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polarisbibliotheque · 1 year

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Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 5

Nemesis

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: The Abyss opening is a rare occurrence. In his youth, Vergil wanted to harness its power, but never thought he would meet his greatest adversary along the way. Years later, the Abyss is once again open and that might call for some rather unlikely alliances.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 (you are here!)

Age restriction: 18+ - there’s a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Self-hatred, self-doubt, a lot of blood and difficult emotions going on this chapter. The reader and Vergil face their own selves, seeing them as fragile, hurt, bleeding, frail beings. There's a lot of "I'm not worthy of love" from Vergil too. It all happens after the fight with the Hell Puppeteer, so reader discretion thoroughly advised.

Seriously. If you struggle with themes like these and struggle with imagining yourself hurt/crying/vulnerable and it is too much, I do recommend not reading after the fight. The part where it begins will be in red, and underneath it, things get complicated. Take care of yourself and your mental health! ^^

Special Thanks: To @furyeclipse, the wonderful being who allowed me to use her character, Ovid, and is always helping me write their part properly and screaming over DMC on DMs ^^ You can check out Fury's writing (which I highly recommend) on this link: Fury's Ao3 Author's Notes: Oh, so much going on. The bantering with Vergil. The fighting alongside him. The mind horror of the Abyss. *sighs* jokes aside, I'm loving writing a reader who doesn't make it easy for Vergil. He deserves it for being a brat during blue coat era ;D And I regret nothing regarding the fistfight

Also, last chapter was quite small. Well, this one is quite huge. Buckle up! I hope you guys like it!

Chapter 5

“Perhaps the Abyss is some sort of prison.”

You only realized you muttered your thoughts out loud when Vergil’s eyes diverted from the street ahead to your frame by his side. You looked back at him – you researched on your own and spent most of the time on your company, unused to having someone else alongside you. Speaking to yourself out loud, even if in a murmur, was an acquired trait.

“What do you think?” You tried to conceal that fact pretending you intended to start a conversation. The blue devil didn’t need to know you were a pathetic little being who talked to yourself out of loneliness.

If only you knew back then Vergil did the same, you wouldn’t have felt that awkward about your little slip.

“You tell me, human. After all, you are the one with the source of knowledge on the Abyss.”

You couldn’t hide from your reaction how unsatisfied you were with his answer. Vergil knew he had won that round of bantering.

“Tsc. Every source I’ve found on human arcane libraries haven’t got much information. You probably know it as well.” You rolled your eyes, unsheathing your sword. Something stirred inside your chest and that could only mean the extinct demons were close. “I’m wondering why there’s a Puppeteer inside the Abyss if it was given as extinct an eternity ago.”

“It can be a prison…” Vergil considered back, brooding for a while. He could hear as if it was happening right at that moment: the voice of his mother, calling him from inside the Abyss. If it was indeed a prison, then why would Eva be in there? Would it be the work of Mundus? To make his mother suffer for the act of defiance from his father? Was… Sparda in there too…?

After all those years, Vergil never knew what happened to Sparda. He saw Eva brutally murdered by those demons – and yes, there was a great possibility they had taken her to eternal suffering. Dante was supposed to be dead if she hadn’t gone through all that to save at least him… Only him.

Vergil should’ve died that day: mercilessly sliced by his own sword, his bloody body thrown in a forgotten cemetery while all his memories of a heaven burned to ashes, with only Dante as a survivor. If Vergil’s demon hadn’t awakened that fateful day, he should’ve been dead. It was his father’s blood that saved him, his father’s heritage – something he was infinitely proud of; after all, it was the only thing he had left.

But… What about Sparda? Where was he? Did Mundus’ demons kill him? Did he perish in a fight while trying to keep them away from his family? Did he abandon them…?

Vergil’s greatest strength was also his greatest weakness. He had to stop thinking sometimes – and only his endless pursue of power gave him a little peace of mind.

“It can also be another level of Hell. A deeper one.” He finally emerged from the endless dark water of the ocean in his mind. If he didn’t, Vergil could easily drown.

“Hmmm. How does it open sometimes? It should be like Hell, with many seals and ways to open it.”

“If it is, it was probably sealed by Sparda.” Vergil side-eyed you, hoping to analyze your reaction to his father’s name. Many humans feared him, but many adored him, seeing Sparda as a savior of humanity. Even those who feared were thankful for the devil who protected mankind so many years ago.

“I don’t think so… If Sparda really existed, he locked the gates of Hell. The Abyss keeps opening, so there must be something different about it.” You sighed, not giving much to Vergil other than your words. “Even if it is another level of Hell, it might not be part of what Sparda sealed away. If the legends are true, of course.”

“If…?” The word rolled slowly from Vergil’s tongue, as he kept gazing you. It was the first time he met a skeptic regarding his father’s origin.

“It might be just a bunch of hocus pocus, you know?” You shrugged. “A story to keep children scared and away from dangerous forests, like Hänsel and Gretl. As far as I know, that’s how great legends are born.”

“So you don’t believe in the Legend of Sparda?”

“I never found a piece of evidence that it actually happened.” You noted with an academic air to your speech. Vergil had to hold down the urge to wheeze from your words – after all, you were talking to the greatest evidence that Sparda was real. “I read a lot on books and yes, I do believe Sparda existed. I just… I don’t know if he was as heroic as the tales say he is.”

Vergil pondered your words for a minute before thinking about answering them. Indeed, Sparda was harsh and demanding, but he also knew when to show them love and care. From what he remembered, his father enjoyed the little human things – and how soft it was to touch them all in warm embraces, how magic it was to play fight with him and Dante on the fields, how gently he would caress Eva’s face… How much adoration he carried in his eyes.

When Vergil was a child, Sparda was never the great, heroic demon, savior of humanity – Sparda was his father. With flaws and strengths, he was just… Vergil’s dad.

Not as heroic as the tales said he was – just ordinarily human.

Vergil would have found an answer after mulling over your words if you weren’t both attacked by puppets – humanoid demons, looking like parts of various creatures who were reassembled together, walking in wobbly legs, falling apart at the joints, but attacking viciously with teeth and claws.

You avoided the attack by separating and allowing the demon to stumble between you. Soon, it had no arms left: you and Vergil attacked at the same time, curiously coordinated, slashing the demon apart. As you cut it in half, Vergil took off its head.

“Guess we’re close…” You pointed at the path ahead of you, making Vergil realize how many more puppets stood in your way.

“Try to keep up.”

His voice was arrogant as always, as Vergil plunged into battle. You scoffed, running right after him.

If you weren’t sworn enemies, you would be the perfect match in a fight – no demon would be powerful enough to bring down the both of you in battle, fair or not. Vergil was learning and applying, for quite a while now, the power of concentration over lashing out – but he was indeed aware of all his surroundings, including you.

As the dance of death among the puppets commenced, his silver eyes sometimes would linger a second or two longer than it should in your direction. Your movements, as he observed before, were swift and elegant, but there was something of aggressive. A viciousness picked up after fighting demons for a while – something you didn’t have before. As the days passed, you became increasingly stronger and a match to him.

And quite a match you were indeed – the speed with which your silver sword moved, painted only gleams of bright light between the dark blood of demons spilling on the pavement. Right by your side, the ghost of the Yamato could barely be seen as the blue devil used all his skill to slay as many demons as you – or even more.

Your back found Vergil’s back as you both stood still at the end of the street, finally settling your swords and observing the carnage of demons scattered across the ground. On the other side, the Hell Puppeteer had its soulless black holes meant to be eyes turned to you, the mouth eternally opened in distress, screeching with the loss of its demon army.

“A horde down…”

“One more to go.” Vergil completed your thoughts, slowly turning alongside you towards the Hell Puppeteer.

The ancient demon was at least three times taller than you, but neither you nor the blue devil’s steps faltered while walking towards it. The red mouth gleamed a haunting aura in the cold air of the night, but you and Vergil held your heads tall.

He was the only one who carried as much pride as you did in your steps.

What brought you both to a halt, though, was the sound of dragging. Thousands of things dragging, right behind you. Turning quickly, you and Vergil found all the parts of the demons you had previously slain to be dragging towards each other, grotesquely reassembling in wobbly creatures and screeching towards you once again.

Of course. They were puppets. Killing them wouldn’t be that easy.

“This will take forever at this pace.” Vergil groaned between his teeth, keeping his eyes on the approaching demons.

You sighed: even if you didn’t want to admit, he was right. If those demons really could reassemble and weren’t even alive to begin with, constantly tearing them apart would do nothing. How, then, would you kill something already dead?

As you looked up, quickly searching for the stars to illuminate your thoughts, the red gleam of the Hell Puppeteer – slowly approaching you, with its guttural screech that could haunt the bravest of human hearts – made you notice something you wouldn’t have seen in other circumstances: faint lines in the sky, as if made of the finest and purest glass, falling from behind you towards the little puppets.

With a quick glance, you chuckled within yourself: it was indeed a puppeteer – for those glass strings tied firmly across the dark claws of the Hell Puppeteer.

“Look at the sky.” You pointed out, making Vergil’s silver eyes finally see what you were seeing. “I’m guessing if we cut the strings, they will all fall apart for good. But…” You sighed once again, already attacking one of the creatures who were close enough to hurt you. “There are too many of them. I’m not that quick; the Puppeteer will catch us before we’re done.”

Vergil looked back in a matter of seconds, arriving to the same conclusion as you. There was only one thing he could do, then.

“Stay behind me and don’t move.”

You furrowed your brows, ready to argue with that conceited demon right in front of you. Who did he think he was to talk to you like that? Hadn’t you proved already you were strong enough to beat him in a fair – or even unfair – fight? You had managed to draw his blood. He shouldn’t be that full of himself and patronizing towards you.

Before you could even start to argue, Vergil sheathed the Yamato and, with a snapping sound while his head quickly looked up, the man gave room to a creature with the strike of a blue lightning. You had no words, but there he was: with skin made of black and blue scales, the sheath of the sword as part of his arm, claws instead of nails and horns crowning his head.

You took a few steps back as he took his hand back to the Yamato, flexing his legs in an attacking position you had noticed already he had a preference for. Your feet stopped moving, though, when the air around you seemed to warp. Time itself became denser, almost as if you were under a gelatinous body of water. It was increasingly difficult to breath until he disappeared in the blink of an eye.

With eyes wide, you maintained your feet glued to your place as you only managed to see dark blue figures of warped air and the sharp glimmer of the Yamato cutting everything on its path. The floor underneath your feet trembled slightly and, in a matter of seconds, the blue devil was kneeling in front of you, in a typical position to finish his attack.

As he got up and that devilish form enveloped in a ring of blue light, the man with white hair and silver eyes returned to his human form, finally sheathing the Yamato once again.

And, when he did, all the strings exploded in a million of pieces, cut in a fraction of seconds, falling from the sky like a crystal rain.

All the demons fell to the floor at once – dismembered. Unmoving. Defeated.

You had to admit to yourself, that was a lot more impressive than you had expected. You wanted to scream at how much you hated him: now, you had even more to surpass regarding that stuck up blue demon.

During all your life, you never wanted so bad to stab someone.

“A simple human like you wouldn’t be able to do this not even with years of training.” Vergil fixed the collar of his coat while walking the path towards the shocked and infuriated Hell Puppeteer.

“I don’t need to rely on demonic tricks to be my enemies’ demise.” Your comeback was as quick as his sharp words. “Or I shouldn’t have been able to draw your blood earlier, demon.”

“You did it out of sheer luck, human.” Even though he wanted to throw a murderous glare towards you, Vergil’s silver eyes kept fixed on the Hell Puppeteer. The creature never had its whole army decimated so quickly – it had never been so weak before; and that made it absolutely fuming. “Hadn’t this thing crawled out from its confinement, you would’ve known what real demonic power looks like.”

“Interestingly enough, I am the one with apparent access to the Abyss, not the real demonic power here.”

This time, Vergil couldn’t refrain from stopping right where he was and stare at you – his cold eyes mimicking glaciers, while you held them with pride on your own stare. The Hell Puppeteer didn’t seem to be as entertaining – and important – as winning a stare contest against that stuck up creature.

