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dameronology · 3 years

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rescuer {din djarin}

summary: din djarin rescued you - and then you rescued him {for @drinksomecoco !! i hope u enjoy}

warnings: brief mentions of torture, swearing

this is like....4k words?? it got a little out of hand, i won't lie to u.

- jazz xx

It wasn’t often that The Mandalorian found himself becoming attached to bounties.

Twice. He’d done it twice.

The first time, he swore to himself that it would be the last. Adopting his little green surrogate...frog? Son?

Okay, adopting his little green surrogate Grogu had brought enough tension into his life. It had gotten him back onto the radars of both the Empire and the New Republic; thrown him into some weird form of fatherhood that he wasn’t quite ready for and tipped his entire way of life upside down. Despite all that, he never stopped to question if all the exhaustion was more trouble than it was worth, because he loved his kid. Completely and entirely in ways that no parenting book or fairytale could ever quite describe. It was an intense form of love and attachment - and Din knew it was going to hurt when he would eventually have to return the Child to his own people. That was a little far off though, because he couldn’t investigate any further til he had the means to do so. Money and resources weren’t limitless and even The Mandalorian had to find means to an end.

Going back to the Bounty Hunter’s Guild wasn’t ideal, especially not with the kid in tow - but did he have any other way? Din didn’t know any other way of life, let alone another way of earning money. Besides, he figured it would only be a quick few months. A couple jobs here and there until he had enough in savings to travel far enough to find where Grogu really came from.

But it was two bounties; two bounties that he would find himself becoming attached to. Grogu was the only one.

It was through that decision to return to the Guild that Din Djarin would find himself stumbling across the next one. He was offered five pucks - the first four were easy. Standard jobs, really. Runaway criminals and Imps who had crossed people so many times that trying to work out their loyalty was head-ache inducing. He found them all in a matter of days, really. They were good at hiding but it didn’t count for much when The Mandalorian was good at finding.

Then there was you; the fifth puck. The one he thought was going to be the easiest.

Finding you wasn’t a problem. Tucked away in a corner of rural Tatooine - maybe twenty, twenty five minutes shy of Mos Eisley - you were hiding in plain sight. It would have been enough to protect you from anyone else but Din was an unrelenting expert in finding those who didn’t want to be found.

He never quite knew what to expect when he closed in on a bounty. Sometimes they ran and sometimes they hid. A few of them had tried to appeal to his humanity; to try and connect with the man they hoped was behind the mask. Because aside from the husky voice that occasionally escaped the helmet, there was no proof that The Mandalorian was anything other than a very convincing droid. That was, until, someone would lay a hand on his son or ship and suddenly, a wave of pure human rage would burst out from beneath the beskar.

You couldn’t have hidden from him or run away, even if you wanted to. Not because you were scared, but because you were chained up; wrists and ankles in shackles, keeping you tied to the walls of a filthy docking bay. From the sand piled around your feet, it was clear that you had tried to kick up a fuss at some point.

But based on the way that you looked at him - with tired eyes and a hopeless expression - that made Din realise: you’d lost the will to fight. He knew that you weren’t going to wriggle away or try to engage in combat.

“Are you…” The Mandalorian trailed off. “Are you alone?”

“Probably,” your eyes flicked up from the ground, unknowingly capturing his gaze. “I think I’ve been left for dead.”

He sighed. “I’m looking for a...Kan Durant. Is he here?”

“No,” you shot back. “He left me here for dead about a week ago. Probably knew that a bounty hunter was going to come after him at some point.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“I’m chained up,” you said. “Isn’t the answer to your question a little axiomatic?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But if you know anything, it might be helpful.”

“Try Corellia,” you muttered.

Corellia. That was...doable. Not too far and not too hard to search. That would be his fifth and final puck and then Din could set off for the sunset in search of his kid’s home planet. That’s what this whole thing had been about.

But...you. You’d been left for dead - and based on the bruises around your eyes and on your limbs, that was the least of what you’d gone through recently. What kind of man would it make him if he left you? A fucking awful one, obviously, but what was he supposed to do?

Din slowly leant down, pulling a thin tool from his belt. He fiddled around with your cuffs for a moment, until there was a low hiss. They fell from your hands and onto the sandy ground - he expected you to get up, or to run, or do anything but sit there and stare at him with gaunt eyes. Maybe it was foolish of him to think that merely freeing you of your restraints was doing his part for the greater good.

“Is there anywhere around here where you can go?” he asked. “An inn? A cantina?”

You snorted. “No. I’ll die.”

“You can get food and medicine out there.”

“Mos Eisley is swarming with Durant’s men,” you explained. “The minute I step foot in any town or port here, they’ll know.”

Maybe being with Grogu had softened him, or maybe The Mandalorian genuinely couldn’t find it himself to leave you. But, he found himself doing the unthinkable: sticking his hand out to you, lifting you up, and leading you out of the docking bay and back towards his ship. He didn’t know what he was going to do or how he was going to do it but really, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. His main focus had been on keeping you alive until you were within the safety of the Crest.

You stumbled slightly when he put you down, tripping and falling towards the control panel to shut the loading bay doors. At least you were intuitive.

With that, you fell back to the ground. It was becoming clearer and clearer that you were in a bit of a state - how long did you say it had been? A week since Durant had left - so that was at least seven days without proper food or water. It was a miracle you were alive. Din had got there just in time.

“Why are you helping me?” you asked. “What do you want?”

He glanced over in your direction. “I don’t want anything.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” you shot back.

“I wasn’t going to leave you there,” Din replied. He paused for a moment, before turning to face you. “I’ve heard Durant’s name before. I know what he does to people.”

“Aren’t you more worried about finding him and getting the bounty?” you pushed.

Truth be told, Din wasn’t that bothered. He had enough money from the last four pucks to get him where he needed to be. The fifth had just been a little extra, so he had an easier time letting go of it. He certainly wasn’t the only hunter going after Durant’s ass and worst case scenario, Karga would give him a little bit of shit for not completing the job. All of that was a lot more manageable than living with the guilt of leaving you in the dark to die.

“Someone else will get him. I’m sure.” Din muttered. He reached for a ration pack stored away on a shelf and tossed it in your direction. “You should eat this. I’ll get us in the air and find some bacta-”

“- you really don’t need to,” you cut him off.

“Eat,” he pushed again. “You’re weak. You’ll need it.”

Over the next few days, you would come to find that forceful-but-caring demands were The Mandalorian’s main language.

He didn’t talk much - or at all really. He didn’t need to, not when you kept to yourself on the lower deck of the ship whilst he dealt with everything else. He didn’t seem to mind that you weren’t helping; after all, you’d been in a weak state when Din had found you and standing up had been hard, let alone maneuvering around the flying hunk of metal. You were beginning to feel a little more spry, thanks to the food, water and bactaspray. The combination was hardly an elixir of life but you’d found yourself feeling a little more human.

Sleep was the hard one. A combination of confusion - at the situation, at Din, at where you were going - and nightmares made it hard. Every time you closed your eyes, you found yourself hurtling back in time to when Durant had first captured you. You’d been a test dummy for all his weapons and experiments and really, you were just lucky to be alive and in one piece. It didn’t count for much though, not when you couldn’t get a single fucking second of shut eye.

You would have been a fool to think that Din hadn’t picked up on it.

He was observational by nature and even more so by craft. A man who was constantly looking over his shoulder and straight ahead; a warrior who had been raised to keep a weapon by his side at all times. Of course he was going to notice your insomnia, and the way your eyes seemed even more sunken and dull than when he’d first found you.

You were sitting in the hull when he approached you. Not a lot had been said, other than the occasional eat this or put this on your bruises. Again - all a little forceful, but with a sense of genuinity behind the words. You still had a hard time believing that he was legitimately just a man who wanted to help you.

“I find that noise helps.”

You glanced up at him. “I’m sorry?”

He cleared his throat. “When I can’t sleep, and when I have nightmares, I find that being in a room with white noise helps distract my brain.”

“Oh, right,” you gave him a small nod. “I s’pose it is pretty quiet down here.”

“It’s noisier up there in the cockpit,” he replied. “We’re going to be in hyperspace for a while so if you want to get some sleep, I’ll stay down here.”

“Thank you.”

For the first time in days, you finally showed a glimmer of emotion. It was just a smile - and one he figured was a forced one - but still, it was a good sign.

Din’s eyes followed you as you stood up, heading for the ladder up to the cockpit. You stopped in front of it for a moment, palms wrapping around one of the rungs. At first, he thought you were just pondering, or taking a moment to rethink your actions, but then a light bulb went off in his head. You were too weak.

Moving slowly, The Mandalorian positioned himself behind you.

“Is it okay if I put them here?” he quietly asked, large, gloved hands hovering over the side of your hips.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied. “Thank you.”

With Din’s support, you were able to grab onto the hatch above and pull yourself up, boots hitting the ground of the cockpit. He followed you up, guiding you over to one of the pilot’s chairs. The lights of hyperspace were flashing by, illuminating the entire room in a white-gold glow. It felt odd to be up here after so many days of confining yourself just to the hull - forbidden, even with the invite from The Mandalorian himself.

“How did you know that I get nightmares?” you asked, turning around to face him.

The helmet tilted slightly. “I get them too.”

“I’m sorry,” you softly sighed. “Thank you again for your help.”

“It’s okay,” Din brushed it off as though it were nothing. “We have about four hours til our next stop. I’ll wake you up before we get there.”

“Is that where I get off?” you asked.

“No,” he firmly replied. “It’s not safe there either.”

You had more questions that you wanted to ask - now more than ever that he was finally talking - but you were far too exhausted to even try. Once you’d fallen back against the chair and been handed a blanket out of nowhere, the noise of the surrounding machines practically dragged you out of consciousness.

---

One question you had wanted to ask Din had been about the duration of your stay.

How long were you supposed to stay on board? How long did he want you there?

You were almost scared to ask, for fear of the answer. After all, you barely knew him. He could get up at any moment and demand that you left, and you wouldn’t have been able to argue. All of this - this looking after you, this roof over your head, this care - felt too good to be true. Like it was all part of some elaborate ruse.

But it was funny, because you were even more scared that it wasn’t. If Din - or The Mandalorian, as you knew him - was truly just a nice person with pure intentions, then that was about to be dangerous territory for you. The minute that you started trusting him, and the minute you started to see him as someone who could protect you, would spell trouble. You had never intended to become attached, but it was only natural. You hadn’t had a single person look out for you - not once in your life.

Every time he made you food, or helped you up into the cockpit, you felt yourself slipping that way. A six-foot pile of beskar should not have been a sign of comfort, but the helmet came to symbolise...something. You didn’t know what. Attachment, maybe? A little inkling of affection for whoever the hell was below those inches of steel?

A few weeks passed and the tension slowly began to falter. It was probably the proximity more than anything, but the time proved to you more than anything that Din was genuine. He was helping you because he wanted to - there was no personal gain for him, nor monetary. He actually, honestly just wanted to do good.

And doing good, he was. Whilst he still kept his distance, he looked after you. He made sure that you ate enough to recover from your periods of deprivation and once a day, he would clear out of the cockpit for you to get some rest. He still helped you up the ladder every time -and even when you told him you were strong enough, he still stood back and watched just to make sure.

Because, truthfully, The Mandalorian was beginning to see something in you. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what, but he was intrigued by the way you were slowly beginning to show him parts of yourself. Where your eyes had once been gaunt and lifeless, they now had a spark in them. You were quiet when you’d met, but now you spoke to the kid and you hummed to yourself. It was like the life that was sucked out of you was slowly being breathed back in, day by day and bit by bit.

“Do you wanna get some sleep?” Din asked you one day.

“Yeah, sure,” you glanced up at the Child, giving him a small smile. “When did you last sleep, Mando?”

Another helmet tilt. “I get enough sleep.”

“I don’t believe you,” you thinned your eyes at him.

The Mandalorian sighed slightly - normally, that would have been a sign to literally anyone else to drop it. But with you? Nope. You saw that as a sign of progress; that the little, tiny display of emotion meant you were beginning to chip past those godforsaken layers of beskar.

“I get nightmares about Durant,” you continued. “Every time I panic and wake up in a cold sweat, I remind myself that I’m safe, because I know that you and the kid are here.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “You can tell me anything and I promise I won’t judge you. You’ve never judged me.”

He pondered for a moment, before releasing another deep breath. “I can’t sleep alone.”

“Really?”

“Last time I did, I woke up and my parents were gone,” Din explained. “So I wait til the kid wants to go to sleep and I just go with him, so that I’m not alone.”

Your heart dropped a little at that - partially because he’d opened up to you, but also because the Child rarely ever slept. If Din only ever waited around for their exhaustion to coincide, it must have been months since he’d last got a decent night’s rest. It was the least he deserved.

Nodding, you stuck your hand out towards him. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna sleep and so are you,” you replied. “You need it and if I’ve done everything that you’ve instructed so far, I think I should have the same in return.”

Din didn’t want to admit it to himself at first.

It being multiple things: the fact you were helping him, the fact your presence on his ship had made the place seem better, the fact that his heart skipped a beat every time you brushed past him.

Bar his surrogate son, Din had never been close with anyone before. He’d never even slept in the same goddamn room as anyone else, even. That was a fucking mammoth step for him, but when you took his hand? It felt like a baby step. Just a tiny hop from A to B. Not a massive milestone, or a moment of personal progress. You had made it seem so simple.

Maybe that was it.

You never over-complicated anything. Your intentions were always clear and simple - there was no moral ambiguity, no moments where Din had to question whether or not he could well and truly trust you. He just knew. It was funny, because it was the exact same situation you’d had with him - questioning why he was helping you, trying to work out what he wanted. This whole time, Din had been helping you solely because he thought it was the right thing and it’s what you were doing for him too.

Din liked when you sat close to him. There was a little wave of warmth he felt every time you shuffled a bit nearer to him when you both crashed on the floor of the cockpit, and a tiny swarm of butterflies that flew through him when you stuck by his side in busy towns and cities. It was clear that you found comfort in him after so many years of going without it.

In turn, he found comfort in you. Not just in the way you unintentionally looked after him, but just...everything. Your presence had been a little odd on the Crest at first, but now it felt weird to be without it. Hearing you single quietly in the shower and have one-sided conversations with the Child filled a hole in his life that he hadn’t even realised had been there.

It was as though he’d had a missing puzzle piece his entire life; a gap between all the interconnected parts that hadn’t been integral, but certainly inconvenient. And now that it was filled, he could take a step back and finally look at the bigger picture that had been forming. All the pieces were finally there - you and the kid and whatever odd family unit that made you - and the galaxy didn’t seem so nonsensical anymore.

A little over two months after he first found you, word got around that Durant had finally been captured. Not by Din, but that hadn’t mattered - because killing the man who had hurt you, even after everything, would never amount to everything he’d done for you.

The relief didn’t last long for you, though - because as soon as you realised you no longer had a reason to hide, it dawned on you that you no longer had a reason to stay with Din. Or, at least not one you were willing to share with Din. Begging to let you stay just for the sake of being near him didn’t seem like a very convincing argument - at least not from where you were standing.

But from where Din was standing, it was a little different. You were part of his life now, even if you had no idea. That wasn’t your fault, though. He wasn’t exactly the best at vocalising it. Admitting it to himself had been hard enough, let alone to you.

“So,” you spoke softly, clearing your throat. “I suppose you’ll drop me off at the next planet?”

You were both sitting in the cock-pit; the Child was asleep downstairs and the Crest was soaring through the last stretch of hyperspace before Nevarro.

Din didn’t want to drop you off. He didn’t want his ship to be silent all over again or to sleep without you by his side. The thought alone of not having you around anymore was enough to make him a little watery-eyed beneath his beskar barrier. You’d grown on him, and in return, he’d kind of, accidentally fallen in love with you.

“You don’t have to go,” he said.

You peered over at him. “If you can think of a reason for me to stay aboard, please do let me know.”

“I want you to stay,” Din replied. He gently reached out a hand and took it in his - it was the first time that he’d given you such a vast gesture. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “It is.”

Staying aboard the Razor Crest was one of the best decisions you’d ever made.

Not only because it meant you were well and truly safe, but because Din’s direct request was a sign to you that you weren’t imagining things. Whatever attachment you felt to him, he felt it too - but it ran deeper than that. There was a mutual concern and respect for one another. Something born of two lifetimes spent on their own, finally coming together in one.

Things had been a little slow before then; the way that you danced around each other, like two magnets that were meant to come together - just with a little hesitancy. There had been a lot of late nights and long trains of thought about the signals that the other was giving off; about whether you’d misinterpreted the way his hands lingered over yours, or the way you’d practically passed out on his shoulder.

But, after that - after Din had openly asked you to stay, and you’d happily agreed, things began to move a little faster. Where you’d once been slowly walking down that hill and towards each other, you were now slipping, tripping and falling.

With each passing night, you inched closer towards each other. God forbid you ever found out, but Din even found himself pushing the pilot’s chairs closer to each other when you weren’t in the room, just so he could properly feel you next to him when you dozed off. He enjoyed your presence at the best of times but it was those dark, quiet moments when he genuinely and fully needed you.

It came to a head one night when you’d laid down with the Child beside you - not upstairs in the cockpit, but in the tiny cot in the hull of the ship.

There wasn’t room for one person, let alone one person and a tiny creature. Even worse, for two people - one in a beskar suit - and the creature. It just didn’t work. It shouldn’t have worked.

But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and the moment that Din saw you dead to the world with the Child in your arms, he was certain that he was going to make it work. Maybe with a bit of reshuffling there, and if he just moved the kid here - and that was when Grogu bit him pretty hard on the finger.

Disregarding his reshuffling plan, he knew there was only one option left.

It was something he’d never dreamt of doing before, simply for how terrifying and exposing it was - but he took one glance at you, and once glance at his kid, and he knew it was going to be worth it in the long run. It was merely a necessary step to getting closer to you - physically, mentally emotionally.

You stirred slightly at the sound of metal clattering to the floor - not enough to wake up, but enough to be a little more aware of the room around you. A moment later, there was a quiet hiss, and then everything went black.

In your sleepy state, your brain reacted a little slowly - but then the mattress beneath you dipped, and you felt someone’s skin against yours. Not just skin, but stubble against the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to it, and warm fingers tangling with yours.

“The armour,” you murmured. “You took it off.”

“It was the only way,” he softly replied. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” you let out a sleepy hum. “Good night…”

“Din,” he quietly said.

“Good night, Din.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin reader insert #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian reader insert #mandalorian imagines #star wars reader insert #star wars fan fiction #star wars x you #star wars imagines

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sirowsky · 3 years

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The Stories We Tell Ourselves (One-Shot)

Author's Note: So, this was an ask sent to me by my darling wife, @lucrezia-thoughts a while back, that I for some reason never actually added to my collection of works. Which seemed like a shame, since I'm kinda proud of it (it was my very first ask), so I thought I'd re-post it and give it a proper spotlight. Description: Mando's injured and Grogu's bored, so fem!reader tells him a bedtime story.

Rating: Everyone (all fluff all the way on this one, though blood is mentioned) Word Count: 1872

It had been one of those days when one thing had just bled into another, and everything had gone wrong. It was a miracle all three of you had survived, but the Mandalorian had been injured, trying to protect you from a very unpleasant trader, who had knives concealed everywhere in his clothing. Mando had been cut along his side, and while the injury would heal on its own, it had bled a lot before you’d been able to get back to the Crest and properly dress it. He’d insisted on getting the ship off the planets surface before he’d allowed you to help him, and as a result, there was blood everywhere. He hadn’t actually hired you, he had just sort of… realised that the kid liked you and decided that if you were brave enough to stick with them despite the danger of their situation, without even asking for payment, then he wouldn’t stop you.

You weren’t sure if he actually liked you. It was hard to tell with him, even after months of being couped up with the man. You could quite easily read him around others, as you’d become familiar with his body language and mannerisms, so you knew how he should behave if he liked you. But for some reason, he behaved differently with you. His body language was always much more still and maybe even careful, around you, as though he was afraid you’d break if he accidentally bumped into you. It was more than a little annoying, sometimes, since it made it difficult to define what your relationship actually was. But it was mostly just annoying because you wanted him to bump into you. He was a mystery, but that wasn’t what drew you to him. He was kind and respectful, quiet but strong, in both body and conviction. He wasn’t too proud or too self-assured, but he was loyal and protective and gentle. It was quite amazing to you that he was so proficient at using those hands for violence, when he was also so tender with the baby. It had brought tears to your eyes on more than one occasion.

When you’d finally cleaned the last remnants of blood from the controls in the cock-pit, you headed back down to check on Mando. But your eyes fell on the empty pram sitting on the floor of the cargo-bay.

“Oh, no. Kid… where’d you go?”

You searched quietly, not wanting to wake Mando after you’d finally gotten him to lay down in his bunk to rest, before going to scrub the blood away. But then you heard a muffled giggle, and of course it came from the damned bunk. You’d left the door open so that you could easily hear it if he stirred or seemed to worsen in any way.

“No, no, no… Come on, get out of there, let the man rest.”

You reached in and snatched the kid off of Mando’s chest and then stood there for a minute, rocking him quietly against your hip, while you listened for any sign that your… companion… had woken up. You eventually sighed and sat down on a crate, directly behind the bunk, cradling the kid in your arms.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, you know.”

He just cooed and looked at you with bright eyes.

“Okay. How about a bedtime story?”

He just blinked and angled his head a bit more towards you.

“Hm, let’s see. When I was young, my mother would tell me stories about love to get me to sleep. She said that a child that feels loved, will always have the comfort to sleep soundly. So, this story begins with a King. A good, and kind man who rules his land with open arms and a warm heart, but also protects it with ferocity and conviction. Because that land holds everything that he loves, and without it – he’d be broken. One day, when the King is travelling, he finds an orphan outside of his dominion, and being the good man that he is, he brings the child home, to raise as his own. He has no idea how to do that, and it’s chaotic most of the time, especially since his duties can’t be put on hold while he cares for a baby. He still has to rule the land. But he loves that baby so much, that no matter how hard it gets, he endures. He doesn’t care that he hasn’t slept in days, or that he’s always terrified that something’s gonna happen to his boy. None of it matters, as long as the child is safe.”

Mando woke up the moment the kid climbed onto his chest. It was reflexive at this point. Even though he knew that you were there, and would care for the boy without his asking, he was already conditioned to react to whatever the little one needed. But he was wounded and tired, and he heard you coming down from the cock-pit, probably having cleaned up his mess – yet again, so he ignored the kid, and made no effort to let you know that he was awake, when you came to pick the child up. He was in some pain, the wound throbbing a little with each beat of his pulse, which made falling back asleep a little harder, even though he was exhausted. And it was surprisingly nice, just listening to you talk quietly to the kid, not knowing he could hear you. It wasn’t surprising that he found it nice; he found everything about you nice. It was surprising that he enjoyed the eavesdropping aspect so much. That he liked the intimacy of listening to you when your guard was down, and you were just being a woman caring for a child. He listened closely to your story, not missing the clear similarities to your actual life and the way you two had met.

“So, when the King has to travel again, he decides to bring his son along, and they go on a long and adventurous journey together. But on their way back, they come across a woman, wounded and in need of help. And because the King is a good man, he brings the woman to his castle, and helps her heal. And while she heals, she repays the King his kindness, by looking after his son while he cares for his kingdom. And as the woman watches her rescuer, and sees the true warmth of his heart as he cares for his land as closely, and tenderly, as he cares for his son, she falls in love with him.”

He nearly stopped breathing as he heard the words. Could you really mean him? The rest of the story was more or less exactly your story, so you had to be talking about him. He had never allowed himself to consider it. To think that you could ever want to be with a man like him, no matter how much he might want you to. He knew that his efforts to restrain himself around you made him seem stiff and perhaps a bit cold, and it always hurt him to see you try so hard to read him, to understand why he was different towards you than his friends. But if you wanted him too… that changed everything.

“But this wonderful man is a King, and she’s just a woman he found on the side of the road. She has no claim to him, and she’s afraid to tell him how she feels, because if he doesn’t feel the same, it’ll break her heart. So, she cares for the child as best she can, and hopes that he won’t make her leave the castle once she’s healed. And he doesn’t. He let’s her stay, and over time, she finds the courage to tell him the truth, and he reveals that he loves her too. And together they raise the child with love and happiness and adventures, and that’s how this little story ends, my sweet.”

The kid was asleep by the time you finished the tale, and you rocked him gently in your arms after you fell silent, to make sure he wouldn’t stir once you got up to put him back in his pram. You tucked him in snugly, and then closed the little egg up, to keep him warm and safe. Once you were done, you raised your hand up to your neck, rubbing idly at the knots and strained muscles, after such a long day of hardships and stress, and you couldn’t stop the exhausted sigh that escaped you. The movement to your side didn’t register in your brain until Mando was already sitting up at the edge of the bunk, and it startled you. You flinched and then your brain woke up again, and you approached him.

“Hey, what’s the matter, are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Oh, stars above… the number of ways that he could answer that last question.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“No, no, you’re the one that’s wounded, which means I’m the only one that gets to ask that.”

He considered that for a moment.

“I heard your story, mesh’la.”

You froze, and suddenly your heart was frantic in your chest. He heard… all of that? You’d been so certain he was completely passed out! You hadn’t meant to pour so much truth into the story, but it had happened anyway, and now he knew how you felt. He knew. He saw you begin to panic and reached a gloved hand out to you, which you couldn’t bring yourself to take, but before you could back away from him, he reached for your waist instead, and pulled you in closer, until you were standing between his slightly bent knees as he rested against the bunk. You were flustered and shocked to suddenly be so close to him, and you found yourself having trouble figuring out where to put your hands in the small space between you. He’d never given any indication that he liked it whenever you’d touched him, so you settled for resting your palms on the flat and cool beskar on his chest, with your eyes firmly planted on the diamond shaped indentation at the centre of it.

“It was a very good story. I really liked it.”

Your eyes snapped up to stare at his visor, and you wanted to say a thousand things. But nothing came out. You felt him draw in a shaky breath, before his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer. Then he bent his head forwards, leaning his helmet against your forehead, and your arms found their way around his waist, suddenly needing to hold him to you, now that he’d finally given you his silent permission.

“Would you tell me another story?”

His voice was trembling just a bit. Just enough that you could tell through the modulator.

“Okay. What would you like to hear?”

“Tell me how the story continues, after the King declares his love for the woman? Tell me how they live happily ever after… and I promise I’ll try to make the story come true for you.”

THE END

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian oneshot #mando x fem!reader #the mandalorian x fem!reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #baby grogu #baby yoda #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #sweet fluff

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Text

He is My Home (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Din’s going to have a nasty scar from the wound on his side, just like the ones you have, the ones you’re insecure about.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: light mentions of blood and injuries. mentions of birth. scars (none are explicitly from SH) are mentioned.

A/N: Fluffy Din can I get a hell yeah?? @binarydanvvers sent me this request and it’s absolutely precious so I’m really happy I got to write it. I hope y’all will love it too!!

Din Djarin’s body is defined by his scars, even if few or no other living beings have seen them.

The very first scar on Din’s body came from his birth. Vha Djarin’s baby came out happy and healthy, but an apprentice midwife with an unsteady hand nicked the child’s skin with her blade as she severed the umbilical cord. That’s where the small white line above his belly button comes from.

The other scars include various missions, combat as a young adult, some nearly mortal wounds. There’s a scar across the bridge of his nose from some mission where he was fighting for your little green son’s life. There’s a long line along his forearm from a slice due to an opponent’s blade, on the underside, where the beskar didn’t protect him.

Everything about Din is beautiful to you. Even his name is so beautiful to say- Din Djarin. It sounds like poetry in his mother tongue’s accent. You’ve married him, become his riduur. You see his face daily, the face he was so scared to show you.

