quite ready to be an adult yet, but next cycle I will be. So I am seventeen now, so that I may be prepared to be eighteen later.”

Eighteen hours later, the first Death Star exploded.

The events which follow guide her on a fragile string of stars throughout the galaxy, the culmination of which lead her back to hell. Or Tatooine, as the New Republic liked to call it.

Maybe if she had listened things would have been different.

Or maybe they would be worse.

Either way she would be here. The designer of her cruel fate and dictator of her misery have decided this long ago. Forever would she be trapped in hell with her memories.

And everyone else’s.

Condemned to relive the worst of what humanity had to offer, over, and over, and over again. It wasn’t so bad anymore, it’s easy to get numb to that sort of thing when your entire life was filled with it. Still, out of all the places in the galaxy, why did it have to be Tatooine?

She could understand the appeal for those on the run. Away from the New Republic’s oversight, moisture farms as the only viable landmark, and everyone being too overworked to give a damn. Theoretically it should have been easy to hide, the only issue was every criminal in the Outer Rim had the same idea. Originality be damned.

A detached hood and mask shield her identity, not that she believed anything with a penchant of life would be anywhere near. All that surrounded her was sand, rocks, and sand. Still, she could never be overly cautious. Walking up to the cantina, her eyes roll. It was like they wanted to make her job difficult. She could only assume the bar would be crawling with other criminals. Defected imperials, thieves, murderers.

It could have been a family reunion.

Eyes fall on her entrance, the suns backlight her into a silhouette. She becomes the one cascade of darkness in the light of the desert.

“Boys,” she greets, walking in. Her eyes scan the room, there couldn’t be more than ten men. She counts the passing of ten seconds before one approaches her. Within those seconds her mind remarks on the state of the bar, essentially unchanged. Same busted chairs, same creaking floors, same hideous decorations.

“What’s someone like you doing here?” a man grunts, stalking up to her. The most she does to acknowledge him is an eye roll. He grabs her arm, holding her in place. “Does your daddy know you’re out here?” he asks, leaning down to her ear.

She mocks a laugh. “Does yours?”

The man spits at her boots. “Bitch,” he says, walking away from her. His spit slowly rolls off her toe, leaving a glimmering streak along the leather in its wake. She pulls her blaster out, pointing the gun behind her, she shoots the man in the back of the head. He drops, his body heavy with a thud.

The cantina falls to silence. Nine bodies are now watching her. No one makes a move, even the bartender stops his clinking glasses. She’s almost inviting them to try her next.

“No?” She asks, holstering her gun. “Pity,” she mutters.

She walks up to body number seven, he sits in the same spot she had all those years ago. She places her soiled boot on his seat, grabbing his attention. Motioning for him to stand, she barely makes eye contact.

Her fingers run across the tables’ wood, rubbing over permanent stains and rotting cracks.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says. He always worried too much about her, “Whatever he’s planning, you won’t come out of it.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she says. “I can take care of myself now.”

“I know. That’s what scares me. You’re not safe anymore,” he replies.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been safe.”

Seven stares at her incredulously, slurping his liquor.

“Come with me,” his voice echos around her. If she closes her eyes it’s like he’s still sitting in front of her. Pleading.

“I don’t like making messes inside, it’s bad manners,” she says, reaching for her blaster. “Get up.”

“Am I supposed to be scared, girl?” Seven asks. He scans her appearance and truth be told she was no Rancor, certainly no Hutt. While her build was athletic, her height physically left her the smallest in the room.

“You owe a lot of credits—” Seven stands, “—That’s better.” She drops her foot. “Now—“

“Step aside,” a modulated voice speaks behind her. She catches a reflection of the intruder in the glass of the framed artwork above Seven’s head. A Mandalorian, covered in pure Beskar, stands a whole head above her. Of course a fucking Mandalorian would show up right now, this had to be his doing. Even in the grave he had to fuck with her.

“Mando,” Seven laughs, he wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers. “I was uh, I was just talking to the missus here,” he grabs the girls shoulder. “Say, now’s not really a good time so how about we—“

“I don’t have time for this,” the Mandalorian says. He drops a bounty puck on the table, in blue holograms Seven’s profile appears.

WANTED: EDI MOURI

“Let’s go,” Mando says.

The girl shakes herself from Seven. “Listen Shiny, I was here first so move along.” The Mandalorian’s head tilts.

“Are you with the guild?” He asks.

She picks up the bounty puck, examining the emblem. “Not yours.”

Mando’s head turns to One’s fallen body on the ground, a growing pool of blood by his head.

“Your work?”

“You could say that.”

Seven clears his throat. Whispers of bets trail within the crowd. “In fairness. She did find me first.”

The pair are incredulous in their stare. “You want to go with the assassin?” Mando asks, a slight twinge of amusement escapes past his modulator.

Seven’s face turns to ice, his deep emerald skin becoming a pastel like hue. “On second thought. I always loved the Mandalorian stories I heard as a kid, I’m a big fan. Let’s go big guy.” He takes a step towards Mando, the assassin pulls out her blaster, pointing it to his head. At the same moment Mando pulls out his own, pointing it to her.

“Drop it,” he says. “I need him alive.”

She cocks her head to the side, pressing her forehead against the barrel of the gun. “Do it,” she purrs.

He’s motionless.

She grabs the Mandalorian’s wrist with one hand, striking the bend in his arm with the other. A blaster shot fires, Three falls to the ground with a hole in his head.

Mando lifts her by her neck and slams her into the table where Seven sits. Her vision flashes white and she groans on impact. Her hands fumble across the wood in frantic search of anything to defend herself with.

“Wait for me, I’ll come for you in two days.”

She smashes Seven’s plate against the table, shattering it. With a jagged edge of porcelain she slashes the Mandalorian’s arm, staining the edge with his red blood. In his stumble back she rolls off the table.

Harsh stabs are swung to the openings between the pieces of armor, he easily blocks but her movements are quick in succession. He ignites the flamethrower on his arm and she flips out of range.

Six isn’t so lucky.

She lands on his table, he’s charred and slumped over. She grabs a baton resting against his chair, cringing at its touch. Jumping of the table she strikes his helmet. The tune of impact horrifically melodic.

Brought to his knees, Mando grabs her leg sweeping her onto her back. The baton falls out of her grasp. They tumble on the ground, scathing for any advantage they could find on the other. She slaps a taser disk on his armor, the shocks malfunction the electronics.

The Mandalorian lays on the ground, emitting heavy gasps for air. Sounds of passing credits come from a back table. She straddles him, pulling out the knife kept in the welt of her sleeve. It’s metal presses against his capes fabric gathered around his neck.

A smile twinges under her mask. “Not bad,” she pants, leaning down over him.

The cantina doors automate open, in perfect eye-line, a green little creature. It waddles in, cooing with bright eyes at the patrons, greeting them all. It locks eyes with her, head tilted. The veil of her mask conceals her dropped jaw.

The Mandalorian takes the chance of her distraction; flipping their bodies over, he straddles her waist, pinning her hands above her head. The assassin’s chest rises and falls heavy from under him. “I told you to wait outside,” he grunts. The green thing coos, waddling to the pair. It reaches out for her. “No,” he says next, raising a scolding finger to it. It whines, plopping on its rear.

Past the visor, his eyes lock onto hers, he clears his throat. Suggestive positioning aside, he had claim to victory. Though, had it not been for the child he would have been a dead man, throat slit under her knife.

He could still kill her, his blaster was in reach, so was her knife.

He should kill her.

But he doesn’t.

“Hey Mandalorian,” she breathes. “Where’s your bounty?” Seven’s seat empty, table broken, shattered porcelain fallen on the floor.

“Fuck,” he swears. He stands, pocketing the knife she held. He picks up the creature, sparing her one last glance. “Stay out of my way,” he warns. Exiting the building she’s left on the floor.

The surviving witnesses avoid her glare. There are holes in the flooring, broken furniture, blood stains splattered on every surface.

So much for not making a mess indoors.

She scoffs, picking herself up. Her muscles ache, bruises are forming under her clothing, her head pounds.

Carelessly, she shoots Five on her way out.

It’s a redemption of sorts.

Officially, Tatooine was worse than hell.

Chapter One: The Meeting

#Mandalorian #the mandalorian #Din Djarin #din djarin x original character #din djarin x original female character #din djarin x oc #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #Starlight #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x oc #mando x ofc #mando x original character #mando x original female character #din djarin x female oc

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dinandgone · 4 years

Text

The Attack.

Part Four of the ‘Blood and Beskar’ series.

The Mandalorian x Fem!Reader (Eventually)

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Season 1 Spoilers- mostly follows canon, with a few little extra bits sprinkled in, Swearing, Violence (She’s an angsty one), injury/ trauma- blood, unrequited feelings(or are they?), Cara Dune (idk if she should be a warning but in this fic I like to think of her as more of an OC)

A/N~ Oof the reader goes through the works in this chapter. I am so grateful for every like, comment, follow or reblog. I know it’s not much but I started doing this because I was bored and didn’t expect anyone to read it let alone like it. So thank you, I hope you enjoy this chapter xxx Feedback is always welcome :)

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“Bad News. Can’t live here anymore,” Mando addresses the village people

You turned to look at the Mandalorian. Could he have been any blunter? When he doesn’t move to soften the blow of the statement the villagers burst out in cries of frustration and confusion. What’s and whys being thrown left right and centre.

“Nice bedside manner,” Cara comments, staring at Mando’s head.

“Think you can do better?” Mando sasses, gesturing for Cara to take the lead.

“Can’t do much worse,” she replies, sarcasm lacing her tone.

Smiling, and standing upright Cara walks forward to address the crowd of villagers, whilst, Mando leans against the wall in a huff like a child. Social skills weren’t really his strong suit, but in his own stubborn way, he had tried. You chuckled to yourself, this earned what you could have presumed was a glare from the Beskar helmet to your right, you didn’t respond, just turned back to focus your attention on Cara who was trying to keep the peace.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but there are no other options,” Cara argues

“But you took the job,” Stoke shouts, rousing the crowd once again.

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST,” You shot back quickly, gathering the villager’s attention to you.

“What’s that?” Stoke asked

“The armoured walker with two enormous guns, that you knew about and didn’t tell us,” Cara replies sternly.

“Please, Help us!” The crowd erupts once more

“We hired you!”

“We have nowhere to go,” Omera states, bringing her daughter closer to her chest. Her statement yet again aimed at the Mandalorian lounging against the wall behind you. You watch as she continues to stare in his direction, the feeling that you had felt yesterday when she had shown you to your hut and completely ignored you bubbled in your chest. Were you jealous? No, she was just asking for help. You had no right for these feelings anyway, he wasn’t yours. You sighed and re-entered the conversation.

“Sure you do. This is a big planet, I’ve seen a lot smaller ” Cara reasons

“My grandparents seeded these ponds!” Caben argues and the crowd continues to shout.

You understood their frustrations, their home was being taken from them and you knew what that felt like. But you struggled to find a probable solution.

“I understand, I really do, but there’s only three of us,” Cara says. You smile at your inclusion, even though the circumstances were poor it was nice to be treated like something more than a babysitter.

“There’s at least 20 here!” Stoke counters gesturing to the rest of the adults in the group.

“We need fighters, let’s be realistic,” Cara exclaims

“We can learn!” Another voice shouts, followed by pleas.

“I’ve seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes!” Cara yells, you could tell her resolve was wearing thin.

“We’re not leaving,” Omera states, eyes trained on Mando behind you.

“You cannot fight that thing.” You repeat sternly stepping forward, eyes on her.

“Unless we teach them,” Mando voices from behind you. You turn to look at him in disbelief, joined by Cara glaring at him angrily. She lets out an exasperated sigh and turns back to the crowd.