That was a thought shared between you both.

In the shadows, though, a set of bright and intelligent eyes watched you and Vergil with delight. Ovid reveled in the fact that child of Sparda had found his match – be it in combat or regarding the mind. You were, indeed, a very interesting human to follow; and something about your fearless and proud attitude towards Vergil was infinitely entertaining. After all, not many were brave enough to banter with the blood of Sparda, let alone make him bleed.

A quiet chuckle rolled in the darkness. In Ovid’s ancient eyes, humans were absolutely fascinating and ever-changing creatures that were always in motion, never stopping – so much more exciting than demons.

The Hell Puppeteer didn’t find you fascinating, though. Vergil would chastise you in order to at least try to win that little battle of wits of yours, but the demon wouldn’t just watch in shock with the loss of its puppets. Its claws flew towards you, and that made you both get back into battle.

Anyone who watched you wouldn’t say it was a fight – at least, that’s what Ovid observed in the shadows. It was fun watching you argue, but there was something of classic in the way you both fought alongside each other. It was a dance: a deadly waltz you and Vergil knew the steps quite well. Sometimes he guided, other times you took the lead. But you crossed each other and coordinated attacks in such a graceful and natural manner, it looked like a ballet of death – your hearts in synch, choreographing the steps for your enemy’s demise.

“The hands!” Vergil growled after an attack that made the Puppeteer slightly flinch. “Break the seal, break the power!”

You turned your eyes to the demon’s claws and immediately understood what Vergil meant: it had red glowing bracelets across its wrists, embellished with scriptures of an old language you couldn’t read. But that rule was always clear: whenever a seal was present in the body or around a demon, you had to break it in order to kill or subdue it. That was actually one of the first things ever mentioned on the Codex Daemonica.

Apparently, he did knew it by heart, just like you.

“I’ll get the one on the left! You get the one on the right!”

Vergil would have argued so he wouldn’t really be following a human’s orders, but that was already what he had thought to himself – you just mentioned it faster than him. Of course, you were fighting for your lives, and he wouldn’t be petty to the point of stopping everything to argue about that – but his mind would make sure to keep it noted for future encounters.

During the fight, though, Vergil did notice your body was starting to get tired – you were human, after all. And, even if he was focusing on killing the demon and going back to arguing with you, Vergil did have a sense of honor that you were doing that together. He wouldn’t let you notice, of course, but his next attack was designed so that the Hell Puppeteer would need to lean its left hand on the floor – making things a lot easier for you.

In the distance, Ovid was amused by the spectacle of a human and a demon working together. The blue son of Sparda wasn’t known for kindness, let alone being a team-player – but there he was, in his own way, helping the little human fighting alongside him. Vergil did have a demonic part in his soul, yet, somehow, he was helping this human fight off a creature. Was it for power? For pride? Or something else? It didn’t matter in the end: as tempting as it was to also have the son of Sparda as a study subject, his fixation on his demonic power would be an outlier in their grand experiment results. What a shame, really – it seemed as if, maybe, later in his life, Vergil would come to understand the mixed heritage he was blessed with.

For the moment being, though, Ovid would only note those changes and continue just observing.

The Yamato easily sliced through the seal on the right hand of the Puppeteer, raised in the air as it shrieked and tried to protect its own power – to no avail. Your silver sword found the seal on the left hand, needing a couple of hits to break the seal. Yes, you were tired, and using all your strength to have that fight meet its end. But, as Vergil knew too well, you wouldn’t give up.

The Hell Puppeteer let out a scream you almost had to cover your ears – even Vergil furrowed his brows and felt the sting inside his eardrums. The demon recoiled in a manner that was almost pitiful, but you both knew better and, with resolute steps, side by side, you and Vergil approached the creature now tossed on the ground.

With a swift last blow, you buried your silver sword in its chest while Vergil used the Yamato on its gleaming red mouth. With one last shriek, the Puppeteer burned to ashes until there was nothing left but you two – you with a ragged breath, leaning on your sword, and Vergil somberly quiet.

After a few seconds catching your breaths, though, your eyes met once again.

And you knew.

Vergil tried to run. The Abyss was still open and his chance was finally at his grasp – he could almost feel it touching his fingertips.

But you had made a promise: nothing was to come out and nothing was to go in.

With that in mind, you followed him – holding Vergil by his coat, you pulled him back, trying to hit him with your sword. His answer was swift, and, in the blink of an eye, your silver sword clashed with the Yamato.

The sheer strength of it made your swords fly away from your hands, dancing in the air towards opposite sides.

What a nuisance. That’s what you were in Vergil’s eyes. An incredible, annoying, petty human nuisance. Never in his life he had lost the grip of the Yamato, but there he was. His anger towards you increased as the seconds went by.

And it only became worse when Vergil found himself tossed on the floor, you on top of him, punching his face with your tired – but strong – human hands. His eyes lit with anger; his teeth increasingly sharper. Holding both of your wrists, Vergil tossed you away from him, ready to end you.

Even after everything you did together, he still underestimated your power and your human resilience. You got up faster than he expected – but Vergil still punched you. With wobbly steps, you couldn’t refrain from losing your balance – and he took the opportunity to hit you one more time.

His nails now were as sharp as claws. Turning back to him after protecting the right side of your cheek, Vergil finally saw: he had managed to draw blood. The cut on your cheek bled just like his – and you were finally even for that day.

“I won’t let you go any further.” You managed to mumble while wiping the blood from your face, raising your head to keep a little bit of your pride. You knew you had cut him before, but the fact that he did the same… It made your blood boil.

“You can barely stand…” Vergil answered in the same tone, beginning to feel the tiredness in his bones. He was demonic indeed, and his blood caried a heritage stronger than many others… But Vergil could only take so much. He also needed to rest after a long day – and he was beginning to feel that. “Don’t make me hurt you even more.”

“Don’t make me fatally wound you, stuck up demon.”

Both of you growled, reading your attack positions. Your swords were far away, but it was quite clear you could – and would – get on a fistfight if necessary. With those thoughts, you ran towards Vergil, ready to kick him far away from the Abyss – but, as expected, he too knew martial arts and managed to deflect and try a counterattack.

And Vergil’s demonic side couldn’t hold back a growl of utter annoyance when you deflected expertly and managed to scrape his face with a well-placed punch. In all honesty, he wanted to tie you up on a light post and enter the Abyss at peace so there would be no possibility whatsoever that you would follow him and continue being so annoying.

As the fight went on, that idea became increasingly tempting.

You managed to place a strong kick right on Vergil’s abdomen, making him stumble away from you for a few seconds. Neither of you realized how close you were to the edge of the Abyss; your eyes trained on each other, careful and attentive of whatever move you would make.

Until you heard a voice.

It was a cry, really. Silent. Lonely. Muffled. Buried deep inside the darkness.

Vergil frowned as he saw how much your expression changed – instead of anger and focus, he found a pair of vulnerable wide eyes, almost as if you had seen a ghost.

“Vergil…?”

And your expression was suddenly mirrored on his own face. It was his mother. It was Eva again. Calling him – far away, a ghost of a memory, but still… There. Just like it happened years prior, when he heard her in the Abyss.

You took your eyes away from each other – and you both fell into darkness.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped carefully, not knowing where you were getting yourself into. You didn’t understand what was happening – had you entered the Abyss? Was it reaching out to you? Who was crying…?

The floor was wet. You furrowed your eyebrows. Why were you barefoot? You were wearing your boots before… Weren’t you…?

A dim light could barely light the scene ahead. A frail shape – weak, bony, with their skin looking like it lacked blood underneath – kneeled on the floor, face covered by bloody hands, their back filled with several wounds: some fresh, some still healing.

Shards of a crystal heart were tossed on the floor, covered in blood: they tried desperately to put it back into place, but it kept breaking, over, and over, and over again… The wounds kept opening, the blood kept flowing. They couldn’t get up: they tried, but every time there was progress, they would break once more. Their strength was running out.

Your feet froze and you couldn’t move. That frail creature, that broken heart, that blood… It was you. And you didn’t want to see that. You didn’t want to acknowledge that beaten down creature – the one you would always find whenever you looked in the mirror.

You had broken all your mirrors before. You didn’t want to be forced to look at that.

But other people walked around. People you knew. People who left. They would look at that broken human and ignore – forget it existed.

In the end, you were always on your own.

You had to get out. You didn’t know where you were, but you had to get out.

Vergil didn’t have to walk too far to find himself in the dark – not able to see even his own hands in front of him. Everything he heard was his mother’s voice quietly crying, calling for him. Begging for his help.

“Is that you, my son…? Can you help me…?”

“Yes. I am coming for you.” He muttered under his breath, not knowing if she could hear him or not.

“But… Why did you leave me…?”

As soon as he heard that voice, Vergil’s whole body froze – his eyes as wide as the silver moon. He knew who said that. He heard that before.

Slowly turning around, Vergil felt the scorching heat gradually hitting his face. The amber inferno of a starless night, coming back again to haunt him.

“Why… Why did you leave me, mom…?” And Vergil found himself. Tossed on the grass of that godforsaken graveyard, blood on his mouth, his hands, his whole body; his life slowly slipping away from his soul. “Don’t… Don’t you love me too…? Am I… A bad son…?”

Fucking hell. He was a child. He was only a child. Vergil stared at himself trying to claw away from the demons who cackled at his dying state, dragging his almost dead body as far as he could. His eyes were red, raining with tears, his nails broken and stained with dirt. His hands… They were so tiny compared to how big they were right now. The Yamato was almost as big as him – and now, it could look like a toy in Vergil’s hands.

He was so small. So… Vulnerable.

“Am I not… Worth saving… Mom…?”

Vergil couldn’t see that anymore. He couldn’t help. He couldn’t grab his own hand and slay those demons – that was not how it happened. He died that day, and his demonic heritage saved him. The demon had awakened, and he managed to save himself.

No one came. No one appeared. He wasn’t loved, he wasn’t protected, and he would have to save himself in other to survive. That was it.

“Please… Don’t leave.”

Vergil couldn’t make out who said those words: if it was his younger self or his mother. But one thing was sure – he had to get out. He couldn’t stay. Or he wouldn’t survive.

The floor trembled once more under both of your feet. You lost your balance and fell to the floor while Vergil kneeled in order to remain anchored somehow.

Light and color gradually came back to your worlds – and, as you found yourselves lit up by the moon once again, you realized you were still close to the edge of the Abyss; still beside each other, even if far apart.

When you met his eyes, for the first time, you found a hint of vulnerability. Those silver moons stared at you with the same distress you looked at him. None of you knew what to do – after all, you were in the middle of a fight. Should you attack? Should you run? Should you… Search for solace in each other…?

Before any of those thoughts could be answered, the floor trembled once again, making nearby buildings collapse. You rolled even farther apart, and your path to each other was blocked by heavy pieces of concrete.

The Abyss was closed once again.

To be continued...

72 notes · View notes

your-fave-adopted-you · 2 years

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twst teachers as your dad!(+Crowley)

The news were devastating, after all the efforts to bring you home, it finally became official : you could never return to your world, and your new home consisted on a magical institution and the friends you made along the way <\3

As sad as these news were for you, some teachers who had grown fond of you have waited for this moment, in hopes of adopting you (and keeping you safe from Crowley too, ofc)

1.Dire Crowley-

Had to fist fight Crewel for this to happen.

Has been planning on adopting you since week 1 (thus the lack of interest on bringing you back)

Bought custome matching pajamas with "the handsome man beside me is my dad" and "the kid beside me is the luckiest dad-haver ever" written on them.

No kidding, this was his way of celebrating your # 1st adoption anniversary.

A weird guy.

Invites you to very fancy family (of two) dinners, brings Pepsi with him and drinks it in front of everyone.

Also loves ordering whatever is currently the most expensive item of food at burguer King.

God forbid any male student looking your way ( very unfortunate because there's no actual female students)

If you are queer you would live in fear of telling him, but not because you think he's homophobic, but because you wouldn't be able to talk to anyone.