Din had feared you’d find him ugly. That you’d think him unlovable, that his nose was too big and eyes too deep-set, his entire body and even his soul too scarred. It wasn’t until after your wedding, when you removed his helmet and cried in joy, that his fears were cast away. You pressed your forehead to his and cupped his face and genuinely told him that you couldn’t imagine a more beautiful man, a more handsome and wonderful Mandalorian behind that beskar.

That night was spent exploring each other’s bodies now that you had total and complete access to Din’s body. It wasn’t entirely sexual, though much of it was; you just felt his abs and his arms and his warm skin beneath yours, and he did the same to you.

Your life has been perfect for the past few months as Din’s riduur. You get to see his face every day, kiss the scar on the bridge of his beautiful nose. You have the privilege of rolling over in bed and seeing his sleeping face, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. You get to see his little green son squeal in excitement when he gets to see his daddy’s face, the way the three small green fingers of each hand grab at one stubbly cheek.

Din is equally as happy. Being with you allows him to be a human again; it allows him to be Din, not Mando. Your warm arms around him in the middle of the night stall the nightmares of the siege of his hometown and the kills he committed and the way the pile of Mando helmets looked in the corner of the covert.

Of course, practicality dictates Din still must work. As a bounty hunter’s riduur, your options are really either to be a bounty hunter too, or a stay at home buir to your little green son. As you have next to no fighting skills, you stuck with the role that introduced you to your husband in the first place: interplanetary nanny to your bug-eyed baby boy.

You enjoyed the pretend domesticity, but you also appreciated the charm of the fact that home is literally where you make it with the Razor Crest: on any planet, moon, or space station. Your home travels with you, your home is wherever the Crest is tonight.

Even before you found the Crest, Din has been your home. He’s your place and your person, ever since the first time someone threatened you and Din shot them dead where they stood and you stared for a second in utter terror they’d jerk back to life before running into his arms and burying your head in the skin between his helmet and his cape. And that’s when you realized that Din’s arms were your safe place, the one place nothing can hurt you. Not when Din is protecting you.

Tonight more than ever, you miss Din’s arms. He took a honeymoon phase of one or two bounties a month after your riduurok, to spend time with you and the child and your newly formed, legally Mandalorian family. Your aliit, your clan. All good things must come to an end, though, and Din was back into his hunting. It’s been a week without him. Your beskar ring feels cold on your finger tonight as you trace your hand over the etched mudhorn in the wedding band.

Your green baby is cuddled to your chest, snoozing happily with his mama. You press a kiss to his head, thinking about Din. The child’s father. The little creature radiates warmth and relaxation and hypnotically urges you to fall asleep alongside him. Rest, mama. And you do.

The next morning, you startle awake at the sound of beskar clanging against the metal of the ship. “Riduur?” You call out, sitting up excitedly.

“Hi,” he says weakly, and the tone sets panic into your body. You jump out of the bed to find Din kneeling next to the carbonite, a freshly sealed and still sublimating creature trapped in it.

Din clutches his side and you sink to your knees frantically. His orange gloves are covered with blood as one reaches to you. “Din,” you panic, unsure what to do for a moment. “I’m going to go get the medkit. You start undressing now, beskar off, clothes off,” you order him and get to your feet. You pull out a cot and pop it open. “Lay here and wait for me.”

You fly into a tizzy around the ship, grabbing the various things you need. Bacta, needles, bandages, the official medkit. Good. You return to his side, where he lies in his boxers and helmet. “Baby,” you coo gently and remove the helmet. “Just me, remember?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, dazed eyes looking up at you. His dark hair is drenched in his sweat, and there’s a trickle of blood from his lip.

You fly into action. “Bacta’s going in first, love. Going to jab it in, get ready.” He softly nods and makes a whimper as you stab the needle in, pushing down the plunger and emptying the syringe into his body.

He’s numb now. You wipe the wound and grab the cauterizer. “You might feel this, Din. It’s gonna be quick, I promise.” He doesn’t even respond, eyes shut. You use it and he twitches, his face cringing in pain.

“I know, I know. Doing so good, almost- there we go,” you sigh as the wound is finished cauterizing. “You did wonderfully, my warrior. Providing for us no matter the cost,” you tell him and press a soft kiss to his forehead.

You press a large gauze patch and bandage over his wound, to ensure it stays clean. “Okay, okay baby. You can sleep now. Did so good for me, my strong man,” you mumble, cupping his face.

“You did all the work,” he mutters, a soft smile on his face. The medication wipes him out into a deep sleep.

Bacta isn’t a miracle drug. It can’t save you from certain death, can’t reverse the growth of diseases that have already infiltrated. The miracle, really, behind Bacta, is how quickly it works. It heals wounds that would take weeks in days, and days in hours.

When Din wakes later, the cauterized wound has shrunken exponentially. He’s still got lots of bruises and nicks, but he’s better. There’s a familiar hum, the soft roar of hyperspace surrounding the Crest.

He sits up with minimal pain and looks around. There’s a soft light coming from the bunk, where you and the baby sleep. The light is for the child. He’s scared of too much dark; you’d learned that especially in the days where the hull would be coated in blackness in order for you and Din to kiss and touch and love. Your face is peaceful as you sleep, and Din looks at you with all of the love in his heart.

He stands, albeit slowly, and walks to the bunk with a jerking and awkward stance. He just wants you, your softness and warmth. It’s common that he’ll sneak into bed with you after a mission or piloting the ship, or simply because you took a nap and he just needed some sweetness in his day. You instinctually nuzzle into him, attracted to his warmth. The child follows suit, nestling between the two of you. His two favorite people in all of the galaxy, his buirs.

The three of you are at peace, in your home: with each other. You roll over as you notice the warm presence and a small smile graces your slowly waking face. “Mm, riduur. You were supposed to be on the cot,” you chuckle softly and press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Bacta fixed me up enough.”

“You’re gonna have a nasty scar,” you chuckle softly.

“I’ve got plenty of those already. What’s one more?” He asks, nudging your face with his nose.

It’s unbearably soft and warm. “Scars seem to be our problem,” you nod in agreement.

He pulls away and looks at you, in the soft blue glow of the baby’s nightlight. “Cyare, scars aren’t a problem. They’re reminders, of everything we’ve been through and will prevail through in the future.” He kisses your collarbone softly, setting your child aside.

You frown. “Doesn’t mean I like them. They’re gross.”

Din’s frown matches yours. It’s a warm night in the Crest, leaving you sleeping in just a breastband and a pair of shorts. He can see the scars littering your abdomen, the ones you’re so insecure about. “Tell me about them.”

“Din,” you pout.

“We are one when together, we are one when parted,” he mumbles, scooting down to press a kiss to one scar. Your wedding vows, the ones you took and meant with all of your soul. “Your pain is mine, my love. Tell me about this one,” he says, a featherlight fingertip tracing the line.

You sigh, making your abdomen inflate and deflate deeply beneath him. “I was 11 cycles old when I got that one. My appendix ruptured, they had to remove it.”

He nods and kisses along the scar, big brown eyes looking up at you. “I see. And this one?” He asks.

You chuckle softly. “This is from when I was stupid enough to sleep in just a breastband and shorts, like this, and I rolled over on green bean and his claw stabbed me.”

Din recalls. He chuckles happily at the memory and presses a kiss to the scar, his fingers still tracing the last one. There’s one on your knuckles. He takes your hand and traces it, looking at you. Silently asking.

“Lothcat bite. They’re not as cute and docile as they look,” you nod as Din’s lips ghost over your fingers.

You think about the places you got those childhood scars. All at home. The newer one? From your newer home. Yes, your old home may have scarred you, most certainly physically and maybe mentally or emotionally, but they left their mark on you. Your eyes water as you look down at Din. “Your turn,” you tell him and push him down into the mattress of the bunk.

There’s been one you’ve always meant to ask him about. You straddle his hips and sit between his groin and his navel. “What is this one?” You ask of a little mark above his navel. It’s a stark white, contrasting his skin.

“My birth. A midwife nicked me while severing the umbilical cord. I’ve heard that my mother was ready to take the surgical tools herself and go after her,” he chuckles.

You smile softly. There’s a scar on his cheek and your fingertips slowly draw the outline of it. He nods. “As a teen, obviously. Before the helmets went on. Close call with a spear,” he admits, a soft smile on his face. “Those are the only fun ones. The rest are from bounties,” he admits.

You chuckle softly. “Fun ones?” You tease.

“Interesting, I suppose,” he admits, taking your fingertips from his scar to rest them on his lips, kissing them then just holding your hand. “Do you see, my love?” He asks.

You simply nod, eyes watering again. Din reaches up and wraps you in his arms, lowering you to lie chest to chest on top of him. “You are so beautiful, my love. My riduur,” he mumbles to you. You sigh contentedly and kiss the scar on the bridge of his nose.

“Easy for you to say. You’re a bounty hunter. These all suit you. Besides the fact that you’re already covered head to toe in beskar, it would just work.”

He frowns. “Cyar’ika. Neither I nor anyone else cares about your scars. They’re part of you; how could I?”

You whimper and bury your head in his neck, allowing yourself to cry. “It’s been a hard day, Din. Please let me have this.”

“I will not. I absolutely refuse to let you think like that,” he tells you and cradles your head. “You can cry all you’d like, riduur, but it won’t change the fact that I find the scars absolutely beautiful. They’re so perfectly you. They’ve made you who you are, the woman I love so dearly. How could they be ugly when they’re made of you?”

His words make you cry harder, and you sob into his bare skin. He strokes your back, allowing you to cry it out. He mumbles sweet words in your ear; just letting it happen.

When you’re finished, you lift your head with a sniffle. “I love you so much, Din. You make me feel like I have a home with you.”

He kisses your forehead softly. “This is your home, my love. Right hear, in my arms, wrapped up with me.”

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #mando x reader #mando #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pascalpanic

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theboredwritertm · 4 years

Note

"Oh, darling, everybody sees how you look at him" fic request with Din/reader! (Please and thank you :3)

Everyone Knows

A/N: Another request done and dusted. I’ve been getting some new prompt lists ready for when I open requests back up again (not sure what tumblr etiquette is for compiling a masterlist using other people’s prompt-lists, but I’m considering doing something like that), but I still have about 4 or 5 fics to finish off before then!

Rating: PG?

Pairing: Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, a bit of alcohol, that’s about it.

Word Count: 4500 (Me, failing to keep a story under 2k words? It’s more likely than you think)

Summary: After taking on the krayt dragon together, you’re forced to confront your feelings for Din (with a little help from everyone’s favorite marshal).

***

The monster was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

There’d been times aboard the Crest, when there were still thousands of miles to go between stops, that you’d sit by Din, giving him your rapt attention as he’d recount one of his many stories about a particularly terrifying beast he’d encountered. Not that he would ever call them terrifying – the man had a will of steel when it came to facing these kinds of things. And on this occasion, in the middle of the Tatooine desert, things would prove no different.

Only this time he had you.

You were still coming into your abilities, not really sure what they meant or the true extent of what you were capable of, and amazingly enough you found you were learning a lot from watching the Child. For instance, before he came along, you had never known you could heal people. A simple experiment with Din had proven this to be true enough – the man was prone to injury in his line of work – and though it had taken a lot of concentration, enough that you were sweating by the end, it got you wondering just what other miracles your hands could perform.

Now, standing beside Din and the man who had introduced himself to you both as Cobb Vanth, you stared down into the dragon’s lair and found yourself hoping those powers might come in handy.

“So, how’re we drawin’ this thing out?” Cobb asks.

You glance back at the dozens of townsfolk and Tuskens around you, sensing their uneasiness as they shuffle from foot to foot and cast occasional apprehensive glances in the direction of the danger and you’re surprised to see a couple of the Raiders step forward. Considering how well their peoples’ last attempt to draw out the beast had gone, you hadn’t expected any of them to be so willing to approach the pit again.

Cobb glances over at them and cocks his head in immediate acceptance. Given his past troubles with their people, he can’t say he’s overly concerned over the prospect of losing a few more of them.

But you’ve never been one to stand by and watch people get hurt.

“No, wait.” The words leave your mouth automatically. Up until this point, you’d been feeling completely useless. Din had been keeping an even closer watch on you than usual since a stunt you had pulled back on Nevarro; one that had involved your unpredictable powers and the dozens of stormtroopers who’d had him cornered. Though he had come out of the situation a lot worse for wear than you had, he’d been hovering over you, keeping you a safe distance from any action ever since. You were starting to get sick of being kept on the sidelines. “I can do it,” you say.

The Tuskens turn to look back at you, not able to understand what you’ve said, but sensing a potential change of plans, then their attention is drawn to the Mandalorian beside you as he quickly dashes their hopes.

“No,” comes Din’s clear, expected response.

You turn to him. “I can handle this.”

“No. You’re staying where you are.”

You gaze at him for just a moment, anger starting to bubble in the pit of your stomach, before turning around and striding down the tall dune, towards the gaping mouth of the empty saarlac pit. You know better than to argue – you don’t have the time right now, but every time you did, he managed to use it as a way to distract you. You wouldn’t give him that opportunity now. You’d already made up your mind.

You feel the air stir as his hand shoots out to grab you, but you’re too quick; one of the things that’s managed to keep you alive this long, but now maybe the very thing that’s going to get you killed.

“Dank Farrik!”

Cobb glances between the man beside him and your retreating form, attempting to hold back a smirk. In the short couple of days that he’s known you both, he’s already witnessed at least three separate arguments, none of which seemed to get either of you anywhere. He didn’t see this one going the big guy’s way, either.

The modulator seems to amplify the frustration in Din’s voice, but you ignore it. You were more than capable of looking out for yourself, as you had proven to him numerous times now, and whatever problem he had with that was his own – you weren’t about to let his fears hold you back. Yet, as you draw closer to the yawning darkness, your heart begins to thud in your chest. For the first time, you feel the enormity of this creature, and you’ve never felt so small in your life.

You sense him approach before you hear him. That was one advantage you’d always had over Din; he could never sneak up on you.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of watching everyone else do everything,” you say, finally coming to a stop, your gaze still trained forward, “I want to play my part. I need to play my part.”

“No, you need to stay safe.” His words sound threatening despite their context, but you ignore him once more. This time he does grab you, catching you around the forearm as you raise your hands in the direction of the cave. “Stop!”You’re tempted to use your powers to throw him off, but you can feel how much he means it and you’re struck with a sudden guilt. He cares. That’s all there is to it.

“Please, let me do this.” You stare up into his helmet and feel him gazing back, considering things. His fingers loosen from your wrist.

“Fine. But I’m staying with you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you reply, not bothering to hide your bitterness at the constant babysitting – though, if you’re being honest, you do feel better with him by your side.

You raise your hands again and close your eyes, focusing on the low hum of energy around you. You don’t feel it at first, but then its as if you’ve suddenly locked onto a connection – plugged yourself into an electric charge – and everything suddenly feels heightened. Everything feels more. You draw on from that, concentrating on the pit of darkness before you, then you push forward with your mind, reaching out. In the darkness, something stirs.

“What is it?” Din asks, as if he’s sensed the sudden change.

“I feel it,” you reply, eyes still closed, your brow now marked with a frown.

He stares down at you and you finally open your eyes to meet his gaze (as much as you can through the helmet) but before either of you can say anything, a low rumbling begins to emit from the ground.

It had worked.

And it was heading right for you.

You’ll admit that, as much you’d wanted to play your part in this, you hadn’t really considered what came next once you did manage to draw the thing out. So now, as you watch the sand shift and begin to rise a hundred or so feet in front of you, you find yourself rooted to the spot.

It’s Din who moves first.

Your hands had come up again, all you can think to do to hold the beast off, then suddenly a strong arm is wrapping around your waist and you’re being propelled into the air. You glance down just in time to see the enormous mouth erupt from the ground where you had just been standing.

This time, you don’t argue. You clutch onto him, air whipping through your hair, thankful that he’s just as stubborn as you are.

When you finally land, he sets you on your feet and quickly glances down to make sure you’re alright. You give him a quick nod, sensing the question in his gaze, and then he takes off again to rejoin the action. It takes you a moment to regain your balance, and you still feel the ghost of his arm around your waist, but when you glance back you find that he’s set you down by the landspeeder, with the Child. He’s put you back at the kids’ table.

You give a frustrated growl and the baby blinks curiously at you, eyes full of wonder. He’s just happy to be here, close to someone he likes. You offer a reassuring stroke over his little head, then turn to stalk back down the dunes; back towards the rest of the group whose lives apparently don’t mean as much to Din, since he’s more them happy for them to join in despite them having little-to-no fighting experience. You’re not about to sit back and watch them all die.

As the dragon bursts out of the sand once more, the Tuskens and townsfolk begin firing harpoons into its side – a desperate attempt to keep it in place – and you watch as it wrenches itself free with a simple shake of its body. There’s no way this plan is going to work.

When you arrive back by Din’s side, he simply looks at you, not even bothering to admonish you, knowing it’s not going to get him anywhere at this point anyway. But as you look at him, a silent warning to not push you aside again, he sees you’ve got that same look in your eyes now as you had back on Nevarro. And it worries him.

You move off together as a unit as the dragon begins its assault, firing with everything you’ve got to get its attention – in your case, your trusty blaster pistol – stopping only when it opens its jaws wide and proceeds to spit boiling acid down onto anyone within its reach. You watch in horror as people are disintegrated before your eyes.

A massive explosion beneath it distracts it long enough for any survivors to get clear of its path, and the creature suddenly dives.

You wait, watching for any sign that it’s coming back up, but the smoking landscape is silent and still. Yet, something doesn’t feel right.

“I don’t think it’s dead,” Cobb says, voicing your concern, and you exchange worried glances.

“Me neither,” Din replies. His grip tightens on his blaster, waiting.

Then suddenly, up on the mountain, the creature bursts forth once more. It opens its mouth wide and you glance down at the people in its path about to be annihilated. You can’t watch this happen again. Moving as fast as your feet can carry you, you rush down towards them, shoving them aside with a powerful force-push seconds before the acid hits the sand, clearing them of its path just in time – leaving you in a tricky predicament. You’ve caught its attention now – and you have nowhere to go.

You catch the sound of jetpacks as Cobb and Din land either side of you, weapons raised and ready to come to your defense.

“Get back!” Din barks at you, and you find you have no choice but to listen to him. Failing to do so now, even just to prove a point, and you’re certain you’d be the dragon’s next meal. You’d pick your hill to die on one day, but this just wasn’t it.

Din and Cobb take off into the air again, firing their weapons to draw the dragon’s attention away and give you time to escape. It works. The dragon, furious from the sudden new assault, turns and comes after them, spraying up sand as it whips its massive body in the new direction.

As you watch them draw it further away, you can’t help but wonder what the plan is, since the original one has long fallen apart. They can’t keep drawing it away forever. Now that you have minute to breath, you look around for a way to help, and spot the explosives-laden bantha that had been led down as bait. It looks like it would rather be anywhere else and, hell, you don’t blame it, but glancing between it and the massive monster that currently has its sights set on the one man who never failed to put himself in the path of danger for you, you think maybe it was time to return the favor and finish this once and for all.

So, you grab the bellowing, hairy animal by its halter and do something stupid.

You start yelling. And waving your arms. And when that fails to grab the dragon’s attention, you start firing your weapon. Taking your odd behavior as some kind of cue, the townsfolk closest to you begin firing, too, and finally the dragon turns to face this latest assault, drawn to the movement of your waving arms and the scent wafting from the bantha.

You spot the two armored men, now free of the dragon’s attention, flying up from the mountain before one in particular makes a sudden beeline in your direction. You can practically feel Din’s wrath radiating off of him before he even gets close, and it’s like the bantha can, too, as it begins to protest and pull against its rope. Or maybe it’s the giant monster coming to swallow it whole that has it so skittish. Either way, you feel like an ass as you try to calm it down, knowing the only reason you’re doing so is to keep it in place long enough to be eaten.

You’re grateful to have the marshal land behind you first as Din drops down in front, poised to lose his absolute mind at you for your reckless behavior, but finding the situation momentarily put on-hold as Cobb asks to no one in particular, “Now what?”

Din’s staring at you, gaze heavy, burning, and humiliating all in one, but he doesn’t have time to berate you as the dragon breaks from a nearby dune. “I have an idea,” he says, and before either you or Cobb can ask what that is, he shoves you into the marshal’s arms and sets off the man’s jetpack, sending you both careening up and away from the dragon’s path – and leaving him right in the middle of it.

You had come to suspect that you were in pretty deep with Din Djarin, ever since he had first rescued you many years ago, but watching him disappear into the enormous jaws of the krayt dragon was a lesson you had never asked for in how you really felt about him. Even as everyone around you falls into a stunned silence, your ears begin to buzz and you have to fight to keep your footing, absently leaning against Cobb for support as the energy drains from your legs. Cobb reaches for you but misses as you collapse down onto the sand by his feet. Your throat starts to tighten. Everything feels hazy.

This can’t be it. This can’t be the way it happens.

Then the beast erupts from the sand once more and you spot a familiar shape fly out of its roaring mouth.

Your heart leaps into your throat. Suddenly, you can breathe again. Then you’re back on your feet and racing towards him.

The huge blast that follows knocks you back and you hold an arm across your eyes to protect them from the cloud of sand billowing from the site of the explosion, but even that’s not enough to stop you as you keep your sights trained on the metal armor glistening in the hot sun.

When you finally reach Din, you stand for a moment looking at him, then a sound escapes you halfway between a sob and shout, and you shove him – hard. He stumbles backwards but remains on his feet.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You don’t think you’ve ever been this angry in your life. Fury radiates from every cell in your body, and still Din just stares at you. Then you hug him. Neither of you are expecting it, and his body stiffens immediately in surprise, but when you feel him relax and one of his arms comes up to wrap around you in return, everything suddenly feels right again. You couldn’t care less that he’s covered in gross dragon goo and that it’s probably getting all over your clothes, or that there’s a crowd of onlookers witnessing this moment between you – all you care about is the fact that he’s here, that he’s still alive.

A cheer erupts behind you as you part, and it’s not for you and Din, but for the smoking remains of the dragon nearby, and it’s soon joined by the howls of the Tuskens as they raise their weapons in victory.

It’s over. It’s done. And as you look up at Din, you can think of many things worth celebrating.

***

And celebrate, you do.

As much as he had wanted to make a quiet exit once he had collected his promised armor from Cobb, you had managed to convince Din to stay in Mos Pelgo just a little longer for the revelries. It had been a long time since you’d stayed anywhere close to civilization, let alone had a good reason to celebrate; and though you’d grown used to the comfortable silence of the Razor Crest, there’s some comfort in being surrounded by happy, chattering people for once, instead of the lonely vacuum of space.

Cobb had asked you back personally for a couple of drinks at the bar, and though the invitation had been extended to both of you, Din had failed to take it that way. In hindsight, you suppose your initial run-in with Cobb is to blame for this sudden standoffish behavior, since your contribution to convincing the man to hand over the beskar had involved you telling him that the helmet was ‘a waste on a face like his’. You guess that comment hadn’t sat too well with Din, but it had just sort of slipped out. What could you say? The guy was a looker. Yet even now, as Cobb glances over at your table from the bar, offering a warm, friendly smile in your direction, you find yourself distracted.

You look around and finally spot Din. He’d been radiating quiet irritation since arriving back, and stands now in the furthest corner of the room, watching the festivities with what you imagined was a sulky expression beneath the helmet. The Child sits by his feet, on the sandy floor, playing with something round and shiny, completely absorbed in his own little world.

“I take it Mandalorian’s aren’t much for parties,” Cobb comments as he finally reaches your side with drinks, breaking you from you trance. He sits down beside you and slides one of the glasses of bright-blue liquid your way.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He nods over towards Din whose gaze is currently burning into you, and you shift uncomfortably trying to find somewhere else to direct your attention, unsure why you don’t just look at Cobb. You realize why when your eyes shift back to him and the feeling of being watched intensifies.

“Him?” you reply, trying to sound casual, now hyperaware that Din is currently reading every detail of this interaction, “Oh, he usually just prefers the quiet, you know? Not really the social type. He’s only here because I asked.”

“Just watching over his girl, huh?” Cobb teases, taking a swig of his spotchka.

“His gir—What are talking about?”

He frowns before giving you a knowing look, then risks a quick, pointed glance towards Din, who he’s noticed hasn’t turned his gaze away from you for longer than a few seconds the entire evening.

“We’re just friends,” you tell him, even if that label doesn’t feel quite right to you. “It’s not like that.” You take a mouthful of drink just to give yourself something to do, and wince at the unexpected bitterness. When you glance back over at Din, your cheeks heat up a little when you realize he’s still looking back. You finally drop your gaze away, reassuring yourself that the weird feeling you’ve suddenly gotten in your stomach is just the alcohol taking affect, but when you look back at Cobb you catch him smirking at you.

“We’re friends,” you repeat, wondering who you’re trying to convince now, since Cobb seems pretty damn decided on the matter. “Colleagues, you know. We’ve just been through a lot together.” You frown as he chuckles. “What?”

“I did not just spend two days listening to the two of you bicker like an old married couple, to hear you say that you two are ‘just friends’.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess I just don’t look at him that way.”

“Oh, darlin’, everybody sees how you look at him.”

You think back to the desert, to your arms wrapping around him like he might disappear again at any moment; to the arm that had pulled you closer and squeezed you in return.

You take another gulp of spotchka to calm the fluttering feeling in your belly, and shoot a quick glance over to see if he’s still looking at you.

But he’s gone.

Panic floods over you.

You look around the room, hoping you don’t look as desperate as you suddenly feel, when Cobb nudges you. You look back at him and he nods to the door, where you just manage to catch a flash of cape and armor and Din disappears through it into the night.

Cobb smiles. “Go on. Go talk to the guy. I’ll still be here if you want another drink. If not, I hope we meet again someday.” He tips his glass towards you and you nod, managing a brief smile of appreciation as you stand.

Your legs feel heavy as you walk towards the exit. It’s dark outside – almost pitch black aside from a scattering of light coming through a few windows, and the few fires burning outside to keep people warm on the cold desert night – and you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot Din still standing out on the road. It looks like the kid is giving him some trouble, his fussy cries reaching your ears easily in the quiet. He settles as soon as he sees you, though, and Din turns to see what has the ability to calm him so quickly.

Of course, it’s you, he thinks. He should have known – you have the same effect on him.

“Hey,” you greet, still fighting back these unexplained nerves as you approach him. You’d known him for years, spent a lot of time in his company, and been through a lot together, but it’s the first time you feel nervous around him.

“Hey,” he replies simply, “I was just heading to take him back to the ship.” He pauses like he’s weighing up what he wants to say next, then adds, “When should I expect you back?”

“Back?”

“I can meet you there in the morning if that’s more suitable.”

He’s acting weird, and though you know exactly why, you can’t help but frown at the bitterness in his tone. He’s trying to keep it cool and calm around the kid. You wonder what he’d be saying instead if it was just the two of you.

“Why would you do that? Why would—” You hate what he’s implying, but you need him to say it, to admit why it’s a problem for him – to know if Cobb’s right. “Where am I supposed to be in all of this?”

You stare at him, the question written on your furrowed brow, wondering if he has the guts to admit the accusation outright.

He looks back towards the bar and then back at you, cocking his helmet as if he’s expecting you to be the one to make the confession, even if there is a low rage bubbling away inside of him at the thought of it. He thinks back to the desert, to the feeling of your arms wrapped around him, to the way his own arm had come up instinctually to hold you closer, and he thinks of how much he wants that again.

“I’m coming back to the ship,” you tell him.