“We can discuss a plan in the morning,”

You don’t listen to the rest of the conversation, as you notice how Omera’s focus is on Mando, and how he’s staring in return. You roll your eyes, turning your attention to the child who’s playing in the dirt beside the hut. Picking him up you begin to follow the others who have started walking to the barn to discuss the plan further.

You sat on the floor with the kid in your lap, stroking his ears and letting him play with your shirt in hopes of getting him to fall asleep. His movements were slow, you could tell he was tired, but his babbling still continued at a normal rate. You were barely listening to the conversation, too focused on the kid snuggling in your lap when you heard your name mentioned.

“Will, Y/N help us fight?” Omera asks turning her attention to you.

Before either you or Cara could reply Mando steps in.

“No,” He replies gruffly

“Wait! Why not? I am more than capable,” you argued, your eyes shooting daggers at the dark visor of his helmet.

“I said no,” Mando counters roughly, holding your stare.

You open your mouth to reply, but your answer dies in your throat. Don’t say anything you will regret you thought to yourself. So you continued the staring competition you and the Mandalorian had started, refusing to back down.

“Please,” Omera sighs, placing her hand on Mando’s arm, looking up at him “We’re going to need all the help we can get,”

Mando glanced down at the hand on his arm and then back to Omera’s eyes, then back to yours. “You will stay, and take care of the children,”

Right. You huffed to yourself. Of course, you were the babysitter. Why would you be asked to be anything more? About to argue back, you looked at the kid, asleep in your arms, you’d promised yourself you would protect him no matter what, and you were going to do it. You glanced back to notice Omera’s hand was still on Mando’s arm, you didn’t like it. Not one bit. You stood and made your way to the barn door without looking back.

“Putting the kid to bed,” You grumbled, leaving the others.

Cara chuckles as you leave the barn. She’d been observing your actions, and how much your demeanour changed when the Mandalorian was around She’d noticed the way you tensed whenever Omera got close to him, and how that would set you up to be in a foul mood, which would usually end in you bickering with the Mandalorian. But she also noticed the way the Mandalorian would steal glances of you from time to time, like now as you walked away to your hut, he’d brushed Omera’s hand of his arm and the dark visor of his helmet trained to the door you had left not moments ago. She smirked, this was going to be fun to observe.

You walk back to your hut, the sleeping kid in your arms. Once you’d looked at him, all the anger and frustration you felt melted into the background. You had to protect him no matter what. Even though it was your job, it was something you felt you had to do, you’d break every rule and give your life to protect this kid. That much you were sure of.

You place the sleeping child in the cot and rock it gently making sure he stays asleep. Once you’re satisfied he was sound asleep you take off your thigh holster, and remove your blaster, placing the knife and the blaster on the pillow, you sit pulling off your shoes.

Your peace is squashed moments later by the familiar metallic sound outside the hut. The sour feeling you harboured from before returns, making your blood boil. You hear a soft goodnight from what you would assume was Omera, and you let out a scoff just as the Mandalorian enters the hut. He turns to you and you can tell that he’s analysing you the moment your eyes meet the dark visor.

“Goodnight,” You say bluntly only adding to the tension surrounding the both of you, you turned over in your cot to face the wall.

The Mandalorian is confused. He doesn’t understand why you were suddenly so off with him, he didn’t want you in front taking out the walker because he needed you to care for the child if something happened. He realised that he just wanted you to be safe. He sighs looking at your frame once more, then lies back into the cot, slowly falling into sleep.

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In the morning Cara and Mando explain to the villagers the plan. The two of them would draw out the raiders, whilst the rest of the village would defend the farms, and you would care for the children.

The village went straight to work preparing for the fight, half of the village worked on building barricades for the edge of the village whilst the other half worked on expanding the krill ponds, in order to get the AT-ST to fall into.

Each day you helped on both projects dividing your time, between chopping logs and digging trenches. At the end of each day Mando and Cara would train the villagers in close combat with sharpened branches. By the end of the week, the village was prepared.

The morning after, Mando and Cara stood in front of the group of farmers. You sat with the child on your knee, waiting for the chaos that was about to unravel.

“Okay, who knows how to shoot?” Mando asks the crowd.

Unsurprisingly, nobody in the crowd raised their hands, as the continued to look at each other nervously. That was until Omera raised her hand. Mando nodded his head and moved to the crates full of weapons, passing out blasters and a modified pulse rifle to Omera. Of course, she knew how to shoot, and of course, she’d get a more complicated weapon, you rolled your eyes. Shaking your head in the realisation of your petty thoughts.

The rest of the villagers aimed their blasters at the frying pans ahead and the blaster shots hit pretty much everywhere but the targets. You notice Omera hit the frying pan dead in the centre, causing Mando to look down at her, clearly appreciating her skills. Yet again you found jealousy bubbling away in your chest. Maker, this is pathetic you thought to yourself. You clenched your jaw and tore your gaze away from them. Jealousy wasn’t going to protect the kid, you needed to get over yourself and focus on your own plan. You turned away and walked towards your hut keeping the child at your side, placing him in his crib when you entered the hut.

“If it wasn’t for you kid, I’d be long gone,” you confessed, stroking his soft ears gently as you sat back against the cot looking out of the door.

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As the sun began to set, you knew it was time for the plan to be put into action. Mando and Cara would go and provoke the bandits bringing both them and the AT-ST to the village.

Cara had come to check on you, and make sure you knew the plan and what you had to do. You both walked to the middle of the village where the people were busy getting ready for the fight to come. You and Cara walked towards Mando, close enough to hear Omera talking to him.

“We’ll be ready for them,” you heard her say as you got closer.

And after that, they just stood there looking at each other. You took a deep shallow breath and looked away at the children playing to your left. Your breath caught Cara’s attention and she stopped walking to look at you. She saw a flash of hurt in your expression before it changed to a blank expression. She looked back to Mando, who was beginning to walk over to where you both stood.

“I’m going to round up the children,” you mumbled before Mando could reach where you stood.

As he watches you walk away, Mando looks to Cara, hopefully conveying the question he wanted to ask, she just shrugged, beginning to walk out towards the forest. He follows catching up to her when he reaches the treeline.

“Care to explain why she couldn’t come with us?” She asks referring to you.

“She needs to look after the kid,” Mando states plainly, walking through the bushes

“So, it’s got nothing to do with the fact that she’s the furthest away from the danger, when you know she can look after herself,” Cara inquires

Mando huffs in response. He was just making sure that the kid was safe, and he knew you would keep the kid safe. He trusted you, that’s all.

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After gathering all the children in one of the huts furthest away from the trenches, you wait, your heart in your throat. The children are huddled together, their faces show expressions of fear and your heart breaks. You know the feeling, it reminded you of the day the empire attacked your planet, and your family were killed, you weren’t much older than the eldest children there.

Your thoughts are interrupted, by the distant sounds of shouting and the deep thud of what you guessed was the AT-ST. The children become restless, some starting to cry at the noise of blasters and shouts. You move forward to soothe them.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise nothing is going to happen to you, I won’t let it, but I need you to keep quiet okay,” You say in a hushed tone bringing your finger to your lips to indicate the need to be quiet.

The low thud of the AT-ST stops but you don’t hear the explosion that was expected, the blaster fire continued piercing through the air. The sounds of foreign shouts were getting louder, nobody was supposed to get this close, they weren’t supposed to get past the barricades. You knew what you had to do. You turn to the children, placing the kid in one of the eldest’s lap.

“You look after him okay, I need you all to be super quiet for me, I promise I’ll come back,” You assure them, swiftly leaving the hut and guarding the door.

The outside air was foggy, the red shots of blaster fire blistering through the air in both directions. You notice the AT-ST still had to fall into the trench, it was so close just one more step.

Your focus is then brought to the shouts of raiders close to the hut. You pull out your blaster and knife preparing for the fight. The first raider that comes into sight you take out with a single shot, along with another to your left. The next raider charges at you, and you swiftly move out of the way slashing your knife at its head, you kick out catching the back of the raiders thigh, causing it to fall to one knee, you raise your blaster and shoot. Two more raiders appear from the fog charging at you, one lunges at you as the other moves forward, you manage to block one advance but not before the other slices your thigh. You cry out in pain, throwing your knife into your opponent’s chest, bringing your knee to the others face, landing a punch to its side. But it senses your weakness, and runs at you straight on, tackling you to the floor, losing your grip on your blaster you fall, the raider placing his hands around your neck choking you. You find it hard to focus, your vision becoming blurry, as the raider strangles you. But in the back of your mind, you remember your promise, to look after the kid no matter what. You regain your focus, your hand searching on the ground for your blaster, grabbing its handle and pulling it to the raider on top of you, pulling the trigger. His grip loosens, and you gasp for your breath, just as a large explosion erupts on the edge of the village. The walker had fallen. The village had won, the sound of cheering erupted through the air. You push the raider’s body off you and crawl your way back into the hut, collapsing against its wall trying to gain your breath back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” You reassured the children, closing your eyes, focussing on your breathing.

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

Mando’s immediate thoughts were you and the kid, he rushed to the hut where the children were. He noticed the bodies of five raiders outside the hut. Shit. They weren’t supposed to get this far. He walks over to the entrance of the hut noticing the trail of blood, he rushes through the door. The children are still huddled together, the child in one of the older one’s lap. Mando looks over to you, you’re propped against the wall, eyes closed, your breathing was rapid but shallow. His eyeline drops to the large gash in your thigh, blood pooling beneath your leg, his heart drops. You look up, your eyes meeting his through his visor.

“Oh hey Mando,” You chuckled, causing you to wheeze, then wince in pain.

He moves forward towards you, lifting you up bridal style carrying you towards your shared hut. Shouting to Cara that he needed a med pack, he places you on your cot, he uses his blade to cut the material surrounding your thigh, so he could assess the cut, it was deep, blood still trickling out onto your exposed thigh.

“Mando, you could at least buy me a drink first,” You chuckle gesturing to the torn fabric. You smiled deliriously from the blood loss.

“Maybe another time,”he laughs softly, as Cara arrives at the hut with some bacta patches and a syringe. He injects the bacta into your thigh, you hiss in pain but then calm as the cool solution runs through you bloodstream providing quick pain relief.

You manage to sit yourself up as Manda bandages your thigh, too high on the pain relief to acknowledge how close his hands were to your bare skin.

“Thanks,” You wheeze, coughing again. This draws Mando’s attention to your face, and then your neck where dark bruises were forming in the shape of fingers.

He points to your neck, ”What happened? Who did this?” he asks, his heart pounding out of his chest. They weren’t supposed to go anywhere near you, and now you could’ve died.

“It’s fine the other guy came out worse,” you chuckle, lying back down into the bed, your eyes feeling heavy.

The last thing Mando hears from you is the small whisper of “Did what I had to, to keep the kid safe.” you close your eyes, your breaths evening.

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You wake the sound of children playing outside the hut, your mouth was dry and your head a little fuzzy, as you try and piece together how you’d ended up in your hut. You groaned as you sat upright, a plate of food had been placed at the side of your bed. You smiled and picked it up, eating the contents quickly, as if you hadn’t eaten in weeks. You look to your thigh and see it perfectly bandaged, only the dull ache from the wound. Wow, bacta really does do wonders you thought to yourself. As you turn to assess your surroundings you notice a pile of folded clothes at the end of the bed, it was another one of Mando’s shirts and a pair of trousers. You smiled, taking a deep breath of the shirt as you placed it over your head, it smelt like him, it made you feel safe. You shimmied on the pants and pulled on your shoes and made your way to find the Mandalorian, to thank him.

The kid was sat surrounded by the village children, playing games and laughing. You smiled at the sight, he was safe. You see Mando talking to Omera, so you sit with the kid and wait for the right time, to thank him. You turn and start playing with the kid. Mando and Omera walk closer to where the children are playing, close enough so you can hear their conversation.