Not if you're a lesbian tho. that would be a blessing in his eyes. (he wouldn't let you out of school)

Encourages you to be your gothest self every day.

Tries to bribe the teachers to score you perfect grades.

Never works.

Tries to guiltrip you by saying that you would prefer Crewel as a father rather than him.

When you say "actually, yeah" he bursts in tears, like, ugly sobbing.

This is a common occurrence, every 4-6 days or so.

That's why you end up telling him that.

Not the best father but in this world full of magic and dangers you won't have the need to worry even once.

2.Divus Crewel-

Had to beat Crowley up for this multiple times.

Because before signing all the paperwork he kept on insisting you to reconsider.

And boy was he persistent.

Unlike Crowley, Crewel was actually concerned for you.

"Okay so this kid has lost any chance of seeing their og. family again if they have one, and their friends. maybe they had a pet???"

Whether you are of age or happen to be the independent type, he still takes those feelings into account.

That said

Prepare to become a fashion model.

Your new dad loves dressing up.

He asks you what kind of fashion do you incline towards and buys you lots of outfits.

If you never were the fashionista type or you just don't care about your appearance, he'll just have you dress like him.

And as a teacher.

Does he give you a special treatment? yep.

Does this mean extra work every day? also yes.

He's more forgiving with your other classes as long as you pass

But- if you are his kid- you HAVE TO be top student in science and potionology.

So whenever you don't get a perfect score he will flood you with extra work until you get everything right.

Also will always get you the best partners for his class.

He doesn't care who you date, but if they hurt you ... there will be consecuences.

Overall a pretty solid dad. A little strict and materialistic at times but i mean, at least he's not Crowley.

3.Mozus Trein

This man is not a dad. he's a certified Father.

Probably a grandpa already (?)

Maybe not in canon but, this man has basically three kids (yes I'm counting the cat)

His two actual kids however are around the age of Crewel if not just a few years younger.

He's been straight up suffering of empty nest syndrome for a long time.

He won't admit it tho.

This is why he initially takes interest on being your legal tutor.

(he thinks Crewel would be too superficial and could turn you like him.

he also doesn't want you to live like you're in the military, if Ashton adopted you,

and c'mon he's gotta keep you safe from Crowley.)

So, in his eyes, he's literally the only right option available.

Once he speaks his mind not even Crowley complains.

They are SHOCKED that this tired old man wants to take care of another kid.

When you come to his place for the long weekend, you are horrified at the specific old-wood smell that fills the house.

It's the furniture. This old, reddish dark, polished wood. around every corner.

His cat loves you already.

As a teacher, he's very much like Crewel.

He makes sure regularly that you remember what he taught you by randomly pop-quizzing you

You end up dreaming about history.

If you're queer and want to come out to him, i mean, he's not homophobic but he is very much and old man. yk.

If you're gay he's gonna tell you "but what is wrong with men/women?"

If you're bi/pan however, "could you be as ambitious when studying, please?"

If you're aro/ace he'll just be like. "i do understand you, really, but aren't you too young for this?"

He's not judging honestly.

He's not trying either.

Gives the best relationship advice having watched all the romantic disasters his older kids already went through.

Will teach you manners.

4. Ashton Vargas.

He adopted you because he really felt bad for you with all this "loosing where i belong, the people i love, the places i know" thing.

This kinda stuff can bring the best man down.

He won't let it happen!!

And you're so ridiculously out of shape!! he knows none of his colleagues would help you with that. He also doesn't think leaving you to Crowley is safe so.

Now you're his kid.

Wakes you up everyday at 5am for a morning jog to "start the engines" so you do better in school.

Doesn't let you eat anything from the cafeteria.

He meal preps once a week so now you will be eating slightly cooked veggies, eggs and non-spiced chicken everyday.

If you're vegan you will be eating a ridiculous high amount of legumes. half the timed they're just boiled and unsalted.

Will be a competitive dad. I mean, he will make everything a competition. who will wash the dishes faster? who will get to the bottom of the stairs first?

If you play competitive sports with him prepare to be absolutely destroyed.

But

If you're in any type of competition that he has trained you for, and you win, he will cry literal tears.

Of pride and happiness ofc

You do so much better in his classes now because you've being training 24/7

He won't ever say a thing about your crushes or partners unlike the others, even if he sees the red flags

Because he thinks it's better if you learn this kind of thing on your own, the hard way.

If you have an uterus and suffer from bad period cramps this man will research the whole market as well as natural and magical remedies because nothing should interfere with the grind 💪

#twst x mc #twst x reader #dire crowley #divus crewel

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sio-writes · 1 month

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Blood and Bourbon - Chapter 1

<<Prologue

Summary: Elliot finally feels like he's ready for a new chapter in his life, he's moved in with his immortal partner and runs a successful vampire aid clinic, it finally feel like life is giving him a break. But not all good things stay, as Elliot's past catches up to him and threatens to destroy everything he's worked for in a shower of blood.

Tags: discussion of (fantasy) medical practices including the consumption of blood (They are vampires after all!) and

Read it here, or on AO3!

Lifeline Specialized Vampire Clinic is a two-story stone building in the Medical District of downtown Braedon. It only opened for business a few years ago, but specialized vampiric clinics are hard to come by, even in the most progressive of cities, so the center is full nearly every hour of every day. It specializes in early- and late-term transitions and post-transformation lifestyle management, with several group therapies staggered throughout the day to help patients find a sense of community.

So the sight of a young woman being wheeled in on a gurney from the hospital is a common occurrence, even at two in the morning. Elliot is used to it, and he filled the sight into his brain for later. At the moment he has a list of things to do once he's finished his rounds in the inpatient wing upstairs. There's group therapy at 4:30, another set of rounds, and once that's over he has to chip away at the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

He's finishing the rounds upstairs, thankfully everything went on schedule, when he's stopped by Head Nurse Marcy. She pulls him aside in the stairway down to the outpatient division. "I know you have group, but I need you to see our new patient. She's just started to turn, and her parents are very adamant about speaking to an 'actual doctor'."

Marcy slaps a manila folder on his chest, and Elliot hums, thinking. "Is Dr. Henrickson not available?"

She shakes her head of fiery red curls. "He's running the other group session, and Deb isn't in until seven."

Elliot curses under his breath, causing Marcy to smile. She likes seeing him break professionalism.

Elliot skims the patient's profile, taking note of her age: 17. Elliot supresses a groan. He hates talking to parents of young vampires. It's always tears and angry accusations and, if he's lucky, something will get thrown at him. He still needs to make sure both the parents and their child have the information they need, but it's his least favorite part of running the clinic.

"You run the 4:30 group then," he says to Marcy.

"Yes sir," she gives him a lazy salute before walking off. "She's in 114!"

***

Elliot's barely in the door before the father inside scoffs and crosses his arms. "Are you an actual doctor?" he asks. He's got combed-back, dirty blonde hair, and he's wearing a pressed bowling shirt and golf shorts. Next to him is, presumably, his wife, with bleached blonde hair and a bright, patterned dress that ends at the knees. She's sniffing into a napkin that looks like it's seen better days. On the bed is a young woman with short brown hair, wearing torn cargo shorts and an equally torn tank top. She's so young, and Elliot's heart breaks. Her chart had said she was a minor, but Elliot will never get used to seeing someone so young here.

When humans are turned into vampires, the body stops aging. Elliot's always going to be 32, Marcy will always be 25, and this young woman, Margaret MacKenzie, will forever be 17. Those born with vampiric blood age slower depending on the ratio, too. Vampiric births are rare, they're difficult to bring to term, but for the few that happen each year, the aging rate can vary wildly. Elliot saw by Margaret's chart that she was born human, not a drop of vampire blood in her lineage.

Elliot nods at the father, maintaining his professionalism. "Yes, I'm the head doctor as well as the owner of the clinic. Your daughter Margaret--"

"Maggie," the wife says, her voice thick with emotion. "Her name is Maggie."

"Maggie," he corrects. "Is in the final stages of vampiric transformation. She'll need to be admitted to the clinic for a few weeks until she stabilizes." He checks his chart. "There doesn't seem to be any pressing issues like injury, thankfully."

"Thankfully?!" the father snaps. "She's turning into a monster!"

Mrs. MacKenzie chokes back a niose before bursting into tears. Mr. MacKenzie frowns at Elliot like it was he who bit his daughter. "Will she even survive?"

"Her vitals are stabilizing and her readouts look good," Elliot says. "She's made it through the worst of the change, and the longer she rests, the higher her chances are." He skims the report again, taking notice of a specific note in the margins. "She was a runaway?"

Mrs. MacKenzie sniffs like she's trying to collect herself, but she falls into tears again, and Mr. MacKenzie speaks for her. "She ran away about three months ago. Cops told us she probably got picked up by a trafficking scheme."

Elliot checks the notes of the report. Nothing else about that. "Was there a reason she left?"

"What're you implying, you--"

"Mr. MacKenzie, I'm only trying to get the facts--"

Mrs. MacKenzie clears her throat. "She's been seeing this…asshole. A creep, and a bad influence for my daughter. He was into some kind of cult and we tried to tell her that he was a lost cause, but she didn't listen, she didn't want anything to do with us. She left on a Saturday, and came back sick and with a mark on her back."

Elliot frowns. That wasn't on the report, either. "A mark?"

"On her shoulder," Mr. MacKenzie says. "Three triangles interlocked. We thought it was a tattoo at first, but it's a brand." He spits out the word with disgust, and Elliot is inclined to agree.

Vampiric cults are a dangerous problem. There's as many organizations as there are vampires in the world, and they all have their own calling card, a symbol of the house their leader hails from. They steal humans right off the street and indoctrinate them, churn them through the cult's system until they're obedient enough to take the transformation without complaint. Elliot has a brand on his inner arm that itches whenever he talks about matters like these.

Three triangles, though, he's not familiar with. Anxiety sparks underneath Elliot's skin. He should know. It's part of his job, protecting those who call for his help.

"I don't know the exact group, but I'll look into it." He makes a note on Maggie's chart to check the symbol once she's moved to her room. Elliot flips the pages on his clipboard until he sees the pamphlets stored in the back and hands them to Mr. MacKenzie. "For now, I'll give you the information I do have. Maggie's vampirism will be unique to her, but there are some ground rules. She can't have solid foods, only liquids from now on. She'll likely be craving blood frequently once she wakes up, and it's completely normal. You'll see in that second pamphlet-- yes that one, the amount of blood she'll need to sustain her every day, and I'll tell you now that these are just the minimum values, there's no maximum. Direct sunlight is out, as is indirect sunlight, such as through a tinted window or shade, until she hits the one year mark."

"Oh god!" Mrs. MacKenzie cries out. Mr. MacKenzie rests a gentle hand on her shoulder, comforting her as she cries. "She loved the sun, she loved the beach so much. She won't be able to go ever again?" And before Elliot can answer, she breaks down into sobs again.

"After a year," he continues as gently as possible, "Maggie will be able to handle indirect sunlight, including shaded areas. So, after a year, she'll still be able to go, just cover up and bring an umbrella."

His words seem to calm Mrs.MacKenzie, at least, they stop the tears. Elliot continues, "Blood management is the most crucial at this point time. The banks have a program to provide you with your first year's supply. She'll need to stay away from any pets for at least the next four weeks, which won't be a problem if you decide to admit her here."

Mr. MacKenzie cuts in, "Will the cult come after her?"

"Once I find out which group is associated with that symbol, I'll tell you everything I know." Hopefully this cult is a smaller one, and Elliot's only seen their sigil as graffiti somewhere in the city. "We have security protocols in place as well, the upper floor where she'll be staying is under 24/7 surveillance, and only approved guests are allowed, such as you two and anyone you approve."

Elliot goes through the rest of the pamphlets with the MacKenzies, including the paperwork to admit Maggie to the clinic. He tells them her eyes will change color, and her body will be slow to react at first. Elliot answers their questions as best he can, but Mrs. MacKenzie breaks back down into tears after he reiterated Maggie can only drink liquids. By the time Elliot gets Maggie upstairs, the nurses get her IV hooked up, and he answers many, many more questions, it's nearly 8am.