“Don’t do that on my account,” he replies, and you swear he says things like that just to piss you off.

Before you can formulate a response, he turns away and starts walking towards his borrowed landspeeder. The Child looks back at you over his shoulder and stretches his little arms towards you with a cry, but Din ignores it.

You almost shout his name, forgetting for a moment where you are, and instead splutter out an awkward ‘Mando!’, which you haven’t called him in over a year; not since he entrusted you with his true name. He stops and slowly turns back. By now the kid is wriggling and fussing so much in his arms that he has to put him down, and the little one immediately heads towards you, reaching up to be held. You scoop him up and Din watches as the kid coos happily and buries his face in your hair. He’d thought they were leaving without you, Din realizes, and he can’t help but wonder if the kid’s picked up on his own emotions too – at his own distress at the thought of leaving you behind.

He watches you for a moment as you soothe the Child, observing the tender way you fuss over him, and feels guilt start to creep over him.

“I am doing it on your account,” you tell him firmly, after a moment, finally looking back at him again, and his helmet tilts slightly as he stares back at you. You screw up your face like you hate the idea of having to say the next words out loud, but you do anyway for his sake. “I’m not interested in the marshal.”

He makes a non-committal noise like he either doesn’t believe you or he’s pretending it’s not a big deal, and you roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the kid.

You wonder what you can say, how you’re going to make him understand what you’re feeling, because you can’t go back to the ship like this – things can’t just keep on going how they have been, with the arguments and all these unspoken words that are causing them. So, you step forward, closing the gap between the two of you as you rest a hand against his chest plate to get his attention.

Din stares down at you, heart thumping as he tries to read your expression and figure out what you’re going to say before you say it, hoping he’ll be less caught off guard this way.

You reach up to the back of his helmet, guiding him down towards you, muttering, “Come here, you idiot.” Then you press your forehead to the cold beskar of his helmet and find a way to tell him.

“Where you go, I go.”

He seems to understand that well enough.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #mando x reader #fic requests #cobb vanth #din djarin #din djarin imagines

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desertofsnowflakes · 3 years

Text

Incorrect Order Chapter 3 (Nesssian AU)

A/N: I'm very(read: kinda) sorry for cliffhanger last chapter. Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: Language

2094 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

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Cassian never knew such panic. He knew he was being an ass for acting as if he had the right to be protective of her. Of the person he didn’t even know the name of. Of the person he felt drawn to and yet wanted to forget. Of the person who got under his skin so easily. Of the person whose beauty can bring the best of men to their knees and make even queens try everything possible to best her. He didn’t know her at all other than a few conversations that weren’t his best moments, but he still felt as if they had been together since they were just kids.

All of those were reasons good enough to get him to forget other females. But this woman, gods, this woman wasn’t like the others, was she? No, she wasn’t. He found her on her knees with a man standing before her in an alley on the way back home from the library. At first glance, his heart broke for different reasons. He started walking away, before he realised it wasn’t what he thought it was. When he caught the telltale whiff of blood and saw the glint of a blade from the corner of his eyes.

Undiluted panic and rage —both feelings he didn’t have the right to feel— spurred him forward, knocking the man unconscious and breaking a bone or two for good measure, only to find the woman laying on the floor, her heart beating too fast for her good. Cassian debated entrusting the man and woman over to the authorities. Somehow, Cassian felt that the man and woman were well acquainted before today. He felt all of this was planned from the man’s side. So he brought both of them to his house. The guy was shoved into the basement with a strong sedative. The woman was left in the guest room one of his brothers or friends slept in whenever they stayed over. He didn’t take her to his room. No, he won’t. That would rip open a wound he still struggled to keep closed. A wound that wasn’t even closed properly. That would remind him of images he didn’t want to admit was stored in his mind. One of those images rose, of the woman laying on his bed, golden-brown hair fanned around her flushed face, her eyes screwed shut in—

Cassian shoved that image away and sighed. He should probably have a little chat with the woman once she wakes up.

Today, when the woman didn’t wake up after one week of unconsciousness, when her face was ghastly pale, he felt the optimism that incentivised him slowly seeping out. He started regretting his decision of not handing things over to the police. What if Cassian’s first aid hadn’t been enough? Worse, what if he did something wrong? What if, because of his actions —done knowingly, or unknowingly— would be the reason why the earth loses a certain gray-eyed beauty?

Cassian was close to giving up. It pained him to see her like this. If not for the slight rise and fall of her chest he would think she was dead already. He slowly walked to her bed, crouched and tucked stray strands of hair behind the shell of her ear. He tamped down the emotion cresting in him. Her pulse was getting steadier day by day. He should be happy— his one week of taking leave from both of his jobs and tending to her was paying off. But his mind shot to the moment that day when they first met. When he was stunned by her beauty. Her side-profile, not even her full face, at that. That day, when he realised something deadly was brewing between them. It had been growing from that day, he realised. It was barely five weeks since he had known her— he didn’t even know her. They were just acquaintances. Still, Cassian knew he was falling hard for her. This time, he couldn’t contain the swell of emotion in him. He couldn't hold back the tear rolling down his cheek. He slowly slipped out of the room and sighed. To say he was screwed was a major understatement.

***

Everywhere hurt. Death was supposed to be one's liberation. No one mentioned that there was physical pain in death. There shouldn't be, right? One didn't even have a body to feel physical pain after death. Mental pain? Probably. Physical pain? A big no.

Nesta blinked open her eyes — which again, no one mentioned ghosts would be able to do.

Huh. She expected Hell —for the mistakes she'd atoned, she assumed Hell would be her place— to be all dark and gloomy. What she didn't expect was for Hell to have separate rooms— with furniture and bright blue walls, no less.

She wanted to sit up and get a sense of her surroundings and clear her still groggy head. That's when she heard muffled footsteps. She jerked upright —and immediately regretted it for her head hurt even worse than before — and her pulse raced. She paused. Pulse raced?

She cautiously placed her hand on her wrist, then her neck and on her chest to be sure. Pulse. She had a pulse. She wasn’t dead?

The door flew open revealing a hulking, heaving figure she knew all too well. What was he doing here?

Ohh. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of memories from the alley. Of Tomas. She opened her eyes to find the man sitting on a chair near the bed. Immediately she was keenly aware of the limited space between them. He silently passed her a glass of water she gladly downed, refilled and let her drink her as much as she wanted.

She set her glass on the bedside table and looked up at him, at the concern etched deep on his face.

“Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” he asked.

Why is he being kind? Why is he making it difficult for me to hate him?

“Why am I here?” she asked instead.

“I asked you first,” he deadpanned. Typical.

“Mhm, nice way to deflect. Too kiddish, though,” she said.

“As if you aren’t deflecting,” he retorted.

“How about this? Your answers for mine.”

He huffed. “Whatever. So, are you okay?”

She smiled, “Me first.” At his glare she said, “I’m sick, aren’t I?”

“How nice of you to pull that card,” he murmured.

“Why am I here?”

“I found you on your knees, your nose slightly broken, bleeding here and there with a man holding a knife to your throat in an alley.” He shrugged. “I brought you and healed you as well as I could without gaining attention from the authorities. This is my home.”

She opened her mouth to ask her next question.

He cut her off with a smile and said, “My turn, sweetheart.”

She clenched her jaw. His audacity.

He leaned forward on his elbows. “Does anything hurt?”

“Yeah,” she allowed herself a small smile, “My head feels like it's being hit with a hammer by a particularly unkind person. My nose feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. My scalp feels like it’s being used as a cotton reel. I’m in dire need of a bath. Other than that, I’m fine I guess.”

He nodded, “Well, I’m glad you’re fine.” There he is, being all kind and caring to me again. He chuckled. “No need to give me that look. I’m just glad my one week off didn’t go down the drain.”

That was what she wanted to hear. But it still stung. Her head snapped up as realisation struck. “Wait— has it been one week already?”

He smirked, “Yes. Now, my question—”

She frowned, “It’s my turn.”

His smirk only grew larger. That bastard. “ ‘Has it been one week already’ is a question, my love.”

Shit. She should’ve thought about that. He was correct but still, “How dare—”

“Calm down, darling, calm down. If you want—”

She sighed and said, “Bring it on, then.”

His jaw ticked. He’s angry, she realised. “Who was he?” he asked quietly.

She drew in a breath. “That was Tomas. Tomas Mandray. My ex-boyfriend. He probably wanted revenge for putting him in jail.” She didn’t explain. She didn’t want to and he seemed to understand that. She slightly dreaded the next question. She put on her no-emotion face and asked, “Where is he?”

His face said he saw right through her facade. He pursed his lips, “In the basement. I figured the both of you had some sort of personal history so I wanted to wait for you to wake up before I did anything. He’s not awake; I’ve taken care of that but I don’t think he’ll be unconscious much longer. Do you need anything?”

She nodded, she was still in the same clothes as that day. There were blood stains throughout her black shirt. The mere thought that she hadn't cleaned herself for one week made her shudder. He didn’t change her clothes and she appreciated that though it seemed her face, neck and hands were wiped with a cloth. “I’d like a bath.”

He seemed to consider this before saying, “Sure. You can use my friend's clothes from the closet. The bathroom is there. Take a bath, use whatever you want. I'll get breakfast ready.”

He turned to leave. “Wait,” she called.

He arched his brows, waiting. “Thank you. For everything.”

He gave her his signature half-smile, “Anytime, darling.”

***

Making breakfast was normally very easy. Today, however, it was proving to be a very, very difficult task. Apparently, your brain turns to mush when the woman you've been drooling behind is bathing under the same roof. Also when you're talking to her. He found it a miracle that he didn't make a fool of himself earlier.

But he was sober enough to see the vulnerability behind her guarded expressions when they were talking about her ex-boyfriend. Gods, her ex-boyfriend. The anger he felt when he saw him in the alley was less than a tenth of what he felt now. He didn't know why he was angry. He just… was. He knew she was smart and brave and strong. But that didn't wipe off the fact that somewhere, beneath the tigress exterior, there was a scared little rabbit. He knew what he was going to do might be stupid. He knew it might not work out. Still, Cassian was going to arm the scared rabbit, consequences be damned.

***

Turns out, he makes delicious breakfast. There was steak, salad, boiled potatoes and a number of other foods. Nesta didn't know when she last had such mouth-watering steak. Not that she'll admit it though.

“Did he see you?” she asked after a hearty meal. “Tomas,” she clarified.

“No,” he replied, “I came from the back. His guard was down so he wasn't ready. I don't think he's trained in this kinda stuff. He probably knows a little but not good enough. Why?”

She shook her head. “I don't think I want anything to do with him. Would you mind sending him to the police? Maybe you could just attach a note saying you found him abandoned somewhere or something like that. I really don't want to get you into trouble either.”

She didn't dare look at him, afraid he'll say no.

“Fine,” he said. “You can call a cab whenever you're ready to leave. Take my first-aid kit if you want. Anything else?”

“No, no, nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks. Again

For, uh, everything.”

Gods, why was she getting so flustered?

She packed her old clothes and some medicines he recommended for her headache, ignoring the pang of disappointment. Before she left, he passed her a scrap of paper with an address scrawled on it.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It's a centre I run with my brothers. In three weeks from now, after that Sunday, do you want to come? It's a self-defense arts centre. We could teach you a bit here and there. If you want. Totally no pressure.”

Nesta was stunned. That was exactly what she was thinking about in the shower earlier. Learn how to fight. Learn what to do. Then, payback time. She really didn't understand how he managed to read her mind. She smiled. “I'd love that.”

He grinned. She felt happy. Soon, she was going to give back suffering for all she got. Tomas was so going to pay. She's going to learn how to fight. Never again, she vowed. Never again would she be vulnerable.

taglist:

@shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @ddsworldofbooks @irenethaleia @sjm-things

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sithsecrets · 3 years

Text

love in three acts | din djarin x reader

three acts of love between the mando and his one and only crew member.

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1.7k words

mentions: nightmares/night terrors, pining, piv sex, a bit of fluff but also a bit of spice to make things interesting, NSFW!

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You’re not sure what wakes you initially, but you do know for certain that it’s the whimpering and the crying that gets you out of bed. You think it might be the baby at first— he wakes up hungry on occasion— but then you realize that all the fuss is coming from Mando’s bunk, not the Child’s pram.

Sitting up on your little pallet, you force to listen closely in the darkness just incase you’re mistaken. But no, you can still hear it, the crying the babbling and the pleading. You’re up at once after that, rushing to the other side of the room as quick as you can. Mando fell asleep with the panel open and his armor on, thank the Maker, so you don’t hesitate to check on him. He twitches and shakes on top of the blanket, distressed in a way unlike anything you’ve ever seen from him before. Mando mumbles and cries out, saying ‘no’ over and over again, pleading for what you don’t know.

After three seconds, it dawns on you that Mando’s having a nightmare.

“Mando, wake up,” you say into the darkness, laying your hand on his leg in an attempt to wake him. “Mando, please, it’s me, wake up.”

It’s like the Mandalorian can’t be reached, and you double your efforts, shaking him and raising your voice. “Mando, please,” you call. “It’s not real, you’re on the Crest, you’re—”

The fact that you manage to dodge Mando’s fist is a miracle. You chalk his sloppy aim up to disorientation from sleep and fear, and the action is soon forgotten in your haste to bring Mando back to reality.

“It’s me, it’s me!” you shriek, grabbing Mando by the arms in an attempt to stave off another assault. He’s getting stronger now, fighting more like himself— but just as you begin to fear he can’t be reached, the Mandalorian drops his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, panting like he’s been sprinting for five minutes straight. You hardly acknowledge the apology, more concerned than offended.

“It’s fine,” you say, but Mando barely seems to hear you, still huffing and clenching his fists.

“I just— It’s— I have nightmares sometimes.”

“I can imagine,” you soothe, and you really can. It’s been a rough few months, lots of running and fighting and killing, and even you’re feeling the strain. Mando’s the one on the front lines, though, protecting the baby, hunting bounties…

Minutes pass, and Mando still doesn’t seem very calm. He tells you to go back to bed, but you shake your head, sitting down on the edge of his bunk.

“Come here,” you say softly, almost whispering, even. Mando’s barely visible in the dim light, but the beskar still glints when he tilts his head.

“What?”

It’s by no means boldly done, but you still reach out, laying a hand on Mando’s shoulder. “Come here.”

The armor makes it harder to hold him, but not impossible, and you slip your arms around Mando’s body slowly, deliberately.

After one long, tense moment, a single gloved hand comes up to hold your waist.

It’s been about thirty minutes since you started looking for your boots, and you’re about ready to give up searching. You could’ve sworn you just had them— you made sure to pull them out before Mando made landing on Nevarro— but now they’re just gone. It’s not like they could have run off on their own, and the Crest isn’t exactly some behemoth of a ship. More frustrating than that, you actually need them now. The toe on your right boot blew out a few days ago, and you were hoping to get it repaired before Mando took off after his next quarry. Karga of course has some work for him, and now you’re are due to go to fucking Hoth of all places. The baby and Mando will be fine, but without your boots, all you’ll have in the way of shoes is the little slipper-style things you’ve been wearing to get you through.

Basically, you’re going to lose at least two toes to the cold and it’s going to be your own fault.

Mando comes clanging back up on to the ship, a bag of supplies and the baby in hand. You turn to him the moment he comes into the hull, throwing up your hands in exasperation.

“Mando, have you seen—?”

As if on cue, the Mandalorian produces your boots from his bag, holding them out casually.

“… My boots,” you finish, taking the shoes from his hands as you say this.

“I got them repaired in the bazaar,” Mando tells you, turning away to start unpacking his other purchases. “You’ll need them on Hoth.”

It’s by no means a romantic speech, but the fact that he thought of you at all makes your stomach do a flip.

“I was going to have them done,” you say softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It wasn’t any trouble. You do a lot around here, so I thought I could pick up the slack a little.” Mando sneaks at you over his shoulder. “Besides, I don’t want you to be cold.”

Coming from anyone else, these words wouldn’t mean a thing. But coming from Mando…

By no means does it encompass how you feel, but it’s the best you can do: “Thank you.”

Part of you wonders if this is the best place to do this, though you decide it doesn’t matter the minute Mando tugs your pants down your legs.

How you ended up on your back like this you may never know, but what you do know is that you want Mando to fuck you into this shitty motel mattress until you cry for him to stop. And he seems content to do just that, pushing inside you with one quick, harsh movement of his hips.

It knocks the breath of you, the force of those first few thrusts, and you quickly realize that there’s nothing to do but lie there and take whatever Mando gives you. He looms over you in the darkness, almost entirely clothed and clad in all his armor. If he wasn’t fucking you within an inch of your life, this have been one of those moments when you forget that Mando really is human under all the beskar. He’s a man, a man with skin and hair and muscle, and you wish you could just touch him, wish you could clutch onto his bare shoulders instead of the icy pauldrons protecting his body.

Maybe one day, you think to yourself, but just as soon as the thought forms, it goes, whisked away by the changing of the angle. Mando just pushed your knees up closer to your shoulders, and now you feel like you might die and cum all at the same time. And would that really be so awful, to die laid out underneath this man? Your pleasure-addled brain doesn’t have the capacity to offer a definitive answer, but your instincts say no, no, there are far worse ways to perish.

Mesmerized, you watch as Mando pulls at his gloves, his hips never breaking pace as he casts them both aside. Somehow, you find it within yourself to form words, to ask what he’s doing, but you don’t get the chance to so much as open your mouth before Mando himself is speaking.

“This good?” he rasps, voice clipped and haggard like he’s holding himself back. You’re the one who’s been making all the noise this whole time, though you’ve been trying to keep yourself quiet. The baby’s asleep just a few feet away in his pram, and the both of you are in a motel, though the couple in the next room over seems to have no qualms about being heard.

“Mmhm,” you whimper, not daring to take your hand off your mouth for fear you’ll scream. And stars, it is good, it’s so fucking—

“You wanna cum, mesh’la? If I touch you, will you cum for me?”

Maker above, yes—

“Make me cum, please.”

It’s all you have the strength to say, and no one’s more surprised than you when the words come out as a whisper instead of a shout. Mando doesn’t need to be told twice, reaching between the both of you to swipe his thumb over your clit once, twice— You cum so fast and so hard that it’s almost embarrassing, completely lost to the feeling. Your body isn’t your own in that moment, it’s movements ruled by your pleasure with an iron fist. It’s like Mando can sense how gone you are, leaning down to press his helmet against your forehead, shushing you and fucking you through the orgasm so you don’t come out of it feeling deprived. But it’s one thing he does that makes the whole situation feel different, one little command that makes you flush with affection.

“Hold my hand, mesh’la, there you go,” Mando whispers to you, pressing one of his palms against yours. He’s good to hold onto in the moment, grounding you, helping you remember that you aren’t alone even as you go off into another world.

By the time you come back down, Mando’s already pulling out of you, doing up his pants and tugging down the hem of his shirt. You’re not sure you could move if you wanted to, but it looks like Mando’s got that covered, tucking himself behind you without making you so much as scoot over in bed. You think you should say something to him, maybe tell him that he doesn’t have to lie with you like this if he doesn’t feel like it, but once again, Mando’s already there in your head.

“We’ll talk tomorrow on the Crest,” he says to you, whispering through the modulator. “Sleep now, mesh’la, I know you’re tired.”

And though you know your body will ache in the morning, you close your eyes and drift off anyway, soothed by the warmth of Mando’s palm on your stomach.

#my writing #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction

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sunsetcurve · 3 years

Text

learn to love without consuming (1/4)

fandom: knight squad relationships: arc / ciara, minor or one-sided arc / oc and ciara / oc word count: 4,603

a/n: eek. it's finally here. if you follow me here you know that i've been working on this for a few weeks (months?), but the idea has been sitting in my drafts for basically forever. almost since i watched the show to begin with. the recent resurgence of the ks fandom prompted me to dig this back up and gave me the motivation to actually try and finish, because fuck it! i love my babes and i want more of them.

so quick note is that this picks up pretty soon after the season 1 finale but disregards basically,,, everything that happens in s2. s1 and the finale proceed the same way except prudy never finds out ciara's secret, so she and warwick don't know at the moment. this chapter was initially gonna have more scenes that drove the plot/romance arc but once i got upwards of 6k with a few major scenes left i decided it would be best if i split the chapter up, so for now it’s just a lot of me trying to work around the convoluted knight squad lore to establish my own. i know that's not exactly what everyone is here for, but i promise things on the romance/action front will pick up soon. i'll place warnings as detailed as i can get without spoiling in the tags and notes as i go, but just anticipate fairly significant violence by chapter 3.

anyway! i have talked enough. the title is from thus always to tyrants by the oh hellos, the rating is t for swearing/violence, there are three more chapters that are in the process of being written, and reviews are like crack as far as i'm concerned. i really hope you like this! thanks for reading <3

dedications: this fic is first and foremost for @ciara-knightly, who is not only my amazing beta but also the whole reason this fic exists. she helped me so so much with the development of the plot and worked through it with me even way before i decided to really start writing it, and i wouldn’t have been able to do this without her. all of the notes she left after beta-reading were so so helpful and really made this whole fic make sense so basically i owe her my entire life. she inspires me to be a better writer all the time and i love her. everyone say thank you shona!!! also tagging my lovely friends and some people who have expressed interest, who are in no way obligated to read this; @juliesdahlias @mistyskiesrambles @dr-rigatoni @willexs @taylorswiftrulestheworld @onplanetmars @neshatriumphs @zackmartin @julies-molinas @soni-dragon @yagorlemmalyn @hopefulbeautifulfool @cactus-con @waterisntreal @onetwothreefarkle @bitchmilsky

summary: “Now that Ryker isn’t a threat anymore, the councils are supposed to resume as planned, and Astoria is set to hold the first one two weeks from now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That sounds exciting.”

Ciara nods. “It is! I finally get to meet some of the other nobility, and actually get to be involved in Astorian politics for once. But my dad won’t let me go without an escort,” she says, and then hesitates. “Which is where you come in.”

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The morning before training that day, Arc is testing his skills against a heavy bronze padlock when Ciara enters the squad room and drops a brown paper bag on the table in front of him.

“These,” she announces as he raises an eyebrow at her, “are for you.”

He pulls open the package and is instantly greeted with a rush of warmth and the smell of vanilla. “Dragon puffs?” he says, half in awe. It’s a clear bribe, but he can’t help but shove a sugar-coated sweet in his mouth anyway. They’re an Astorian original and possibly the best thing he’s ever tasted; he’d tried them once at a bakery near the castle and hasn’t stopped thinking about them since.

“Okay, what do you want?” he says then, words muffled around the cream and pastry.

Ciara pulls a face at his manners, but still manages to blink innocently at him. “Can’t I just do something nice for a friend?” she tries, but it’s half-hearted.

He swallows and grins at her. “Nice try, Princess. Your dessert deliveries always come with an ulterior motive.”

Huffing a sigh, she sits down next to him. There’s this subtle air of anticipation lingering around her, one he can only sense based on how in tune they are after so long of being teammates. The two of them have this easy way of reading each other now; they’ve been spending more and more time together, something having shifted in their dynamic after the battle against Ryker. He can’t quite place what it is, but he knows it’s only brought them closer. “Do you know what the Council of the Five Kingdoms is?” she asks finally.

He shrugs. “Sure. Nobles from each kingdom used to have a big ball every year to talk trading and politics and other boring stuff…”

“Except there hasn’t been a council since Ryker’s invasion, because the kingdoms have been isolated and preoccupied with their own safety,” she finishes for him. Her fingers tug at the lacing of her leather gauntlets; she’s nervous, but he still isn’t sure why. “Now that Ryker isn’t a threat anymore, the councils are supposed to resume as planned, and Astoria is set to hold the first one two weeks from now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That sounds exciting.”

Arc chokes on his second dragon puff. “You want me to be your escort,” he says flatly, once he’s finished coughing, “to the Council of the Five Kingdoms?” Normally he’d jump at the chance to spend a night dressing up and eating castle food. But the council is a decidedly different scene; there’s a set of formalities, politics underlying everything, and too many chances for him to expose his lack of knowledge when it comes to Astorian customs. Not to mention that Catalias’ royals will be there. He doesn’t know if he can stomach looking them in the face, knowing what they did to Seagate.

Ciara grimaces. “Look, I know it’s not exactly your thing, but my dad won’t let me go alone. And this really means a lot to me.” Her eyes are pleading, and Arc feels his resolve chipping away.

“Can’t one of your actual guards go with you?” he tries. “Or, Prudy or Warwick or someone?”

“I’ve already talked to my dad about it,” she explains. “You’re the only Knight School student he’d let protect me, because you already proved you could when Ryker invaded. Besides, if something were to happen…you’re the one person who knows I can handle myself as Ciara.”

There’s this brief stretch of silence where Arc works his bottom lip, and Ciara looks as though she’s debating something. “Also,” she adds finally, with the soft flicker of a hesitant smile, “I thought it might be fun to go with you.”

Arc blinks at her, caught off guard by the admission. There’s this sudden buzz in his chest that he can’t push away; in truth, he doesn’t like the idea of her spending the night with someone else either. Maybe, by some miracle, this will actually be a good thing. “Alright,” he relents. “I’ll be your escort.”

Ciara’s face breaks into a grin. “Yes! Thank you!” She throws her arms around him, and he’s shock-stilled, a rush of warmth flooding through him as he hugs her back. When she pulls away, her eyes are shining with excitement. “Okay, I’ve gotta go tell my dad you said yes, and there’s a million things to do, but I’ll see you at training later. You are the best.”

“I expect dragon puffs for life!” Arc calls after her as she disappears through her passageway. He leans back into the couch, lightheaded, and in that moment, he realizes abruptly that there’s almost nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

And he is so completely screwed.

Two weeks later, Arc is standing outside Ciara’s bedroom, waiting for her to finish getting ready.

It feels odd to be out here in the open. Generally his visits to her chamber are accompanied by an air of secrecy, but tonight, he’s a guest in the castle. He’s dressed like it, too, decked out in the guards’ typical formal wear: pressed brown pants, a white shirt laced up the front, and a navy leather jacket trimmed in gold, with Astoria’s crest on one shoulder. He looks kind of dashing, honestly.

Despite the confidence boost his new look offers him, his hand keeps drifting to the hilt of his sword. It’s sheer force of habit; he only associates this brewing sense of apprehension with battle, and his muscles are responding in kind. He’s glad, at least, that he turned down the other guards’ offer to lend him one of their ceremonial blades and instead has the familiarity of his own. Hopefully he won’t need it, but it’s a steadying presence all the same.

“Almost ready!” Ciara calls from inside, and Arc carefully unclenches his fingers from around the leather grip of his sword. He has to keep it together tonight; she’s made it clear how much this means to her. The last thing he wants to do is embarrass her in front of nobles from all five kingdoms.

Well, four, he reminds himself. Seagate won’t be attending. There isn’t anyone left to represent them.

The thought makes his stomach twist.

He’s saved from having to dwell on it by the sound of Ciara’s door unlatching. “Better prepare yourself, Princess,” he teases, leaning against the wall, “I look pretty good, and the last thing we want is for you to get too smitten—”

He breaks off as she emerges from the doorway, all the air in his lungs leaving in a sudden rush. He’s trying hard not to be the cliche of a guy scraping his jaw off the floor at the sight of a pretty girl in a dress, especially not like this, with Ciara—but he can’t help but think that it’s ridiculously unfair of her to come out looking like that. Her dress is a pale blue, falling gently off her shoulders and cinching at her waist, and her tight curls are weaved with strands of gold and tied into a low knot, some of them falling loose to frame her face. There’s a crown of gold leaves and rosebuds settled in her hair.

“You...um…” Arc searches for his voice, “you look amazing.” His mouth feels dry.