“He’s happy here,” Omera observes

“I’m leaving the kid here, the life I lead isn’t safe for him,” Mando responds

Your heart drops Was he leaving you here too? Or was he going to hand you in? Why had you expected any different? He’d found a place for the kid, and here there was no use for you, your job had been fulfilled. You’d go back to being alone, or half-dead in a cell in the middle of nowhere. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, as you turn to stand, you look at Mando just as he turns to see you walk away from the village into the forest.

You find a quiet clearing near the edge of the woods and sit against the nearest tree. Tears were spilling down your face, and your mind moved as a sickening pace. You close your eyes, attempting to maintain a steady breathing pattern.

The sound of a twig snapping to the side of you causes you to open your eyes, looking that direction of the sound. Before you can stand a heavy fist meets the side of your face, you jerk to the side trying to keep your balance. You look over to see one of the bounty hunters from Nevarro, the beeping of a tracking fob resonating in your ears- he was here for the kid.

You raise your hands and call out to him, “Hey, look just take me I’ve got a bounty on me too, its a pretty big one, just leave the kid and the Mandalorian and take me okay,”

The bounty hunter doesn’t move just stares at you, hand moving to his holster. Okay, so we’ll do this the hard way you thought. Before, the bounty hunter can draw his blaster you move, ducking and extending your leg out kicking the bounty hunter from his feet. You run deeper into the forest, in the opposite direction to the village, if you give him a hard time maybe he’ll leave the kid and just take you. One payment is better than no payment right?

Before you can get any further the bounty hunter tackles you to the ground, you fall hard, the pressure excruciating on the wound on your leg. You cry out, thrashing against the bounty hunter as he cuffs you behind your back, hauling you up to your knees. You try to jerk backwards, in an attempt to knock the hunter off his feet but you’re not strong enough. The butt of the hunter’s rifle connects with your head, and he drags you to the edge of the forest, setting up his rifle.

“Please just take me, don’t hurt the kid, just take me, you can kill me and still get my bounty,” You plea, your eyes blurring from tears and what you were certain was a concussion.

The bounty hunter ignores your pleas and adjusts his scope and places a finger on the trigger, aiming at the child. You try to call out to warn them but your voice is broken and only a wheeze escapes. You look over to see the Mandalorian, with his helmet between Omera’s hands, slowly beginning to raise it off his head. You’re overwhelmed with sadness and regret, you’d failed at protecting the child and you’d failed at expressing your feelings. You close your eyes, expelling more tears down your face.

A single blaster shot rings through the air, and you hear the body drop beside you.

You look over to see the bounty hunter’s body a smoking pile on the ground. Cara stands above it with a hardened stare, which softens when it moves to you. She helps you up and just as she helps you out of the cuffs Mando appears from the treeline in front of you blaster raised. He looks at you, then Cara and then to the body on the floor. He kicks the body over to reveal the tracking fob, picking it up, he turns to face the village and the tracking fob blinks rapidly.

“They know you’re here,” Cara states, glancing at you

“Yes,”

“Then they’ll keep coming,”

“Yes,” Mando replies, placing the tracking fob on the ground and crushing it beneath your boot.

He turns to you. “Why did you run off?” He states roughly.

Your eyes widen. He didn’t ask if you were okay, he just cut straight to the direct questions. Anger bubbles in your chest.

“I overheard you talking to Omera, Mando, about leaving the kid here, and considering I’m such a big inconvenience to you I thought you’d be taking me back to collect your bounty or dropping me off on the nearest planet!” You yelled the tears starting to well in your eyes again.

He doesn’t respond. Unable to deal with his disappointment you walk back to the village, wiping away the tears on your face, and hissing when your thumb grazes against your split lip.

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The Mandalorian stands there silent staring at the empty space where you were just stood looking up to see you walking back to the village. He turns back to Cara, hoping she’ll answer some of his questions.

“She could’ve been killed why did she run away, reckless actions get people killed,” Mando gruffly complains.

“You really are as stupid as you look,” Cara scoffs, crossing her arms across her chest.

“What are you talking about?” Mando asks

“First of all, she could’ve died yesterday, she killed five raiders in order to save the kid, and just now she practically screamed at that hunter to take her instead of you and the kid, she was willing to die so that you could get away!” Cara yells pointing her finger into the Mandalorian’s chest, then walking away to the village

Instantly, regret fills his chest making it hard to breathe. You’d fought to keep him and the child safe and he hadn’t even asked if you were okay, only bombarded you with questions. How could he be so insensitive? You’d been hurt twice now and it was his fault.

He had to make this right.

Taglist:

@astrological-bitch @boliv-jenta @seninjakitey @jagi-yaaa @thewintersoldierswife @unionizeandstudy

If you want be tagged just let me know in the comments or pop me a message. Thanks :)

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x y/n #mandalorian x reader #mando smut #the mandalorian x y/n #mando x reader #mando x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction

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power-chords · 3 years

Text

Post-trip round-up, integration, thoughts (cut for length & some Heavy Shit)

WOW I needed that and I am so glad I realized I needed that. It has been well over ten years since I last took LSD, and my reluctance to indulge in psychedelics again was rooted in a long and complicated history that I don't really need to hash out here, but doing a mild dose of mushrooms last weekend gave me the confidence and conviction that I was ready.

Would it have been wiser to take a less bonkers dose for the first time in a decade plus? Probably! Do I regret a single moment of it? Not a whit! It's tough to overstate just how powerful, therapeutic, and restorative a good acid trip is, even an occasionally intense, uncomfortable one. I do not recommend eating multiple tabs of extremely good blotter on your first rodeo, but Adam's even more of a veteran psychonaut than I am, so I was 1000% well cared for, totally safe, and in a comfortable, familiar environment. In that setting, and in a positive frame of mind, acid is not going to throw anything at you that you are not equipped to handle. I would love to make this an annual or biannual thing.

The cool, funny, wacky delightful stuff:

Put it under my tongue at 10 AM-ish. Went to go listen to some music and doodle until it kicked in. I forgot that the come-up is like, do not make any fucking plans involving hand-eye coordination LMAO. I was trying to doodle Bowery Ballroom in an old sketchbook, and that devolved quickly. The markers were old so some of the caps were really stuck on there, and I wound up devolving into fits of laughter from the absurdity of pulling the caps off with my teeth.

Ink stains on my hands started writhing and trailing and were very cool. That was the first thing I noticed. I got very sad that I stopped drawing and making art, which was something I did all my life and almost went to school for but stopped doing as an adult. And then I realized I could start drawing again any time if I wanted to, and I didn't have to be GOOD at it or a proper artist for it to be worthwhile and fun. Felt immediately happy again.

Adam decided to watch Lethal Weapon???? I was like, Don't Like That. Even though he had headphones on and I couldn't hear anything. I am ambivalent about screens at best when I'm tripping, and at worst I don't even want to be in the same room with them. Guns and violence seemed comically, brutally stupid. Turned my back to the TV and continued drawing and writing until I could no longer hold a pen. Eventually Adam got on my wavelength and was like yeah, this is too much! (He took like, twice the dose that I did. I have no idea how he was even able to talk to me, but he managed!)

Felt the need to message Liana while peaking, picked up my phone, and saw that she had already sent me this:

I thought that was HILARIOUS (tbh it actually was, and it was not just the acid talking)

For the first few hours of teeth-grinding, reality-shearing intensity, Adam and I mostly lounged in bed with the shades pulled all the way up and the window open, cuddling and petting Ernie. Fantastic bonding experience for the whole fam.

Looking at every surface in the apartment became like looking at a stained glass ceiling, or an infinite mandala, or the muddied rainbows in oil-slicked puddles. It looked like Ernie's fur was breathing and someone had colored all over the white parts of him with a highlighter. Adam agreed with this assessment. Formica on the kitchen counters was bananas. So were the trees outside, rippling like celluloid and brighter green than I had ever seen them.

The two of us spent a good 15 minutes doubled over with laughter because Adam suggested a contraption for funneling Fancy Feast directly into Ernie's mouth, kind of like shotgunning a beer

Adam: "I can't believe I used to to this and get on the subway and try to do things with people." Me: "What? How did you even figure out how to get from Point A to Point B?" Adam: "I mean, we didn't, really. We usually got lost. It was fine, though." Truly, it's about the friends you make along the way!

The second half of the trip, when things are starting to mellow out a bit, is when you become a real rock star. I went outside for a walk around the neighborhood, and to sit in the park with my headphones on while watching kids play on the playground, and it was ECSTATIC. I was just overjoyed. My face still hurts from smiling.

Forgot that I needed money to realize my goal of obtaining a popsicle, so I had to detour back into the apartment and explain all of this to my husband before resuming the popsicle quest. He thought it was very funny, but sympathized.

Fresh air, popsicles and San Pellegrino on acid. On another level! 100/10.

Bathrooms still universally suck, LOL. -10/10. Not a fan of that bathroom while tripping face! Every time I had to pee it was like WELL here we go again into the Pink Squirming Hell Chamber (I am making this sound like more of a big deal than it actually was)

15 HOURS. 15 HOURS Jesus Christ lmao I did not stop seeing weird shit on screens and surfaces until like 1 AM. And even then, if I stared long enough, funky colors and patterns would re-emerge. It's a commitment. I feel happy and refreshed, but also totally exhausted. Definitely have to budget a full weekend of No Plans for any future trips.

The Heavy Shit:

There is some Cronenberg-level body horror right before the visuals get super rainbow-stained and stereotypically psychedelic, which sounds bad, but I promise it isn't. It's watching the veins pulse under your skin and change into very saturated colors, pores and hair and scars become very defined and wiggly, and as someone who has so much bodily anxiety related to my alopecia/IBS, it was weirdly... freeing? You get to experience all this stuff in an entirely new frame of mind, shedding judgment and old thought ruts. I remember thinking, "I do not need to feel shame about my body," and letting go of so much baggage.

At some point mid-afternoon I decided to retrieve my phone from the drawer again, and saw that I had a missed call and a voicemail from my dad. I decided to play it back, and he was just phoning to tell me that he was listening to a live version of "Sally Simpson" and Keith was doing this thing where he wasn't even touching the cymbals, and had I listened to that specific performance before and noticed the same thing, and wasn't he truly the greatest drummer that ever lived? "Anyway, no need to call me back, just wanted to let you know. I love my bubbie!" (His term of endearment for me.) And I went to go sit in bed and weep for a straight 15 minutes, the most cleansing, purging cry you could possibly imagine, while Adam hugged me and rubbed my back. I was overwhelmed, overcome by this feeling of cosmic Love and Connection with my family and my husband and all of my friends.

I had been sitting on and burying so much fear and distress from the past 18 months, the chronic, low-grade trauma that was worrying if COVID was going to kill my father, my best friend and closest confidante and the one person on earth who I feel truly Gets Me on a spiritual level, and all of that came out. Fully processed and released every ounce of grief. What replaced it was the absolute, unshakable faith that no matter what happens — including my greatest fear, which is inevitable, no matter how far off it may be — he will always be with me, and a part of me, in the music we both love, and I will never, ever lose that.

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

.. for mermay.. 8, indruck nsfw?

Here you go! Duck’s design is based on a rudderfish.

Authors note: since prompt 8 is “drunk,” drinking is mentioned in this. It’s also implied Indrid is doing some self-destructive behaviors to cope with trauma.

The party is a splendid success, as was the book launch that preceded it. Indrid has done what he does best, lined his pockets and those of his agents and editors, and gotten everyone talking.

“Did you see the one of the pyres?”

“The one of the hurricane aftermath, the look in the girls eyes is so haunting.”

“Personally, I found the jeweled mummies a bit much, but the emergency room shots? Stunning.”

This is why Indrid is sitting on the rocks on his private cove, and will not be going back up to the house until he’s polished off all three of these heavily spiked bottles of eggnog. It’s better than the time he emptied most of a bottle of vanilla vodka, but not by much.

He was tipsy when he snuck out the back door and down the path to the sea. So when the empty bottle rolls away, all he can do is whap at the air close to it and wave as it plonks into the water.