The MacKenzies are yawning by the time Elliot shuts the door, and he doesn't blame them. It's nearly seven the morning, he's supposed to be home. Mathias should be waking up right about now, he should be there to greet him.

He walks into the covered garage and starts up his beat-up Ford sedan, anxiety thrumming behind his eyelids, making his fingers twitch. He's anxious all the way home, wondering how such a young girl escaped this mystery cult, and who was coming after her.

***

Elliot nearly drives to his old apartment, swerving away from the exit at the last minute and scattering his thoughts like loose playing cards. He'd been so distracted by that symbol and it's origins he nearly forgot to take the right exit.

No, he's living with Mathias now, in his fixer-upper two story that Mathias has owned since 1982. It doesn't feel real, like it's too good to be true. It's been a little fast, but Elliot's trying to take it all in stride.

Mathias is in the kitchen cooking breakfast when Elliot opens the door. "Hi-i-i! Welcome home!"

Elliot's home. It's strange to think of the house he's only been in for a few weeks as home. Strange, but not unwelcome, especially with Mathias to come home to each morning. He's seen Mathias off to work nearly every morning since he moved in, it's a nice ritual that Elliot is glad he didn't miss. He can't eat, but the house smells of waffles and syrup and it makes his mouth water. "Smells good. Long day?"

Mathias usually just grabs his coffee and rushes out to make his nine o'clock class time, only taking the time to cook when he anticipates a day without snacks. Immortals have a higher daily calorie requirement than the average human.

"Midterms today," Mathias replies. Elliot walks through the kitchen and into the breakfast nook. Mathias has laid out more than waffles, he's also got bacon, eggs, and sliced strawberries set out on the dining table.

"You've got quite the spread, here," Elliot comments, sipping from a dangerously full glass of orange juice. No pulp, perfect. Mathias comes up behind him holding a plate of pancakes that smell divine. The flour and sugar and mountain of dishes tell Elliot that Mathias made them from scratch, too. He kisses Elliot gently on the cheek as steps around into the nook. Elliot takes his place opposite Mathias and watches as he eats.

Mathias' eyes are solid gold, bright like the sun, irises marked with a pale brown ring, and if Elliot were to shut off all the lights, that set would be glowing at him like a cat. The eyes of an Immortal. It's an intense stare, to say the least. Mathias catches glances from him, and his flirtatious stare makes Elliot smile behind his hand.

After a few minutes, Mathias says around a mouth full of pancakes and strawberries, "You were late this morning. Everything okay? Busy day?"

Elliot rests his chin in one hand and tries to summarize his night. "A girl came in from the hospital today with two very concerned parents. Which makes sense! She was a runaway, and appeared in the middle of turning. She was out cold."

"Yeesh," Mathias says sympathetically. "The parents didn't let you get any work done?"

"After about a thousand questions, which again make sense when your only child is turning into a vampire."

"Mm, I see." Mathias hums around another bite of pancakes. "Do you think they'll try to reverse it?"

"It was too late in the change." In truth, Elliot would have liked if they'd come in a day earlier, that would've been the last possible second to reverse her turning. But he's not a magician, as he'd told Mr. MacKenzie outside his daughter's room.

In the time it took Elliot to drive home and speak to Mathias, his feelings have changed from anxious to something else. He feels melancholy about the whole thing. Not quite sad, not quite angry, but both, diluted within the slurry of other things that weigh down on his conscious. He tries to keep work away from home, but when cases like Maggie become personal, it's hard to let things go.

The feeling of deja vu hadn't left him since speaking to the MacKenzies. He's seen that symbol somewhere, somewhere important. It has to be in Mathias' books. If it's not, he can try and wrangle his ancient laptop to scour the internet.

After Mathias kisses him goodbye, Elliot decides to spend the next few hours going through boxes of books piled nearly to the ceiling of the library. It's a smaller room, probably meant to be used as a den that the two of them built in-wall bookshelves. Some books are his, but most belong to Mathias and he has even more in his office at the university.

They'd moved in together only a few weeks ago, and there's so much left to unpack. But Elliot is on a mission to find that symbol, and Mathias was briefly interested in occult histories and bought several tomes on the subject. If any books have that symbol, it'll be those.

First he finds a large textbook on the history of the occult in modern society. There's a lot on tarot readings, crystals, and Elliot reads Mathias' tiny, slanting script about the trip he'd taken in 1907 to the French Quarter and had his palm read. There's no interlocking triangles in the first book. The next two are unmarked, Mathias must not have gotten to them yet, and also offer no help by way of the symbol.

The other books he pulls seem promising. He finds a series of ancient organizations, modern reiterations, and speculation on future activities. It's another hour of rooting through books, finding nothing, then putting them on the shelves. Elliot goes from sitting to laying on his back, and his eyelids grow heavy. Another hour of fruitless searching, and Elliot is fighting sleep with every paragraph and soon, he falls asleep right in the library.

#my writing #blood and bourbon #m/m romance #vampire romance #exophillia #monster boyfriend #creative writing #original writing

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servuscorporis · 3 months

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CHAROENSUK CLAN, THE ARIKUN COMPANION PT. 4

There are several reasons a Charoensuk would be called to serve an Arikun;

The most common reason is that a member of the family always had a companion from the same family under the Charoensuk clan. Every Charoensuk generation, a child is summoned to work for a specific Arikun unless they are called by their eternity vampire.

Another reason could be a change of vampires. A Charoensuk could be serving one Arikun and something happened to this particular vampire, then they are sent to serve another Arikun to continue protection and care of the companion.

The most uncommon is a Charoensuk being summoned by their eternity vampire. This match usually happened in the past and it is said that a Charoensuk bound to a particular Arikun is reborn to be with their vampire. The process repeats itself until the vampire mets their true death and ceases to exist. This Charoensuk calling is a rare occurrence due to various reasons. For the most part, a Charoensuk companion is never summoned by their eternity vampire because their bond in the past was not strong. Young vampires live for hundreds of years before they find their one true companion. An eternity companion doesn't necessarily mean the vampire and companion are romantically involved. A lot of times, they are good friends who live side by side, protecting each other. This concept of having a companion from one clan is not a common practice in many tribes and very special to families like the Arikun.

It is said that when a Charoensuk is summoned by their eternity vampire, something shifts in their physicality and also in their emotional being. The balance for both companion and vampire adjust and things just feel right usually for both parties.

However, there were incidents where a vampire is not aware they'd summoned their eternity companion and when this happens, the bond usually weakens and is broken. Once this happens, it is highly likely that the companion is reborn in the next life to be summoned once again.

*ADDITIONAL NOTE:

Since it's a rare occurrence that a vampire meets their eternity companion, the signs that the eternity companion supposedly goes through during this summoning remains just a myth. Although, there are many truths to it. And since these signs, physical and mental - usually subconsciously - are not well known to the majority of the Charoensuk companions, when an actual eternity companion goes through it, they brush it off and think they're just sick. Or sometimes some even think they are possessed.

The signs a Charoensuk companion goes through when their Arikun vampire sensed their eternity companion has been born/reborn are as follows;

Uneasiness, like someone is always watching.

Restlessness, like they have to move, be somewhere, although they don't know where and why.

Intense dreams, vivid - if a companion is subconsciously aware enough, they'll be able to communicate with their vampire through dreams. They're not necessarily nightmares as this process is supposed to be exciting, meaningful for both parties.

*More details in the next part.

#{ hc: arawan }#arikun/charoensuk hc

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surviving-cptsd · 4 months

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The Beginning - Diagnose of CPTSD

Hello and thank you for taking the time to read. Some of you may know me already from interactions with my shop or maybe through my community. I am the designer and owner of Little Home Mades and my name is Jessica. I am a wife and mother of 4 children and 3 step children so a total of 7. I have been mauling over the idea of writing a blog or a book, or anything for some time. Most times I am on Facebook in my select groups and will post whatever I can to help ease mothers and fathers who are struggling with their children or certain situations and will attempt to share bits and pieces of my knowledge with them without trying to overwhelm them. I worried about writing a book or a blog because I knew how complicated my life has been. Some may feel it's even not real or a lie and I've always had difficulty processing that kind of response because that's part of my trauma growing up - not being believed. I've had mix reactions to people through other social media platforms so whenever posting my own issues, I will usually post it anonymously. I do this to remove any bias and also so I don't feel shunned in the community I'm in for future posts. I'm sure many have run into this group with Facebook and Twitter groups is people will click your profile, pull up old posts and then judge you based on your past responses if you disagree with their views and openly share that disagreement. This is what ultimately lead me to start this blog. I wanted to share my experiences to make sure people know, they are not alone, that they are heard, and that it's okay to feel the way that they feel and it's okay to be not okay. As my blog plainly points out, I am diagnosed with CPTSD which stands for Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for those who don't know. Also for those who need to know the difference between CPTSD and PTSD, PTSD is one traumatic event, CPTSD is many over a long span of time. You're basically re-traumatized over and over and over again. When you feel you're finally over one event, another happens. This leads to multiple different symptoms and the biggest one I've seen lately is the fact that people don't realize they even have it. They're just so used to these events, they're almost normalized. They also tend to feel like they can handle another event because of the intrusive thoughts of "I've dealt with worse,", "It could be worse,", or "It's not as bad as other's experiences,". Every experience is different and every reaction is different, there is no mold. When you are formally diagnosed it is a form you do with many many questions with a therapist who is specialized in trauma. Some of them sound like trick questions, but the overall score of your answers is what gives you the actual diagnose. Some people may have nightmares, where as another person has insomnia, or some people may duck and cover to fireworks, whereas another person has a panic attack while sitting on their computer. You don't have to have every symptom listed to have CPTSD, you may only have a handful and feel they are minor occurrences or not even worth mentioning, but when they're all laid out in the open, a pattern emerges that you may have never noticed before. I say all this because this is what happened to me. For a long time, I had unexplained pain in my chest that would randomly occur starting in my early teens. I would feel like I couldn't breathe. My chest would become tight and best way I could describe it back then was that "I can't expand my lungs with too much air without excruciating pain". I once told my father about this happening to me, and he told me that he had the same thing, that it must be genetic. He also told me that his stopped as he got older, so I took that and ran with it for years.

Finally in my very late 20s, I reached out to my doctor. I don't go to the doctor often because I feel always ignored about any complaint I may have, but I just wanted his opinion on it. The last episode I had before going to see him was when I was playing Civilization VI on my laptop reclined on my couch. Literally nothing triggered me, and then BAM! I'm screaming at my husband that I can't breathe and I practically threw my laptop as I scrambled to get up off the couch. So I scheduled and went to my doctors and told him about this pain I'd been having. To my absolute shock, he almost panicked. He told me he felt I was describing the symptoms of a heart attack, but I was only in my 20s. It actually scared me, suddenly I'm being told that this is not normal and that something must be wrong with me to have these issues. He scheduled multiple tests including an MRI, and EKG and ultrasound of my heart. When I came back from the tests, he told me I had a slight murmur but otherwise I was in perfect health. That's when he told me "You're having panic attacks". I was taken aback hearing that and I honestly didn't believe it. My understanding was that a panic attack is when the eyes dilate and you think you're under attack. Having chest pains out of seemingly no where in non stressful situations didn't compute to me as a panic attack. He then told me he was going to recommend me to a therapist. Overtime this therapist told me I had CPTSD and I didn't believe her either because again my understanding of PTSD was that it had to do with huge events like life threatening situations or going over seas in the military. I had felt I never had any that would warrant me having CPTSD but subsequently I discovered, as I started to recover, that they were right all along. So I am now writing this blog, almost 40 years old, because I hope it will help others or at least let them know they're not alone. Overtime in my blogs I will speak about my childhood and my events that happened throughout my life. These things may be difficult to read for some and hard to understand. I will do my absolute best to post these events in order and supply as much detail as I can to help alleviate any questions. However, if you have questions, please feel free to ask me anytime or comment here, there will be no judgement from me. Before I end this blog I wanted to point out the phrase I chose to make my title, "I don't know how you do it,". This is a common phrase I hear almost weekly if not daily - to this day. I know the people who say it mean well, they feel they need to praise me for putting up with so much. However, this phrase actually can be fairly damaging to those who have experienced any kind of trauma. The reason being is this sentence implies there was a choice, that the person is only strong because they endured their painful event. There wasn't a choice, so that is always my response to those who say "I don't know how you do it," I say "I didn't have a choice,". I encourage those who speak with others who have endured any difficulty, not to use that phrase. The phrase you're looking for is "I'm sorry," or "I'm sorry you went through that,". It may sound like a bland response, but it is the most meaningful. You are recognizing and acknowledging this person's story and that's all a person wants is to feel heard. You can do so much by giving someone affirmation when they open up to you about something that has happened in their life. So I will end this blog today - here. And the next one I will start off with my earliest childhood memories and will build from there in future posts. Please feel free to comment or ask any questions, I am not here to judge you, I am here to hear you and help you to the best of my ability. Have a wonderful day!