Ciara smirks and reaches up to adjust the collar of his uniform. “You don’t look so bad yourself. I’m definitely smitten,” she jokes, like it’s nothing for them to be flirting openly. It should be nothing. Except his skin burns where her fingers brush against his neck, and he suddenly wonders if she can hear his heart pounding.

He clears his throat. “We should probably get to the ballroom.”

She nods. “Give me your arm,” she says, looking at him expectantly. When he raises an eyebrow, she continues, “You’re my escort, remember?”

“Oh, right.” He lifts his arm obligingly, his cheeks warm.

“I really wish we’d had more time to go over Astorian customs,” she breathes as she takes it, more to herself than anything. “Between training and helping with preparations, I’ve been so busy…” His nerves must show on his face, then, because she squeezes his arm gently and amends, “Sorry. You’ll be fine, don’t worry. Just stay close to me, okay?”

“Not a problem,” he grins without missing a beat, and Ciara scoffs and shoves him, the smile tugging at her mouth taking all the bite away from it.

They can do this, he thinks. The two of them have kept up appearances for each other for months now, have fought and trained and battled Ryker together. They’re Arc and Ciara, unstoppable duo. One little party should be nothing.

As they make their way down the hall towards the ballroom, flanked by guards, Ciara lowers her voice. “When we get there, most of the nobles should be inside already. The herald will announce my father first, then us, and then each of the other three kingdoms. We’ll be beside the thrones as they come in—you’ll stand by me, left side—and once they’ve all been announced, we can leave the thrones and mingle. Bow to each of the rulers as they come by.”

They had, at least, practiced his bow. Arc swallows back the dread in his throat; all he has to do is stand beside her and greet the other royals, it’s easy enough. For a moment, they linger outside the entrance to the ballroom, until an official-sounding voice announces the King. “We’re next,” Ciara whispers to him, eyes glinting with excitement. “You ready?”

He nods back at her, and the voice calls, “Accompanied by Sir Arc...Princess Angelica of Astoria!” They step into the ballroom, greeted with applause. Arc doesn’t think he’s ever been in a place this lavish; the walls are white, accented in deep gold, and the floors are polished to a gleam. The ceiling looks hand-painted, ornately decorated in constellations and swirling designs, and crystal chandeliers dangle over their heads, casting a golden glow over the whole room. He tries not to look too awe-struck.

They make their way to the platform on which the thrones rest, Ciara nodding and smiling and waving at the other nobles as they pass. She stands next to her father, and Arc takes his place on her other side, placing his hands behind his back and trying, for all the world, to look like he belongs there. He wonders suddenly if he’s stood too close to her, and if it would make things worse for him to shift over now, and if his indecision is showing on his face—

And then, almost imperceptibly and hidden from the ballroom’s view by the folds of her dress, Ciara reaches over and links her pinky with his. It’s a tiny gesture, a friendly reassurance, but Arc feels a tide of warmth swell in his chest all the same. He lets his gaze flit to her for just a moment, and her lips are graced with a small smile as she tugs his finger gently.

His breath hitches, and he fights to keep his face a passive neutral as the herald announces the next kingdom and he turns his attention back to the doorway.

“Presenting King Hugo, Queen Luciana, and their son Prince Isaac of Catalias!”

Arc’s stomach turns as the couple enters, trailed by their son, all three of them swathed in lavish red and gold. Their reputation precedes them; he knows little about the prince, but the king and queen are infamous for their hoarding of wealth, their favorance of the rich nobles and landowners of their kingdom over the common people. Arc knows them best for what they had done to Seagate.

His hand twitches for his sword, but he fights against the instinct.

True to form, the two have a haughty look about them, all starched clothes and stiff smiles as they bow to Ciara and the King. The two of them return the greeting with Arc following their lead—grudgingly.

“I am so pleased you could join us tonight,” the King smiles, a little tight-lipped. “It is high time that Astoria and Catalias united again.”

King Hugo nods back. “I couldn’t agree more. The honor is ours.”

Arc detects a veiled sort of tension between the two of them, hidden well underneath the cordial formalities. He glances at Isaac, whose eyes are trained intently on Ciara even as he and his parents move to greet the other guests. Something about it is unsettling.

He’s so focused on Isaac that he almost misses the herald’s announcement of the next kingdom. “Queen Damyanti, and her children Princess Aadhya and Prince Kavan of Khurjan!”

Queen Damyanti is the picture of elegance, draped in silver silk that almost seems to glow against her dark skin. Aadhya looks around fifteen, with the same deep eyes and regal expression, and Kavan must be ten or so. He grins toothily as the three of them approach the thrones and bow.

The King’s expression is much warmer now. “Queen Damyanti. It has been too long. I trust Khurjan is doing well?”

“Not quite as well as Astoria, perhaps,” she replies, and it’s teasing, no sharpness to it. “This ball is absolutely lovely. Princess Angelica, you look so beautiful. Just like your mother. I was so sorry to hear of her passing.”

Ciara’s eyes go soft. “Thank you, Queen Damyanti,” she nods back. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“You as well. It’s a shame your sister couldn’t make it, but hopefully we’ll all gather again soon.” She gives a small, departing nod and joins the rest of the nobles, Aadhya giving them a bright-eyed smile and Kavan waving enthusiastically as they follow her. Ciara laughs.

“And finally...King Jesper of Vysalt!”

Arc is confused for a moment; he wonders if he had remembered the name of Vysalt’s king wrong. Then a young man with a head of dark curls and a smattering of freckles against tawny brown skin enters, his crown just slightly crooked. His eyes are wide and dark, and a jagged, white scar cuts across his cheekbone. He can’t be much older than they are.

“He’s the king?” Arc whispers to Ciara under his breath as Jesper makes his way over to them. “How old is he?”

Her expression twists a little in sympathy. “Seventeen. He wasn’t supposed to inherit the throne so soon. His parents were killed when Ryker’s army took over his kingdom.”

Arc isn’t sure what to say to that. He knows what it’s like to lose everything to Ryker—he can picture the flames every time he shuts his eyes. But he hadn’t known about Vysalt or the fate of its royals. They had been close allies with Seagate at one point, one of the only other kingdoms without much wealth, and their king and queen had been known for their generosity.

Somehow Arc had thought the damage had been done to Seagate alone, but now he wonders how the other kingdoms fared, if they suffered just as much. If any of them came out as unscathed as Astoria did.

“Your Majesties,” Jesper says as he bows, and there’s a note of pity in the King’s expression as he returns the gesture. Arc can only imagine how he feels about someone so close to his daughter’s age having to run a kingdom on his own.

“King Jesper. How are you doing?”

It’s a more personal question than he had asked the other royals, Arc notes. Jesper smiles easily; it’s soft, highlights his deep dimples and makes his dark eyes glimmer. “Well, thank you. Vysalt is recovering with time. As am I,” he adds, voice quieting for a moment.

The King nods back. “That’s good to hear. Let us know if there’s anything Astoria can do to help.”

Something flickers in Jesper’s expression, hard to read and gone so quickly that Arc wonders if he imagined it. The young king bows again before moving to join the others, but not before he catches Arc’s eye and smiles warmly. It surprises him—the other royals had hardly given him a second glance—but he returns it with one of his own. Beside him, Ciara lifts an eyebrow, her expression a mixture of amusement and something else he can’t place.

“What?” he asks quietly, and she shakes her head, glancing away.

“Nothing.”

He wants to pry, but the King is clearing his throat, getting ready to address the room. The chatter dies down as all eyes turn to him.

“My fellow Astorians,” he says in his deep, booming voice, sounding more formal than Arc has ever heard him, “and my guests from our neighboring kingdoms...I am honored to welcome you to our castle, and so pleased that we could all be in attendance tonight.”

Not all of us, Arc thinks, but no word of Seagate comes up.

The King continues, “For decades, our kingdoms have been isolated and divided by Ryker’s armies. We have long suffered under his forces, but his threat is gone for good. Thus, tonight is more than a council; it is a symbol of our victory, a symbol of our unity as we move forward and rebuild. So enjoy yourselves! After all, we have so much to celebrate!”

To Arc, the sentiment feels hollow. He got his revenge, and of course he’s glad that Ryker can’t hurt anyone else, but it doesn’t change the fact that Seagate is in ruins. It feels suddenly difficult to celebrate with the weight of his village’s absence lingering in the air around him. The rest of the partygoers don’t seem to share his hesitance, though; the room breaks into applause and cheers, several of the guests raising their goblets jovially.

Ciara gives him a subtle nudge, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Now we get to mingle,” she grins, leading him off the throne platform and towards the crowd.

He follows dutifully as she heads toward the table where the other kingdoms’ royals have gathered, Astoria’s king staying behind to greet the other royals. Queen Damyanti is in conversation with King Hugo and Queen Luciana, but she doesn’t seem entirely pleased about it, and Jesper and Kavan are laughing at something Aadhya has said. Isaac hovers next to them, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He has his father’s golden hair and clear blue eyes, but the frown on his face is entirely his mother’s.

It disappears, though, the moment he sees Ciara approaching them. “Princess Angelica,” he greets her, with a little too much enthusiasm for Arc’s liking, “I’m so honored to finally meet you. You’re even more radiant in person.” Before she can say anything, he takes her hand and kisses it swiftly. Arc narrows his eyes.

Ciara gives a forced-sounding chuckle and curtseys, pulling her hand back. “Thank you, Prince Isaac. I’m glad you could make it. Allow me to introduce Sir Arc, my guard and escort for the night.”

Arc bows—and if he never has to bow to another pompous royal again, he thinks, it’ll be too soon—and Isaac offers him a dismissive sort of half-smile. Any further interaction they would’ve had then is thankfully avoided by the other royals noticing Ciara’s arrival.

“Hi, Princess Angelica!” Aadhya says brightly, with a neat little dip of a curtsey, “I’m Aadhya.” When Ciara and Arc begin to return the gesture, she waves her hand with a tiny scoff. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Formalities. Just come sit.” She returns to her chair and pats the seat next to her, and Arc decides right there that he likes her.

Ciara takes the offered chair, and Arc takes the only other open spot, in between her and King Jesper. As Ciara launches into conversation with Aadhya, Jesper turns to him.

“Hi,” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m Jesper.”

Arc bites back a laugh at the unnecessary introduction. “I know who you are, Your Highness,” he replies lightly.

“I know. I was just trying to give you an opening to tell me who you are.”

Oh. That’s unexpected. There’s no prerogative behind his words, no assertion; Jesper’s grin is almost bashful, his voice easy and bright. He doesn’t sound like a king, just a seventeen-year-old boy trying to flirt. Arc can’t help but return his smile.

“I’m Arc,” he says. “Normally I’m a student at Knight School, but I’m the princess’s guard and escort for the night.”

“Wait,” Aadhya pauses her conversation with Ciara to lean over and look at him, “You’re the Arc who defeated Ryker?”

“I helped,” Arc says with a shrug, and the princess’s eyes go wide. She turns to Ciara.

“Were you there too?”

“I was—” Ciara pauses for a moment, “hiding. I was hiding. Arc got me to safety.”

He grins a little at her, tongue between his teeth, knowing it must be killing her to hide what she was actually doing. She narrows her eyes and kicks his leg under the table in response, a silent shut up. He lifts his eyebrows, like, I didn’t say anything, and she rolls her eyes in an entirely non-subtle manner.

Across the table, Queen Damyanti is watching their exchange with a raised eyebrow, Arc notices belatedly. She has a mildly amused look on her face, but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, she states, “Battling Ryker face-to-face must have been quite the experience.”

“What was it like?” Prince Kavan asks eagerly from beside his sister.

Aadhya elbows him. “Kavan,” she hisses, but Arc just grins.

“No worries. It was…” he trails, trying to think of what to say and suddenly aware that all the royals’ eyes are on him. He shifts in his seat. “It was scary, obviously. He had the Armor of Astoria, and a whole army with him, and most of the Astorian knights under his spell. But, y’know. We Knight School students are pretty formidable. We all took him on together. Wouldn’t have been able to do it otherwise. I wasn’t half as scared as I would’ve been without my squadmates watching my back.”

He glances at Ciara, who smiles softly and nudges his foot, gentler this time. Jesper has that same unreadable look on his face and Aadhya has her chin propped in her hand, her expression amazed, but Queen Luciana gives a snide sort of scoff.

“It’s a wonder it took so long to defeat him, then, if a group of students cut him down so easily,” she says. “Perhaps Ryker was never as great a threat as we all made him out to be.”

There’s a cut of silence across the table in which Jesper visibly stiffens. “With all due respect, Queen Luciana, Ryker’s attacks were devastating. Or have you forgotten what happened to my parents?” he demands, without any respect at all. His eyes are blazing.

“I’m merely pointing out that the only real damage done was to the less...fortified kingdoms,” she sniffs. “Ryker only breached Catalias’s walls once, and he was driven out rather quickly.”

“Well, not every kingdom has Catalias’s resources.” Ciara sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully, frustration masked well behind them.

King Hugo gives a huff of a laugh; his blue eyes are cold. “My dear princess, you have no cause for indignation. Astoria lost the least to Ryker, what with your,” he waves a hand, “magic bubble.”

Ciara opens her mouth but falters, brow furrowed, and across the table, Queen Damyanti speaks up. “Nevertheless, Ryker was still a formidable enemy to all of us. We were only prepared for his attacks because he targeted Seagate and Vysalt first. And Seagate’s destruction is a clear example of his power.”

“Oh, even you can’t argue that Seagate was rotting long before Ryker got to it, Damyanti,” Hugo replies swiftly, and Arc’s breath catches in his throat. Queen Damyanti shrugs in agreement, her expression passive; Arc almost stands up, but Ciara’s hand on his leg underneath the table stops him.

“Don’t,” she hisses, just barely loud enough for him to hear, “Let me handle this.”

Though as it turns out, she doesn’t have to. Before she has a chance to speak, Jesper is already bristling, his voice sharp: “As if Seagate’s corruption justifies the destruction of its people?”

“It’s thieves and criminals, you mean?” Isaac scoffs. “Seagate was a wasteland. The kingdoms are better off.”

The words ring in Arc’s ears, alongside the pounding of his blood. They sound painfully similar to what Ryker had said to him on the mountain—rats and thieves, I did the five kingdoms a favor—and he thinks fleetingly that he’s going to be sick. He’s always known that Seagate was looked down on by the other kingdoms, but hearing them say so casually that what happened, the flames and the destruction and all of the death, was deserved—

“The people were only thieves and criminals because Catalias took advantage of them,” Jesper argues. “I hope I don’t have to remind you that it was your government that poured money into the gangs of Seagate for their own profit and allowed them to stage a coup in the first place.”

The words are deadly and cold, but Arc feels a flash of admiration for Jesper; the king has no obligations towards Seagate, and yet defends it like his own. King Hugo’s gaze hardens. “You’re blaming Catalias for Seagate’s problems?” he says with a derisive laugh. “If anything, Ryker’s attacks only revealed that Seagate was a kingdom full of people that weren’t worth saving.”

“That’s enough,” Ciara says abruptly. Her hand tightens on Arc’s leg, and he can no longer tell if he’s the one trembling or if she is. There’s this burning fire behind her eyes; she looks, Arc thinks briefly, the same way she does in battle. “What happened to Seagate was a devastating tragedy, and I won’t let you treat it as otherwise. Those who disagree aren’t welcome here.”

It’s a weighted statement, one she doesn’t entirely have the formal authority to make, but no one dares to contest it. A heavy silence settles over all of them. Arc doesn’t know how long he can sit there with all the heat under his skin; he doesn’t remember when his hand found the hilt of his sword, only that he’s gripping it tight enough that the leather bites into his palm. He wants to stand up and tell them that none of them would be here if it weren’t for him, a thief from Seagate. In truth, the only thing holding him back is Ciara. In a battle between her steady hand and the storm in his chest, she wins without even trying.

He doesn’t say anything or look at her, but her gaze flits to him for a moment and she just knows, standing up. Before she even opens her mouth, Isaac is on his feet too. “Going so soon?” he asks. “Would you care to dance, Princess?”

She looks at him coolly for a moment. “I would, actually.” And then, she turns to Arc, offering him her hand, “Sir Arc, dance with me?”

Arc blinks up at her and takes it as he stands. “Absolutely, Princess,” he says, letting her lead him away from the table and glancing back only long enough to catch the dumbfounded expression on Isaac’s face.

#oop #knight squad #knight squad fanfic #tiara thief #tiara thief fic #writing #my writing #fanfiction #arc #ciara #ks #//umanawrites #learn to love without consuming

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kookie-doughs · 3 years

Text

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 13: I Have Trust Issues But Okay

We spent two days on the Amtrak train, heading west through hills, over rivers, past amber waves of grain. We weren't attacked once, but I didn't relax. I felt that we were traveling around in a display case, being watched from above and maybe from below, that something was waiting for the right opportunity. We tried to keep a low profile because Percy and I's name and picture were splattered over the front pages of several East Coast newspapers. It seemed like when they saw me with Percy they realized me and my family are gone. The Trenton Register-News showed a photo taken by a tourist as we got off the Greyhound bus. Percy had a wild look in my eyes. His sword was a metallic blur in his hands. It might've been a baseball bat or a lacrosse stick. I was holding his hand with my knife on the other hand. The picture's caption read: Twelve-year-old Percy Jackson, wanted for questioning in the Long Island disappearance of his mother two weeks ago, is shown here fleeing from the bus where he accosted several elderly female passengers. The bus exploded on an east New Jersey roadside shortly after Jackson fled the scene. Based on eyewitness accounts, police believe the boy may be traveling with three teenage accomplices. It has been found out one of which is Y/N L/N, a twelve-year-old girl who went missing with her family during a trip. Percy Jackson's stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, has offered a cash reward for information leading to his capture.

"Don't worry," Annabeth told Percy. "Mortal police could never find us." But she didn't sound so sure. The rest of the day we spent alternately pacing the length of the train (because I had a really hard time sitting still) or looking out the windows. Calm Once, I spotted a family of centaurs galloping across a wheat field, bows at the ready, as they hunted lunch. The little boy centaur, who was the size of a second-grader on a pony, caught my eye and waved. I looked around the passenger car, the adult riders all had their faces buried in laptop computers or magazines, Percy and I saw an amazed look. Another time, toward evening, Percy said he saw something huge moving through the woods. He swore it was a lion, except that lions don't live wild in America, and it was the size of a Hummer, then it leaped through the trees and was gone. I told him he might have been seeing things and Annabeth agreed. Our reward money for returning Gladiola the poodle had only been enough to purchase tickets as far as Denver. We couldn't get berths in the sleeper car, so we dozed in our seats. My neck got stiff. I sat between Percy and Annabeth. Grover kept snoring and bleating and waking Percy up. Once, he shuffled around and his fake foot fell off. Annabeth and I had to stick it back on before any of the other passengers noticed. "So," Annabeth asked me, once we'd gotten Grover's sneaker readjusted. "Who wants Percy's help?" "What do you mean?" "You heard it too didn't you? When he was asleep just now, he mumbled, 'I won't help you.' Has he told you what he's dreaming about?" "Gossiping about me?" Percy yawned. "Pretty much everyone is. So I think we'll join." I said. "Annabeth wants to know about your dream. I could tell he was reluctant to say anything. It was the second time he'd dreamed about it. Then he finally told her. Annabeth was quiet for a long time. "If you think it's Hades, that doesn't sound like Hades. He always appears on a black throne, and he never laughs." She pointed out. "He offered my mother in trade. Who else could do that?" We could. If you bring us together we could trade. "What?" Percy and Annabeth looked at me in worry. "Something on my face? Is there something close?" "Y/N, you did it again." Percy said. "Did what?" "You... Talked. Differently. Like weirdly." "Your definition of weird doesn't describe me. I did nothing wrong. I haven't even given an in put on your topic. Which we should get back on." I don't know why I had no idea what they meant by me talking weirdly, but I felt like I should stay away from that topic. "I guess ... if he meant, 'Help me rise from the Underworld.' If he wants war with the Olympians. But why ask you to bring him the master bolt if he already has it?" She explained looking at me as if I was the one that needed convincing. I shook my head, wishing I knew the answer. I thought about what Grover had told me, that the Furies on the bus seemed to have been looking for something. Where is it? Where? Maybe Grover sensed my emotions. He snorted in his sleep, muttered something about vegetables, and turned his head. Percy readjusted Grover's cap so it covered his horns. "Percy, you can't barter with Hades. You know that, right? He's deceitful, heartless, and greedy. I don't care if his Kindly Ones weren't as aggressive this time-" "This time?" I asked. "You mean you've run into them before?" Her hand crept up to her necklace. She fingered a glazed white bead painted with the image of a pine tree, one of her clay end-of-summer tokens. "Let's just say I've got no love for the Lord of the Dead. You can't be tempted to make a deal for your mom." "What would you do if it was your dad?" "That's easy," she said. "I'd leave him to rot." "You're not serious?" Annabeth's gray eyes fixed on me. She wore the same expression she'd worn in the woods at camp, the moment she drew her sword against the hellhound. "My dad's resented me since the day I was born," she said. "He never wanted a baby. When he got me, he asked Athena to take me back and raise me on Olympus because he was too busy with his work. She wasn't happy about that. She told him heroes had to be raised by their mortal parent." "But how ... I mean, I guess you weren't born in a hospital...." "I appeared on my father's doorstep, in a golden cradle, carried down from Olympus by Zephyr the West Wind. You'd think my dad would remember that as a miracle, right? Like, maybe he'd take some digital photos or something. But he always talked about my arrival as if it were the most inconvenient thing that had ever happened to him. When I was five he got married and totally forgot about Athena. He got a 'regular' mortal wife, and had two 'regular' mortal kids, and tried to pretend I didn't exist." I stared out the train window. The lights of a sleeping town were drifting by. I wanted to make Annabeth feel better. I don't know but the only way I could think of was a hug. So I wrapped and arm around her shoulders. She stiffened unsure of what I'd done. "My parents, they loved me all the same. The closet I got to talking about Gods was when they thought me. Not a single hint was dropped about me being a halfblood. I mean if you count my grandma Hestia. Which I think is just named after the goddess. I mean yeah, you had a not so wonderful life... But at least you're who you are now." I smiled at her. Eying Percy I gave him a nod towards Annabeth telling him to comfort her since he'd started it anyway. "My mom married a really awful guy," he told her. "Grover said she did it to protect me, to hide me in the scent of a human family. Maybe that's what your dad was thinking." Annabeth kept worrying at her necklace. She was pinching the gold college ring that hung with the beads. It occurred to me that the ring must be her father's. I wondered why she wore it if she hated him so much. "He doesn't care about me," she said. "His wife-my stepmom-treated me like a freak. She wouldn't let me play with her children. My dad went along with her. Whenever something dangerous happened-you know, something with monsters-they would both look at me resentfully, like, 'How dare you put our family at risk.' Finally, I took the hint. I wasn't wanted. I ran away." "How old were you?" "Same age as when I started camp. Seven." "But ... you couldn't have gotten all the way to Half-Blood Hill by yourself." "Not alone, no. Athena watched over me, guided me toward help. I made a couple of unexpected friends who took care of me, for a short time, anyway." I wanted to ask what happened, but Annabeth seemed lost in sad memories. Luke had already told me some of these part where he went here with Annabeth and Thalia. So I gazed out the train windows as the dark fields of Ohio raced by. Toward the end of our second day on the train, June 13, eight days before the summer solstice, we passed through some golden hills and over the Mississippi River into St. Louis. Annabeth craned her neck to see the Gateway Arch, which looked to me like a huge shopping bag handle stuck on the city. "I want to do that," she sighed. "What?" I asked. "Build something like that. You ever see the Parthenon, Y/N?" "Only in pictures." "Someday, I'm going to see it in person. I'm going to build the greatest monument to the gods, ever. Something that'll last a thousand years." Percy laughed. "You? An architect?" Her cheeks flushed. "Yes, an architect. Athena expects her children to create things, not just tear them down, like a certain god of earthquakes I could mention." "Percy! I think she'll be incredible." I pinched his arm. We watched the churning brown water of the Mississippi below. I took Percy's hand in fear that the water would just grab me and drag me down. "Sorry," Annabeth said. "That was mean." I nudged Percy to apologize as well, "I didn't mean to make fun of you. I'm sorry." "Can't you two work together a little?" I pleaded. "I mean, didn't Athena and Poseidon ever cooperate?" Annabeth had to think about it. "I guess ... the chariot," she said tentatively. "My mom invented it, but Poseidon created horses out of the crests of waves. So they had to work together to make it complete." "Then you two can cooperate, too. Right?" We rode into the city, Annabeth watching as the Arch disappeared behind a hotel. "I suppose," she said at last. We pulled into the Amtrak station downtown. The intercom told us we'd have a three-hour layover before departing for Denver. Grover stretched. Before he was even fully awake, he said, "Food." "Come on, goat boy," Annabeth said. "Sightseeing." "Sightseeing?" "The Gateway Arch," she said. "This may be my only chance to ride to the top. Are you coming or not?" Grover, Percy and I exchanged looks. I wanted to say no, but seeing the stars in Annabeth's as she watched, she was too adorable to say no to. Grover shrugged. "As long as there's a snack bar without monsters." The Arch was about a mile from the train station. Late in the day the lines to get in weren't that long. We threaded our way through the underground museum, looking at covered wagons and other junk from the 1800s. It wasn't all that thrilling, but Annabeth kept telling us interesting facts about how the Arch was built, and Grover kept passing me jelly beans, so I was okay. I kept looking around, though, at the other people in line. "You smell anything?" Percy murmured to Grover. He took his nose out of the jelly-bean bag long enough to sniff. "Underground," he said distastefully. "Underground air always smells like monsters. Probably doesn't mean anything." I took a peek at my knife and saw there was a very weak glow, or maybe a sunlight reflection. Somewhere in between. "Guys," I said. "You know the gods' symbols of power?" Annabeth had been in the middle of reading about the construction equipment used to build the Arch, but she looked over. "Yeah?" "Well, Hade-" Grover cleared his throat. "We're in a public place.... You mean, our friend downstairs?" "Um, right," I said. "Our friend way downstairs. Doesn't he have a hat like Annabeth's?" "You mean the Helm of Darkness," Annabeth said. "Yeah, that's his symbol of power. I saw it next to his seat during the winter solstice council meeting." "He was there?" Percy asked. She nodded. "It's the only time he's allowed to visit Olympus-the darkest day of the year. But his helm is a lot more powerful than my invisibility hat, if what I've heard is true...." "It allows him to become darkness," Grover confirmed. "He can melt into shadow or pass through walls. He can't be touched, or seen, or heard. And he can radiate fear so intense it can drive you insane or stop your heart. Why do you think all rational creatures fear the dark?" "But then ... how do we know he's not here right now, watching us?" I asked. Annabeth and Grover exchanged looks. "We don't," Grover said. "Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better," Percy said. "Got any blue jelly beans left?" Someone else could be watching. Hades isn't the only one to blend in the shadow young vessel. But worry not, all in the darkness, shall be your ally. So Hades will also be my ally? As air and water refuse, land and all there is shall be your ally. Can't I be allies with all? Hades, Zeus, Poseidon. Everyone. The three of them looked at me in surprise. "Don't say their name!" Grover whispered loudly. "Whose name? I haven't said a name!" I could talk through you young vessel. Is this the first time this happened? How can you forget about our conversation? Talk through me? Who are you? I am one of which that'll make sure you become one with yourself. "Y/N!!" Percy yelled. "What? Geez, you're too loud." "We've been calling your name for three minutes." Annabeth said. "Are you... Okay?" "Yeah why wouldn't I be?" When the tiny elevator car came. We got shoehorned into the car with this big fat lady and her dog, a Chihuahua with a rhinestone collar. I figured maybe the dog was a seeing-eye Chihuahua, because none of the guards said a word about it. We started going up, inside the Arch. I'd never been in an elevator that went in a curve, and my stomach wasn't too happy about it. "No parents?" the fat lady asked us. She had beady eyes; pointy, coffee-stained teeth; a floppy denim hat, and a denim dress that bulged so much, she looked like a blue-jean blimp. "They're below," Annabeth told her. "Scared of heights." "Oh, the poor darlings." The Chihuahua growled. The woman said, "Now, now, sonny. Behave." The dog had beady eyes like its owner, intelligent and vicious. I said, "Sonny. Is that his name?" "No," the lady told me. She smiled, as if that cleared everything up. At the top of the Arch, the observation deck reminded me of a tin can with carpeting. Rows of tiny windows looked out over the city on one side and the river on the other. The view was okay, but if there's anything I like less than a confined space, it's a confined space six hundred feet in the air. I was ready to go pretty quick. I could see Percy was too. So I took his hand and gave him a reassuring squeeze to calm him down despite my breakdown. Annabeth kept talking about structural supports, and how she would've made the windows bigger, and designed a see-through floor. She probably could've stayed up there for hours, but the park ranger announced that the observation deck would be closing in a few minutes. I steered Annabeth while Percy with Grover, toward the exit, loaded them into the elevator, and we were about to get in myself when I realized there were already two other tourists inside. No room for me. The park ranger said, "Next car, sir." "We'll get out," Annabeth said. "We'll wait with you two." But that was going to mess everybody up and take even more time, so I said, "Naw, it's okay. We'll see you guys at the bottom. I'll keep an eye on him." Grover and Annabeth both looked nervous, but they let the elevator door slide shut. Their car disappeared down the ramp. Now the only people left on the observation deck were me, a little boy with his parents, the park ranger, and the fat lady with her Chihuahua. Percy and I smiled uneasily at the fat lady. She smiled back, her forked tongue flickering between her teeth. Wait a minute. Forked tongue? Before I could decide if I'd really seen that, her Chihuahua jumped down and started yapping at Percy. "Now, now, sonny," the lady said. "Does this look like a good time? We have all these nice people here." "Doggie!" said the little boy. "Look, a doggie!" His parents pulled him back. The Chihuahua bared his teeth at me, foam dripping from his black lips. "Well, son," the fat lady sighed. "If you insist." Ice started forming in my stomach. "Urn, did you just call that Chihuahua your son?" "Chimera, dear," the fat lady corrected. "Not a Chihuahua. It's an easy mistake to make." She rolled up her denim sleeves, revealing that the skin of her arms was scaly and green. When she smiled, I saw that her teeth were fangs. The pupils of her eyes were sideways slits, like a reptile's. The Chihuahua barked louder, and with each bark, it grew. First to the size of a Doberman, then to a lion. The bark became a roar. The little boy screamed. His parents pulled him back toward the exit, straight into the park ranger, who stood, paralyzed, gaping at the monster. The Chimera was now so tall its back rubbed against the roof. It had the head of a lion with a blood-caked mane, the body and hooves of a giant goat, and a serpent for a tail, a ten-foot-long diamondback growing right out of its shaggy behind. The rhinestone dog collar still hung around its neck, and the plate-sized dog tag was now easy to read: CHIMERA-RABID, FIRE-BREATHING, POISONOUS-IF FOUND, PLEASE CALL TARTARUS-EXT. 954. I immediately pulled out my knife. And waited for the moment to jump in front of Percy who was ten feet away from the Chimera's bloody maw, and I knew that as soon as I moved, the creature would lunge. The snake lady made a hissing noise that might've been laughter. "Be honored, Percy Jackson and Y/N L/N. Lord Zeus rarely allows me to test a hero with one of my brood. For I am the Mother of Monsters, the terrible Echidna!" Percy and I stared at each other for a second stared at her. All he could think to say was: "Isn't that a kind of anteater?" She howled, her reptilian face turning brown and green with rage. "I hate it when people say that! I hate Australia! Naming that ridiculous animal after me. For that, Percy Jackson, my son shall destroy you!" The Chimera charged, its lion teeth gnashing. I managed to take Percy's arm to pull him aside and dodge the bite. We ended up next to the family and the park ranger, who were all screaming now, trying to pry open the emergency exit doors. I couldn't let them get hurt. I positioned myself able to parry any oncoming attack. Percy uncapped his sword, ran to the other side of the deck, and yelled, "Hey, Chihuahua!" The Chimera turned faster than I would've thought possible. Before he could swing my sword, it opened its mouth, emitting a stench like the world's largest barbecue pit, and shot a column of flame straight at him. Percy dove through the explosion. The carpet burst into flames; the heat was so intense, I could feel it where I stand and it was like I was in a sauna. Where Percy had been standing a moment before was a ragged hole in the side of the Arch, with melted metal steaming around the edges. Great, I thought. We just blowtorched a national monument. As the Chimera turned, Percy slashed at its neck. That was a fatal mistake. The blade sparked harmlessly off the dog collar. I saw the serpent tail lifted it whipped around and with all I could I ran and raised my knife to block it. Percy tried to jab Riptide into the Chimera's mouth, but the serpent tail wrapped around his ankles and pulled him off balance, and my blade flew out of my hand, spinning out of the hole in the Arch and down toward the Mississippi River. I pulled a weaponless Percy behind me and raised my small one. We backed into the hole in the wall. The Chimera advanced, growling, smoke curling from its lips. The snake lady, Echidna, cackled. "They don't make heroes like they used to, eh, son?" The monster growled. It seemed in no hurry to finish us off now that we were beaten. I glanced at the park ranger and the family. The little boy was hiding behind his father's legs. I had to protect these people. I couldn't just ... die. I was facing a massive, fire-breathing monster and its mother. And I was scared. There was no place else to go, so I stepped to the edge of the hole. Trust our hero. Jump with him. He had sworn to save us. Far, far below, the river glittered. Percy and I shared a reluctant and fearful look. If we died, would the monsters go away? Would they leave the humans alone? "If you are the son of Poseidon," Echidna hissed, "you would not fear water. Jump, Percy Jackson. Show me that water will not harm you. Jump and retrieve your sword. Prove your bloodline. Maybe your small friend could survive with you." We both knew the water hated me. But I trusted Percy. I'd jump if he told me. The Chimera's mouth glowed red, heating up for another blast. "Either you have no faith," Echidna told me. "You do not trust the gods. I cannot blame you, little cowards. Better you die now. The gods are faithless." Percy took my hand and backed up, he looked down at the water. Percy looked at me and smiled. I knew what he wanted. Holding his hand tighter, I got closer to him. "Die, faithless one," Echidna rasped, and the Chimera sent a column of flame toward our faces. "Father, please," I heard Percy say. "Don't hurt her. Help us." We turned and jumped. Our clothes on fire, we plummeted toward the river.