“Oops. Hic, oh, hic, well, what’s one more piece of trash in, hic, a dying world?”

He yelps, knocking his remaining bottles into the sand as the lost one flies through the air towards him. Or he thinks that’s the trajectory; it’s hard to tell. The point is, the bottle is back and he’s clutching his chest like an old man in a silent movie.

“Look, man, I know it’s temptin to just leave trash everywhere, but there are signs up and down this beach sayin not to litter.” A man floats in the water at the foot of the rock, black hair plastered to his forehead and muscular arms crossed over a bare chest.

“It, hic, it was an accident. And I am, hic, in no condition to retrieve anything from the water.”

The man frowns, “shit, if you’re that drunk, you oughta get off the rocks. It’s deep here, you might drown. Go sit on the sand, it’s safer. Warmer too, still holdin heat from the sun.”

“I, I’m fine, hic, don’t, don’t need some wet man babying me.” He stands to prove his point, nearly falls face first into the water, and sits back down, “see, m’fine.”

“Get off the rock.” The man says, sounding for all the world like a cat owner two seconds from grabbing the spray bottle.

“No.” Indrid huffs.

Water splashes his face and he sputters.

The man pulls his hand back, preparing to send another wave at him, “Get.”

“Fuck you”

The splash is much more intense this time and he curses, scrambles sideways, and falls to his knees in the sand.

“That’s better, now I don’t gotta worry about fishin your careless ass outta the water.”

“If, if we are, hic, t-talking careless, you, you shouldn’t say a thing. You’re, hic, swimming in cold water with, without a wetsuit.”

The man shrugs, “Don’t need one.” With that he floats on his back, bringing a dark-scaled tail into view.

“You’re, hic, you’re a merman.” He crawls forward, breathless, “that’s so cool, wanna, gotta photograph you, so handsome, gotta-”

“Nope” The merman swims back into deeper water, “no pictures, those can end real bad for us.”

“But, but you’re so beautiful. If, hic, if pictures are no good, I, I can draw. I draw good, even if no one likes it.”

“Uh, you really wanna sit on a cold beach paintin my picture instead of hangin out at that shindig?” He points up the hill to the brightly lit house.

“No, nonono, hic, don’t, don’t wanna go back up there, s’awful, hic.”

“Awful?” The merman sounds concerned, and in the patchy moonlight he swims close enough that Indrid can see the details of his face, “is someone up there hurtin you?”

“No” He shakes his head, “it, it-”

“Indrid!”

“Damn it.” He mutters as the merman retreat beneath waves. As his guests grow closer he stands, carefully picks up all three bottles, and heads uphill to meet them.

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

Indrid shuffles through the house, head pounding, decides he hates the following people, in this order:

-His agent

-Himself

-Whoever mentioned it was a shame there were no Plata River Bridge photos, causing Indrid to drink a whole martini in order to bite his tongue.

It’s not until his third cup of coffee that he remembers the merman. God, he was really rude to someone who was just trying to keep him from drowning.

Very, very carefully, he makes his way to the beach, sketchbook in one hand and thermos in the other.

“Hello?” He calls across the water. No reply. Of course there isn’t; the merman has the whole ocean to explore, there’s no reason for him to hang around Indrid’s house. He sighs, sits down on a piece of driftwood, and draws. Normally the cold would drive him back indoors, but today it’s bracing, blowing his hangover off of him and down the sand.

“Glad to see you’re in one piece”

Indrid sits bolt upright. The merman waves to him.

“You came back?”

“Yeah? I mean, this is part of my rounds, so I come by here at least once a day. More surprised you’re down here when it’s all cold and grey.”

“I, ah, I wanted to apologize for last night. I was being stubborn and rude.”

“You were, but I was kinda grumpy too. At the end of my shift and all that, but I shouldn’t have splashed you.” He smiles, swims closer, “do you, uh, remember any of the other stuff you said?”

“I have a vague memory of begging to photograph you. Or maybe draw, it’s all very fuzzy.”

“You did. I, uh” the merman’s cheeks turn pink, “you were really, uh, well let’s just say you were excited at the idea of drawin me, so I thought maybe, if you wanted to..”

“Yes” Indrid shifts down into the sand so he can rest his back on the log, “can we do it now? You said you were on rounds, and if you’re working I don’t want to interrupt.”

“I’m done for the day. Should I get on a rock or somethin?”

“Can you come on the sand at all? Oh, ah, it seems you can.” Indrid scoots back as the merman slides gracefully ashore. In the daylight, his tail is a rich green-brown, his hair streaked with grey near his forehead. His eyes, one green and one brown, regard Indrid with curiosity as he turns to a new page.

“You got a name?”

“Indrid. Indrid Cold.”

“Duck Newton. It’s a nickname.” The mer stretches his arms and tail, and were Indrid in a self-flattering frame of mind he’d say he was flexing for him, “I gotta pose?”

“No, as long as you don’t move too much, I should be fine.”

Duck nods, shifts onto his belly with his tail dipped in the surf. Indrid sets his pen to paper, asks Duck what he does for work and when the tunnel vision of his project dissipates, it’s dusk.

“Oh my, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

The merman yawns, “S’okay, it was nice talkin with you, and I got to birdwatch some. Can I see?”

Indrid turns the sketchbook. Mis-matched eyes widen.

“Holy fuck. You made me look damn good.”

“I simply captured you as you are.” Indrid feels a blush moving up his cheeks as Duck scoots closer.

“You gonna do this tomorrow? If, uh, if you don’t wanna draw me again, I can bring you some interestin stuff from the water. If, uh, if you want.”

His schedule for tomorrow starts with a phone interview, after which he was planning to sit in a dark living room and watch mindless T.V.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you, Duck.”

The merman beams, waves, and then pushes back into the sea, raising his tail once in farewell.

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

“...now, Juno thinks it’s-holy fuck ‘Drid, was that your stomach?” Duck raises his head from where he’s been sort-of-napping, sort of talking.

“Hmm? Yes, I suppose it was.” He has his watercolors out today, a surprise stretch of sunny days rendering the beach and hillsides in glorious technicolor.

“When did you last eat?”

“..............”

“Oh my fuckin god, ‘Drid, no wonder you look like you’re close to passin out.”

“I’m fine.”

Duck has that look on his face again, the one he got when Indrid admitted to walking the cliff-side trails when he’s coming back from the roadhouse on the edge of town. When Indrid says he hasn’t slept in two days.

The merman says nothing, goes back to reading the book of nature essays Indrid brought him. A buzz cuts through the air and he groans, shuts off the alarm on his phone, “I need to go get ready for that interview.”

“You wanna meet up tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Great. But, uh, seem to remember you promised me some of those cookies you say are the best in the world.”

Indrid smirks, “I suppose I did.”

“I want some. But not for dinner, with dinner. You feel me?” There’s an edge in his drawl, as formidable and unyielding as the nearby cliff-face.

“Alright, I'll bring you some other things to try.” Indrid smiles, suddenly looking forward to a grocery run.

Duck, now in the water, looks over his shoulder, “Good boy.”

Indrid shivers even as heat blooms in his chest.

When sunset graces the beach, Indrid is busy setting out a half dozen take-out containers and many plastic boxes of cookies and fruit.

“Damn” Duck slides and wiggles his way onto the sand by the blanket, “you went all out.”

“You wanted a meal. I brought you one.”

“Sure did.” Duck sniffs the air, taps a carry-out bowl of soup, “what’s this?”

“Umm” Indrid peers at the label, “french onion soup.”

“Can I have it?”

“Of course.”

The merman downs the soup as fast as temperature allows, munches happily on the orange segments Indrid peels and samples the cookies.

“Ahhh” He flops his head into Indrid’s lap, “that hit the spot.”

The human nods, bottle of pineapple soda on his lips. He’s so happy and full.

Wait.

“Duck? Did you suggest this just so I would eat something?”

The face in his lap only looks a little chagrined, “Kinda. I been meanin to suggest this, and today seemed like the right time. And, uh, I know sometimes I have a hard time lookin after myself for me, but if someone else tells me to do it, or I have to do it as part of lookin after them, it’s easier. Thought that might be goin’ on with you. I, uh, I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Nono” Indrid sets a hand in his hair, stroking it so Duck rubs his cheek against his thigh, “you’re right. It was easier to do the kind thing for myself when you told me to. Would, ah, would you be willing to do it again.”

Duck meets his eyes, gaze bubbling with something dark and alluring, “Sure thing, ‘Drid.”

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

“Before you go, I wanted to give you this.” Indrid holds out the small camera. Duck, perched on a rock, takes it with a puzzled frown. He adds, “It’s waterproof. You mentioned you wish you could take pictures of the things you see in your home. I couldn’t think of a better time to give you than your trip.”

“Thanks, ‘Drid.” Duck leans forward, rubbing their cheeks together, “you remember your instructions?”

“Yes.” He whimpers when Duck pulls back.

“Good. Want you in good shape when I get home.” Duck’s voice returns to normal, “should be back in a week. I’ll see you then.”

Indrid waves goodbye, keeps waving well past the point where Duck could see him, even if he surfaced. Then he grabs the basket of fresh oysters and heads to the house to call Barclay.

The phone calls and dinners with one of his few friends in town are part of his agreement with Duck. The mer told him he couldn’t meet every night, so maybe Indrid should find other forms of company. He also helpfully supplies Indrid with fresh shellfish that he has no idea how to cook, but his friend the professional chef certainly does. This dovetails nicely with his promise to Duck to eat at least one full meal a day.

It’s not just the strange dynamic they’ve hit upon that’s improving his life; it’s Duck. The merman makes him feel so safe, like someone cares about the real him and not just the him that makes them money or feeds their morbid curiosity. Not to mention he’s even more handsome than Indrid first thought and he spends plenty of nights jerking off to the thought of a cool, strong tail between his legs.

He does well the first five days Duck is gone. Barclay and Dani come over for dinner, he paints and draws prolifically, and he even reads up on whether it’s feasible for him to adopt rats (“those are kinda like otters, right?” “close enough.”). Friday night his agent calls, excitedly reporting that it’ll soon be the fifth anniversary of the Plata River incident and the magazine is getting requests for a feature on it and Indrid will be perfect.

Indrid says he’ll think about it, hangs up, and opens the fridge. He promised Duck he’d only drink if it was with dinner or with friends. He grabs two wine coolers and heads into the living room.

The next day, he’s idly fiddling with the dating app he hasn’t touched since December when a new profile appears. Very good looking, close by, clearly just passing through town, and interested in Indrid. He invites him over, spends the next half hour getting ready, and even cleans the bedroom because well, that’s what he’d do for Duck, he should do it for anyone else he brings over.

Indrid opens the door at the second knock. The guy takes one look at him, shakes his head, and returns to his car.

Indrid downs the remaining wine coolers and goes down to the beach to sulk. He tucks his legs up, pressing his forehead to his knees, and rocks back and forth. He’s nearly sober when a voice drifts across the waves.

“‘Drid?”

He looks up, glasses slipping down his nose, “Duck? You’re, you’re back.”

“Yep. It was fast goin the last ten miles. Brought the camera back, think you gotta be the one to get the pictures off, but I can’t wait to show you all the cool shit we saw.”

“Me neither” He stands and instantly pitches forward, landing on his hands and knees in the shallow water.

“You been drinking?”

“Yes.”

“You and Barclay have a good time?” He’s giving him the benefit of the doubt, giving him an out, and Indrid decides that isn’t what he wants.

“I wasn't with Barclay. I got horrible news last night, and today I tried to get laid and got rejected, and I’m at the point in my life where I nearly called after the guy that he could keep his eyes shut and I’d just blow him so he wouldn’t need to look at or touch me. So yes, Duck, I’ve been drinking.”

Duck’s expression swims between concern and disappointment, then comes to rest on neutral steel, “That ain’t what we agreed.”