#actually cptsd #living with cptsd #cptsd recovery #cptsd vent #just cptsd things #complex ptsd #trauma recovery #ptsd #tw ptsd #childhood trauma #ptsd recovery #trauma #actually ptsd

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kohanayaki · 3 years

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.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 4

Snape looks back on your days at Hogwarts, how your friendship came to be, and how it came to end.

LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

___________________________________________________________

Ch 4 .:Budding Feelings and the Beginning of the End:.

Severus Snape had made a lot of mistakes in his life, and seeing you again after all these years was forcing him to relive every single one of them.

He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, shrouded in the darkness and grim silence of his empty house. He never thought he'd see you again, and certainly not under these circumstances. When he'd laid his eyes on you in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld place he couldn't believe it. He, much like the rest of the Order (except for Molly, apparently) assumed you wouldn't be at these meetings any longer. After James and Lily were murdered and Sirius was thrown into Azkaban, you'd left London and headed to New York under the Ministry's alliance with MACUSA, hoping to help bridge the gap between muggle-borns and purebloods in America. He knew you had been back to meet Harry a handful of times, but he also knew that being in this city brought up painful memories for you, so he was as stunned as anyone else to see you standing there in the doorway, greeting them as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

He could see that traveling had been good for you. He'd heard through the Hogwarts circuit that you were back on auror duty across the world, taking special assignments from Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic himself. You seemed like you were doing better, but when you turned to smile at him he could see the hesitation and the sadness that brewed behind your eyes, likely his doing.

He desperately wanted things to go back to what they were before—

Before he'd ruined it. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1974 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright students,” Professor Slughorn said as everyone finished filing inside the room, “today we're going to be pairing off into new partners for the upcoming project.”

Groans and nervous chatter flooded the sound space immediately, no one very thrilled with having to work with someone new out of their control. You cast a glance over to Lily who looked equally displeased. You liked being her partner, you both excelled at the subject and worked really well together.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Slughorn said, waving the complaints off, “However, I am going to be giving you the luxury of choosing your own partners this time, but everyone—”

The energy in the room instantly shifted, everyone shoving around people to get to their friends.

“—keep in mind, if I see any slacking off or trouble brewing in these new partnerships I will not hesitate to rearrange them!”

Slughorns's words were completely lost among the commotion as people paired off before you could even get your bearings. Snape stalled as he stared at you from across the room; Lily had already been dragged away by Mary, and his brain was trying to work out how to ask you to be his partner.

Suddenly an arm was slung over your shoulder and you turned towards the new presence in surprise. You looked up to see Evan Rosier, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his Slytherin tie loose around his neck.

Oh, sod it, Snape cursed internally. He was too late.

“Wanna partner up?” Rosier asked, a crooked grin gracing his chiseled features, “It'd be my honor to have the smartest Potions partner in class, not to mention the most attractive.”

You rolled your eyes at the praise. Evan was your friend, and he was nice to look at, but if he thought that you would be willing to do all the work for the both of you in exchange for some cheap compliments, then he had another thing coming. You locked eyes with Snape from across the room

“It would be your honor,” you smirked up at Rosier, “but I already have a partner, sorry.”

It took Snape a few seconds to realize what you were doing, but once he snapped out of it he made his way towards you. You almost chuckled at how robotic he looked as he did, clearly shocked.

Rosier looked between the two of you and rolled his eyes.

“Suit yourself, sweetheart,” he said, letting you go and pushing you lightly in Snape's direction, “but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He sent a wink your way that left Snape's blood inexplicably boiling,

“Thanks for that,” you grinned, “and just so you know, I would have chosen you even if he didn't come up to me, so don't get all pouty about it, okay?”

Severus just looked at you blankly. Even after four years it was frightening how well you were able to read him; for a moment he was scared that he'd accidentally projected his thoughts to you, but he wasn't anywhere near that level of legillemency yet. He wanted to say something that had some semblance of gratitude but settled on:

“Whatever.”

To which you just laughed and dragged him to your now shared desk.

You really were something else.

“Now then,” Professor Slughorn addressed the room, “today we will be beginning the new unit on toxic concoctions, starting with the Draught of Living Death. If you would all turn to page ten of your books, we will get started presently.”

You turned open your book and Severus did the same. As he did, you noticed that nearly every page was covered in small notes littering the margins, with some of the instructions circled, crossed out, or modified. You were hardly surprised, Snape had been pouring over this book since last year when he'd stolen it from a fifth year Slytherin who'd been speaking poorly of you (that last part you were unaware of).

You turned your attention to the directions, reaching over to preheat the burner so your cauldron would be hot enough by the time you began. However, as soon as you lit the flame with the tip of your wand, your cauldron shot up into the air, hitting the ceiling with a loud BANG! before crashing down back onto your table, breaking several of the glass instruments that were settled there.

Your face burned embarrassment as everyone in the room turned to look at you in shock.

“Snape, (L/n),” Slughorn said, surprised, “whatever happened?”

“I. . .” you began, not knowing what to say, “I don't know, I'm sorry, Professor.”

“Quite all right,” he said uncertainly, restoring your table and equipment with a wave of his wand, “just be sure whatever that was doesn't happen again.”

“Of course,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the snickering around you. If you noticed the way that it stopped as soon as Snape sent a deathly glare at the culprits, you didn't show it. You reached down to grab your cauldron, noticing that the bottom was dusted in some sort of orange powder. As you turned it over, a note fell out of it.

You're welcome, (L/n). Sorry I couldn't be there for the fireworks~

J.P.

“That sneaky little, ugh,” you crumpled the note, growling in frustration.

“What is it?” Severus asked, peering over your shoulder to glance at the paper. However, as soon as you tried to show it to him it vanished in your hands in a wisp of glowing embers. You turned to look at Severus who was still staring at you expectantly.

“It was Potter,” you rolled your eyes.

Anger flashed in Severus' eyes before confusion replaced it momentarily.

“But that was your cauldron, not mine. Why would Potter want to mess with you?”

And now the anger was back again. Snape was used to Potter’s crew targeting him; bullying and suffering through minor hexes had become an everyday occurrence, but when he imagined them doing anything to you it was enough to make him see red.

“Ah, well. . .” you trailed off, deciding that telling him you'd yelled at the group of Gryffindors: 'if you jerks want to have a go at Severus you're gonna have to get through me first!' was a bad idea.

“I sort of, maybe, kind of. . . started it?” you said. Severus raised a brow at you. “Look, Potter was asking for it, okay? It was about time someone messed with him for a change. And besides, it was hilarious, even Lily got a kick out of watching that broom hit him in the head.”

Severus chuckled at that, a hint of pride welling in his chest at yours and Lily's shared distaste for the Potter boy.

“But that was the last straw,” you declared, grabbing a Sopophorus bean from the bowl in front of you and a knife to cut it as per the instructions, “I'm sick and tired of him acting like he's better than everyone else,” you said, stabbing down with your knife for emphasis. The Sopophorus bean jumped as you did, sliding out from under your blade and skidding across your cutting board. You huffed as you grabbed it again, placing it back down and holding it in place. “And he walks around with that little posse of his like he runs this school!” You brought your knife down again, moving your fingers at the last second, but the bean still managed to slip away, trying to bounce back into the bowl.

“This means war!” you seethed, grabbing the runaway legume again, now at your wit's end, and crushing it in your fist. It stopped jumping as the beet-red juice of the plant dripped down your arm, and Severus looked at you with a small smirk on his face.

“Well, that's one way to do it,” he said.

“Shove off,” you said playfully, throwing the bean in his direction. He dodged it easily, his smile growing.

“No, really,” he said, almost more to himself than you as he scribbled out the word 'cut' and replaced it with 'crush' in his notebook, “you might be better at this than you let on.”

You blushed at the unexpected compliment, backhanded as it was.

“Excuse you, I happen to be fantastic at Potions,” you said, grabbing another bean and avoiding his gaze.

“Right, that's why your cauldron exploded.”

“That was sabotage,” you shot back.

“I was talking about last week,” Severus said cheekily, taking in your flustered expression.

You both went back to your ingredients, eventually discovering that crushing the beans with the flat of a knife was the best way to extract the juice without them jumping. You watched Severus out of the corner of your eye as he measured out the African Sea water, adding it gradually as he stirred the mixture counter-clockwise. The elixir turned a bright blue color, shimmering as if light were being reflected off of it. He continued on with the formula, snapping off a few fluxweed sprigs before adding them and lowering the heat with his wand, hardly looking at the instructions at all.

You wondered where this newfound confidence had come from. Severus was usually so rigid and withdrawn, but right now he looked more at ease than you had ever seen him. A spark was present in his eyes as he worked that you rarely ever saw, and it made you smile despite yourself.

The rest of your potion making process went on without a hitch, and you silently applauded yourself as you watched the other students around you struggle to get their concoctions together. Even Lily seemed to be having trouble, though Mary wasn't really helping other than offering moral support.

You turned back to focus on your own potion, stirring it with the ladle and mesmerized by the way it began to turn a deep plum color. Meanwhile, Severus was cleaning up your shared station, looking over at the brew. His brows furrowed as he examined it.

“Just stir it a bit more,” he said, coming up behind you and placing his hand on top of yours, “the color is still off.”

Your face burned at the unexpected contact; Snape certainly wasn't a touchy person, so the act caught you completely off guard, though you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it. Severus nearly jumped backwards, absolutely mortified when he realized what he was doing. It was him micromanaging more than anything; he was so focused on getting the potion right he didn't even notice he was moving his own body as he gave you the instruction.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling quite possibly the lamest he'd ever felt in his life.

“It's okay,” you said, biting the inside of your lip nervously and continuing to stir like he said. Your light response allowed Snape to relax, his shoulders lowering a full three inches. He'd been certain you would have reacted to his mistake with disgust or repulsion, but you didn't. What did that mean? You were utterly confusing. Despite how well you could read him, Severus was unable to get a read on you at all. If he had been, he would have noticed the tiny smile on your face as you stirred, silently wishing his hand were back on yours.

You and Snape stood at attention as Slughorn peered down at your potion, looking mildly impressed. He reached into his robes, procuring an oak leaf from who knows where, and dropped it into your cauldron. The leaf floated on top of the liquid for just a moment before its edges began to burn. It furled from the unseen heat, folding in on itself and disappearing into the inky depths of the liquid. Slughorn's expression lit up, his impression no longer mild.

“Merlin's beard, it's perfect!” he exclaimed, “in all my years I've never seen a pair recreate this potion exactly as you two have done today.”

You beamed at the praise, your smile only widening as you saw your emotions mirrored in Severus' face, albeit more subtly.

Over the course of your fourth year, you and Snape continued to excel in Potions, receiving much praise from Professor Slughorn and a lot of glares from your fellow students. However, there was something else that continued that year, and that was your increasing interactions with James Potter.

“I just don't get why you even bother with him,” Snape had said to you one day while you were in Potions. Your prank war with James was at its peak, and you were sidetracked that day in class coming up with new ideas to get back at him.

“It's a full on battle now, Sev,” you said, “I can't back down! Now, for my next one I was thinking something along the lines of a callback to one of his earlier stunts. Maybe get him back for tampering with my cauldron at the beginning the year.”