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specterchasing-a · 3 years

Text

Ghost of a Chance || Bex & Eddie

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: One of White Crest’s many abandoned buildings.

PARTIES: @inbextween & @specterchasing

SUMMARY: Bex and Eddie accidentally bite off more than they can chew when filming.

CONTENT: Internalized homophobia, head trauma mention.

Nervous wasn’t the exact right word for how Bex felt at the moment, but it was close enough while she thought of the right one. She’d never been ghost hunting before. She wished she could’ve gotten the special goggles from Nell that would let her see them, but she would settle for trusting Eddie instead. He could see them, and that was really enough. She could be the second hand witness that got to watch him in action in real time. She’d browsed through quite a few of his videos at this point, and he didn’t seem to do many other videos with other people. Actually, there had been none. That meant she was his first. So, maybe, the feeling was excited, or thrilled, or perhaps even exhilarated. This was what she wanted to do with her knowledge. Chase it, understand it, share it. And Eddie felt the same way and wasn’t that really just the best? He’d picked her up from Morgan’s and they’d drove down to the location, and Bex recalled the last time she’d been in his car, and how she hadn’t even been there enough to remember what kind of car it was or how it had that funny smell old cars did. She glanced back at all the equipment in the backseat, then over to Eddie. “How expensive was all of that?” she asked, curious, as she turned enough in her seat to begin prodding through his bags, examining his cameras. “Do we really need all of this?” she asked, pulling out what looked like a walkie talkie with no matching device.

Throughout the entirety of his YouTube career, Eddie worked alone. He had no other choice. Friends were few and far between, and most of them were incorporeal, which meant holding a camera was out of the question. But now, Bex was here; eager to help. He liked her—quite a bit, actually. And, by some miracle, she seemed to like him too. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he felt like he’d finally found the kind of friend he’d been missing. And, yeah, it helped that she had a pulse.

“Too expensive,” Eddie replied to her question with an exaggerated grimace. “And, I mean, ‘need’ is a strong word, but they’re fun to have around and the viewers appreciate the pageantry, so why not?” Eddie pointed at the gadget in her hand. “That is a tri-axis EMF meter, which is technically useless to me since I’m a living ghost magnet.”

Eddie reached into the backseat and pulled the center most bag into his lap and removed two cameras. One of them, he promptly turned on and looked through the lens at Bexley. “Well, look at that, the camera already loves you,” he said before handing it over to her. “Do you have any experience with one of these? Not a huge deal if you don’t. It’s pretty easy to get the hang of.”

Bex set the meter down and looked at Eddie. “A tri-what?” she asked, raising a brow. She didn’t know what any of this stuff was aside from the camera, leaning back in her seat as he pulled the bag up onto his own lap to rifle around in it. She tilted her head as she watched, curious eyes glued to his every action. Finally, the camera popped open and he pointed it at her and she ducked her face to the side, unable to help the blush that came onto her face. “Oh, shut up,” she said, reaching out to cover the lens with her palm carefully-- she didn’t actually want to damage the thing, it was expensive and Eddie had spent all his own money on it. She wished she could help somehow.

She took the camera when he handed it to her and peered down the lens. “I think the camera like you much more,” she teased back, smiling at him from behind it. “I know how to use a camcorder, yes.. I’m not that sheltered.” She felt the excitement buzzing in her stomach. “So, where do we start, mister ghost magnet? I’m here to support you.”

When Bex’s hand raised to cover the camera’s lens, Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’re gonna be my co-host, you’ll have to do something about that camera shyness,” he said with playfully raised brows. The thought of her accompanying him on future filming adventures was tempting, to say the least. Sharing his passion projects with someone else who understood and appreciated them had always seemed like a pipe dream, but that was slowly beginning to change.

Eddie didn’t so much as flinch when Bex directed the camera at him. “I sure hope it likes me after all these years,” he said, mirroring her smile. “So, for starters, we gotta introduce you, obviously—let the viewers know who they’re dealing with. I figure we can do that right outside the entrance.” As Eddie spoke, he opened the car door, tugging the bag’s strap onto his shoulder. “You ready for your close-up, Ms. Ochsenstein?”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” Bex teased, “you have to see if you can stand being around me for more than ten minutes. If I recall, last time, I couldn’t.” She stuck her tongue out but held the camera back up, examining him through it. “I think the camera is in love with you, actually. It can’t look away!” Gosh, when was the last time she’d felt so free and excited? She was just brimming with anticipation, and it was jittering in her stomach. The last time she’d been this excited was when she’d gone out with Mina to the casino. That, turns out, had been a different sort of excited. “And I’m not camera shy, thank you very much. I just think you’re much better suited for it than me.”

Eddie hopped out of the car and she followed his lead, sliding the camera strap over her shoulder so it didn’t fall from her grip. She was well aware she was clumsy enough to accidentally drop it and if she broke one of his cameras, she’d feel so guilty. Extra safety precautions were worth it. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” she chirped, following after him.

“Yeah, I really don’t see that being an issue on my end,” Eddie said, and he meant it wholeheartedly. “But, so long as we don’t run into any unforeseen Bex-repellent, here’s hoping your tolerance for me will have gone up.” As she continued filming him, he felt a sudden surge of fondness. After their last outing, it felt positively wonderful to see her enjoying herself. “Technically, that camera pays my bills, so it can ogle me all it wants.” The excitement Bex felt must’ve been contagious. Enthusiasm bubbled in Eddie’s stomach, reminding him of how he felt when he first started making videos. “I beg to differ—I’ve got a feeling you’re gonna be a natural.”

As they approached the building’s entrance, Eddie raised his camera and aimed it at Bex. He took a few steps to the left, making sure he lined the shot up perfectly. “Viewers, I’d like to take a moment and introduce you to my new and very good weird friend, Bex. She’ll be helping to make sure I don’t die today, which I think is very cool of her. Bex, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself and how you’re feeling about what we’re about to do?”

“Uh huh, we’ll see,” Bex said with a smirk. There was a strange natural ease with which she fell in stride with Eddie, both in their conversation and in their steps. She followed him up towards the building, looking at all the buttons on the camera as she did, wondering if he knew what they all did. “Oh, you’ll be surprised how much I can tolerate. I think we’ll be okay.” The building didn’t look much different than most places around town, but it was abandoned and Bex really hoped it wasn’t going to cave in on her, like the last place had. “Well, if it pays the bills, it must be worth it,” she grinned.

Eddie ushered her towards the entrance and she set the camera down, closing the viewer so it didn’t look awkward and clunky while it dangled there. Bex cleared her throat and fixed her hair in an attempt to try and make the rosiness in her cheeks less apparent as he pointed the camera at her. She’d been on camera and video plenty of times-- the way her life had run it was unavoidable-- but never in a manner that left her feeling so...exposed. He asked her to talk about herself, her real self, and she’d never done that to a camera before. Swallowing, she nodded. “Uh, well-- My name’s Bexley. But you already know that. That was-- anyway!” she shifted in her spot. “Well, I’m a student at UMWC for pre--” she paused, thought on it, “--for Anthropology. I’m actually really good at making sure people don’t die, so you guys don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure Eddie doesn’t get got by a ghost.”

Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten along this well with someone. As pathetic as it made him feel, he knew it must’ve been a few years ago, at least. Ostensibly, he could have reached this level of friendliness with a few of the ghosts from his past, but they always moved on quickly. He couldn’t resent them for that, not when he made it a point to help them. “Uh-huh, we’ll see,” he parrotted her words back to her when she claimed to have a high tolerance.

Eddie kept still while Bex stumbled through her introduction, grinning at the mistakes. He didn’t mean to poke fun at her necessarily, it was just an incredibly endearing display. “Perfect,” he said when she was done, lowering the camera. “Anthropology, huh? I should’ve been able to guess that.” Eddie closed the distance between himself and Bex. “Now, we go in and hope the ghost’s aren’t feeling shy tonight.” He slipped past her and approached the door. One tug at the handle told him that entering wouldn’t be that easy.

He looked over his shoulder at Bex. “Hey, wanna see a trick?” Eddie’s attention turned back to the door. He took a moment to study the structure, checking for any important details. Once satisfied, he focused on what he wanted the door to do. In his mind, he saw it opening. A few moments later, it actually did. “That’s gonna make tomorrow a migraine day, but I wanted to impress you,” he admitted with a shrug.

“Well, I used to be in pre-law, actually,” Bex pointed out as she let him come over to her, smiling. He seemed satisfied with her introduction, even if she found it relatively subpar. That was just kind of who she was, as a person-- subpar. She wasn’t going to share that thought out loud, though. She didn’t want to ruin a good thing. And, really, this was a good thing. Eddie seemed really nice and like he knew how to have fun and he was being super supportive of her, already. Plus, Nell knew him, and she trusted Nell’s judgement probably more than her own. “Do they often feel shy? Do you think they’ll actually come out if I’m here? What if I make them feel uncomfortable, since I can’t see them?” she asked with sudden realization. She hope she wasn’t just ruining his entire day of filming. She imagined it took a lot of effort, and then there was the editing and the uploading and everything in between.

They found the door locked, and Bex was prepared to offer her rarely now used lock picking skills when he offered to show her a trick, instead. Curious, she nodded and stepped back, watching him closely. Suddenly, the door clicked open and swung on its hinges to invite them in. Bex’s face lit up. “Woah! That was so cool! Like, legitimately! I’m not just saying that. Besides N-- my magic mentor, I don’t know anyone else who can use magic. Not really. And I know it’s, like, different, but it’s still a type of magic.” She grinned. “Well, color me impressed. And remind me when we get back that I have some really good uh-- things to help with pain.” She didn’t know what she’d call Nell’s medicine, but it helped with pain. A lot more than ibuprofen or tylenol ever did.

She gestured towards the inside, picking her camera back up. “You first. You are the star of this show, after all.” And she couldn’t help the pick-up in her heartbeat as she felt anticipation run through her veins.

“Yikes, that sounds like… so much school, too much even,” Eddie replied with a mild grimace. School never suited him, there were too many subjects he couldn’t care less about. If it wasn’t for the ghosts who frequently guided him in cheating, he would’ve flunked out years before graduating. Bex, on the other hand, seemed like a decently bookish person. He wondered what it would be like to have that kind of brain between his ears. As it was, he could only retain information about topics that inspired him. Hyperfixations, the professionals called them.

Eddie grinned at her barrage of ghost-related questions, more than happy to be around someone who actually took an interest in what he did. “No worries, you’re gonna be just fine. Most ghosts are pretty used to not being seen. They’re more shy when they know they’re being watched, so I’m more likely to gum up the works than you are,” he assured her. “Luckily, I’ve kind of learned their language over the years, so I’m not too pressed about it. I’ll coax them out of hiding one way or another.”

“You have a magic mentor? Neat,” he said, beaming from ear-to-ear. Bex referring to telekinesis as magic only prolonged his smile. “Look at us having so much in common, no wonder we’re such fast friends.” Eddie loved the idea of partaking in some sort of magical remedy for his pain instead of relying solely on the mundane effects of tylenol. “You’re a pharmacist too—is there anything you can’t do, Bex Ochsenstein?”

Eddie’s head bowed in response before he took a few steps deeper into the building. He raised his camera again and filmed a sweeping shot of the area. It looked as if no one had been inside for years, which obviously wasn’t much of a surprise considering they likely hadn’t. “Alright, my dearly departed friends, if you’re here—I’ve got someone who’d like to meet you.” When his statement wrapped up, a translucent individual wafted into view. For all intents and purposes, she looked perfectly fine for a ghost; no signs of a traumatic death.

“Bex,” Eddie said. “I really wish you could see her.”

His attention turned back to the ghost. “First of all, it’s an honor to meet you—do you mind being part of a video? I know you won’t show up or anything, but y’know.”

“Run,” said the ghost.

“Beg your pardon?” Eddie questioned.

“We’re not alone.”

After she gave her warning, the floor began to quake beneath them, and the door instantly slammed shut.

“Pre-law was a lot,” Bex agreed, nodding. And made even worse so by the fact that she’d never wanted to do it in the first place. She ducked inside the house after Eddie and held up her camera, pointing it at Eddie. She flipped on the dark vision switch and watched it flicker to life. She turned in a circle as she walked around, making sure to film their surroundings. “Do ghosts not like you, then?” she asked, turning to zoom the camera in on Eddie’s face. “Tell us the truth, Mister Ghost Man.” She grinned from behind the lens, pausing in one of the doorways.

“I do, she’s pretty great,” she answered, unsure if she should tell Eddie about Nell, considering he knew her. Did he know know, though? It probably wasn’t her secret to tell, and if he didn’t know, there was a reason by now. She could only wonder what it was, though. “Oh, don’t you worry, there’s quite a bit I can’t do. Like ride a bike, or drive a car, or see ghosts.” She stopped when Eddie did, gazing at something she could not see. A ghost, she assumed. The air around them chilled and Bex noticed her breath coming out in puffs in front of her lips. “I wish I could, too…” she murmured.

But something in the air changed, she could feel it.

“Um, Eddie?” she started, turning to him-- but she didn’t get much of a chance to say anything else, as the floor shook and the door swung shut behind her. She jumped and scrambled over to Eddie, wrapping her arms around his free one. “What’s happening? What did she say?” She wasn’t sure what to do, but she didn’t want to do anything to offend the ghost or-- whatever else was there with them. She wasn’t sure her magic could protect either of them from ghosts. They weren’t inside of wooden dolls this time.

“Sometimes,” Eddie admitted with an embarrassed grin. “Like I told you before, plenty of people have let me know that I’m too much, and not all of those people were alive when they said it.” Just because he loved ghosts didn’t mean they always loved him back. As much as he tried to put their needs first, his best didn’t always cut it. “But, more often than not, they like me okay. That’s the best I can ask for, really.”

“Aside from seeing ghosts, everything else you listed is overrated, anyway,” Eddie said with a small nod. The focus quickly shifted to what they came to the abandoned building for, and he felt blissfully in his element until the sudden shift in atmosphere. If he’d come here alone, the appearance of danger wouldn’t have bothered him, but Bex was here. He couldn’t allow her to get swept up in his death-wish.

Eddie pulled his arm away from her, but only so he could wrap it around her. “She told us to run,” he replied. “No way we’re gonna get through the way we came if it doesn’t want us to.” His eyes scanned the room, looking for a way out. Items, forgotten or discarded by their original owners, were strewn across the floor of the building. The spirit causing the recent commotion decided to begin hurling them in whatever direction it fancied. Eddie ducked, pulling Bex down with him, as a wrench flew overhead. “Shit,” he hissed.

His gaze landed on a broken window at the opposite end of the room. “There!” he called out, guiding Bex towards it.

“Well, you’re not too much,” Bex said back with a huff, “if I’m not, you’re not.” It was only fair, right? She would have tried to find another snappy retort if she could, but as it were, the trembling of the floor and the sudden array of items being thrown about really put a pause on her mind trying to come up with one. Eddie wrapped his arm around her and she pressed into him, looking around for an exit as well. But she kept the camera up as much as she could-- he’d want this footage, right? He pulled her down just as a wrench went flying through the space her head had been in previously and she looked behind her to find it wedged in the wall. Her heart was pounding, but she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t. It was like with the hunter, in the alley. She wasn’t afraid.

Eddie’s voice brought her back to herself and she looked at the window across the room. “C’mon!” she took off for it, pulling him with her, her other hand still gripping the camera. It was an expensive piece of equipment, she couldn’t let it break on her first venture out. When they reached the window, she went to bust it open, but the wooden panes from the outside swung angrily shut in her face and she jumped back. “I don’t think it wants us to leave this way, either!” she said, casting a worried glance back at him. “Duck!” She grabbed him and tugged him out of the way as what looked like an old rotary phone came flying at them. It shattered on the wall where Eddie’s head had been. “Are they always this upset? What’s wrong with her?”

Bex took off towards the window and Eddie realized something; he’d underestimated her. Not on purpose, of course, but still—she didn’t need to be treated with kid gloves. The panic attack he witnessed in the alley did not define her. Amidst the chaos and dread, he witnessed a new side of her. Bex Ochsenstein was brave, and she didn’t need him to play the part of a hero.

“That’s pretty inconsiderate of it,” Eddie snarked when their way-out turned into a dead-end. Bex yanked him down, same way he’d done for her. He grinned at the role reversal, he couldn’t help it. “It’s not her,” he said. “It’s something else—my money’s on it being a poltergeist. And, yeah, they’re a little touchy.” More than ever, Eddie resented not being raised by fellow mediums. If he had, he might’ve known a thing or two about impromptu exorcisms.

“You said you know some latin, right?” Eddie began digging in the bag that held his camera equipment. “My pronunciation is shit, but maybe you’ll have better luck than me.” He retrieved a worn-out, leather bound book and shoved it into Bex’s free hand. “Don’t ask me which page has the answers, I’m fully playing this by ear.” As he went back to digging in his bag, one of the other windows shattered, covering the floor in jagged glass. He flinched, but kept digging until he pulled out a bag of salt. “Start reading,” he instructed her as he began pouring the contents of the bag out in the shape of a circle with them safely in the middle.

“A poltergeist?” Bex asked. Oh, she was definitely writing this down when they got done. Poltergeists were different from regular ghosts. She wondered what made a ghost into a poltergeist. Or if they even could become one. Were they a special type of ghost? Were there different types of ghosts? She didn’t have too much time to consider all the questions popping into her head because Eddie was pushing her away from the window and handing her a book. “Latin? Oh, no, I’m much better with Hebre--” The window shattering cut her sentence short and she squeaked, nodding, “Latin! Got it!”

Eddie was pulling something else out of his bag and Bex had to remind herself to not watch him and just read whatever was written in front of her. She didn’t understand a lot of the words on the page, but there were a few that stood out. Mostly, the word protect. Okay, she could work with that. She didn’t know if she was supposed to do anything else while she read, so she just started saying the words out loud, backing up into Eddie’s salt circle. “Oh! Neat! A salt circle, is that--” A lamp shattered near their heads. “Right! Sorry! Excuse me, mister ghost slash possible poltergeist! We don’t mean any harm!” She felt the floorboards shudder beneath her and she stumbled, nearly dropping the book and the camera. “I-- I don’t think this is working, Eddie. Should I try a different page? Ne-- my mentor did tell me something about how um, exorcist magic is different from spellcaster magic, but--” she ducked as a shoe came flying at her, “--maybe I can use magic!” Or maybe she shouldn’t. She was still recovering from messing with that hunter. And she wasn’t sure using magic on camera was the best idea. “Where is it? Maybe we can just talk to it. She seems like a reasonable gal, don’t you think?”

As the building continued to rattle and the lamp shattered, Eddie reached the same conclusion as Bex. Much to his dismay, they seemed utterly out of luck, but he wasn’t keen on giving up yet. He carefully set his camera down within their salt circle—if it didn’t survive this excursion, he wouldn’t be too heartbroken, but he’d do what he could to protect his bank account.

“I would love to settle this with a heart-to-heart, but poltergeists aren’t known for being reasonable.” Eddie carelessly discarded the used-up bag of salt as the few in-tact windows began opening and slamming shut. It felt an awful lot like their poltergeist was taunting them. His thoughts back-peddled to the comment Bex made about exorcist magic. As a medium, he wondered if that particular brand of spellcraft was in his blood already.

“Magic,” he mused, carefully taking the book from Bex’s hands. “You know any spells that’ll keep our angry little buddy from giving me brain damage?” Eddie opened the tome to a random page. From what he could parse, it seemed like a pretty simple means of temporary banishment. He could only hope it was simple enough for someone without any skill. “Time to find out if mediumship has any extra perks.”

“Okay,” Bex said, “fair enough!” She scooted behind Eddie as he set his camera down and took the book from her. He flipped through the book to a different page and she tried to wrack her mind for any sort of spell that could stop someone from throwing things at them. She knew about the spell to make things move on their own, maybe if she just redirected that energy into making an object stop, it would work? “Yeah, yep! I-- I’ll give it a try! Hopefully no head damage from this, but, uh-- no guarantees!”

She looked towards where she thought the poltergeist was-- it was the direction all the things were flying from-- and concentrated. It was relatively soon after the incident with the hunter, but she could try! She could totally try. She could do this. She could protect her friend. Something whizzed towards them and Bex held up her hands, concentrating, and managed to at least misdirect it, watching it shatter on the wall behind them. “Oh! Oh! I did it! Eddie, I--” she started, but something else started heading for them and she put her hands back up. “Just, uh-- hurry with whatever you’re doing! I’m not sure I can, uh, do this for too long!”

With the comfort of knowing Bex had a few tricks up her sleeve, Eddie began chanting in Latin. His brow furrowed as he steadied his focus—one mispronunciation and they’d be left vulnerable. He tried not to flinch as something shattered loudly against the wall behind them. Bex, clearly proud of her success, began bubbling with excitement. If Eddie hadn’t been so engrossed in the words before him, he would’ve joined her.