“I’m aware. But I don’t care, I don’t” he aims a splash at Duck, “it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, nothing will come of it, same as always.”

The merman cocks an eyebrow, “You really think that? You forgettin I said there’d be consequences if you broke the rules?”

“Oooh, I’m so scared.” Indrid splashes him again.

Duck smiles, reminding him that all his teeth end in points, “Didn’t say anythin about scarin you. You really wanna believe that nothing matters, you can head home. Or” he points to a nearby rock, “you go get on your hands and knees, facin the cliffs.”

Indrid crawls gracelessly to the designated spot. It’s dangerous to turn his back on the ocean, but a gentle voice in his mind reminds him over and over that Duck is here. Duck won’t let him get hurt.

There’s a splash as Duck pulls himself onto the rock. Then a whoosh of air and a sting in the right side of his ass. He yelps, startled, and looks behind him.

“If this ain’t okay, need you to say so now.” Duck’s eyes are wide and hungry, but his hands stay on the grey rock.

“It’s okay.” He can’t believe this is happening, can’t decide if he should tell Duck this is not remotely a punishment.

Another sharp grin, “Eyes front.”

Indrid’s barely obeyed when the next strike comes. Duck is strong and makes no attempt to hide it, hitting him hard enough that his knees jolt forward in the sand. The pain lights him up each time, forces the thing knotted in his chest up towards his throat.

When the blows stop he whimpers, pushing his ass back in hopes of more.

“Don’t worry, ‘Drid, I ain’t done with you by a long shot.” Cold fingers undo his fly, bring his pants and underwear down to his thighs. He’s expecting another hit, wiggles his ass in anticipation.

What he gets are teeth sinking into his skin.

“AH!GOD” He yells loud enough that his throat hurts.

Duck chuckles, “Holler all you want, we both know no one can hear what goes on on this beach, especially with all the wind.” He bites down again, Indrid thrashing and moaning as teeth sink into already reddened skin. Duck growls in reply, savaging the meat of his as and grazing his teeth along his thighs, dangerously close to his balls. He’s already getting hard, the process expedited by warm breath and lips on his body.

He moans embarrassingly loud when Duck shoves his ass apart.

“Damn, you really did get all prepped for that fella. Shame, he didn’t know what he was missin.” The plug hits the sand to his right.

“You, you don’t have to flatter meEEEoh, oh Duckohmygoodness.” His fingers dig into the sand as the merman teases his rim with a flexible tongue. There’s a muffled laugh, but Duck doesn’t respond beyond that, too busy threatening him with a good time as his tongue gives an experimental push.

Then it retreats and he turns his head left and right, delivering quick bites to either cheek before his tongue returns. He alternates between the delicious, teasing licks and painful bites, the shift never coming when Indrid expects and causing him to cry out every time. When the mer releases one side of his ass in order to slap his thighs while he continues licking, kissing, and nipping his way across bruised, sensitive skin, Indrid lets out a strangled sound, the thing in his chest now trapped at the back of his throat.

“You make such cute noises, but they ain’t the ones I’m lookin for. I ain’t stoppin until you apologize.”

Indrid opens his mouth, intending to say something about how this is the wrong way to make him do so.

“I, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t be angry with me, don’t leave, don’t leave me here, I can’t, I, I don’t want to think about it, Duck please, I’m sorry, so sorry” he;s hunched forward, sobbing into the sand, when he realizes he’s fully clothed and Duck isn’t behind him.

“No” he squeaks, “no please don’t go.”

“I ain’t goin anywhere.” Duck slides up the sand next to him, pulls him into his arms, “I’m so sorry darlin, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I took it too far, I ain’t mad, not really” he eases Indrid’s glasses off and sets them out of harms way, “oh darlin, c’mere, it’s okay” salty kisses dot his forehead and green scales pet his legs.

“It’s, hic, it’s not your fault. I, I l-liked it, but this has, hic, been building up for months. Years.” He hides his face in Duck’s chest.

“Years?” Duck grabs Indrid’s sweater from where he cast it off, draping it over the human.

Indrid sniffs, “You know I’m a photographer. But I’ve never told you what I photograph. I, I made my name recording disasters and their aftermath. For a long time I took pride in it; someone has to document those things, so we can’t erase them, so we have to confront them and try to make things better, or try to keep such tragedy from reoccurring. I was so good at recording it I became famous. Wealthy. And I learned that most people like to gawk at horror and then go about their days. I, I tried branching out and...and I ended up with a disaster anyway. A bridge collapse, I chronicled everything from the instant it started to the funerals and it, it was too much. Ever since then I’ve felt trapped by my work. At times, by my life. My agent wants me to go back for the fifth anniversary, he told me so last night.”

“You ain’t goin, right?”

“I don’t think I can.”

Duck nods, rests his chin atop his head, “tell me what you wanna do instead.”

He does. He tells him about his other art, about the pitches for childrens books and the plans for a real vacation, about the life that, for the first time, feels in reach when he speaks about it. By the time he’s done the stars are out and he’s much calmer and clear-headed.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? That, that you thought I was attractive?”

“Every damn word.” Duck rolls them so Indrid is on his back, kisses his cheek, “thought so since that first night. But, uh” his gaze flicks down to Indrid’s crotch, “if you want more proof I’m happy to give it.”

“Please?”

“Get your pants off and lay on your sweater.”

Indrid complies, shivers when Duck guides his shirt up and off.

“Fuuuuck” the mer rubs his hands up and down his torso, “when it warms up, you’re gonna swim out with me so I can get my fill of this while you ride my dick.”

“Yes. Ah, I, I did prep, but it’s been long enough now that lubrication may be an issueOOOh, ooohyes.” He release into the sand as Duck grinds his tail against his cock. The scales feel as lovely now as they do when he pets them, and he wonders if Duck will let him get off by humping his tail one of these days.

“It won’t, trust me. Lemme just--there we go. Open your legs. Heh, eager little thing.”

“I’ve wanted this too long to play coy.”

“Good.”

“Eeep!” Something slick and squirming presses into his ass, “do, do you have tentacles?”

“Kinda? They’re just the tip, for this exact reason. It, uh, it feel okay?” Duck smiles reassuringly and that, combined with the genuine concern in his voice makes Indrid moans and nudge him closer.

“VeryOH, oohgracious” two more tentacles join the first, pulsing and scissoring him open, “how many are there?”

“About eight.”

He moans louder and Duck laughs, pushes his hips forward, “glad you like it, darlin’. Because from where I’m sittin your ass is fuckin amazin and I wanna be as deep in it as I can.”

“Yes, absolutely, pleaseAHHnnn” enough tentacles now that he can’t keep an accurate count, “please use it as you see fit.”

“As I see fit huh? That’s a tricky question. See, sometimes I wanna, fuck, wanna shove the whole thing in you at once and make you scream while I leave my mark on your neck.”

“AHHnnngod” A firmer shaft pushes in, ridges rubbing all the right places as the tentacles continue exploring him.

“Other times, think it’s better to tease you with the tip, maybe make you blow me first and jerk you off until you’re beggin for my dick.”

“Yes, yesyesyesyes”

“But tonight” Duck bottoms out with a groan, “I’m gonna take it nice and slow, show you just how fuckin wonderful you are. How much you mean to me. My Indrid.”

“Yours” Indrid twines his limbs around him, “god, Duck, it feels so good, you’re so good, you always look after me.”

“That I do. Because you deserve it. And” the tentacles find his prostate and he nearly howls as Duck continues, “you deserve to learn how t’be nice to yourself. And I, ahfuck, know that ain’t easy, but I’m gonna be here to help.”

“Yes, ohgod, yes, you’re, you’re so perfect, aaAAAhnI, I’m, close sweetheart, you fill me so well.”

“Damn right. Gonna, nnngh, gonna find every fuckin way to fill you, make you feel fuckin amazin, fuck, that’s it darlin, ohfuckyeah” as he starts spilling into him, Indrid cums with a shout, splattering their stomachs. Duck moans at the sight, wriggles his hips as his shaft continues rippling and pulsing. It turns out mer orgasms are long, so long that Indrid is whimpering from overstimulation by the time Duck pulls out.

A gentle, salt-soaked kiss to his lips, “Lookit you, took it all. You’re so good for me, darlin.”

“Mmmhmm” He doesn’t want to let go, cold, wind, and damp be damned. Duck seems to understand, holds him and whispers sweet promises in his ears until he’s shivering.

“‘Drid, your teeth are chatterin.”

“I kn-know, I s-should g-go home and w-warm up.”

Duck kisses him again, “sooner you go and rest, sooner we can do this again.”

“An excellent p-point.” He stands, blows a shaky kiss towards his future, “see you tomorrow.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermay fills #mermay

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ofstoriesandstardust · 4 years

Text

The 5 Times Luther Thinks He’s in Love With You (and the one time he actually does something about it)

A/N: I’ve never written for Luther before but I am full on simping for this man. I know he’s kinda hated in the fandom so we’ll see if this fares better then my Diego piece. No, I still haven’t finished season 2 yet. If I were to spend as much time watching TUA as I did reading and writing fan fiction about it, I would’ve finished weeks ago. This might be super out of character for Luther so hopefully this doesn’t suck. It also ended up being way longer then I had intended and is officially the longest thing I’ve ever written. I think it starts out mediocre and ends strong so there’s that.

masterlist | prompt list

warnings: takes place post-season 2 but my own version again, Ben came back to life again because I said so, my trauma, canon childhood abuse, trauma, and reference to drugs, swearing,

word count: 6,438

i. the time you treat his siblings like your own

The first time Luther thinks he might be in love with you is the day Klaus gets out of rehab...again. Over the last year, the Hargreeves clan has worked hard to get Klaus clean and sober, and Ben coming back to life was a big push for Klaus to get help. Unfortunately, it’s been more downs than it had been ups. As a survivor of childhood abuse yourself, you had told Luther it would take time for the mental scars their father left behind to heal and Klaus was no exception. Still, Luther had thought the process would go a little bit smoother than it had, and it killed him to watch his brother relapse again and again, and the toll it took on Diego and Ben every time he did. However, they thought this time might be different. Klaus had made a lot of progress during this last stint in rehab, progress he hadn’t made before. You coming into the Hargreeves family and becoming a rock to the siblings had brought a lot unexpected comfort to Klaus, that someone outside the family cared for him and his well-being. It had been a push he needed, and you really believed he’d stay clean this time.

Diego and Ben had volunteered to pick the seance up from rehab, with the other siblings arriving at your apartment to create some sort of semblance of a ‘welcome home’ party. You had volunteered to watch Klaus the next few weeks, knowing the Academy was no place for him to be. How could he stay sober living on the streets or at the home of all his abuse? And seeing as you didn’t drink, there was no alcohol for Klaus to even access if he wanted to. Luther had been adamant you didn’t need to go out of your way to make a space for Klaus but you had over ruled him with the support of Ben and Diego and the decision was made whether Luther liked it or not.

Over the course of the last year or so, you had sort of tumbled into his life, crashing straight into Luther one morning as he was leaving Griddy’s. It had snowed the night before, and the street was icy, and the next thing he knew, someone had walked straight into his large frame and was tumbling towards the ground. Luther reached out, large hands wrapping around your much smaller frame, and hoisting you back up before you could hit the ground. He awkwardly cleared his throat and put you back down on the ground. “Sorry about that.” He mumbled, overwhelmed by the fact that he had stupidly almost sent the pretty girl crash-landing to the ground.