“(Y/n)—”

“I've got a few friends in Gryffindor, and apparently he talks about his prank plans way too loudly in the common room, so I have a head start on this one. They mentioned something about my shampoo—“

“(Y/n),” Severus stressed, finally catching your attention. You looked up at him, embarrassed at you rambling. “Why do you keep doing this?” he asked, “he's just baiting you. You know that.”

“It keeps them from doing anything that targets you, right?” you questioned back.

Severus didn't know what to say at that. It was true, ever since you had declared war on James, he and his stupid friends hadn't really bothered with him at all. Were you doing this for him? He didn't know what to do with the thought.

You were, of course, but you thought it better not to mention that in the last few months this had been going on, you'd also begun to find the rivalry and banter between you and James fun.

“Gather 'round students, gather 'round!” Slughorn beckoned the class over, disrupting your train of thought and putting an end to your conversation, “now, would anyone like to identify the potion in this cauldron here?” He gestured to a shockingly pink liquid that seemed to swirl on its own. Plum and periwinkle smoke wafted through the air above it in delicate spirals.

“That's Amortentia,” Lily said, “it's a love potion that's supposed to smell different to everyone depending on what scents attract them.”

“Right you are, Miss Evans,” Slughorn said proudly, “would you like to tell us what you smell?”

“Cinnamon,” she started slowly, “warm spices, butterbeer, sandalwood. . .” her cheeks reddened significantly, as if she'd made some sort of realization. “Th-that's all.” You stared at her quizzically but she just shook her head. You'd have to ask her about this later. . .

“(L/n),” Slughorn said, “would you be so kind as to do the same?”

“Sure,” you said, stepping up to the cauldron. It was captivating, almost drawing you in physically. “Wild lavender,” you said, smiling, your mother had a garden full of them when you were growing up, “rain when it hits the pavement, and old leather books.” Scents you wouldn't realize until much later all correlated with a certain person.

“Very different scents for very different people,” Professor Slughorn said, “thank you for demonstrating, you two. Now, we will not be brewing this potion today for obvious reasons. It is incredibly dangerous, capable of creating not true love, but unhinged obsession. What we will be doing, however, is studying its effects. . .”

“Strongest love potion in the world, huh?” Evan suddenly appeared at your side, “funny, I could have sworn it smelled just like you, although you wouldn't need a potion to reign me in~”

“Put a sock in it, Rosier,” you said, shoving him away playfully.

“Aw, come on, just one date wouldn't hurt,” he said, “I'm pulling out all my best lines here!”

“That's the best you've got?”

“Ouch.”

Snape couldn't help but glare at the Slytherin boy, not liking how close he was to you. Nice as he seemed, Snape knew how he could really be. He didn't think you'd be such good friends with Rosier if you knew he was knee deep in the dark arts as soon as the sun set on the castle. Then again, Severus wasn't one to talk.

Over the course of the year he noticed that you only grew closer to James, something that bothered him immensely. He was grateful that you had gotten his bullying to stop, but he hated that the way you had gone about it was to turn Potter into a friend. . .

“Merlin, he keeps looking over at you, Lils,” you said.

Lily and Severus looked over to where James sat with Sirius, Remus, and Peter in their corner table as usual. Somehow they always managed to be at The Three Broomsticks at the exact same time as your trio, almost as if they knew you were there. James Potter was, in fact, looking towards your table, until your friends not-so-discreetly turned to look at him and he diverted his gaze elsewhere.

“Idiot,” you rolled your eyes as you took another sip of your butterbeer.

Lily looked between you and James' table for a moment before turning back to you.

“Actually, (Y/n), he's staring at you.”

You looked at her like she'd grown a second head but then began to laugh.

“Is he? Jeeze, what a creep,” you said, but with affection in your voice that wasn't missed by Severus, “it's probably because I saved his ass the other day and he's still reeling from it.”

“Oh,” she said, a hint of what you swore was relief in her tone until she realized what you said, “Wait, you what?”

“Sirius and I were talking in the forest and we got ambushed by Malfoy's motley crew,” you said, “and Potter showed up because of course he did. It was just a little duel, no big deal.”

“What?!” Lily said, concern written all over her face, “they fancy the dark arts, (Y/n), you could have been hurt!”

Severus stared into his drink, unable to look at either of you.

“I'm fine, Lils,” you insisted, “and trust me, I don't think Malfoy's going to be bothering anyone anymore. Just show him a picture of a squid and he'll probably screech like a banshee.”

Lily laughed along with you, partially in confusion, until the first part of your statement hit her with a slight delay.

“Hold on, you were in the forest with Black? And did you just call him Sirius?” she asked, her teasing making your face flush.

“We just. . . figured some stuff out. . . It was nothing like what you're thinking, so drop it,” you grumbled, taking another drink to hide your embarrassed face.

“Whatever you say, (Y/n),” Lily sang, taking a sip of her own drink.

Severus felt jealousy bubble up in him like a disease. He cast his gaze upwards, his eyes locking momentarily with James'. His arch rival rose a cocky brow at him, his gaze unmistakably shifting to you and Lily before staring Snape down again. Severus took a sharp breath to steel himself, that feeling in the pit of his stomach never really going away.

That was the beginning of the end.

Read chapter 5 here!

Taglist: @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy

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spvce-cowboy · 4 years

Text

songbird

ch. 4 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 3: “reunion”

next-ch. 5: “the hero’s shoulders”

rating: mature

11.3k words

warnings: PERIL!!!, violence, alcohol and drug use, jealous/protective mando

a/n: apologies in advance for the slight cliffhanger—this chapter got WAAAYY too long so I had to split in two. luckily means I’ll be able to get the next one out to you all asap ! <3

summary: you are forced to go undercover in order to help Mando capture his next quarry, the lionized Tyreus Cavill.

You’re most nervous about remembering the proper steps to a waltz. You know, instead of being worried about aiding one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy on his highest profile mission yet. Because that totally makes sense, right?

At the Estate, you and Febhana were taught dancing in order to entertain the Lord’s guests. Digging up any memories from that period of your life is enough to have the taste bile flood your mouth. You do your best to swallow it down, keeping a cool face for your sake and everyone else’s.

Honestly, you’d trade being afraid of the known over the unknown any day. The anxiety of remembering your time at the Estate was more familiar, something you could deal with, and have been for years now.

Thinking too hard about the severity of the current situation, about how you had absolutely no idea what you were doing, that was the kind of fear you avoid at all possible cost. So you settle for being nervous about a waltz, nothing more and nothing less.

Mando is seated beside the driver. He doesn’t turn back to address you and Febhana directly, instead tilting his head slightly in order to look at the two of you through the rearview mirror. Before the three of you left, he gave you a small listening device that you now have tucked against the edge of the undergarments you have on. The dress is too exposing to hide it anywhere else.

He debriefs you on the specifics of the mission the entire ride there, showing you multiple images of the quarry, plans of action, a blur of different scenarios and how you should react that you have already quickly forgotten in the haze of your building anxiety.

“The main rule is no secondary locations,” he concludes. “We can’t risk either of you being alone with him. It’s too unstable of a situation as is.”

You nod, staring at him through his partial reflection. From the back of your mind there’s a quiet glimmer of endearment, how you’ve never seen him this thorough about a hunt—Mando seems more like a wing-it-and-figure-it-out-from-there kind of guy. You’re not sure if you’re getting special treatment because he doesn’t like involving someone like you in his job or because this quarry is too valuable of a target to botch. The former doesn’t add to your anxiety, so you run with that.

You tear your eyes from the mirror when Febhana digs through her purse and plops a set of papers in your lap. You examine them closely, trying to bring the little details to memory as best you could.

“Is that even a real name?” You ask, face screwed up slightly, pointing where it’s listed on the fake ID.

Febhana cranes her neck over your shoulder, looking down at the papers with you. “Sophste Wilkbail? Sure, sounds like a poet or something. You can play that up.”

From the front seat, Mando gives a sardonic huff of air. It’s such a cruel sound you can practically visualize the scowl he’s put behind it. Febhana rolls her eyes.

“Listen, darling, believability is just about the last thing we need to worry about, right now,” Febhana settles back into her side of the speeder’s velveteen cabin. “Hiding who you are is more important. As soon as we get past the guards it’ll be easy. Just try your best to pretend like this is any other party.”

You neglect to tell her that you have not been to any parties besides the ones at the Estate. Instead, you nod, training your gaze out the front windshield.

The driver lights another cigarette as he pulls the speeder into a line of idling vehicles that border the streets outside the Tagge mansion. You can tell that you’ve arrived by the bright lights and banners flooding from the building’s open face, an intimidating amount of guards tucked away at every discernible outpost. You drum your fingers against your knee to the song you can faintly hear playing from the radio.

Febhana’s soft hand against your arm breaks you from your reverie. Her words are far more gentle now. “Are you ready?”

You nod. It’s a sharp, curt movement of your head. Steadfast. You’re kind of scared shitless, but determined. She smiles at you, widely, and it’s enough to have you smiling back.

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

The first thing you are certain of upon entering the Tagge’s mansion is the fact that this isn’t a home. It’s a cathedral. Possibly the biggest, most extravagant place you’ve ever been in.

The entranceway alone is enough to have you clinging to Febhana’s side a little tighter than you had initially intended to. It looks like… it looks like a marble maw, stretched open, fangs bared. You and Febhana follow the tongue-like carpet down the hall in small, measured steps. She takes to ducking her head in greeting to those she recognizes, you

It only takes a few moments for you to realize the awe you’re feeling is a strange combination of genuine wonder and pure intimidation. You think that’s the point. It doesn’t help with the uneasy feeling that’s situated itself in the cavity of your chest since getting into the car.

“They like to play pretend royalty here, don’t they?” Febhana mutters under her breath, giving a polite smile to a passing guard as she does. “Stars, you’d think they’d try to lay claim to Naboo itself with a place as decked out as this. Tasteless.”

You huff a laugh as she continues to lead you down the main hall. You try to look as dignified as possible, as if environments like this were an everyday occurrence. It’s difficult to do, but with the assurance of her at your side and Mando a few rigid steps behind you, the anxiety pressing from within your chest is somewhat quelled.

The main dancehall is filled with people. Everything—from the tall curtains to the paintings on the walls—is in cool tones of green and gold, interrupted by great expanses of marble. At the far end of the room are two twisting staircases leading to a platform where the band is playing. The ceiling has some kind of intricate mural you desperately want to examine, but when you try to crane your head back Febhana tugs at your arm slightly, reminding you to play it cool.

You square your shoulders as Mando sidesteps to remain pressed against the walls with the other guard droids, the movement a little too fluid for someone who is supposed to be a robot. You pray everyone is too drunk to notice. They are.

With Mando’s presence lost you sink a little further into your anxiousness as Febhana begins introducing you to a flurry of different people. She delicately places a drink in your hands from a passing server, murmuring a word of encouragement in your ear before moving to the next group. It all passes in a blur, but smiling and graciously dipping your head seems to get you through a lot of the interactions without having to actually pay attention.

You quickly realize she is strategically maneuvering her way towards the stage—or, rather, those who are gathered beneath it. There are a collection of small tables lining the perimeter where people are seated if they are not dancing. Below the stage are three larger tables that overlook the entirety of the ballroom. It’s too crowded from where you’re standing to see any of the occupants.

What you really notice, right after taking in what you can of your surroundings, is that there will be no feasible way for you to pull this off. Not here in the Tagge house at least. Every entrance into the private portions of the house are heavily guarded, cameras everywhere. You do your best to swallow the mounting sense of dread, keeping a smile on your face while Febhana continues to lead you through so many introductions all the names and faces blur together.

You tug at Febhana’s arm slightly between introductions to signal your need to speak with her. She eventually pulls you into the cubby of a towering window after disentangling the two of you from another meaningless conversation.

“Febhana,” you lower your voice and maintain small smile on your face to keep prying eyes and ears disinterested. Better safe than sorry. “There’s no way this is going to work. Not here. I’ve counted at least five guards around every possible entrance.”

“I know, I saw,” Febhana takes a deep breath, eyes wandering out the window. “Let’s just… tough it out. See what happens. I don’t really want to get on the Guild’s bad side, or your friend’s for that matter.”