Just as Bex finished her warning, a loud shriek permeated the air, and the object in mid-flight dropped to the ground. Everything around them went quiet. Eddie looked up from the book, clearly startled by the sudden change in atmosphere. “Holy shit, Bex, I think we did it.”

Everything seemed to go a little faster for a moment, before suddenly, it stopped. Completely. The objects that had been whirling around in the space in front of them clattered loudly to the ground and Bex flinched from surprise, moving in closer to Eddie. After a moment, she realized it was quiet, but she didn’t make a move until Eddie declared his own, similar thoughts. “We-- we did it!” she said, her face lighting up. She patted his shoulders excitedly. “We did it! Oh my god, that was amazing! You’re amazing! This was amazing!” she exclaimed, before a swell of exhaustion overtook her and she felt her eyes roll up into the back of her head for a second. The next moment, her body began to drop.

Bex hit the floor without warning and Eddie quickly dropped to his knees beside her. “Bex?” he asked, his eyes wide with fright. “Bex, wake up.” He pulled her head into his lap and gingerly swept a few errant strands of hair out of her face. “We’re gonna be fine, but I need you to wake up, okay?”

Looking down at her, Eddie realized how attached to her he’d become in the short amount of time they’d known each other. Bex represented everything he admired in a person: brave, enthusiastic, kind, open-minded. As she laid there unconscious, he wondered if the reason he’d never found the ‘right’ girl was because he’d never met her. She didn’t exactly set his heart on fire, but the idea of spending more time with her excited him. Maybe, that was all that mattered.

“Please,” he begged.

Bex didn’t know how long she’d been out-- realistically, it’d only been a few moments. Not even a full minute. She wasn’t even aware she’d fallen unconscious until her eyes were blinking open and she was staring up at Eddie, and he looked so worried. Confusion crossed her face for a moment as she looked up at him. “What-- what’s wrong?” she asked. Had something else happened? Was the ghost still here? Did they upset the other one? “Why are you looking at me like that?” It wasn’t until she tried to sit up that she realized she was horizontal. She blinked, her face contorted a moment, before she focused back on Eddie. “Are we on the floor? Where’s the ghost? Is she okay? The-- not poltergeist one.”

A sudden rush of relief mingled with the adrenaline coursing through Eddie’s entire system. Bex’s words fell on deaf ears. Amidst the chaos, Eddie completely forgot about the amiable ghost and her warnings—she could wait. “You passed out,” he said, his words drastically contrasting with the grin spreading across his face. “Bex, you were incredible. You…” He trailed off with a laugh. Eddie raised a hand to smooth his hair back from his forehead. Without allowing himself enough time to think through his next words, he plunged head-first into a proposal. “Would you ever wanna, like, go out? As more than friends, I mean. No pressure, I just think you’re really amazing.” And, if things between them went well, maybe he’d be able to shake the confusing attraction to Alfie. As far as he could tell, it would be an ideal scenario.

“I did?” Bex said, still in his lap, looking up at him. She didn’t exactly realize her head was in his lap. Maybe she would’ve moved, but maybe not. Suddenly, her cheeks burned. He was calling her incredible, when, really, she hadn’t done much. “Oh, no! You were the incredible one!” she lifted her hands and waved them in front of them. “You knew exactly what to do under all that pressure, and--” but he was laughing and talking again and Bex stared up at him with a slightly ajar mouth. “Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that. “I-- I’m--” involved with someone? Seeing someone? Dating someone? Hanging out with someone? She didn’t know what her and Mina were doing, actually. Her cheeks burned again. “You’re very sweet, Eddie, really! And normally I would probably say yes, but I’m sort of--” she couldn’t say it. Why couldn’t she say it? She should just say it “--taking time for myself right now.” She looked up at him. “I-- I’m sorry. But I really like spending time with you! I do! I hope that’s okay.” Please be okay.

Eddie’s brow raised slightly as Bex stumbled over her words. Eventually, a gentle rejection formed. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Strangely enough, a small part of him actually breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course, that’s okay,” Eddie said with a small nod. His cheeks were burning and he felt like more of an idiot than usual, but he could cope with that. “I, uh, think that was just a side-effect of the excitement getting to me, anyway. Taking time for yourself is really important! We can still play ghostbusters even if we’re just friends.” Deciding that he’d said more than enough, Eddie offered her his hand. “Let’s get you on your feet.”

She felt bad. Kinda. She should’ve probably said yes, right? That was what everyone had wanted from her. To be normal, to like boys. Bex took his hand and sat up, looking over at him. Her cheeks were burning again, too. “I really do like spending time with you, Eddie,” she said, “this was probably the most fun I’ve had in...a long time. But it was so fun! And I totally wanna do it again. You know, if you’ll have me?” Her head still felt a bit light, but she was smiling. She didn’t know what was wrong with her heart, or why it was stammering in her chest. Or why she felt somehow nervous, or like she’d done something wrong. She thought of Mina and felt her heart begin to calm, as she stood on wobbly legs, stumbling into him. “Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, “looks like I might need your support after all.” A tease, to help wipe away any lingering awkwardness.

“Right, of course,” Eddie agreed, nodding perhaps a bit too vigorously. “Trust me, spending time with you is way too much of a blast to give it up over something like that. It would be an honor to almost die with you again in the future.” As Bex stumbled into him, Eddie wasted no time in bracing her by planting his hands on her either side of her waist. If the heat burning in his cheeks got any worse, he theorized he might burst into flames. “No worries,” he insisted with a laugh. “I’m a fan of you being conscious and upright, so I’ve got you.” With one hand still holding her in place, he dipped down to grab his camera and the book, carelessly shoving them into his bag before rising again. “Should I get you home, then? We can always make plans when you’re a little more steady.”

“Let’s-- maybe call it something else,” Bex said with an exasperated smile. “It’s-- an adventure! A-- could end badly but doesn't because we make such a good team, adventure! How’s that sound? Think that’ll fit on a channel title?” She let him balance her, wondering why it didn’t feel frightening or strange to have his hands on her hips. Usually, she shirked away from other people’s touch, but she’d been so-- okay with Eddie’s. She cleared her throat and tried not to think about it. “Ah, yes, I think home sounds like a good idea. Do you think we got enough footage? Do you edit all your own videos? Maybe I could come help with that?” she asked, looking at him with wide, curious eyes. She didn’t want the adventure to be over with yet, but her legs weren’t cooperating and she didn’t want to accidentally pass out on him again. Mina would be upset if she let that happen, or if she came home unconscious carried by another boy again.

“I like the sound of that, actually. A little lengthy, but hey, brevity isn’t everything,” Eddie said with a teasing grin. As always, her enthusiasm was catching. Besides his little blunder, tonight went amazingly. A little action, a little danger, a brief black-out; it checked all the boxes. His grin took a turn towards genuine fondness as Bex went into another of her patented question-barrages. “If we didn’t, we can come back during the daytime—see if our resident friendly ghost has any commentary she’d like to add.” Eddie began carefully walking them towards the exit as he spoke. “I do my own editing, yeah, and I would be more than happy to have you lend a hand. At the very least, the company would be nice,” he admitted earnestly. “If you’re back on your feet tomorrow, we can tackle movie magic tomorrow.” Eddie reached for the door and, thankfully, it opened without complaint this time around. “If, uh, that sounds good to you, of course.”

“Exactly! Sometimes you need a long title, just so that people know exactly what they’re getting themselves into, you know?” Bex beamed, she couldn’t help it. There was an energy about being around Eddie that made her feel seen. And excited and heard. And he felt the same way about all this supernatural stuff as her, and it was so nice to finally know someone who felt the same. Who didn’t tell her it was too dangerous or that it was too risky or that they just shouldn’t do it, because there might be trouble later. That wasn’t how things worked. If no one ever pushed for change, there never would be. But Eddie wanted that. And so did Bex. Maybe that was why she’d gravitated toward him so readily. “Oh, no, is she gone? Did we scare her off? Can you tell her I’m sorry? I totally didn’t mean her! I hope she’s okay,” she gasped, turning to look back towards the room where Eddie had pointed her out first as he led Bex towards the exit. “I can do tomorrow!” she said, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. Technically, she wanted to do it now, but he was right. She should get back home and rest. “I’ll be totally fine by tomorrow,” she said, paused, then added, “promise.”

“If you ask me, YouTube might be your calling instead of anthropology,” Eddie said, unable to hide the immense grin that always seemed to be plastered on his face when Bex was around. Having her remain as energetic as ever helped diminish the anxiety he felt after boldly asking her if she’d like to take their relationship to the next level. So long as he kept her in his life, he supposed it didn’t matter which labels they used.

As she expressed concern over their ghost, Eddie laughed and resisted the urge to pull her closer in an attempt to comfort her. “You’re fine, I promise. She’s probably just a little rattled, I bet she’ll be back in time for our next visit.” Bex cared so much—about everything. Eddie admired that about her, how could he not? “You’ll have a chance to tell her yourself when that time rolls around.”

Her resounding confirmation caught Eddie off-guard. He glanced at her, wondering if the time she was taking for herself might end in a change of tune, after all. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said as they approached the passenger-side of the car. With his free-hand, he pulled the door open for her and gestured for her to enter. “If you haven’t guessed yet, I can be a tad clingy,” he confessed with a small shrug.

“Oh, no, I’ll leave the internet sensationalism to you. I’d much rather be behind the camera, or better yet, down in the dirt,” Bex dismissed, feeling that warmth that often filled her when she talked about history or being on a dig, rising into her stomach again. Still, she did like doing this with Eddie. And she thought she’d done a pretty decent job! Hopefully she’d even actually shot some good footage. Only time would tell, she supposed, as she held onto him while they made their way to the car. It was right where they’d left it, and she wasn’t sure why she thought the outside world was going to be any different after her first ghost encounter. It was all strangely exactly the same.

“Well, I hope she’s okay. I’ll definitely be asking her to make sure when we come back. Do ghosts like gifts? Or-- offerings? Is it an offering if you give a ghost something? Maybe we can bring her flowers. I know a good florist in town,” she rambled, watching Eddie come around and open the door for her. She looked at his face then-- really looked at him-- and wondered what might be wrong with her, if she’d rejected him so readily. Was something wrong with her? With the way Mina made her feel? She blinked the thoughts away and let a warm smile carve onto her lips. “Don’t worry,” she said, stepping towards the car, “I’m clingy, too.” She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before lowering herself into the car, and, wondering, why she’d done that at all.

#c: bexley #wickedswriting #writing #ghost of a chance #// nothing to see here #move along

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thefallencrestfamily · 3 years

Text

"The Fallen Crest Family"

Chapter 5: Mela Ami, The Mysterious 14th Misfit Student (3)

Kalego: "You've been quite for a few minutes since we walked."

Melody: "..."

Kalego: "Hey! That's a-!"

Melody accidentally bumps into a tree and she finally wakes up from her daydreaming. Kalego sighs as he helps her up a bit. It's one thing to weirdly prefer to walk over flying home but to not look where you're going. He should have just left and yet here he is, enduring all of this for the sake of confirmation.

Kalego: "Okay something's up, unless it's studying spells, I don't see you as a type of person who spaces out in public. Is there something your not telling me about your home life?"

Of there was, she did have a home Lord Sullivan gave her a house, and thanks to Opera her home was furnished, neat and tidy by her preferences in the span of a day. Lord Sullivan even gave books and bookshelves as a extra bonus. It's just that she didn't want Kalego to judge her tastes. Again. Kalego never liked her tastes during their class days. Most specifically her cute tastes. She knew Kalego doesn't like Akudols, plushies or all things childish. Which is what she requested in her preferences for her bedroom to Opera.

Melody: "I just... I don't think you'll like my home."

Kalego: "If you mean it's messy then-."

Melody: "No no, not that."

Kalego: "Look whatever it is, I promise I will not say anything to judge it rudely."

Melody looked at Kalego and pouted.

Melody: "You'll still rudely judge it mentally though."

Kalego: "Would you rather have me judge you verbally about your home?"

Melody: "Fine..."

Melody got to the house and opened the door to see it as a simple living room with a TV attached to a few video games added with a dinning room at the side.

Melody: "Welcome to my home, I'll make some Hell Grey Tea and food. You can look around for a bit. Remember, no verbal judging me!"

Kalego was a little confused, so far everything was tame. He looked in one room to find her study room, where she looks up all her books to help with her spells. Then he saw her little training room where there was a lot of gym equipment and a punching bag. He saw the guests rooms and they all looked simple yet different to keep hospitality. Even the bathrooms, the kitchen Melody was in and the laundry room looked clean and nice.

Kalego: "This girl is overthinking too much..."

Then he looked in her room and immediately closed it. It was too much to process, what people call "fluff"? Yeah fluff.

Kalego: "So... she's that kind of person. That's why she was nervous about bringing me here."

Of course, Kalego was still mentally judging her, but not too much. He was warned beforehand going to her home, and he still went anyway. Plus, she did live alone and was forced to mature at an early age, so he'd give her some slack. He came back and the food and tea was on the table. It looked like somewhere out of a fancy cafe which surprised him.

Kalego: "Spellcasting, Music and Culinary. Is there anything else I should know about you?"

Melody: "My culinary skills came from part time job I use to work in."

Kalego: "About that. What jobs did you do? Because being your age a minor taking jobs should be illegal."

Melody: "Let's see... I already said my part time job. I also did commissions for artworks and charms, entered many contests for prize money or rewards, let people live in my home as rent and when I saved enough to buy my own internet box, I did online freelance voice acting and music. When my freelancing was booming, I decided to quit my part time job and stop my commissioning to focus fully on that, as I finally started school."

Kalego: "How did you get this house let alone pay with freelance money?"

Melody: "Luck. Pure luck on a contest. Also I have full ownership of this house as per my win, so it's all in my name so I don't have to pay for rent."

Her luck is just all over the place, and her determination was incredible. It's a miracle for her to have survived this long without doing something illegal.

Kalego: "I see. Well this was all I needed from you, let's talk about the song you'll pick."

Melody: "Um..."

Kalego: "You still haven't decided, have you?"

Melody: "I'm sorry, I just feel kinda pressured."

Kalego: "Then go for a song that you feel the most comfortable doing."

Melody sees a small flashback to Kalego's student days back in his first year where the classes were deciding on what performance her class should do, where he found Melody was playing piano while singing songs alone.

Young Kalego: "It's not a solo performance, you know."

Melody: "I know but I do this to calm down- Wait... AH GEEZ! Kalego! Knock before you enter!"

Young Kalego: "Delayed reaction much? What would have happened if it was a assassin who came in this room, you would be dead instantly."

Melody: "Sorry..."

Young Kalego: "Anyways, what's this about calming yourself?

Melody: "I just feel a little pressured is all. Everyone in my class expects me to lead them because of my musical talent, but I don't know what to do. I need to figure out the song but there is too many to choose. Not to mention the themes, the performers, the stage need to be checked and I-."

Young Kalego: "Then go for a song that you feel the most comfortable doing."

Melody: "What?"

Young Kalego: "If you're stressed about picking a song, then pick the one that gives you the least amount of stress."

Melody: "I guess that helps... thanks Kalego."

Young Kalego: "Don't get it wrong, I didn't help you out of a whim."

Melody: "...You want me to teach you the piano, don't you~?"

Young Kalego: "No!"

Melody: "You didn't want to turn to your teacher for help or your classmates, so you turned to me because I wouldn't make fun of the 'Prideful Kalego' while he learns the piano for the first time to help his class's music performance. Am I right?"

Young Kalego: "Tch..."

Melody: "Alright, lock the door and I'll help. This room is a private soundproof room after all."

Young Kalego: "And yet you leave it open for people to sneak in."

Melody: "Oh hush!"

Young Kalego: "Remember, no telling anyone you did this."

Melody: "I know."

The flashback ends as Melody smiles from the memories. He's always been the same after all these years.

Melody: "Thank you Mr. Naberius, though you don't look to be the type to help without compensation."

Kalego: "Of course. You can pay back with keeping our little time here at your home a secret. The last thing I want is an inconvenience."

Melody: "Of course. So I'll see you at the exam tomorrow?"

Kalego: "Naturally."

---------

The next day Melody got to the school early to walk with a lot of props and decorations. She sees Dali there, looking like he's waiting for someone. She knew Dali in the past too, he was a student teacher of Babylus at the time, very surprised that his face or height really hasn't changed over the years. But she respected him, and was the only teacher back then who knew of her rough family life and became her mentor, like the father she wished she had.

Melody: "Good morning, you must be Mr. Dandalion. What are you doing up so early?"

Dali: "Your Mela, correct? I'm just waiting for the other judging teachers, though I do admit I might have been too excited for your performance that I came earlier than I thought. What about you?"

Melody: "I wanted to come early to prepare the stage for my Talent Exam. Do you by chance have the keys to the stage?"

Dali: "Okay, but I would need to supervise you."

Melody: "That's fine."

Dali took Melody to the stage as she began to decorate the stage. When she had to reach the top parts of the stage she looked down being unable to reach, which confused Dali.

Melody: "Fractal."

She jumps and she is light as a feather, being able to change the gravity of her body. This however, surprised Dali as she finished all her decorations. Any normal demon would have just flew, and looking back, she didn't fly when the other teachers spied on Kalego going to her home or even flew when she came back to the school today. And then a thought hit him, something he hope isn't the case. He walked to her, as she deactivated the spell.

Dali: "This might be insensitive of me, but... if you don't mind Mela, may I see your wing roots?"

Melody hesitates for a moment. She knew Dali was just being concerned and she could just say no then he wouldn't press it further. But she thought again that at some point, someone else would bring it up, and it would keep going until the situation got worse. She might as well show it to her former mentor, it's better than being exposed forcefully. She lifts her shirt to expose her back to see scars, scratches and burn marks. The wing roots were burned and ripped right off, revealing she has no wings also known as "being grounded".

Dali: "...I'm so sorry."

Melody: "No no, don't be sorry for my faults. I was at a wrong place at the wrong time... I plan to make artificial wings one day when I can create a spell for it, but..."

Dali: "...Can you at least tell me who did this to you? You don't have to tell me, but... those marks look recent..."

Right, they were fresh like she lost her wings several days ago.

Melody: "I don't know... I was blindfolded at the time...and after blacking out from the pain I was found by the Principal's Grandson."

Which she wasn't wrong. At the time of the incident they tried to blindfold her and she couldn't know who grounded her. A lot of her memories of that time were blurry and painful to begin with. And she did meet Iruma right after that.

Dali: "Well whatever happens in this exam or the next one, even if you don't pass for the Royal One with the Misfit Class, I'd be happy to assist you to enter in my homeroom class."

Melody: "...But why? Wouldn't problems stir if I'm put in any normal class? You know, spellcasting shenanigans."

Dali: "Well you are interesting, talented and you did say you wanted to enter Babylus. Any teacher would be proud to have a student like you and be a fool to let that talent go to waste. And besides, you'd make homeroom much more exciting, so your shenanigans would be worth the trouble."

Melody: "Thank you Mr. Dandalion."

---------

The other teachers came in and was ready seated in the audience. The only other teachers she recognized were Raim and Suzy. Raim was Mrs. Asmodeus' mentee back then, and would see her often when she asked for tips from Mrs. Asmodeus on trying verbal spell seduction. Suzy was also a student teacher with Bali, but would help with tips on verbal plant spells. Even Lord Sullivan, Opera and Balam joined in with Iruma and the rest of the Misfit Class to join in the audience. Of course, Kalego complained to the Principal about the students being there, but he gave in as long as the Misfits were quiet.

Melody: "Multiza Clonius Dera."

Immediately multiple versions of Melody were made as they got the instruments ready. Melody along with the other clones used magic to change their clothes, as the music of the instuments began to play. Iruma immediately knew what she was planning to play the moment he heard the first music bar.

Iruma: ("Black Vow...")

Melody sang, with many stage effects, beautiful voice and music and amazing acting. The story of a angel who gave up their wings with a few lyric changes, stating that it was a demon instead of a human, which did get Iruma a little confused, but probably was trying to cover the fact about humans.

Robin: "6 for me! That was absolutely beautiful, Mela!"

Raim: "Such elegance and talent, 6 as well."

Dali & Suzy: "I also say 6."

The something inside his sparked a familiar moment as Dali's smile faded once he stared back again at "Mela" who he now saw as Melody in a flashback to her Music Festival performance. He whispered Melody's name and realized it rather quickly how similar their face shape and body size was, with her current rank to add along with the the story of her "being pushed down to a delinquent class because of experimental spells" and her connection with the Ami Family. "Mela" and Melody were the same person, and that Melody Crest is alive. Of course, he wants to ask her so many questions, like how she survived or why she is still the same size and age before she disappeared. But it was clear she was hiding it, and Lord Sullivan was a part of it, so he would have to ask "Mela" and the Principal after the exam. He turned his head to Kalego, as he was the only one who didn't vote yet.

Dali: "Kalego, what's your vote?"

Kalego: "..."

Kalego looked to Melody and finally he sighed like he couldn't find a excuse and gave her the unexpected 6. It was magnificent, and he couldn't describe the feeling any further. With a perfect 66666 the whole Misfit Class cheered for Melody as they all approached her.

Iruma: "That was amazing, Mela!"

Clara: "La La even made Eggy Teach vote a 6 too!"

Melody: "Eggy Teach?"

Shax: "Oh, you'll learn that later on."

Kalego: "Silence! Mela, since you were able to pass the second exam, you are eligible for the last exam, the physical. And it will be separated into 3 parts. The first being an obstacle course race, the second being a power measurement, and lastly you will be doing the ultimate case of fighting the Misfit Class in Execution Cannonball."

Misfit Class: "EHHHH!!!"

Dali: "Kalego, even I know that's too much. She-."

Kalego: "-Can handle it. Dismissed."

Dali knew this won't end well. Melody has extreme magical power yes, but there is only so much she can handle. She already used magic to practice her performance and used magic for her final performance. She needs to recharge, she can't tackle this much by herself. By the time she would make it to the Misfit Battle of Execution Cannonball, she'd pass out from magic overuse.

Dali: "Kalego wait-."

Melody: "It's okay, Mr. Dandalion, I'll be fine for tomorrow."

Dali: "But your magic-."

Melody: "-Is fine, so don't worry. I'll take responsibility for what happens to me tomorrow."

Dali: "...Hey, can I speak with you in the Principal's Office?"

Melody knew. By the time she performed, Dali would see through her right away. Didn't know how he can tell and why he would care, but always appreciated a keen eye to finding out what's up with her, even though somehow he couldn't see through Iruma being human. She nods as he goes to meet with Lord Sullivan and Opera in the Principal's Office.

Melody: "I take a guess you're here to ask about me. You were always good at seeing through me, Dali."

Dali: "So you are her... Your Melody Crest."

Lord Sullivan: "Yes, we found her recently in a Crest Magical Item that was kept away in the Magical Apparatus Battler. According to her, she was in the middle of the incident before being sealed away."

Dali: "So that's how you were grounded..."

Lord Sullivan & Opera: "Grounded?!"

Dali: "She-... She didn't tell you two?"

Melody: "No I'm sorry... especially to Opera... It really was a bad topic to bring up... The only reason I told you Dali was because I was left in a situation where I really couldn't avoid the topic you asked. Again, I plan to make replacement wings with a spell I've been trying to perfect, so it won't be forever."

Opera: "Melody..."

Lord Sullivan: "For the sake of Melody's protection, can you keep her identity a secret. The people who harmed her family are still out there and if she were to announce her return she would likely be targeted again. Can we trust you?"

Dali: "Even to Kalego and Balam? Don't they deserve to know you're alive more than anyone else?"

Melody: "It's better this way. I don't want them to involve themselves with me as Melody. I want to protect them from my involvement... Though I realized too late you were very unavoidable so..."

Dali: "Fair enough, you have my word that I won't expose your identity. Or do you need the Crest Secret thing to-."

Melody: "No no, I already did that with Opera a long time ago and regretted it, so I'll just take your word for it."

Dali: "Are you sure?"

Melody: "Yeah."

Dali: "Now that I said what I wanted to say, I suggest you take a early leave and rest. You need your magic for tomorrow."

---------

Time skip to after school, the teachers were discussing how to organize each part. Dali along with a few other teachers however, tried their best to not make it too extreme. As they agreed with Dali that Kalego might be expecting too high of her. So in a final agreement, the only thing she needed to do was the Execution Cannonball along with two choices. The first choice is picking only two of the Misfits Students Ranked Daleth to assist her, but it would involve Kalego if she picks. The second choice was the original choice of just facing the Misfit Class alone. Sullivan nodded to Opera and they called Melody.

Opera: "Good news, you won't be doing the obstacle race or power measurement, but they do ask you one thing. Would you rather face the Misfits alone or would you like to have 2 allies with you but you'd be facing Kalego too."

If Melody fought Kalego, she'd be screwed as well as endanger her allies to a Cheth Rank. She'd rather endure it on her own than hurt her soon to be classmates with that kind of struggle. Especially since she knows for a fact that Kalego is a no mercy man.

Melody: "...Let me face the Misfit Class alone."

Kalego then took the phone from Opera as he smirked.

Kalego: "Then it's decided. You will face the Misfit Class in Execution Cannonball alone."

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

#marimashita iruma kun #iruma kun #suzuki iruma #melody crest #naberius kalego #valac clara #the misfit class #balam sicirue #stolas suzy #bars robin #raim #dandelion dali #opera #lord sullivan #the fallen crest family au #shax lied

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 135: Spinner's End

The whole room felt as large as Lily's entire house. She didn't even immediately see the other seven right away there was so much opulent space and grandeur to take in. The walls themselves seemed to ripple in an expansive opal dragon hide, the green snake banners hung all along the room wasn't exactly an identifying mark in her opinion, she would have one of each house in her room if she knew where to buy it, but she seemed to have landed right next to a cork board with scraps of papers and more importantly, photos that she would have to suss out as belonging to Draco Malfoy.

Lucius and Narcissa watching the five year old carefully but with pride as he laughed for the snow floating around him at some summer park in the heat, chasing ducks and occasionally stopping to lick an ice cream. One of him, Crabbe, and Goyle at sevenish playing some sort of game with apples, the little blonde's teeth oddly crooked, so she imagined it was some time at Halloween and done on purpose. He, Knott, and Blaise in their teens and in Quidditch robes throwing Quaffles around, he and Pansy in a booth at Madam Puddifoots.

Beneath all of these were dozens of rolls of parchment, some with the ink still wet of different music sheets with elaborate tunes and lyrics only half done in. She wasn't well versed enough to even guess at what instrument he could play, but judging by the few she spotted around the room that Frank was sheepishly repairing after crashing into them, the better question seemed what hadn't he been privileged in getting to learn at his leisure.

No one just looking at a glimpse of his obviously loved and carefree life would ever guess he was such an arse to her son, as well as Neville and likely many others. Her ears now rung with the foul word he so casually used that Severus now seemed to agree with.

There were a few daunting hints at such a thing, his picture of a very young Bellatrix Lestrange smiling as he prodded at the tattoo on her arm with childlike delight, he couldn't be more than two. The Sacred Twenty-Eight redone in his neat handwriting near the top corner with little scribbles and notes about each family.

Pettigrew was near the door trying to open it, to no success, the diamond handle in his palm glinting. Regulus Black was spinning a bust of a snake head with black stones in each eye that was likely a thousand galleons or some such, and cursed to boot, that Draco probably used as a paper weight. The lack of a house-elf hadn't much of an impact on their life it seemed, the wide open space felt empty to her in the organized place despite the many things available to look at. This boy had wanted for nothing, even a glance out the wide arched window showed glorious albino peacocks strutting along hedges and acres of pleasure beyond to explore, and yet he'd just as likely kill Hermione and her at the blink of an eye it seemed. He'd showed no remorse for his fathers actions trying to kill her son twice now.