“It was my fault, really. Shoulda been looking were I was going.” You said. Fate, however had other plans, when Ben came along the road. You turned to greet him, and his eyes drifted from you to Luther. He stopped next to you and a shit-eating smirk grew on his face. “Well, (Y/N), it looks like you’ve met my brother Luther. Luther, this is my co-worker (Y/N).” Luther had a moment of realization, understanding he had knocked into Ben’s favorite co-worker at the bookstore/cafe he talked so much about. Ben invited Luther back inside to Griddy’s as the two of you got breakfast before your shift and Luther agreed, not having a much better plan. Allison was in Manhattan with Vanya, Klaus was doing a stint in rehab, Diego was working at the gym, and Five was off god-knows-where doing god-knows-what. The breakfast was quite enjoyable, Luther observing your comfortable energy and your kind nature. You had offered your number to Luther before parting with Ben, in case “he ever needed a friend”. It wasn’t long after that, that the family had had a tumble towards rock-bottom as Klaus got out of rehab, immediately seeking the nearest drug he could get his hands on. Ben had asked you to come over and the support you offered the family through your experiences with an alcoholic mother and comfort had irrevocably changed your position and meaning to the family and to Luther. While Luther had always felt you were closest to him, the closest thing he had to a best friend, he couldn’t unsee the way you joked with Klaus, the support you offered Diego, the witty banter you’d exchange with Five, the conversations you’d have with Allison, the encouragement you offered Vanya, and the normalcy you brought Ben. He always thought that you liked them a little bit better, but every time, you were able to read that he was too far into his self-doubt, and assured him that he was and would always be your best friend.

This time was no different. As Klaus returned to the apartment and was practically glued to your side, he felt that small piece of him rile up again, making him want to shrink to the background. As the night wore on, he felt himself retreat further and further behind the walls in which he had put up. He had hoped to get a moment alone with you, which didn’t seem promising. But luck was on his side, and an opportunity arose, which came in the form of a Mario-Kart tournament. You excused yourself and Luther from the first few rounds, asking for his help with the dishes. He felt confused, as you always stated doing the dishes helped you focus and relax. You turned the water on, beginning to wash dishes and handing them to him to dry. He did so, in silence for a few minutes, but not a bad one. “You know that Klaus staying doesn’t change how I feel about you, right?” you said quietly, as to not let the Hargreeves overhear your discussion of one of his biggest insecurities. He nodded.

“Yeah, I know.” he said in a gruff voice, looking out over the city from your window, avoiding looking at you.

“Luther.” You said sternly and he chanced a glance at you. “You know I love your family like my own siblings and you know I would do anything for them.” He felt his stomach beginning to sink as he waited for the other shoe to drop that would never come. “But, you, you’re my best friend in the entire world. Nobody’ll ever come close.” You said, nudging his shoulder and turning back to the dishes. He looked down at you, and looked at the way your face was lit up by the light of the moon, and he looked back up the moon to where he spent so many years in isolation, hoping one day he’d get to meet someone like you. He was starting to think that he didn’t want to be just best friends anymore... and that thought scared him almost more than anything.

ii. the time he can’t imagine his life without you

The thought that does scare him more than anything is the thought of losing you. It’s never been a thought he’s allowed to stay in his mind long; shuddering away from the thought of losing you to the cold clutches of death, the way he lost Ben, the way he had thought he lost Five. Unfortunately, he is forced to confront the thought one night. Diego shows up the Academy, clutching you in his arms, cuts and bruises littering your frame. Luther is the only home at the time, everyone else either gone, living their lives or in the case of Five, at Griddy’s. Diego sets you down in a chair and with the exception of the minor physical harm and the fact that you can’t seem to stop shaking, you seem to be alright. “I’ll explain in a minute. Where’s Mom?” Diego asks quietly. This seems to snap Luther out of his state of shock, that if Diego thought your injuries might be bad enough to have Mom look over them, he needs to present and here.

“Diego, I told you-” you winced, a movement neither Hargreeves boy missed, “I’m fine.”

“Even still, Mom should check you out anyways. I think she’s upstairs. Do you want me to go get her?” Luther said softly. Diego shook his head.

“Nah, I’ll go grab her. You stay with (Y/N).” Luther nodded and took a tentative seat next to you, wanting nothing more than to reach out and pull you into his arms and quell all your fear and make you forget all this pain and-

“Oh, (Y/N), darling.” Mom’s soft voice reaches his ears. She checked you over, determining that all the injuries you sustained were minor and would heal within the next few days.

“See, Diego. I told you I was fine.” You snapped, as Mom put a kettle on the stove to make tea for the three of you.

“What even happened, (Y/N/N)?” Luther asked softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, almost missing the way you leaned into his touch. Diego sighed and pinched the bridge of his noise.

“I was wondering the same thing myself.” He grumbled.

“It was just some creepy guy. I was fine.” The tension in the room is so thick one Diego’s knives could cut through it as the implications of what your sentence meant settled. A endless train of possibilities of what ifs fly through Luther’s brain that he almost misses what happens next.

“Fine?!” Diego asks incredulous. “Fine?! (Y/N), he had a knife-”

“I had it handled!” You said indignantly.

“You could have been killed!” Diego shouts, and the silence that follows is undeniably terrifying for all three of you. You looked to Luther, who must’ve looked like a fish out of water, gaping at you, struggling to come to terms with what Diego had just said.

“I might not be a superhero, but I can take care of myself.” You said, voice soft now, not making eye contact with either boy. Luther looks at Diego, who is clearly ready to make another argument and Luther finds the fear growing inside of him at an alarming rate. Luther stands up abruptly, his chair toppling over behind him.

“(Y/N), you could have died.” Luther says, now growing concerned regarding your apparent lack of concern for your well-being. The fear and panic spreading through his body seems ice-cold and the thought that Diego could have brought your lifeless corpse back to the Academy instead is rooting him to his now standing position. You look up at him.

“Okay, well I didn’t. I’m fine and here to live another day. Nothing worse then any thing you guys have done, and besides-”

“(Y/N), I could have lost you!” Luther yells, surprising all three of you. You look up at him. “After losing Ben, after losing Five, after everything that’s happened-” Luther goes quiet, choking on words he isn’t sure he means. I’m in love with you. I can’t do this without you. “I can’t lose you too.” His voice is soft and you look away from him, biting your lip.

“I’m sorry, okay? My co-worker called out, I didn’t think anything would happen. I've walked home a million times after closing, it’s never been an issue. I thought I had the situation under control.” You refuse to make eye contact with either boy, glaring a hole into the table. The silence remains for a while longer and Diego eventually excuses himself, saying you’ll finish the discussion in the morning. Mom put your tea down on the table, and you startle, seemingly forgetting the AI was still there. She leaves you and Luther alone in the kitchen with a gentle smile. Your hands are still trembling as your hands wrap around the cup, and Luther almost takes one of them in his own, but decides against it.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” He says, softly. You look over at him, if for only a moment. He needs to start sorting of these thoughts of love he has towards you, but for right now, he’s just glad you’re still with him.

iii. the time Diego teases him

A month or so passes between that night and the next time Luther is forced to confront his foreign feelings for you. It’s early one morning and the eldest Hargreeves boys are sitting in a comfortable silence as Grace walks around the kitchen making breakfast. Diego is the first to break the silence. “So, Luther,” he begins, a shit-eating smirk upon his face, not unlike the one Ben wore the day you and Luther met. Luther stiffens, concerned about whatever is about to come out of his brother’s mouth. As good as their relationship has been since Texas, Luther can’t help but feel like there will always be a sort of unspoken tension between the two of them that will never truly go away, residual feelings of competition leftover from their childhood. “When are you going to tell her?” Luther stares at Diego, utterly confused about what the boy might be asking.

“Tell who what?” Luther asks, which in response, prompts Diego to roll his eyes.

“Don’t play dumb. I see how you look at her. When are you going to tell her?” Diego says, smirking. “C’mon, you can tell me. This is a safe space.”

“Tell who- Allison?” Luther blurts the name out, the only girl he can think of that Diego might be referring too. Diego startles at the name-drop of their sister.

“What- no, not Allison!” Diego splutters. “Jeez, you really have no idea who I’m talking about, do you?” Luther shakes his head. “I’m talking about (Y/N).” Luther relaxes at the sound of your name and sinks back into his chair, but he’s still concerned about what Diego thinks he needs to tell you.

“What am I supposed to be telling her?” Luther asks to which Diego shoots him a look. Luther finally understands, at least, he thinks he does. “I’m not telling her about my... condition.” Luther says, the word feeling weird on his tongue. It’s an open secret the family never speaks about, sensing Luther’s insecurities.

“That’s not- she doesn’t know?!” Diego asks, incredulously.

“Not unless one of you told her.” Luther says, anger growing in him at the thought of one of his siblings going behind his back and telling you, his closest friend, his deepest secret and biggest insecurity. He doesn’t need you to look at him the way his siblings do, with pity.

“Luther- Luther you have to tell her.” Diego says, his voice firm. “She has a right to know.” Luther casts a dark look at his younger brother.

“Right to know what? Right to know how Dad mutilated my body?! Right to know that no one will ever love me because of it?!” Luther asks, the anger (and fear) seeping into his tone. Diego sits back in his chair, not breaking eye contact with the blond boy. The quiet in the kitchen settles as Grace put the plates down in front of them but unlike before, this one isn’t comfortable. It’s awkward and there’s strong emotion radiating off of the two boys.

“Thanks, Mom.” Diego says quietly, but Luther doesn’t say anything, not trusting his voice. “I was actually going to ask when you were going to tell the poor girl you’re in love with her.” Diego says, beginning to cut up the pancake on his plate. Luther startles and his eyes widen, looking back up from his food to face Diego.

“I don’t-” Now it’s Luthers turn to splutter through his words, struggling to form a cohesive sentence.

“You do, Luther, you sooo do.” Diego responds, the shit-eating grin returning to his face. Luther just stares at Diego. “I see the way you look at her. The way you drop everything to be near her, the stupid little smile you get whenever someone talks about her or she comes over, I see it.” Luther shrugs, feeling like he’s wading through concrete, trying to form a sentence in response to Diego’s too accurate statement.

“She’s our best friend.” Luther says, shrugging with a fake nonchalant attitude. The word friend feels foreign ion his tongue and wishes he could use something else that would more accurately describe his feelings for you.

“Sure, but I’d be concerned if Ben started looking at her the way you do.” Luther stares at Diego, the confusion returning. “Your face lights up whenever you see her.” Luther remains dumbfounded and quiet, sensing Diego had a point he wanted to get to. “I’m not the only one who thinks it either. We all see it. Sure, she’s our best friend and like a sister to us, but you, you’re in love with the girl.” Diego must take Luther’s silence as a reason to continue, because Diego puts his fork down and looks at Luther seriously. “I only bring all of this up because- well, if you don’t tell her soon, she won’t- won't stick around forever.”

At Diego’s words, it feels as if someone has dropped a rock in Luther’s stomach and he thinks he might be sick. The thought of you leaving- “She’s a patient person, but she’s not going to wait forever for you to figure out your feelings. So if you are in love with her, and I know that you are, you need to tell her- tell her everything.” Diego stresses the last word and Luther gathers that he means his condition as well. Luther wants to shove his plate away, walk away from Diego, and lay in his bed for the rest of the day, pretending that he hadn’t been forced to confront these feelings he isn’t ready to have for you.

Instead he mumbles out a “She’ll hate me.” Diego sighs.

“She won't hate you. I’m pretty sure she feels the same way but you’d have to ask Vanya or Ben for that answer, Lord knows she confides in them more than me.” Luther looks back up at Diego. “Besides, even if she doesn’t feel the same way, she won’t hate you.”

“But it will change things.”

“Sometimes change can be a good thing.”