You wince slightly as the idea that this plan could affect her in any way but nod, trying to swallow your guilt in not fully thinking through how much you were asking of her to help you and Mando out like this. You step out of the little alcove and move your way back to the perimeter of the floor.

From this vantage point, you can see one of Febhana friends wander up to the main tables and hug a seated boy in greeting. The contact leans down and says something in the boy’s ear before turning back to glance at where you are standing.

You’re close enough, now, to realize the table the contact just approached is where the Tagge siblings are sitting. The playboys surrounding them have such a loud presence you’re surprised you didn’t notice them earlier.

They’re all practically kids, at least a year or two younger than you, but they act in that way where they knew they were untouchable. They have lived and breathed an entire lifetime of knowing that they are people who could get away with absolutely anything—and have, more than once. It radiates off of every movement they make, from the way they throw their heads back in obnoxious laughter, to the cruel tilt of their mouths as they speak. Everything about them set off some deep-seeded instinct in you to stay away.

Scanning their faces, you recognize the quarry almost instantly.

The photos Mando showed you didn’t do him justice. Tyreus Cavill is wearing a crisp black suit and has skin so pale it’s nearly opalescent. His hair is slicked back close to his scalp, the severe nature of his bone structure combined with some of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen gives him the appearance of a leering jackal.

Cavill stares up at the ceiling, tracing the rim of his wineglass with long fingers as the person seated beside him speaks. He looks bored--they all do, a kind of lax slant to their gathered bodies that stands in stark contrast to the tight, aloof postures of most everyone else around them.

You tear your eyes from Cavill as the boy that Febhana’s contact is talking to begins to stand. You look at the new boy evenly from where you’re standing, holding his gaze as confidently as you can, before turning back to where Febhana is standing behind you.

Febhana flashes you a sly look. You can practically see the gears turning in her head as she flicks her eyes in the direction of the Tagge brothers and Cavill. You quickly put two and two together.

Whoever it was that’s approaching you right now is your invite to the table. Possibly the only one you’d be getting all night.

“I’ve got eyes on him,” you murmur to yourself, hoping Mando’s device can pick it up. You glance to where he is positioned against the wall and see him dip his head slightly in response. Feeling a little more confident, you pull your shoulders back and pretend to make conversation with Febhana.

The boy enters your periphery shortly thereafter, standing at your side as he greets Febhana first.

“Febhana,” the boy tucks his head in greeting to her, then turns his gaze to you. His hair is a thick mop of curls, nose slightly twisted in a way that suggests he isn’t too good at fighting. The crooked smile he gives you is warm enough to push off your initial feeling of disquiet concerning his friends. “And who is this?”

“Lucius, this is my old friend, Sopheste Wilkbail,” Febhana introduces you by your fake name, then motions to the boy. “Sopheste, this is Lucius Laycam, his father owns the racetrack we went to earlier.”

“Dreadful business,” Lucius’s eyes glint, keeping his head tucked slightly in that way men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You don’t like the fact that he knows to say something like that, it demonstrates an ability to read you too easily.

Lucius takes your hand delicately, leaning down to kiss the ridges of your knuckles. He straightens to say his next words directly into your ear, getting unnecessarily close to do so.

“I’d like to treat you to a dance, if you don’t mind,” his voice rumbles. Your eyes flick to the table from over his shoulder. You make brief eye contact with Cavill, who has leveled his head to take a swig straight from the decanter at the center of the table, entirely disregarding the glass already in his hand. Cavill actually looks at you this time, and holds it, albeit briefly. Lucius finishes his proposal as you train your gaze back to the floor, “And then another drink.”

You give him your best smile and nod. It’s just a small dip of your head, but he eagerly pulls you away from Febhana and towards the center of the dance-floor.

Luckily for you, Lucius isn’t a flashy dancer. He’s amicable in a way you weren’t expecting, considering the company he keeps. He reminds you a lot of the village boy you were having a bit of a fling with before you left Am’ile’s planet: slightly empty-headed, but cute, and very enthusiastic about whatever task he’s put to. There’s a certain goofiness to him that pushes away any residual anxiety with the fits of laughter you tumble into as a direct result of his antics.

It’s kind of… exciting. You don’t want to admit it fully, but there’s something thrilling about someone taking so much interest in you. You’ve been so touch-starved that just the feeling of his hand partially cupping your exposed back in enough to send butterflies straight to your stomach. A different kind of anxious butterflies. Good butterflies.

Maker, it’s only been a few months since you left Am’ile’s and you’ve already been reduced to a giddy schoolgirl at the very brush of someone’s hand against your bare skin. You don’t know how Mando does it, you really don’t.

Lucius pulls the two of you to a halt when the band dies down, the singer murmuring something unintelligible into the mic.

“It was a pleasure, Miss Wilkbail,” he steps back, kissing your hand again and bowing. By this point you’ve figured out that his exaggerated, gentlemanly manner is just another shtick of his. You press your lips together to poorly conceal a giggle, giving him your own mock curtsey in turn.

“And you, Mr. Laycam.”

“Now if you’d like to join me, I’m on a mission to get absolutely plastered before these blowhards,” he motions to the others on the dancefloor with a twirl of his finger, “find a way to make this night even more suffocating than it already is.”

“Sounds just about perfect,” you say as you take the arm he offers you. He pulls you toward the table and you try to keep up with his long strides, bunching some of the skirt of your dress in your hand and lifting the fabric to prevent tripping.

Lucius pulls out a seat for you, introducing you to the playboys seated beside him. You’re directly across from Cavill, who is still nursing the table’s decanter, completely disengaged from the conversation occurring between the two friends that are seated on either side of him.

“Are you new to Canto?” The playboy who asks is a Tagge twin, one of the three brothers who are currently seated at the table with you. You can tell by the signature white-blonde hair.

“A friend of mine wanted me to stay with her for a while,” you say, graciously taking the champagne glass that Lucius plucks off a passing server’s tray to offer you.

“Febhana, you sister’s friend,” Lucius clarifies for the Tagge boy.

“The visiting court singer Heresta was telling me about, before?” The Tagge brother directs the question to Lucius, when his friend nods he raises both eyebrows and shoots you a grin.

“I’m still in training,” you clarify with a nervous laugh, finding it easier to talk if your eyes are trained on the glass in your hand. “But yes, that’d be me. The court singer.”

“What did you say?”

Cavill’s voice quiets the conversations of the other playboys almost immediately. The other Tagge brothers glance over but quickly resume a normal volume. The hierarchy of the table becomes very clear, after that.

“I’m training to be a court singer,” you repeat yourself, sliding your head towards the quarry with your best stab at a cool, practiced gaze of utter ambivalence. Cavill’s eyes remain trained on you, utterly serpentine.

Ah. You press your lips together and look down at your hands folded neatly in your lap, initial resolve broken.

“A court singer?” His voice is a low purr. You raise your gaze again. It seems as though once he takes interest in something, most of his buddies do too. A few of them glance away from their conversations to give you a scathing examination. It takes everything within you to not crawl out of your own skin. So much for the ease you felt back on the dancefloor. “Will you sing for us?”

Your cheeks fill with a heat that quickly travels to your chest. Didn’t expect that. Maybe you should have.

“I... Not here. The singer the Tagges have hired is so lovely, I’m afraid they far outshine me,” your eyes flick back up to his at your last word, you do your best to mask your burning revulsion as shyness.

“That wasn’t a request.” Cavill’s response is so blunt and immediate you actually flinch a little.

“C’mon Tyreus,” Lucius’s voice is quick to intervene. “Leave her alone, she just got here.”

Cavill blinks slowly, as if his eyelids are too taxing of a weight for him to bear. He hums, leaning back in his seat slightly and stretching his arms out to rest on the backs of the chairs on either side of him.

When it becomes clear he has nothing else to say, the other conversations at the table continue as a normal. As if there were no previous interruption. You gradually return to the sense of ease you’d begun to develop earlier, the feeling is seemingly dependent on Cavill’s lack of attention.

Eventually, one of the playboys taps Lucius on the shoulder in passing, quickly murmuring something in his ear before leaving the table to chase down one of the serves for another decanter. Lucius nods, then turns back to you.

“Tyreus wants to extend an invitation to a club we’re going to in an hour or so, if you’d like to join us,” his fingers graze over the peak of your exposed shoulder from where his arm is resting against the back of your seat. For some reason it does not feel as nice as his touch had previously. It’s more intentional, all his playfulness gone. You think that’s why. “Way better than this shit, not so fuckin’ rigid. More private.”

The emphasis he places on those last words is so overt you have to resist an eye-roll. You nod, trying to keep your expression light and ditzy while straightening slightly in your chair. “Tell him it would be an honor.”

Lucius smiles, the fingers that were tracing the line of your opposite shoulder coming up to brush against the shell of your ear. You blink at the touch, vaguely aware of his face inching closer to yours.

You stand without warning, mumbling something about having to use the bathroom before quickly maneuvering your way around the tables and through the arching marble columns that line the ballroom. You walk as briskly as you can into one of the adjoining hallways, following it down and into the women’s bathroom.

Taking a shuttering breath, you place your hands on your hips and close your eyes. Your brain runs at a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to adapt the plan as Mando communicated it to you, considering the fact that Cavill’s posse was leaving within the hour.

You reach your conclusion quickly. You’re the one with the invite, with the way into the inner circle. No time to try and bring Febhana along with you. Honeypot it is.

The bathroom door slamming open breaks you from your thoughts. You gasp, hand pressed to your chest as you whip around. There’s a second of blind panic at the decorated droid stiffly stands at the door’s threshold, both fists clenched at its side, before you remember Mando’s disguise.

You open your mouth indignantly to scold him for bursting in like that but he holds a finger up to shush you, entering the bathroom in one long stride, checking under the stalls for people then briskly locking the main door behind him.

He’s furious. It’s the most blatant display from him you think you’ve ever seen.

“I—” Mando grits out. “Your singing. He doesn’t deserve to get that. None of them do. They’re just using it to get to you.”

You blink twice, completely baffled that that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

He makes another frustrated sound, obviously recognizing your shock, and tries to clarify. “They were… clearly making you uncomfortable but they just kept pushing you—you shouldn’t have to just sit there and take that—"

“Yeah, Mando, that’s kind of how flirting works when you’re dealing with a bunch of entitled assholes,” you snap, finally finding your words. Out of any other possible thing he could be angry about and this was it? “I’ll have to play into what they want to get closer to Cavill. Lucius seems sweet, a little overbearing but sweet. It’ll be fine.”

You’re already hovering the fine line between tipsy and just plain tired. All you want is to get home at this point—your feet hurt, the dress is uncomfortable, and, by your book, making conversation with these silver-spoon pricks could be comparable to pulling teeth. You love Febhana, and you could see the fun in a night like this, but you’re also trying to help Mando do his damn job and if he doesn’t start cooperating—

“He doesn’t. Lay. A finger. On you.” There’s an anger in his voice you’ve never encountered before, not while directed at you, at least. It stops any other thoughts from entering your head. He takes a deep, quivering breath to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “If you’re… if you don’t want it. He will not even look at you. The second—I don’t care if it makes a scene I’ll—"

“Mando.” You lay a hand on his chest. He instantly freezes. “I know that. Thank you. I’m a big girl, I can hold my own. It’s okay.” Trying to lighten the mood, you lift your chin up a bit, smiling at him as brightly as you can manage. “Can we please just talk about how we’re gonna pull this off?”

He gives you a tight nod.

“I… I know that you’ve been doing this for a lot longer than I have, which is the understatement of the millennia, but just… hear me out here. Lucius just invited me to go with them to a club—like, right now.” You feel like if you stop talking he won’t listen to what you have to say, so you keep plowing forward. “I know you made a point about no secondary locations. But, if we have the time I think the best plan of action would be for me to split off, go with them to the club and draw him out to you in some way. The security here is so tight, there’s no way I think we could pull this off without it blowing back on Febhana. She’s important to me and I would appreciate if we could get her out of this scot-free.”