Sirius Black had been offered the same and spurned it all away, Regulus had apparently started asking questions far too late for it to matter and died for it. Severus had been given nothing of the sort but turmoil, and he'd embraced the Death Eater lot, abandoning her and showing no clear signs of regretting it ever since.

She was sick of burying her head in the sand for his whys, it was time to start asking questions, but the problem was the one whom she still wanted to most was not available.

Alice was still crawling off the king sized bed, Potter was holding a signed Snitch with some look of awe on his face for whomever the signature was for, and there was a beautiful occamy skinned rug the length of the room Lupin was gazing sadly down at.

Sirius Black came stumbling out of a closet not too far behind her, enough she could peek inside and see the extravagant clothes inside that was more shaped to a normal bedroom, the teenager himself clutching his throat theatrically and miming gagging for all to see as he 'collapsed' to the ground still sputtering his disgust at getting a look at the underthings.

Regulus wasn't fighting off a laugh as he nudged his brother with his foot before promptly declaring him alive and walking off.

She watched the little one go with a heavy feeling of unease. He'd probably know Severus better than her at this rate, sharing a House and all. He didn't feel as unapproachable now after they'd spent some time together, but that didn't mean she wanted to walk over and just start talking about this.

She would though. She wasn't going to let awkwardness stop her now! She just decided to wait until a better opportunity as he instantly engaged with Pettigrew once more.

Alice had found the book somewhere in the gargantuan bed spread and was now finally plopped on the edge, reading Spinner's End with no idea why Lily would flinch so hard, but stopping all the same to look at her in concern when she noticed.

Frank stopped fidgeting with the instruments, ceasing the background noise and drawing all eyes to her.

She took a steady breath and squared her shoulders, may as well get out with it now. "That's Snape's address. I guess we get to find out what he's up to."

Potter's face was like stone, it was very obvious he hadn't believed a word of Dumbledore's explanation last year about none of the events being in some part Snape's fault, and she couldn't even blame him. She no more believed Severus had done all he could to help.

To her amazement though, he didn't start threatening to curse him, or much of anything. He just went over to the floor next to his best mate and sat beside him, prodding him in the ribs and teasing, "I'm not giving you a treat for playing dead."

"How else am I supposed to learn the good tricks from the bad ones?" He chuckled as he flopped onto his back.

Lupin went over with an indulgent smile for the pair, and the three stayed close to each other as the book started not with their school rival, but Sirius' would be murderer and her sister.

Sirius now looked murderous himself at the very mention of them, far more than ever before just the blood they shared could bring out. It was better than the nothingness he'd been trying so hard before, to pretend he cared nothing of it, but she also knew now it just wasn't in his nature to sit around when there was nothing to be done about them now.

He leapt to his feet with his usual energy and began sprinting around the youngest Malfoy's room, stopping every few feet to filch things into his pockets for no clear reason to her, or even his mates, though they watched in amusement for whatever he was doing.

He didn't stop when her prediction came true and the sisters were shown to be visiting Snape, though apparently it wasn't a mutual thing, Bellatrix was no happier to be around him than any of them right now, but it seemed Narcissa's idea and her elder sister was trying to stop her.

Sirius circled back to his friends and whispered something eagerly to them. Both looked a tad confused, but neither seemed to argue the point as he went back off towards where Peter and Regulus were.

He seemed to have minorly learned his lesson at least, performing a small miracle and not shouting his arrival but instead quivering in anticipation for the two to look at him before speaking. "Who wants to play a treasure hunt?"

"Why does your answer to everything involve some form of illicit activity?" Peter snickered. "This shit is not yours."

"And since when do we care about that?" He looked at him in concern. "Don't go soft on me now Wormy! Regulus can hide the stuff, Marauder swear I won't peek!" He handed all the items from his pocket to Regulus and mock whispered, "you can even stay here and keep an eye on me."

Pettigrew made a soft little noise that was maybe a laugh of annoyance, but Regulus took the stuff and wandered off at once when Peter Pettigrew of all people was apparently sharing a house space with Severus in the book, and all eight of them winced at that interaction! Sirius did have good timing occasionally it seemed as he got his alone moment with the friend he so needed to.

She had never considered herself a shy person, just quiet. She'd had the only friend she ever wanted before all this and so never actively sought out anyone else. So when Regulus came over near her and tried to hide a pair of cuffs with the Malfoy crest underneath some of the papers, she didn't hesitate to engage him now that she made her decision. "Can I talk to you?"

"I don't see why not," he agreed, now holding a gross looking shriveled up hand without concern and eyeing the dripping pearls of the chandelier above her. She waited until he'd levitated it up there and was now pacing the length of the room, eyeing the bed, rug, and shelves keenly as he passed a silver cross in his hands with emeralds the size of her fist back and forth in his hands while she followed his path and tried to convince herself she was being practical rather than pathetic asking someone else about this.

She'd have liked to talk to Frank and Alice, but they had zero experience in the matter, this seemed her only option.

"How well do you know Severus?" She asked uneasily, as the man himself gave a list of believable enough reasons to Lestrange about why he was apparently still in Voldemort's good graces, but then what were his answers to Dumbledore for still being a trusted member of the Order? Why couldn't they have heard about that conversation instead?

He didn't answer right away, visibly thinking hard about something with that tick they'd all noticed by now. When he did answer, there was no self-pity in his voice. "Look, I'm not a fool, I know Sirius sent me away on purpose, and I honestly don't mind, it's nicer than he ever was back in school. Kinder than outright telling me to piss off, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Snape and his friends do the same though, Mulciber and Avery you know, even one of my own friends in my dorm, Carrow, they'll set me up to go run errands for them."

They passed by Potter and Lupin having an uneasy whispered conversation watching their friends, whom were clearly at least talking about something. Neither Sirius or Pettigrew seemed angry, but they kept gesturing at Regulus and shaking their heads a lot. At least he really wasn't peeking though, he had his eyes closed the whole time, and she bit her lip to stop herself laughing at the sight.

"Like a test," obviously noticing the same and choosing to let them be too. "Weird shit each time to see my nerve I guess. Follow Macdonald around for an hour to see where she goes, sneak this into class under McGonagall's nose without getting caught." He paused with a look of maybe not guilt, but some regret for clearly never having it in him to ask before any why's.

"That instant Darkness powder-" she suddenly realized, far, far back in that ghastly chamber.

"Was supposed to be checking where Slughorn was and steal some special snake venom form him, ironically," he agreed with a twisted grin far more reminiscent of his brother than he'd ever admit. "Powder was in case he caught me."

He considered her for only another moment before continuing. "I don't know what exactly Snape gets up to, they haven't let me in on that, but I've got a feeling it's coming soon enough when I get back. If all this is supposed to happen when I'm sixteen, they won't wait much longer. Sorry if that's not much help to you," he finished genuinely. "I suppose they could be doing the same to him and I just don't know it."

"That's alright," she promised. "Thanks, it's more than I knew already." Was calling her that foul word a part of their tests? Or had the memory truly hinged on Potter's cruel actions in the crowd? They weren't following in his head to know just what the worst to him was.

Snape had answered for his crimes well enough to appease one of Voldemort's lieutenants, and Narcissa began baring her soul, pleading her case to help save her child. Lily froze over in shock when he agreed to such a thing.

Regulus stopped when she'd fallen out of step with him, now watching her with those liquid black eyes and still obviously ignoring the two idiots obviously having a conversation about him. He bent down and tucked the cross into the folds of the occamys wings and told her quietly, "maybe he'd do the same for another mother."

"I want to believe that," she admitted, rubbing her hand absently over her empty womb. "I just don't know how to ask, I'll probably sound insane."

"Probably," he agreed with a small smile, eyes roving around when Alice called the chapter was almost done, "but it never hurts to ask." He looked back at Sirius though and frowned, instantly regretting his poor choice of words. How many times had Sirius gotten in trouble for doing exactly that? He'd never wanted to endure the shouting matches that occurred when his brother refused to back down without an answer no matter what way mother and father told him to shut up, and he quickly left the room before he found out the answer, it never felt worth it in such loud anger. If he cared enough later about the initial question, he'd ask Kreacher, who was more than happy to answer in his level voice.

"Wait!" Sirius bellowed, eyes snapping open and instantly bolting to the bed to snatch the book away from her now, running around the room like his tail was on fire as he began looking about and haggling to all three of his friends to give him a hint.

His antics got a laugh out of all of them for one reason or another, filching shamelessly through Lupin's clothes like he really thought something would be hidden there, an awkward and poorly done handstand with his feet resting against the wall swearing it would activate some secret door, and finally trying to coarse Regulus himself to give the last up when he still didn't spot the grotesque hand hanging above.

Regulus just gave him an impish grin truly reminiscent of his brother and snatched the book back to finish the last sentence rather than answer.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HP #Draco Malfoy #Draco's Room #Marauders #wolfstar #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Lily Evans #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith #HBP

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

February Contest Submission #4: Off-Duty

words: ca. 1800 setting: Star Trek AU (TNG era) lemon: No cw: brief mention of nudity

“Computer, being program Elsa Epsilon Sigma Two Seven”

“Program initiated, enter when ready.”

The large doors of the holodeck opened and Elsa stepped out of the corridor and into a world of her own, a beautiful landscape on a far off alien world. As Elsa closed her eyes, she felt the warmth of a simulated sun bathe her quite pale complexion.

She opened her eyes and took in once more the wonders of her favourite holoprogram. It was a recreation of an alien city she’d studied often. She was currently standing on a hill overlooking said city, a large settlement on the coast of some vast continent.

Elsa saw ships sailing in and out of the city’s vast harbour, the ships floating above the ocean with their sails being powered by sunlight, gliding across the surface of the water. Behind the city, Elsa gazed up at the tall dormant volcano, ominously looking down upon the city like a vengeful god.

As Elsa walked towards a nearby cobbled road, she thought about if she should visit the city this time. She’d been there a few times, but today, she mostly felt like taking in the scenery. Ship duties had taken a lot out of her and as such, she very much preferred to relax.

But before she had a chance to do so, she saw a cart being driven down the road next to her, a wooden cart being pulled by a six-legged reptilian creature covered in bony armour, its driver being a humanoid woman with green bony crests protruding from her forehead.

“Need a lift, stranger?” she asked Elsa, in an accent that Elsa’s translator interpreted as similar to Human Irish.

“Oh uh no thanks,” Elsa replied.

“You sure?” the woman asked. “You look a little tired.”

“I’ve had a long day,” Elsa told her. She felt a bit embarrassed that a hologram of all things was commenting on her rather weary looks. Fortunately, her Vulcan side was being more than enough in preventing Elsa from becoming too irritable.

“Ah fair enough,” the woman accepted. “Well, be seeing you.”

As the woman rode off with her cart, Elsa walked over to a nearby rock and sat upon it, gazing at the city. The azure sky and the rolling waves below her certainly helped ease her tension. The past week had certainly been rough for the Part-Vulcan Starfleet captain.

A large survey of an uncharted star system, a rather unsavoury encounter with a group of Ferengi traders plus the pressures of command had been more than enough to take their toll on her. She knew Kristoff, her first officer, could handle things, but Elsa was the sort of woman who preferred to meticulously co-ordinate and plan everything personally.

However, despite her stress, she knew she could always come here to this program, to step into a piece of ancient history from another world. She could lose herself here, to shed off all her responsibilities and be herself, even if she was going to be going back on duty in another four hours.

Archaeology had always been a great love of hers. The study of cultures long gone, pondering the wonders of the races that came long before humans, Klingons and even Vulcans. With the vast number of ancient civilisations out there, Elsa had quite a number to find herself lost in. It was a helpful distraction for her, not to mention her other hobbies.

But there was one person on the entire ship who Elsa knew helped her more than any hologram ever could.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a voice spoke to her.

Elsa looked over her shoulder, seeing the holodeck door appear again as a certain strawberry blonde Betazoid in a blue uniform walked towards her. At that moment, Elsa forgot about the simulated sun that hung in the sky above her, as her girlfriend was the one whose light and warmth were filling her world.

Anna was the ship’s counsellor aboard the Ahtohallan, a wonderful charming bubbly young officer who’d managed to sweep Elsa off her feet from the moment she first came aboard. She often remembered the rather humourous incident where they first met, here on that very holodeck no less, not long after Elsa took command.

Since this was her first deep-space assignment, Anna had been feeling rather homesick for Betazed and as such had started a program of a festival from her homeworld, one of the many occasions where her people celebrated in the nude. It wasn’t exactly the first choice for Elsa to meet the love of her life, but the memory did remind her that life aboard a starship wasn’t always serious and did have it’s lighter moments.

The freckled redhead partly undid her hair out of its bun and let it flow, sighing in content. Those ginger locks of hers flowed freely in the breeze as if her whole form was being carried on a gust of ethereal wind. Elsa melted at the sight of her girlfriend’s beauty.

“This program is beautiful,” Anna admitted.

“Have I never told you about it before?” Elsa wondered.

“No, I don’t think so,” Anna replied. “You’re always so private about your personal life.”

Chuckling, Elsa smirked at her lover. “Nothing is stopping you from looking anyway.”

“Hey, that’d be a very rude and improper use of my telepathy,” Anna stated, playfully nudging the captain’s shoulder.

Sitting beside Elsa on the rock, Anna sighed as she laid her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder. Elsa felt a sensation of warmth flow through her, perhaps Anna telepathically sharing her sensation of content with her. Whatever it was, it was definitely helping her stress fade away considerably.

“So… what brings you here then?” Elsa wondered.

“Do I need an excuse to spend time with my girlfriend?” Anna remarked. She chuckled. “I just got off duty and figured you could use some company. I don’t need to use my abilities to know how stressed you’ve been this week. Plus, Kristoff was worried about you.”

Rubbing her temples, Elsa groaned wearily in response, a clear sign of her stress. “Yes… this is the first free moment I’ve had in days.”

Anna leaned closer and kissed Elsa on the cheek, making the blonde blush. “Well… you know that I’m here for you, always. As both counsellor… and your girlfriend.”

It still felt a little odd to Elsa. There wasn’t exactly any rules against ship’s captains dating their officers. Hell, she knew an old academy friend who was actually married to her first officer. But to Elsa, it still felt a little strange unusual. Perhaps it was because she and Anna hadn’t been a couple for very long.

Looking out at the ocean again, Elsa sighed calmly, taking in the quiet moment she and Anna were now sharing. She hadn’t asked for Anna’s presence, but she was all the same very glad that she was here. It was as though Anna was the one element the program had been lacking and now that she was here, it was finally complete.

“So… where exactly is this place?” Anna wondered. “Why do you always find yourself running this program?”

Elsa smiled. “It’s the city of Vetalis on Ezlor V. Approximately 2000 years ago.”

“Vetalis… hmmm, doesn’t ring a bell,” Anna admitted.

Standing up, Elsa gestured to the city. She loved to go on about various historical facts to Anna, having a voice that made the tales of the past come alive. “It’s not exactly well known, but it is a fascinating story. I actually visited the ruins of it when I was younger, though the planet doesn’t exactly look as beautiful as this.”

“Oh?”

Elsa nodded. “Around 1200 years ago, the planet suffered a severe climate shift and this city was destroyed by not only a massive tsunami and earthquake, but it was subsequently buried in volcanic ash and lava when that volcano over there erupted.”

“Hardcore!”

The captain gave her girlfriend a look of confusion.

“Uh, sorry.”

“It’s uhh… alright,” Elsa responded, with a giggle. She walked closer to the side of the hill overlooking the ocean. “It’s truly a miracle that any remnants of this city survived at all. For centuries, Vetalis was actually considered a myth until an Andorian science team found it about forty years ago.”

“So… why do you find yourself coming here?” Anna asked. “You didn’t exactly wander that part of my question.”

Stroking her chin, Elsa pondered the answer. If she was honest, she hadn’t really thought of it. Yes, coming here relaxed her, but in all these years she had never considered why. Self-reflection wasn’t one of her strong points. It was Anna who was the therapist, not herself.

“I guess… I guess it’s because this place has always served as an inspiration for me, ” Elsa theorised. “That no matter what I’m going through in my life, I’ll make it through it and survive.”

“That’s a good outlook on things,” Anna stated. “But I find it odd that you feel that way about a city that got destroyed.”

Elsa laughed. “It is a bit weird I admit… and please, I’d rather this stay just between us.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Anna assured her. “You can always trust me.”

At that moment, Elsa got a delightful idea. Perhaps today… she’d got into the city after all. Especially since Anna was here. Showing her the wonders of ancient Vetalis had been something she had been considering for a while now. She looked over at Anna and grinned.

“Hey, why don’t I show you around the city?” Elsa offered. “I mean, if you’re not too busy.”

Anna chuckled. “Why, I’d love to, Elsa.” She held her hand. “Lead the way.”

Elsa shook her head. “Nuh-uh. We’re going there in style.” She cleared her throat. “Computer, create for us one Zyuranour, docile.”

Next to them on the path, one of the large six-legged creatures that Elsa had seen pulling the cart appeared before them. The beast groaned and Elsa walked over to the animal, stroking it softly. The beast growled back in response, nuzzling her hand.

Her Betazoid lover gulped, looking at the creature’s large bony spikes and clubbed tail. “Uhh… you sure that thing’s friendly?”

“She’s a herbivore don’t worry, ” Elsa assured Anna, “Although I wouldn’t annoy her if I were you. Supposedly, they also had a bad temper.” She climbed onto the creature’s back, holding her hand out to Anna, like some fairytale prince from an old story.

Anna smiled, taking Elsa’s hand and getting onto the creature’s back. She wrapped her arms around Elsa’s waist, the blonde blushing a little as she felt Anna hold her tightly. She had quite a grip, but Elsa loved that feeling, especially when Anna spooned her at night.

“Comfortable?” Elsa asked.

“Very,” Anna said, kissing her girlfriend on the cheek.

Nodding, Elsa petted the creature as it trotted down the path towards the city. Now that she had shown the ancient city to Anna, she wanted nothing more than to share all of its wonders with her.

#elsanna #submission #february 2021 contest #prompt: ancient worlds

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rocket-remmy · 3 years

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Don’t You Forget About Me || Morgan and Remmy

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @whatsin-yourhead SUMMARY: Remmy says their final good-bye.

Morgan sat in her car for a long time after she pulled up to the Haunted Mansion. The last time she’d seen her friend, Constance had just finished torturing her for funzies and she was yelling her head off because she was so hurt. She didn’t understand why Remmy had acted the way they did any more now than she had then, just that none of it seemed to matter so much anymore. She wanted...well, maybe not the kind of relationship she’d had with Remmy before, where they mostly talked during fighting lessons and tried to talk each other out of their self-loathing. They both needed better than that. And not what they had before then, where she couldn’t even look at their username without seething with rage. And not what they had when she was alive, because that was impossible. That Morgan was at rest somewhere, as avenged as she was ever going to be.The thing now was to honor her and this new self she was finally coming around to. Maybe she and Remmy could become a new them too.

Holding tight to her nerve, Morgan got out of the car and came up the front walk, hands in her pockets. She felt the imprints of the other times she’d come up here since she died, mostly awkward, some worse. More than anything, she wanted to shake off those cobwebs and exorcise the ghosts of their past selves and step into something new that wouldn’t hurt so much. She knocked and leaned against the doorframe while she waited. When Remmy opened the door, she gave them her warmest smile.

“Hey, you,” she said. “Long time no see.” She tugged lightly on the ends of their hair, which was getting long, nearly past the end of their neck and a little shaggy. “Happy almost new year. Has it been too long to get a hug?”

As Remmy looked around the entryway of the mansion, they decided that, yes, that picture looked better in the spot over the staircase. Nora was out for the day, which Remmy was grateful for. Not that they didn’t enjoy her presence, but they’d wanted some private time with Morgan here at the mansion, and despite the large size of the house, knowing someone else could’ve been listening, or was around, didn’t feel like enough. They’d already packed up most of their room, it was in boxes and labeled for shipping-- they’d rented a moving truck that someone else was driving-- but the rest of the mansion sat as a beacon, colorful and bright and welcoming. There was even a guest book, now, and even though Remmy and Nora’s names were the first ones in there, they wanted Morgan’s to be the first real guest name in the book. Proof that she existed and was here and was a part of something Remmy wanted in their life.

The knock sounded at the door and Remmy drew in a breath before turning to open it. Morgan looked almost dreary, sagging under the weight of everything she’d been through since they’d last spoke-- and more. “Hey,” they answered, putting on a gentle smile, because despite everything that had happened between them, they were genuinely happy to see her standing there. Alive, smiling, soft-- maybe a bit worn, but okay. They watched her play with their hair. “I’m trying something new,” they said, pushing the door open to let her inside. “C’mon, I’ll show you around.” A slight pause. “No, I think that would be nice.”

Morgan jumped onto her toes and put her arms around Remmy’s shoulders as tight as she could. She lingered there, almost dangling from their neck as she nuzzled in. “I like the hair. With the bleach, it makes you look like a real stud.” She mussed their scalp fondly and gave them a squeeze. “You’re gonna get a lot of looks from pretty girls this way, I hope you know.” She pulled away and smiled up at them once again. Something was different. Remmy seemed steadier on their feet, even confident. Morgan took their hand and followed them into the house.

The walls had all been done up in bright pastels and neutrals that reminded Morgan of springtime. Gone were the cobwebs, the squeaky floorboards, the peeling victorian wallpaper, the dusty, moth-ridden drapes. The parlor looked like more of a lounge with cozier, more modern furniture. Off that, she could see a game room, a computer room, and on the other side of the main hall, a kitchen and dining room big enough to sit at least ten people. Her head swiveled to catch everything at once, but she felt the thoughtful Remmy details slipping past her gaze. “Holy shit,” she said. “This is incredible. How long did it take you to make all of this?” Smiled, pride mixing with embarrassment. She wasn’t exactly someone who would fit here, if she ever needed another place to go. She had a lot of blood on her hands and some fairly complicated regrets. “You’ve, uh, you’ve done really well here...”

“About a month,” Remmy replied, “it was gonna take longer before Nora got back, but she’s been really good at helping me out and fixing up the place with me. We took like two whole days just to paint, then the next few days to refurnish. We wanted the place to be welcoming to as many people as possible. We’re uh-- we’re making the mansion into a Supernatural Sanctuary. Nell, Bea and Lu--” Remmy choked on her name, clearing their throat, “Luce uh...did a spell to help protect the building from attacks and...violence.” They turned to look back at Morgan. “I’ll show you all the bedrooms, too, if you want?” Telling everyone else that they were leaving had somehow felt easy, almost relieving-- but the thought of telling Morgan, of telling her they were leaving her behind, it made Remmy’s throat close up. “We even redid the master, though Nora wants to keep it closed off for Blanche.”

Morgan noticed the tension creeping up Remmy as they explained the new set up to her. “Nora mentioned you had something like this going on when I ran into her at my family’s old place.” She gave them another squeeze. “I know we have some differences with the lines we won’t cross and what we’re willing to let in or be around, even as much as I’m uh--” She let out a sad, breathless laugh. “--coming a lot closer to where you are, after everything. But I’m so proud of you, and this huge accomplishment. I’m sure it’s going to help a lot of people.” She mussed their hair again, teasing gently like a sister might. “I’d love to see it. Come on and show me, okay?”

“You’ve seen Nora since she got back?” Remmy asked. “Good. Good, she-- I think she’s a little lonely. She wants people like her around, even if she won’t admit it.” They shook their head after Morgan ruffled their hair again and straightened it back out, giving her a soft smile. Even if it felt strange being like this again, after what she’d said to them in her backyard-- they couldn’t lie, they were relieved to know she wanted to move past that. Remmy still wanted very desperately to be Morgan’s friend, despite the cruelty she’d shown. “Are you?” they asked, perking a little at the statement. They looked upstairs, then back at Morgan. “Yeah, i’ll show you.” Looped their arms and led her upstairs, showcasing the many rooms they had refurnished and redecorated, before stopping just shy of their own room. “So, what do you think? Think it’ll um-- work?”

“I am. Seriously.” Morgan said. She beamed at everything they showed her, reminded of that stint during the summer when almost every spare bedroom in her house was decorated to the taste of every guest they had passing through or standing by. Those had been better days for a lot of reasons, but not in the least because Morgan felt like she was doing something to help the people she cared about. “I think it really might, yeah. Why wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Remmy admitted quietly, glancing back over at Morgan. “It-- I love Nora, and I think she’s going to try her hardest, but I…” they scratched their head, trying to think of how to phrase this, “I think she might need some help. With...everything.” Morgan was looking at them with those expectant eyes, and the door behind them was hiding a big secret. “So, um-- about that thing I need to tell you.” They sidled around Morgan and grabbed the knob of the door, turning it but not opening it. “It’s not a bad thing, but I--” their eyes fell to the floor. They opened the door and let it swing on its hinges to reveal the packe boxes inside. They couldn’t find the right words, not when Morgan was the one thing that could’ve made them stay. “I got accepted to MIT.”

There was a weird dissonance between Remmy’s words and what they showed Morgan, like an out-of-body experience. She had pushed Remmy to do something for themself for so long, and they were so brilliant in so many ways. Applying to MIT was some kind of miracle in itself, getting in was even better. It was proof that none of them were making it up when it came to Remmy’s potential, that anybody, even some stuffy admission’s board, could see it.

And then there was the empty room. The packed up boxes. It was like Remmy hadn’t even settled after they’d left their home, like they couldn’t wait to get out the door. Morgan stopped short, covering her mouth as she stifled a cry of surprise. “You’re---leaving?” She rasped. “You’re...going to Massachusetts.” Her voice cracked and she stiffened, straightening as she tried to reign her feelings in. This wasn’t personal, she reminded herself. This wasn’t about her This may not even be permanent, this was just… sudden. And something small inside her was crying and hurt about it.

Morgan turned to Remmy, eyes wide. “When did you decide?”

“Yeah,” they said quietly, trying to parse out what Morgan’s expression meant. But the stuttering, the words, they made Remmy begin to panic quietly. They swallowed. “It’s-- yeah. I am.” They didn’t know what else to say, how else to explain it. Leaving for school was about as open as they could be about it. That Morgan couldn’t blame them for wanting to get out if there was a reason other than that White Crest was destroying the person they wanted to be. They shuffled around her and looked at her with as much gusto as they could. “Not very long ago, but also-- kind of a while ago. At least...I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Since--” they paused, swallowed, “--since we found Chloe.” They didn’t want to say it was because of Lydia, they didn’t want to give her that credit. But it was. In the end, it was. Their eyes lowered to their feet. “I applied to some places just before that all happened. MIT was one of them…They um-- they liked my military engineering background a lot. I got a phone interview and then a little after that, I got the acceptance. I-- wasn’t going to go, originally, but--” they shuffled over to one of the boxes and sat down, “--I guess I just wanted to try and do what you wanted me to all this time. I really, really wanna go. I wanna do this for me. Can you-- can you understand that, just a little?”

Morgan’s eyes spilled over as she listened to Remmy. “I remember telling you to--” To apply. To let themself have something more than a small room and a duffel bag. To let themself be loved as much as they loved their friends. And Morgan didn’t need to hear Chloe’s name in order to remember their long talks about morality. For two people who didn’t like to see people get hurt, she and Remmy had different lines around their social circles, and what counted as an exception or something dire. For all that Constance had rattled her, there was one thing Morgan still believed: the world Remmy wanted to live in didn’t exist in White Crest and probably never would. She had kind of hoped that Remmy would concede a little ground so they could stay and make things as good as they could get here. But of course, of course not… “I remember,” she repeated.