“Not in this family.” Luther mutters as Five makes an appearance, the blue light startling Diego. The conversation gets left there but Luther can’t help but mull over Diego’s words, wondering if he’s right.

iiii. the time you have a fight

You and Luther’s friendship has been struggling, he knows it just as well as you do. Ever since his conversation with Diego, Luther has been pulling into himself, retreating further and further away from you. He’s not being a good friend, he knows that, and you deserve better, and he knows that too. Still, he can’t help but feel like the only way he’ll get over his feelings is by not being around, positive he won’t ever tell you that he thinks he might be in love with you. He knows there’s no way you're in love with him too. He’s ended up at your apartment tonight, returning a book Five had borrowed. Why he couldn’t return it himself, he wasn’t sure but Five had told he owed him one after “saving his sorry ass through two apocalypses”. Now that he was here though, he thinks it was just a ploy to get him here. Even still, when you invite him in, he can’t bring himself to say no to you. The pair of you stand in the kitchen in total quiet, the distance between the too of you feeling much more like a gaping chasm than the four feet. “What did I do?” You ask, arms folded across your chest, almost like your protecting yourself from him. Luther looks up at you. “Did I do something wrong?” A pause. “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.” He says quickly, clearly too fast for your liking. You sigh and let your arms drop, turning away from him to put the hot water from the kettle into the two mugs in front of you.

“You do Luther. I can see it. You don’t come over anymore, you hardly speak to me when I’m around, I did something and now you’re mad at me.” Luther remains silent, something that seems to be occurring more and more lately. “If you hate me, if you want to end our friendship, that’s fine. I’ll let you go, but at least have the decency to tell me why.” Your voice trembles on the last word and Luther is kicking himself as he struggled to find words to assure that it’s not you, it’s him. However, his tongue feels heavy and his mouth feels like it’s full of cotton and his mind is blank. He couldn’t very well tell you the truth, he’d lose you for sure, but it looks like he’s losing you anyway. You must take his silence as reason to keep pushing. “If this is about- your condition-” your voice drops on those two words and Luther stands up abruptly.

“How do you know about that?!” He seethes. You glance up at him from where you’re staring intently at the tea steeping below you on the counter, but only briefly.

“Allison told me. Months ago.” You responded, voice quiet. He’s in the process of figuring out all the different colorful things he’s going to say to Allison upon his return at the Academy, when you speak again. “Why didn’t you tell me Luther? I’m your best friend.” There’s that word again. Friend. The word has caused so much stress, frustration, and confusion in his life and now he’s going to lose you over it too.

“You’d hate me.” You look up at him.

“I could never ha-” He interrupts you, the panic and fear and anger sliding down his spine.

“Or worse, you’d look at me like everybody else does, with pity in their eyes.” He spits the words out with so much venom, he surprises himself. It clearly surprises you as well.

“Is that what you really think?” You finally dare to make eye contact with him for the first time the whole night and your voice is cold. He shrugs, not knowing what to say. “After all this time, after everything, that’s all you think of me?” Luther is, once again, at a loss of words and he feels the panic crawling up his throat that if he doesn’t say something soon, it’s not going to be pretty. You take his silence as apparent confirmation because the words you utter next is ones he never wanted to hear.

“Get out.”

He throws the front door of the Academy open and spots Vanya coming down the stairs. They make eye contact and she shrinks back, feeling the anger radiating off of him. A pang goes through his chest, remembering the last time he felt this angry. “Where’s Allison?” He asks and Vanya nods her head towards the kitchen. He heads there and he can feel Vanya following behind him. His siblings are sitting around, clearly laughing at some sort joke Klaus has just finished telling. The room falls silent as they look over to a glowering Luther and Vanya who is shrinking behind him in the doorway. Luther’s eyes settle on Allison, who is conveniently, the furthest away from him. “What gives you the right to tell her about what Dad did?” His voice is low and and it’s Diego who understands first.

“Oh, shit.” Diego mutters. He glances over at Ben, who looks at Klaus, who looks to Vanya.

“Maybe we should...” Klaus says, as Diego and Ben move to stand up.

“Sit down.” Luther says, and the three resume their position as Vanya moves behind them. Allison is looking at the table, avoiding looking at him. Five’s head swings between Luther and the rest of the siblings.

“Did I miss something?” He asks, finally settling on Vanya and Diego. Diego shrugs.

“Unless, you’ve been missing the heart eyes Luther makes every time (Y/N) comes around, you’re as up to speed as the rest of us.” Five snorts. Luther lets Diego’s comment slide because the only thing he can feel is the sheer betrayal he feels at Allison’s actions. Before Five can formulate a response, Luther finds himself talking.

“What the hell, Allison!?” The girl finally makes eye contact with him. “After everything you and I have been through, what gives you the right to tell her that?! You knew, better than anyone, how I felt about that.” Allison sighs and looks away from him.

“I’m sorry, okay? I thought she already knew, I promise. I wouldn’t intentionally tell her that if I hadn’t thought she already knew.” Luther softens, but only a little.

“So I didn’t get a choice in the matter?! To tell the girl that I love-” His voice stops on the word, realizing what he’s just said out loud. Five’s eyes narrow and Klaus raises his eyebrows. No one else seems to be phased though, leading him to believe there’s been one too many conversations about him behind his back. Figures they’d leave Klaus and his big mouth and Five’s smart mouth out of it.

“Like I said, I thought she knew. Why didn’t you tell her?”

“I didn’t get a chance! You got to her months before I could!” Luther exclaims, getting defensive once again. He’d rather not think about the consequences of his words just yet.

“Wait, hold on. She’s known this for months?” Ben intervenes. Allison nods.

“Four.” She confirmed.

“Four months and she didn’t say anything?” Ben asks, chuckling to himself a little bit.

“This isn’t funny.” Luther deadpans, now staring down Ben.

“It is, just a little.” Ben said, his laughter growing. It seems to click for Vanya, who joins in on Ben’s laughter. “Why’d you never tell her Luther?” He asks, still struggling to hold in his chuckles.

“I- I didn't want her to hate me, or- or think of me differently.” Luther said quietly.

“Well that answers that then.” Vanya says. The siblings all look over to her and she shrinks back from the sudden attention. “Well, I’m just saying, if she’s known for four months, and she hasn’t said anything, and nothing’s changed, I’d say the answer’s pretty obvious.” It’s Klaus who understands next and his smirk grows.

“In fact, one might say, to know for four months and to not say anything means there’s something more.” He says, using the voice he must’ve used when he was preaching or whatever the hell he did with his cult in the 60′s.

“Where you going with this Klaus?” Diego asks. Its Allison who joins in next, a grin growing on her face.

“Well aside from our brother’s new confession of undying love for the poor girl, she must feel the same to know for four months and never say anything.”

“To let nothing change in hopes that one day you’d feel the same way for her.” Five finishes, realization dawning on his face.

“Well, it doesn’t matter because she’s never gonna speak to me again.” Luther says, and turns from his siblings, heading back up to his room. So, he’s pretty sure he’s in love with you. So what, if it just means losing you? He’d go through a million apocalypses, swallow his feelings for you a hundred times, if it meant you’d still be in his life.

v. the time you drop everything to be there for him

It’s been a week since you’ve spoken to Luther. Klaus and Ben keep telling him he should talk to you, to fix things, but if you can go this long without talking to him, he knows that you’re better off. You don’t need him in your life messing things up and making it harder for you. Unfortunately, late one night, fate makes the decision for him. It’s storming out and Luther hates the sounds of thunder. His heart is racing as he lays in his too small bed, arms clutching his comforter. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to drown out the images in his brain as he searches for sleep again. His nightmare keeps replaying over in his mind, the image of you and his siblings lifeless on the ground. There was so much blood. He knows it’s just a nightmare, it has to be, but fear is crawling up his throat and he thinks he might be sick. What if that was real? What if it was some suppressed memory, and everyone he’s ever cared about is just- gone? His eyes fly open as he fumbles for his phone. He still isn't really sure how to use it but he knows well enough to call you. Pleasepickuppleasepickuppleasepicku-

“H-hello?” The voice on the other line sounds groggy and somehow through his sheer panic, he feels a pang of guilt for waking you up. His mind is racing and he still can't breathe but he can't deny the relief he feels hearing your sleepy voice. “Luther? You there?”

“Y-yeah, I’m here.” He stutters.

“Is everything okay? It’s 3 in the morning.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He can’t help the way his voice shakes, clearly giving away the reality. “I just... just needed to hear your voice, s’all.” His heart is slowing down the longer you’re on the phone with him.

“Do you want me to come over?” As much as he wants to say yes, he shakes his head, forgetting you can’t see him. He clears his throat.

“No- no, I’ll be okay. Just a nightmare.”

“I’m coming over. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?” He can hear rustling in the background, visualizing you pulling your shoes on and grabbing your keys.

“You- you don’t have to do that.” He says, even though he wants nothing more than to pull you close to him and maybe fall asleep with you in his arms.

“Just stay on the phone with me okay Luther? I’ll be there in ten.”

It’s actually 7 minutes before you’re opening the door to the Academy and rushing in. Luther’s sitting on the stairs waiting for you. He had to get out of his room but he didn’t want to go too far, not wanting to miss your arrival. The light in the foyer is on and you slowly walk towards where he’s seated. You crouch down, so that you can make eye contact with the man. He looks up at you and he realizes how much he misses you, how much he yearns to be around you. “You okay?” You ask softly. He shakes his head, finally allowing himself to be vulnerable with you. “What can I do for you?” He shrugs, still not wanting to voice how much he just wants to hold you in his arms. “C’mon, let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll make tea.” He follows you wordlessly. He sits in silence as he watches you fill the kettle and put it on the burner. You come around behind him and reach down, sliding your arms around his neck. It takes him a minute to realize you’re hugging him around his larger frame. He takes your hand and squeezes it. All too soon, the kettle starts whistling and he reluctantly lets you go. You put the hot water into two mugs and put the teabags in, letting it steep as you set the mugs down in front of the two of you.

“Thank you.” He says, quietly. You nod.

“Of course.” You say as you take the seat next to him. “I’m always gonna be here for you, even when I’m mad at you.” He looks over at you, thoughts being brought back to your fight, if you could even call it that. “I’m not mad at you, by the way. I was upset that you felt like you couldn’t trust me, but I know that’s something that-” You draw in a breath. “Something that takes a while to build.”

“I do. I do trust you.” He says firmly. “I trust you more than I trust anyone else.” He says honestly. “I was just- just scared.” You scoot your chair closer to his until your knees are touching and you can lean your head on his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, Luther. I promise.” He looks down at you as the truth finally settles comfortably in his heart for the first time. He’s in love with his best friend and he’s okay with it. He thinks that just maybe- you feel the same way.

+ the one time he actually does something about it.

Luther wakes up alone the next morning. Disappointment settles in his chest, hoping you’d still be there. He gets up however, and goes about his day. He starts to worry though, as the day goes by, and he still hasn’t heard a word from you. He thinks that maybe last night had been out of pity, or some sort of obligation to his siblings. After dinner though, he gets a text from you, asking if he wants to come over. It doesn’t say what or why, but he misses you and he thinks he’s finally ready to tell you the truth, no matter what you might say in return. In fact, for the first time in a while, he’s starting to let himself hope, a feeling that’s a bit too foreign to him. He hopes you feel the same way about him. That you’re in love with him too. He agrees, texting you that he’d be over soon. He clear his throat, standing up from the table, and put his plate in the sink, ignoring the questioning look Five shoots him. He walks to your apartment, a dopey smile on his face. He makes it to your building and he lets himself in, watching how you turn to face him from the hallway. You give him a soft smile.

“Sorry about leaving this morning without saying anything. My co-worker called out so I had to cover their opening shift and I didn’t want to wake you because you looked really peaceful so...” You trail off, a light blush forming on your cheeks. He shook his head.

“It’s okay.” He says. The two of you stand there, just looking at each other. You startle finally.

“OH! I was wondering if you wanted to make these cookies with me? My Dad was finally able to get his hands on some of my Grandma’s recipes and I wanted to try one out?” He nods, smiling at the excitement lighting up your face. Your grandma had passed when you were little and it had been a struggle to get the family recipes, your family getting left out of a lot of the division of property. You had once told him that you were really only connected with her through baking. He always told you she’d be proud of you and your baking. You’d always blush and look away. He nodded, remembering he was going to need to use his words if he was going to hope to have the nerves to tell you that he was in love with you.