Morgan came over to Remmy and sat down beside them. It took her a while to pry her hand off her face and find her voice. “Why wouldn’t you go? Why is that even a-- Of course you should. Why not?” She whispered, more harshly than she meant it. Morgan grimaced and reached out for their hand, squeezing it tight.

Remmy waited patiently for Morgan to work through whatever it was she was struggling with, watching her with patient eyes. She sat down beside them finally, letting out her quiet answer, even if it felt sharp. Remmy accepted it, for what it was worth at the moment. Squeezed her hand back. “I was gonna go even if you said I shouldn’t,” they teased quietly, bumping shoulders. “I have a life here, though,” they went on quietly, “I have people here who I’m leaving behind, responsibilities--” a hesitation as the lump began to rebuild itself in her throat-- “but when I think about it, I only feel sad. And I don’t-- I don’t want that anymore. I want to be able to think about his place one day and be happy. I want to...I want to be happy. As much as possible.” They turned to look at her finally, giving their same old gentle smile. “The good news, though, is like...because of this place, I’m gonna be visiting frequently. So it’s not like I’m just disappearing into the void. I couldn’t do that,” a quieter sigh, “especially not to you…”

Morgan let go of Remmy’s hand only so she could throw her arms around them in a crushing hug. “Don’t come back here too much,” she whispered in their ear. “Don’t--fuck, don’t look back at all as much as you can.” Her voice broke with held in sobs. For all the times she and Remmy had stopped speaking, Morgan had imagined that they would always be somewhere on the other side of town, sketching and brooding and making friends wherever they went, just being Remmy, right in reach if she needed them. “I want you to be happy too, I do. I just wish that didn’t mean losing you here. I know that’s so stupid, wanting two completely different opposite things, I’m being so--” Awful. But it had been so many years since she’d had a best friend. And Remmy was the first who hadn’t been pulled away from her or killed. Morgan shuddered and squeezed them tighter. “Please don’t leave me,” she said. “I mean, leave this place, don’t come back if you can help it, because it’s not good, not the way you want it, but maybe Massachusetts…” One of her sobs broke free. She didn’t want to think about this being the end of anything. She didn’t want to be alone in her death, alone in her hope, in this place. “Just don’t leave me. I can come visit. I um...could help you move? Make sure you don’t live in some shitty shoebox apartment and have a real couch and a kitchen and a big fridge? if I can do that, you know? If I can just not lose you, Remmy. Things have been so shitty and Cece is is gone too and I’ll be a better friend, I will, okay?”

A vast distance had seemed to grow between Morgan and Remmy, but as they looked over at her, and across that chasm, they were sure now more than ever that it could be bridged. Perhaps never drawn back together, but definitely crossed. With time, with effort. “I’m not gonna leave you, Morgan,” they murmured quietly, folding their arms around her. “I could never do that. You’re my family, and I love you. I just need--” time, they thought silently, time and distance and space. They didn’t know who they’d be at the end of all of this, but they looked forward to finding out. Even if they couldn’t guarantee that they’d be someone who still fit into Morgan’s life somehow. They breathed in and out deeply, enjoying the sensation of the unnecessary act. “I don’t need you to be a better friend, Morgan. I think...I think you need to just, figure out what kind of person you want to be from here on out. And then whoever that person is-- she’ll be great and wonderful.”

Morgan nodded along to Remmy’s words. The tension in her shoulders fell away, surrender more than relief. She kissed their temple and combed her fingers distractedly through their hair. “You need space,” Morgan said with a wet laugh. “I get that. Oh, stars, you should see my studio before you leave, speaking of space. We uh, built it together. Deirdre is really good with power tools, as it turns out, and I made everything nice inside so it feels like me and not just some weird codependent time-out corner.” She scrubbed at her eyes and pulled back, smiling at Remmy. “I know I wanna be someone you’re proud of, even if we take things on differently. That’s a start, huh?” She sniffled. “I love you too, Remmy. Can I help you do this, please? Maybe it’s some lame delaying the inevitable thing, but hauling furniture upstairs to your apartment and stocking your fridge is something family does, right? Or at least driving you to the bus stop? Stars, you’re not bus-ticket-far into this, are you?” She pleaded with her eyes.

Remmy gave a short chuckle. “It’s funny you say that,” they said, shaking their head, “Deirdre asked the exact same thing when I told her.” Which had, in fact, just been earlier that day. They looked over to Morgan beside them and took her hands again, giving a squeeze. “I have a bus ticket and movers coming this weekend for my boxes and stuff. I...think I’ll probably buy new furniture there. I know you really want to help, but...I think I want to be alone when I get there. The uh-- the university put me up in the really nice apartment that’s nearby. I got lots of scholarships money. Did I tell you that part yet? They basically wanna pay my tuition, thank to the VA and stuff.” They gave her a smile, gentle and soft and sad. “Besides I-- I think you’re needed more here.” Gestured around them. “And if you-- if you want to start picking up the pieces somewhere, giving back somehow...I think this place is gonna need a nice touch. Nora is great, don’t get me wrong, but I think it might need someone more...welcoming. You know?”

“Fucking fuck, you don’t do anything halfway, do you?” Morgan said tearfully, trying to turn her sob into a laugh. “I know...shit, I know we’re not the best family anyone could ask for, but...we’ve gotta be better than a cab to the bus, right?” She shuddered, smiling bravely. “Can I have something, Remmy? So this doesn’t feel like…” Like it’s for good. Like this wasn’t some very kind way to friend break up and never talk to her again. She didn’t have the bandwidth to process what they were offering her. Faintly, some things made sense, even as a whisper of guilt recoiled at stepping into someone else’s dream. But Morgan was stuck on Remmy’s hands, which were so strong neither of them had to hold back, so steady they stopped her trembling in its tracks. She’d taken it for granted how good they were at holding things together; she wasn’t sure how she was going to hold up without them. “Please, Remmy….” She whispered.

“Not really, no,” Remmy said with a half smile, “my lieutenant always said, never do anything half-assed, or you might end up assed in half.” They contorted their face a moment. “I guess that applied much more when you realize it was for being a bomb technician, but--” a shrug-- “guess it can apply in life, too.” They squeezed Morgan’s hands once more, hoping they could continue to steady hers, as they felt her desperation growing in her words. “Yeah, you can. I already told Deirdre you could. I’m not just gonna disappear into nothing, Morgan,” they muttered quietly, pressing their foreheads together, “I promised I wouldn’t.” At her plea, it reminded them of the second reason they’d asked Morgan over. “Right, yeah--” they stood up, then, slowly as to not rustle her, and started rifling through boxes. Finally, they pulled out a small box, before coming back over and sitting down again. “Here. It-- it’s not much, but I’m really not good at gift giving,” they said, shrugging. “It’s more a...going away gift than anything, though.” Because inside the box was a key to the mansion. A small charm was attached to the key, of two clasped hands, and another that was a rainbow flag. “It’s not forever, Morgan,” they murmured quietly, “we have forever, anyway.”

Morgan pressed her head firmly back into Remmy’s, holding them steady with a hand on the back of their neck. “Only you would give someone else a present for your own going away. Thank you. For all of it, thank you.” she whispered. “I’m just not used to this, you know? I don’t usually get to have people come back when they go. And after Deirdre, I don’t know if there’s anyone I want to lose less than you, Remmy. I mean, I’d get it if you needed a five or fifty year break from me someday. We don’t always have the easiest time. But just come back to me after.” She clutched the keys tight in her other hand, trying to anchor herself with the pinch of sensation. She breathed in, reaching for all the good of Remmy that was before her; breathed out, releasing their hurt and misunderstandings. In and out, together and apart and back again, two spheres of energy cycling through the world at their own pace.

“I love you forever, Remmy,” she whispered. “Even if you finish school and move all the way to Houston to build space ships and I don’t see you again til I’m a hundred, I love you forever.” She kissed their cheek and breathed them in one last time before pulling away. A fresh, brave smile on her bleary face. “So, hot shot. How about a nice goodbye dinner before I head home? You don’t really expect me to let you cook by yourself tonight, do you?”

“Guess I’m gonna have to be the one to change that, too,” Remmy said with a firm smile on their face. Now that Morgan had accepted it, now that Morgan was on board, everything felt so much easier, so much lighter. “It’s my only key, by the way,” they said jokingly, “so when I come back I guess I’ll have to come see you in order to get it.” And even if it was just that, a joke, they knew that the words themself were reassuring enough to let Morgan know that their meaning was true. They wrapped the hand she was gripping the key with in their own and squeezed tightly with her. “One step at a time, okay? Who knows, maybe there’s a place here I can work at to design spaceships.” They doubted that, but it was worth the mention. School would take a while, anyway, and all they wanted, for now, was to concentrate on the life ahead of them right now, and stop hanging onto what ifs and maybes. They were done with all that. It was time to put everything behind them and stand tall on the shoulders of the people they’d loved along the way. And the one holding them up the most, the one sturdy rock they’d had through everything, despite their differences, despite their shortcomings, despite their suffering, was Morgan. Always Morgan. They let out one last, long breath, and nodded. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

#chatzy #chatzy: morgan #wickedswriting #don't you forget about me #morgan

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band-geek-727 · 4 years

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Daiken Week 2020: Day 1 - Kindness/Miracles

“You ever think it’s weird how close they are?”

Koushiro looked up from his laptop. “Who?”

Taichi pointed across the table where he, Yamato, Koushiro, and Jyou were studying, and into the Ichijouji’s living room where Daisuke, Ken, Takeru, and Iori were playing Mario Kart.

“Oh,” Koushiro said. “Well, they are younger than the rest of us. Certainly it’s easier to relate to someone closer to your own-“

“No, not all of them,” Taichi cut in. “Daisuke and Ken!”

A burst of laughter punctuated his statement. Daisuke and Ken seemed to be more interested in messing with each other than winning the race, pushing each other off the course and setting up elaborate traps with the power ups. All the while they jostled on the couch, trading playful shoves and taunts, totally comfortable getting in each other’s space. Takeru had taken advantage of their distraction to slide into first place, while Iori cruised along in fifth.

“You’ve seen it, right?” Taichi pressed. “Ever since Ken stopped being the Kaiser, those two have been inseparable.”

Koushiro brought one hand to his chin, squinting thoughtfully into the living room. “I have noticed that they seem to spend more time together than any of us…”

“And have you noticed how… how protective they are of each other? Daisuke flies off the handle if anyone says a bad word about Ken. That one time digimon showed up in the real world, he wouldn’t come with me and Hikari ‘cause he was so worried about Ken. And Ken is like… always at Daisuke’s side! It’s like they’ve got some weird psychic link.”

Koushiro glanced sidelong at him. “Well, they are Jogress partners…”

Taichi shook his head. “Not like the others. Hikari told me when Daisuke and Ken first Jogressed, they moved and spoke in sync for a while. Daisuke even said he could feel Ken’s heartbeat! None of the others mentioned anything like that.” He turned to Yamato. “And it definitely didn’t happen with us!”

Yamato didn’t look up from his textbook. “No one would want to feel your heartbeat, anyway.”

Taichi shoved Yamato. The blonde elbowed him in the side. The ensuing scuffle had Koushiro sighing heavily.

From across the table, Jyou let out a thoughtful hum. “I think it makes sense, if you think about their relationship as a whole.”

Taichi looked up from trying to put Yamato in a headlock. “What do you mean?”

Jyou tapped his pen against his notebook as he turned to face the others. “Well, think about how they met. They were on opposite sides of a conflict, at first. Ken needed to be stopped, obviously, but he was also clearly alone and vulnerable. He needed friends. And who reached out to him first?”

“Daisuke,” Taichi answered automatically, feeling a surge of pride for his protégé. “But that’s because he has the Crests of Friendship and Courage.”

Jyou nodded. “True, but it was also an act of kindness. No one supported Daisuke reaching out to Ken at first, and even Ken had a hard time forgiving himself. But Daisuke couldn’t leave Ken alone with that burden. And don’t you think it was brave of Ken to join the others after what he’d done, to face his mistakes and make up for them?”

Koushiro was watching Jyou intently. Even Yamato had abandoned his studying entirely.

Taichi shook his head. “I guess I never really thought about it like that…”

Jyou reached up to adjust his glasses. “Looking at everything they’ve gone through, their strengths – their Crests – aligned perfectly with each other to help them rise to meet their challenges together. I don’t know if it was fate, or if they would have become so close under any circumstances, but those two seem to complement each other especially well.”

“That makes sense,” Yamato said. “We’ve all given each other strength before. Remember when you saved Takeru at the diner, Jyou? It was your actions that helped me unlock my Crest in the first place.”

Jyou blushed as Koushiro reached for his laptop and opened up a new document. “Humans are community-oriented by nature,” he said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “If the Digital World chose us to protect it, it would only be logical to equip us with weapons that were designed to utilize that nature as effectively as possible.”

Taichi frowned down at his half-finished assignment. He had always thought of the crests in such individual terms. The Crest of Courage was his, and the others belonged to their respective owners.

But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? It took the eight of them working together to find and unlock the crests in the first place. The younger chosen had inherited those same crests when they entered the Digital World, and they’d proven time and again how they’d deserved to do so. Even the digimentals of the crests could be used by any of them, a fact the younger kids had discovered accidentally during one harrowing battle. Taichi remembered the pride he had felt at learning that his sister had been able to unlock the Digimental of Courage.

A shout from the living room caught his attention. He looked up in time to see Iori launch a blue shell onto the track, taking out Takeru for the win. Takeru burst out laughing while Daisuke groaned and draped himself dramatically over Ken.

Jyou was right, Taichi thought with a smile. They were always strongest when they came together as a group, when their strengths combined to meet any obstacle.

As long as they had each other, he thought, they could create miracles.

This is something that’s always interested me about Daisuke and Ken’s relationship. Extending a hand of friendship to Ken was an incredible act of kindness on Daisuke’s part, and for Ken, it took a great deal of courage to accept the friendship of the others and own up to his mistakes. There’s also the fact that Daisuke said the Crest of Kindness called out to him. And that even though Daisuke used the Digimental of Miracles, it was with Ken the whole time.

Instead of typing that up in an analysis post, I used it for this day’s prompt! I originally had a much different idea, one that referenced a series I’ve been working on for a long time where the younger chosen children activate each other’s digimentals. There is still a reference to that series here; in the first chapter, Hikari activates the digimental of courage.

Thanks for reading!

#daiken #daikenweek2020 #band geek's writing #this is more about the group than just the two of them whoopsie doodles #i hope you still enjoy anyway!

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ashleyswrittenwords · 4 years

Text

Trials and Tribulations (II)

A ZeLink Fanfiction that was meant to be a oneshot.

Premise: The hero has successfully saved Hyrule from Calamity Ganon, but there’s a lingering problem that he desperately wants to abandon - the princess.

Small Note: Thank you for the kind comments and reblogs! <3

Chapter One

Word Count: 2818

——-

Trials and Tribulations: Chapter Two

It was a cool autumn morning not far from Rito Village. The sun crested over the valley and casted a golden halo through the trees. Link felt himself jump at every slight rustle of the branches. Daruk wandered over to clap a large hand over the Hylian’s shoulder, “Chill out, kid! Told ya I’d let ya know if she was comin’.”

All he could do is nod and tug at the collar of his admittedly plain cotton shirt. It was what Zelda wanted after all. He had offered to bring his military garb, but she was adamant on marrying Link – not her knight attendant. Link stared at his feet in shock, and despite the urge to puke on his boots, the giddy excitement at the pit of his stomach was unmistakable.

“She’s not reconsidering, is she?” Link said as he snapped to his Goron friend’s attention. “Because I’d understand if that were the case.” Daruk blinked in surprise at his outburst but smiled.

“Boy, ya sure do got it bad. Now, don’t cha?”

Revali stood impatiently to the side of the makeshift alter, a tree stump. “It’s very comforting to see our ‘hero’ running around the village for a proper change of clothes like a cucco with its head chopped off.”

“Don’t be like that, Revali!” The Goron reprimanded. “It’s his wedding day.”

As usual, the scolding had little to no effect. The Rito champion continued his chastising under his breath. Link reached unconsciously for the hilt of the Master Sword only to grip the air. Mipha mentioned how “tacky” it would look with such simple attire, much to Link’s protests. He had to constantly remind himself that it was behind the tree next to him if - Hylia forbid - anything were to happen. It had only been two days since Zelda and her knight sprung the idea of a wedding and received unanimous support from their friends (even though Revali complained neverendingly about the lack of planning).

There were no chairs for the few guests that came along. It was partly because of time and their choice to save the effort of dragging furniture into secluded woods. Steps from the worn path sent Link’s heart into a frenzy. Even Daruk stood a tad straighter until the sleek figure of Impa came into view. As Link mentally swore, he observed her attire as being used for strictly religious ceremonies. Sheikah symbols were painted on her face with bold red ink.

Revali sniffed, “What took you so long, Priestess.”

She didn’t so much as glance in his direction and walked with purpose to their “alter”. It looked more complete with the woman there. “Take your places, gentlemen. The bride is coming.”

Link sucked in a breath as Daruk and Revali fell in line beside him. Hands clenched and unclenched as Mipha soon arrived, fluttering flower petals fell from her fingertips and she gave a toothy grin to the boys. The Zora princess had left as soon as she heard the news of matrimony for Zora’s Domain to collect jewels and fabric. Link distinctly remembered her threatening that there would be no wedding until she and Urbosa could whip up the perfect gown. Now, silky material cascaded from her shoulders.

As she skipped to her place on the opposite side of Impa, she leaned in.

“In all my years, I’ve never seen the Hylian Champion so anxious. Will you yield?”

Mirth reached Link’s eyes at the jab. A smile come through, albeit nervously, “Never.”

A tune began soft and startled the groom. Revali had produced a silver flute that flitted through the forest. It was a song so sweet and full of emotion that Link almost missed the white gown that came through the path. Arm in arm with Urbosa, the sight of the bride cut any emotion in his face to a pale awe.

Her dress was simple. The cut draped close to her body before falling elegantly from her waist. The only embroidery that was found was in the off-white belt that girded the material. Her shoulders were bare and her hands clasped around a few flowers they had undoubtedly found on their way here. Blonde hair was pulled out of her face. She laughed out of pure nerves as their eyes met.

“Don’t forget to breath, boy!” Urbosa jovially laughed along with the rest of their friends as he breathed in robotically. Pink tinged his cheeks. Zelda flashed a private smile to him before handing her bouquet to Mipha. Link’s hands found hers and he held them as if she was at risk of breaking under his grip.

Without wasting time, Impa began scripture that just barely reached him. While she did, Zelda looked nowhere else but him. The world, it seemed, could fall apart around them and neither would take notice.

“I love you,” she soundlessly mouthed to him. The words came to him like a loving embrace on his frayed nerves. Link reflected her sentiment in hopes it would do the same.

“Zelda,” Impa interrupted, “Have you vows?”

The beauty before him nodded and cleared her throat. Neither of them wrote coherent thoughts on paper. “Link,” she breathed his name like it would be her last, “There’s so much to say and yet I have… nothing to describe the amount of love I have for you. When we met I –”

Link reached to brush away the tears that fell from her eyes. She was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. At his contact, she leaned into it to give her courage to continue, “I didn’t like you so much.”

At that, Link laughed loudly at her admittance which sparked a broad grin from his bride.

“But, goddesses, you were so patiently and caring and… and suddenly I couldn’t fathom how I got through my days without you. You have given me a happiness I’ve never thought I would experience,” she held his hands firmly as fondness filled her eyes. “There is no one in this world I would rather be with than you. I love you, Link.”

Link glanced at Impa who was looking expectantly at him. He faultered, “Um, Zelda. I’ve never been a man of many words.”

He could here Revali scoffing in the background and Urbosa reprimanding him, but the princess never diverted her gaze. “I don’t think you understand the light you’ve brought into my life,” as Link spoke, his words were cool. If they were only going to be able to do this once, Calamity or not, he wanted to do it right. “It wasn’t easy in the beginning,” the ends of his lips twitched upwards. “But there isn’t a waking moment in my life that I don’t want you to be in it. Zel, you’ve given me love that I thought I was undeserving of.”

They were both smiling through tears now and the pair weren’t alone. Zelda was going to the Spring of Power within days and if that didn’t awaken her power, it would be difficult to predict what would happen. At this point, they could only hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

A hand in his pocket played with a small trinket.

“I know we agreed to no rings,” he said, procuring from his pocket a small silver band. It wasn’t perfect by no means, but it wasn’t too shoddy for a man who learned blacksmithing in three weeks. “But I knew I wanted this for us far longer than two days.”

Zelda spoke his name in a whisper as she tried to cover her shock.

Impa, whose eyes were far watery than before, held her hand out, “I will bless it.”

Once the blessings and vows were said, Link took Zelda’s hand gingerly and slipped the ring on. By some miracle, it fit snugly. Their priestess smiled at the two, “Under the watchful eyes of our goddesses both past and present, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

It was Zelda who kissed Link. A kiss full of excitement and happiness. Their teeth mashed together awkwardly until he held her face in his hands and kissed her properly. Nothing else mattered.

---

Link woke up cold and shivering. Throughout the night he stayed curled up under the tree and it didn’t keep him covered from the rain for long. For nearly an hour, he didn’t move. Instead he watched the rain fall around him and seep deeper into his clothes. In his static disarray, he found himself debating whether the water dripping off his face were his tears or raindrops. The need to be angry and to mourn and to regret blurred together into an indiscernible emotion. Probably too harshly, Link pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“You fucking idiot!” He cried out.

The hero heaved out his anguish. It was him, he realized, that was keeping himself near her. It was always Link who beat himself up whenever he tried to walk away. Two sides of the same coin coming together. How many times did he walk away from her? How many times did she so obviously lose sleep while she waited her husband to come back?

“Of course you couldn’t leave her!”

With shaking movements, he got to his feet and stumbled for his sword. That aching was back and this time he knew why. Blindly, he began walking in the direction she left and prayed she was drier than he.

It took several hours of retracing their steps. A mile beyond the edge of Hyrule Field under a group of trees was the princess of Hyrule. The moon was low in the sky, but her eyes were fixed on the small fire before her. The rain had let up by the time Link stood before her. Snapping out of her daze and to his form just outside the light of the fire, she yelped and flung a short piece of firewood his way.

A cough-like noise escaped him as it hit his abdomen.

“Goddesses, Link!” She gasped, scrambling up to help him. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Seconds,” he huffed out.

She touched his arm and a shock went through him as she led him to a seat. Zelda’s hair and clothes were damp. When he looked at her there was that strong feeling; one that persisted since he defeated Calamity Ganon. His face fell in despair as he realized he had taken that strong devotion for shackling hatred.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered out.

Link watched her closely while she looked away. “What’re you talking about?”

Zelda wiped at her nose, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” he shook his head. “Please.”

“O-Okay.”

Flickering images of her smile and her beautifully unapologetic demeanor flashed in his memory. Now, a century later he had broken her down due to his own insecurities.

“Zelda, I,” her name rolled off his tongue so easily that he had to stop himself. “What I did to you today was unforgivable-”

She vehemently shook her head, “It’s fine, Link. I did something wrong and it pushed your buttons.”

“No, it’s not just that. You deserve more than how I acted.”

Her gaze sharpened, “What? As my knight attendant? Because there is no need for that anymore.”

“No, as your husband.”

Zelda’s head snapped up to him. The term was foreign on his tongue but drew a familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. She was between disbelief and hope and it tore him up from the inside. How long had she been waiting for him? Cautiously, he reached for her hand and she let him without question.

His voice broke, “I’m so sorry, Zel. I don’t know how I could forget... that. I hate myself for hurting you the way I did.”

“Don’t, please don’t.”

“But I do,” his eyes were pleading. “I truly do. I left you all alone and then forgot about you. That wasn’t what you signed up for. I fear I’m not the man you married.”

Tears collected in her lashes and she climbed into his lap to hold his face in her hands, “Shut up, Link. Please shut up.” She smoothed his bangs out of his eyes to breathe him in fully. They sat together, silently observing all the small details they may have missed before. He had a small scar over his right brow that wasn’t there a century ago and she still had those small freckles along the bridge of her nose. Somehow it calmed them both. Link’s face held the despair of ever thinking he hated this woman. “How much do you remember?”

He swallowed, “It’s spotty. I still have a migraine… I remember when I saw you and forgot how to breathe.”

Her smile crested into her eyes, “Keep going.”

“I remember the flowers you held were silent princesses and dandelions. And we promised to not exchange rings.”

“Yes,” she laughed breathlessly. “Because we wouldn’t be able to wear them around other people. I told you there was no point.”

Link’s hands found her waist. It felt so natural. “It took three weeks to learn how to make your ring.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“Good. I want to know more things that you don’t,” he quipped, relishing in the gentle caresses on his cheeks.

A tenseness in Link’s shoulders relaxed as they talked – reminisced. The weight that had been there seemed to have persisted into normality until then because he hadn’t felt so clear in, well, one-hundred years. The things Zelda mentioned sparked new memories, small ones, that burned a motionless scene in his head or an old smell in his nose.

“Zelda.” He traced the silhouette of her face with his eyes. The fire burned lower behind her and Link made a mental note to remediate that so the goosebumps on her skin would settle.

“Link,” she said with a smile that would put the sun to shame. She was happy. Happy! Goddesses, if her happiness made him feel this way then he was determined to make this woman happy forever.

“I know I’ve made you wait for so long,” Link started, dejection seeped into his words. Before Zelda could speak, he persisted, “But, I want to be someone you can lean on and I’m… not sure if…”

Zelda combed through his damp hair again. It soothed him and dimly he knew it wasn’t the first time she’s done this. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be the last either. She whispered his name with soft devotion, “I will be here. I’ll always be here for as long as you want me.”

“What if I don’t remember everything?”

The breath in Link’s lungs grew scarce under Zelda. Her hands drifted to his collar and his question surrendered them to silence. Then, he noticed their precarious position. Zelda’s legs straddled his lap and one of his knees propped her up, pushing her body close to his. Slowly, he leaned up with eyes flickering to her own and as their lips touched, he quickly pulled away as if she had burned him.

And as fire would, she spread to him. Grasping his tunic tightly and locking him into a kiss so heated it licked away his rationality. But that was Zelda, wasn’t it? An unyielding flame that wasn’t meant to be contained. His peers saw him as an unbreakable man who only spoke about matters of upmost importance until she was thrusted was into his life. She made Link see the stars in a different light. A girl who rought him from chains he didn’t know he was bound to. A princess who made him feel a desperation to run his tongue against her bottom lip.

His hands touched cheek to assure himself that she was still there. Flickers of shadowy scenes flew by in his mind. An inn room, no, it looked to cozy to be an inn… someone’s house, a bed, Zelda. He was holding her as if the Calamity itself would attempt to pry her away. She sighed sweetly into his embrace. Love, hope, happiness.

Drawing back gently, Zelda bashfully smiled at his gaze of pure adoration for her. “Then we’ll have to make new ones,” she whispered.

Link looked up at her in disbelief, “Despite everything?”

Slowly, she nodded and bit her lip before speaking. “We could have never predicted what would happen,” she paused, “and even if I knew, there’s no one else in the world I’d rather go through this with.”

Link looked down at where her fingers fidgeted with the band around her finger. Through all their trials, she kept it. His hand found her cold one and interlaced their fingers.

“Me too, Zel,” he smiled broadly at her as she sunk into his embrace. Without words, a soft feeling settled between them. The road ahead would be rough. But as the sun kissed the valley sky, they knew that not even the gods could separate them.

#and we're done!#zelink #zelda #legend of zelda #link #zelda x link #link x zelda #legend of zelda: breath of the wild #loz #fanfiction #fic #zelink fanfiction #ashleyswrittenwords

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