“Sure.” He says, moving to your kitchen. You follow him and pull the recipe up on your container as you both pull the ingredients out of their designated areas. The two of you spend so much time together that he knows his way around the kitchen like it’s the one at the Academy and the two of have baking together down to a science. You turn to music on, having made a playlist specifically for the dance parties that would happen while you’d wait for your pastry or dessert to cook. As the cookies bake in the oven, he watches with a smile as you dance around the kitchen, using the wooden spoon as a microphone. He isn’t planning it but-

“I’m in love with you.” Your eyes widen as you slowly come to a stop. The music still playing in the background feels unnatural given what was just said and you must agree because you slowly reach over to the computer, pausing it. You reach back and look at him, eyes still wide in what he thinks is shock. He’s starting to panic now, as you just stand there, mouth open. “It- it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way.” God dammit, this is why he didn’t hope for things anymore. Damn his siblings for letting him think you might feel the same way. “It doesn’t have to change anything. I understand. I just wanted you to know.” He says, quietly. “I’m sorry, I’ll go.” He turns to leave, feeling defeated. Fate is a cruel temptress, he’s officially decided.

“Luther- Luther wait.” You say, arm shooting out to grab his. You pull him back around to face you and he turns to see you unusually close to him. “Sorry, sorry, I panicked and froze.” You’re tumbling through your words, trying to spit them out, hardly breathing between them. He grows concerned at your state and he thinks you’re still worried about him feeling bad.

“Seriously, (Y/N), it’s fine-” You cut him off.

“No, no it’s not.” His heart sinks, but only for a minute because suddenly you’re talking again. “I’m in love with you too Luther. I have been for a while. I just never thought you’d feel the same way and I-” Your words stop as you look up to see you two are quite close together and all he wants to do is lean down and-

“Can I kiss you?” The words slip out before he can stop them but he’s not going to take them back. Not this time. You nod, and close the gap between the two of you. It’s short and sweet, just like you. The oven beeps, unfortunately, interrupting the moment.

“Oh, shit.” You mumble. “I love you Luther, but if I burn these cookies, I’m gonna be pissed.” He chuckles, loving how casually that word slips out of your mouth. He lets go of your waist, where his hands had been resting. You pull the cookies out of the oven and standing back from them, looking down at them proudly. He walks over to you and pulls you close to his chest and you sigh contentedly. “I could hold you like this forever.” He says, fingers running through your hair. You hum, wrapping your arms around him under his coat.

“I wouldn't mind it if you did.” You respond softly. Luther looks down at you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He finally got the girl.

#luther hargreeves #luther hargreeeves imagines #luther hargreeves imagine #luther hargreeves fic

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secondpubertyscene · 3 years

Text

8.14.21

This year has been one of major change. In Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower, there’s this quote, “God is Change. Beware: God exists to shape and be shaped,” and I think for the first time since reading it, I get what was being said. While I subscribe to the idea that there is a higher power of some kind, I also believe that we (as in, us as individuals) have great power as well. That power lies in our ability to change, to grow, to persevere. This year has been one of major change, and we really have to talk about it.

It is easy to look at this last year and think, “Well, that fucking sucked” because frankly, it did indeed fucking suck. I could write you a list of things that brought me great pain this year, unbelievable, undeniable, unrelenting pain that still lingers now. But, see, the beauty of it all is that none of that pain happens in a vacuum. Along with the pain, I’ve come through it all with more wisdom, more compassion, more empathy, more gratitude, more peace, more love, and more confidence. I’d like to share how those things all are connected, but first I would like to acknowledge something.

While I don’t know for sure if this is just an American thing, it does seem very clear that Americans aren’t fantastic at processing grief, death, and pain collectively. We often are encouraged to suck it up, to shut up about it, to not make others uncomfortable with our tears and trauma. I believe this is in large part due to the fact that American Exceptionalism doesn’t quite allow us to acknowledge when our systems have failed us or when we are suffering in the “greatest country in the world.” I don’t intend on participating in that toxic positivity or to dismiss the seriousness of the year past. I simply intend on acknowledging the nuances of my experiences, the complexity of it all. Now, let’s begin.

Without recounting every moment in large detail (in part because that would be far too much and also because I don’t need to relieve my traumas today), the events of the last year have been as follows: 1) COVID hit, 2) I had a severe emotional breakdown that resulted in a short stay at the hospital, 3) my grandma passed away, 4) I broke up with my partner of a year, 5) I was officially diagnosed with adult ADHD (inattentive), 6) I got into a PhD program for sociology (fully-funded), and 7) I moved to Ohio (two weeks ago now). So much happened in what feels like a blink of an eye. When you’re a kid, you think a year lasts forever. Now, a year feels like a couple months!

Anyhow, all of these things had super intense negative impacts on my life and most of them had super intense positive impacts on my life. Let’s talk about how. I won’t say that COVID had any “positive” impact on my life, because it’s still currently making things difficult and it is still destroying lives (full worlds) every day. The emotional breakdown that I experienced shortly after COVID began, however, was the impetus for some of the greatest change I would ever make in my life. It began with new therapy, medication for the first time ever to treat my mental illnesses, and a new relationship with boundaries.

Out of this breakdown, I came to realize a few things. 1) I wasn’t really feeling most of my life up until that point. That isn’t to say that I didn’t feel at all or that I wasn’t aware of my feelings all the time, but to say that most of the time, I numbed everything out that was too hard to bear. I didn’t cry, I didn’t write, I didn’t even take the time to try to identify exactly what emotions I did feel. I just lived through it and waited until I felt better. Or, I would breakdown with rage and then feel better. Therapy, especially the group therapy I participated in for a couple weeks after leaving the hospital, changed that in huge ways for me.

Because I was able to sit in my pain, in my discomfort, I was able to actually work through some of my issues. I began to identify the areas in my life that made me genuinely unhappy and began to grant myself permission to feel disappointment. I granted myself the permission to expect more, to want more. I granted myself the permission to set boundaries without guilt or shame. I granted myself freedom. It is an ongoing journey of mistakes and back-peddling and trying again, but it is mine and I am proud of it. Had I not had that breakdown, I don’t know that I would be where I am now.

My grandma dying is one of the most painful things I’ve experienced and honestly, I haven’t dealt with it all the way yet. I didn’t get to say goodbye to her in person, I still am battling the feelings of guilt despite knowing that there likely was nothing I could have done, and my chest still feels heavy thinking about her. Even as I write this, I feel that pain. I know she is not truly gone and that she lives within me, but oh, I do miss her physical presence. The nagging, the phone calls, the hugs, the cooking, her soft hair and beautiful hands. I miss her. Because of her, though, I have been able to rehabilitate another relationship in my life. The relationship I share with my mother.

My mother is a lot of things, but for whatever reason I continually forgot that she too is a victim of hardship brought on by nothing but sheer luck. In this last year, she lost her mother, the man that she loved, multiple cousins, friends that went back to childhood, and who knows who else. She suffered a lot this year and she has suffered a lot over the course of her 61 years of life overall. For the first time, I have been able to really acknowledge her as a full being with a complex history and understand her as a person, rather than just as a parent. I’ve set new boundaries with her as a result, boundaries that have completely change the dynamic of our relationship and will continue to do so as we both learn more about each other. Gone are the days where she relies solely on me for emotional support or financial support. Gone are the days where she feels comfortable talking down to me and then expecting any kind of favors from me. She understands and respects that I am an adult, that I am independent, and that I can terminate our relationship should it get to a point where I feel unsafe again. While this might sound like a threat or even negative, it is in fact quite the contrary.

We now share the belief that I deserve better from her and that my continued relationship with her is founded upon our mutual growth. That’s a beautiful thing that arose from us being pulled together by the loss of someone we both loved more than we maybe even loved ourselves. Thankfully, though, I have come to love myself more than anyone else on this planet. This newfound self-love and respect resulted in the severing of my relationship with my partner.

I won’t pretend like my ex was this horrible person because she wasn’t. She was kind, loving, intelligent, hilarious, unique, complex, and so many other amazing things. I still love her with all of my heart and have thought about her every single day since we broke up. It is not for lack of love that our relationship came to a close. The issue was that I needed more than what she could give. I needed someone who could really sit in my shit with me without invalidating my feelings jokingly because they didn’t know what else to say. I needed someone who could make me feel safe and secure, not fearful and insecure. I needed someone who understood boundaries as openings for futures, not closed doors. I needed someone who could show up for me the way I showed up for them, even when they hurt me, even when they lied out of fear. She wasn’t able to do that. She wasn’t able to stick beside me during the worst days of my life. She wasn’t able to see me beyond our relationship. When my grandma passed and our relationship was on the rocks, she made it about us. She didn’t stop pestering me about our relationship for long enough to give me support on losing someone who meant the world to me. I couldn’t trust her after that and I also realized, I wasn’t required to.

Boundaries in that relationship weren’t healthy. I felt unseen, unprotected, and sometimes even unloved. While I am sure that she has grown even more since we have parted, the reality is that when I ended things, I knew that doing so was the most fair thing I could do for the both of us. This is because I deserve someone who sees my value inherently. I deserve someone who takes the time to understand me, to love me, to see me. Not just see me and them together, but me as an individual separate from them. More importantly, I needed to be able to ask for those things without feeling guilty or bad. As of now, I still don’t know that she sees me as me, as a singular person, and maybe she never will. That is okay. I still love her anyway. I just love me more now. As a part of that love I’ve grown for myself, I also now have sought out more help for myself. This seeking of resources led me to realizing that I was ADHD and helped me change my life.

Being diagnosed with ADHD at 21 felt absolutely ridiculous. How could I be ADHD when I can sit still most of the time and have a pretty decent amount of impulse control? The answers came from my psychiatrist, breaking down the stereotypical understanding of ADHD and allowing me to find myself within the diagnosis. Finding the right combination of medication has been difficult, but what hasn’t been hard at all is finding more resources that help me manage my symptoms. It’s because of some of these resources that I am able to sit here and write this.

A huge part of ADHD is this perfectionist mentality that makes it nearly impossible to start or complete some tasks. Every time I sat down to write in the past, I told myself that I absolutely had to write every single day, once a day, or I should just not do it. When it came to this blog especially, I had so much shame when I failed to post for a long time or had a lull, that I would either consider deleting the whole thing to start over, or just never posting again. I realize now that those were just cop outs for my brain, that I can write as little or as much as I want because it is for ME. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it doesn’t have to be anything but what I need it to be. Waiting for perfection would have me waiting forever because it’s simply not how my brain works. Accepting that is a large part of how I got into my PhD program.

I’m not going to lie. I am still trying to figure out all of the feelings I have regarding this PhD program. I am shocked that I got in, shocked that I got full-funding, shocked that I am now in Ohio, shocked that I am in my own apartment, and overall shocked that I’ve made it this far in general. While I do not believe that I am stupid or not capable of greatness, I am realizing that I’ve always seen myself pursuing something more straightforward. When I was younger, I had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted to do even as those things changed. I knew what was required of me, I knew what I would ultimately do, and I took refuge in that. Doctors go to medical school. Chefs go to culinary school. Forensic anthropologists get masters degrees and do field work. It felt clear cut, straightforward, safe. This is uncharted territory. What do you do post PhD? What do you do DURING PhD years? I suppose I’ll just have to find out!

Anyhow, this year has been intense. Change is always present in our lives and sometimes it brings with gifts that we can only receive when we’re healed enough to take them. I’m hoping to keep healing, keep growing, keep loving, and keep going. I’m learning so much about myself and about the world. I’m loving myself more than I have in the past. I am incredibly proud of where I am. And I’m not done yet.

#personal blog #vent blog #black ftm #black transman #black tpoc #black mental health #personal writing blog #sociology #sociology phd program #covid #grief

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