You take a breath, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction thus far. When he doesn’t interject, you continue, keeping your hand on his chest as you speak—for some reason you feel like he listens to you better when you do. “Lucius mentioned that things are way more lax there, so I’m thinking that’ll translate to security measures too. I’m sure Febhana is familiar enough wherever they’re going. She can give you enough intel to be able to get an idea of the place on your way over. Then we can go home.”

“I agree.” His reluctance is palpable, but his next words are far more level-headed than you expected. “You’re right, we shouldn’t jeopardize Febhana. Try to get one of them to tell you a specific location and I can meet you there. I just—” he flexes his hands. “I need to get off this planet.”

“I know,” you sigh, giving his chest a reassuring pat before turning away to go back to the line of mirrors stationed above the sinks, checking your makeup. “Me too.”

You turn on the faucet and lean down to drink straight from the tap. You’re stone sober at this point and the icy water is potentially the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The headache pushing at the back of your eyes has increased to a dull throb.

Mando’s voice from behind you. “Ladylike.”

You turn off the sink and straighten, rolling your eyes. “Oh bite me,” the sharpness of your voice is negated by the laugh you have to push through to get the words out. Relieved that the charged air between the two of you has dissipated, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Let’s get this over with, I’m exhausted.”

Mando escorts you back down the dimly lit hall, the low hum of the party forms a gradual crescendo the closer you get to the intricate archway where the hallway breaches the ballroom. He pulls you to a stop with a hand on your forearm before you are able to enter.

Despite the heels you’re wearing, he still has to lean down to speak to you.

“Be careful,” he murmurs. Unexpectedly, he swipes his thumb across your elbow before turning heel and rejoining the other droids against the wall.

It’s such an unnecessary motion you can’t help but freeze, unsure how to process that small display of… well, if you didn’t know any better you’d describe it as intimacy. And not the unique sort of platonic camaraderie you’ve started getting used with him. It feels too much like a stolen gesture for that. Something he’s only done out of a pure disregard for his usual utilitarian ethos.

You swallow and square your shoulders, putting on the best smile you can before heading back to the Tagge table.

Biting your lip as you sink down onto the seat beside Lucius, you drag the knuckles of a relaxed hand down the length of his arm.

“Could I say goodbye to Febhana before we go?” You say as innocently as possible, still figuring out a way to organically ask where the fuck they were going to be taking you without acting too suspicious.

Lucius’s eyes flick over the table, only a few of the seats have emptied. Cavill is gone already.

“Yeah, that should be fine. Just find me when you’re done.”

You stand back up, stretching your neck to find your friend among the crowd. Quickly spotting Febhana, you navigate your way back through the crowd. Just as she has predicted, the uptight façade of the event is quickly dissolving as glasses empty and bodies inch closer together. The crowd you are now navigating through seems completely different from the one you’d encountered upon first entering the dancehall. The heady breath of the gathered crowd leaves a different crackle of energy over the room—considering Cavill’s circle wants to leave this for something “more exciting” is foreboding. Wherever you end up, you’ll deal.

Reaching Febhana’s side, you gently touch her arm to get her attention. She turns, smiling as she sees you.

“There you are! I thought I’d lost you,” she aligns her inner forearms with the length of yours, gripping you lightly in greeting. Touch was once meant survival for the two of you. Back on the Estate, sometimes the only communication you would be able to engage in for days on end, the smallest of reassurances are sometimes the most solid. Old habits die hard. You reciprocate the motion, grasping the inner portion of her elbows.

You duck your head in the direction of the person she was speaking to in a small apology for interrupting. Leaning in to quietly inform her of the change of plans, you tell her that Mando is going to try to meet you at the club. Febhana keeps a straight face as you do, but there’s a glint of worry in her gaze.

“Alright,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll tell the driver to wait outside. He can pick you up and take you back to the apartment when you’re ready to call it a night. I’ve prepared the guest room for you, the service droid can lead you there.”

“Febhana—” your brow furrows as you pull back, unwilling to take advantage of her kindness more than you already have, let alone her only way home. She interrupts you before you can insist.

“I’m going for drinks with friends after this, I’ll ride with them. Please, darling,” she kisses your cheek. “Good luck, and be safe,” she says softly as she pulls back, still gripping you by both elbows. You squeeze her forearms, giving a curt nod.

“I’ve learned from the best,” you manage a confident smile and disentangle her arms from yours. You tell her you’ll update her over the comlink and turn to rejoin Lucius, who was in the midst of his own farewells.

Febhana leaves as you wait for Lucius to finish his conversation. Mando has long since disappeared from his place at the wall. Taking a deep breath, you keep your shoulders back and your head high. You were completely alone.

There are five neat lines of spice on the mirrored platter. The Tagge twin is the one to offer it to you, pushing the surface in your direction before sinking back into the velveteen material of the curved couch.

You are in a private room at the club, one of a series of pod-like structures suspended over the dance-floor. The private pod opens into an expansive piece of curved glass that fills out the rest of its intended, ovular, form. If it weren’t for all the plush carpeting, the liquor and smoke and sultry lighting, it would make a decent observation deck. The room makes you feel like the surrounding world is a fish tank, all those people below you just interesting little creatures to look down at and inspect.

There’s something about the very nature of the space that drips luxury—but it’s a kind far removed from the crisp marble lines of the Tagge mansion. This is all seduction. All contours. All darkness and deep tones of amber, starkly contrasting against the pulsing blue lights of the dance-floor below.

The table before you is cluttered with empty glasses, bottles, as well as a few personal items owned by the boys who had already left to chase down the bodies below: a tuxedo tie here, a watch probably worth more than the Crest itself there—you know, the usual things you abandon in search of a warm mouth.

Lucius and Cavill are sharing a cigarette, the burning cherry one of the brightest sources of light in the room. Everything else is illuminated by low shades of red and orange from the warbling fixtures woven against the solid portion of the wall, which then part to trace the curved edges of the observation window.

The music is subdued at this height, yet the grinding pulse of a guitar still sends vibrations through the floor. Through you. The boys’ cigarette traces patterns between them as they exchange it, back and forth, saying very little in between.

Taking a deep breath, you glance down at the platter on the table. You press your lips together, glancing up at Lucius, then Cavill, who has gradually started to pay more attention to you the further into the night you descend.

Pretending to take another sip of your drink, you push the platter towards Lucius. Trying not to draw too much attention to your refusal, you move a little closer to his body as a potential distraction. Either it works or they didn’t care to begin with. Lucius curves into himself, pressing a finger against his nostril to inhale a line. Cavill does two.

Genuinely, there’s no way they could find any kind of appeal to this. You just can’t fathom it—they barely talk to one another, this group. And when they do they seem just as bored in the act as everyone else is. You’d take a night spent with Mando and the kid over this any day.

The Tagge boy jolts back awake, blearily rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion is so sudden it startles you, jumping slightly as he pushes away from the table.

“M’gonna go downstairs,” Tagge’s legs wobble like a newborn calf’s might. “Getta girl.” His departure is unceremonious, just like the others had been. You have a feeling the only thing keeping Lucius at this table is you, and the only thing keeping you at this table is Cavill. Fuck doesn’t really cut it.

As the two of them work on what remains on the platter, you carefully shift out of the circular booth, pacing over to the glass wall to look down at the crowd of writhing bodies.

“Have y’ever been to this place before?” Lucius asks after a moment. He stretches over the top of the couch to look down at the crowd with you. As he does, because you think the universe genuinely hates you, you notice Mando’s disguised silhouette—he’s barely concealed by the darkness of the dance-floor’s periphery. You look away as to not draw too much attention to that one spot.

“No. Never. I’ve been cooped up at the conservatory for most of my life,” you say as angle your body towards the couch, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. Like this, you’re able to keep Mando in the very edges of your periphery.

What you just said was true for your mother, you knew that. Honestly, you’ve gotten through most of the night by just adopting what you remember about her. It was far too natural of a mask to adopt—maybe that should have creeped you out, but the ease of being able to do so is comforting considering the scope of the mission before you.

You take a breath to clear your mind, needing to get ahead of the conversation before either of them can corner you in a story you’re not able to fabricate. You need to give Mando a clue about where the hell you are.

“How far up do you think we are?” You ask, cocking your head slightly, praying that Mando’s comlink can hear your above what you’re sure is a raucous crowd. It works, you see his head jerk up to finally notice the private rooms above him. Thank the Maker.

“I dunno,” Lucius turns his head to look where you’re looking. “You afraid of heights or something?”

You give a nonchalant laugh, shaking your head slightly. By the time you look back up to scan the crowd one more time you’ve lost track of Mando. Either he’s disappeared in the mass of bodies or he’d gone completely. You have absolutely no clue, and you don’t want to draw attention by continuing to search for him.

Leveling your gaze back to the two boys, you look them over in a way you hope will draw either’s attention. Both are belligerently intoxicated, the glasses before them long since emptied, the smell of spice thick. It gives Cavill the air of a cat luxuriously stretched in the sun, as if it were just some kind of a natural, comfortable state for him.

As if he can read your thoughts, he speaks.

“Why wouldn’t you sing for us, earlier,” Cavill’s voice alone is enough to make your skin crawl. He ashes the cigarette he was smoking. There’s a loud sound of inhaling from Lucius, whose shadowy form is hunched over the table as he finishes what is left on the platter before him.

“Could you quit it,” Lucius mumbles as he rubs either side of his nose, head thrown back as he sniffs indignantly. “She obviously doesn’t want to.”

“If you were shy earlier, it’s just the three of us now. Completely different,” Cavill says, reaching over to wipe his fingers over the platter’s surface. He rubs his gums with the residue. You expect Lucius to defend you and divert the conversation like he’d done earlier. He doesn’t. Cavill sucks his teeth, leaning back once again. “Sing. I want to hear you.”

“It just feels strange is all,” you bite your lip, voice admittedly a bit brisk in how absent-mindedly it disregards what Cavill is asking. Your turn your gaze back out over the club, mainly to get Cavill’s off you.

You’re worried about Mando, about how long it’s taken him to give you some kind of sign that he’s ready. Maybe he’s waiting until you’re completely alone with Cavill? He pushed that in the car, how this whole thing has to be done as quietly as possible. The problem is that you’ve got absolutely no idea how to get Lucius out of the picture.

“Before there were too many people and now there are too little? What do you want?” Cavill’s words float in the air behind you as you pace to the bar cart, determined to busy your hands by remaking the drink you hadn’t touched since entering the room. “Isn’t that what you’re training for?”

Maybe Mando has been stopped? Your eyes flick to the circular doors partitioning the enclosed room from the catwalk hallway. You remember loudly greeting the guards that were there when the posse first entered the room, giving him the best heads up you could organically muster. Could he take both of them out on his own? Quietly?

“Um, yeah I suppose. It’s just different, there. In conservatory.” Dropping ice into your glass, you hear Cavill scoff. Lucius mumbles something. You bend slightly to get some of the bitters from the cart’s lower shelf.

And an explosion of glass shatters right where your head just was.

You whip around in shock, only to see Cavill already standing, swaying a bit on his feet, dress-shirt partially unbuttoned and messily untucked. It’s almost like some kind of switch went off, transforming him into something utterly unrecognizable.

He’s a fucking mess. Eyes nearly black. The empty decanter from the Tagge mansion in his hand.

“In conservatory,” he mocks, his lips pulled upwards in a vicious snarl. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Before you can react, the decanter is being flung at you—it misses, again. Shattering on the ground in front of you this time. You press yourself as far as you can against the bar cart, eyes wide. Cavill spits, then wipes his mouth with his hand, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Kneel.”

Horrified, your gaze flicks from Lucius back to the tantrum-throwing, wolf-eyed aristocrat standing in front of you.

“What?” You ask incredulously, browns knitted together in complete confusion.

“I said kneel,” Cavill jabs his finger to the ground. “Pick that shit up.”

Lucius does a poor job of concealing a pained grimace. Or maybe you’ve grown far too good at reading the tiniest expressions from your masked companion that you’ve become hyper-aware of these kind of things. He gives a small: “Maker, Tyreus.” If it were supposed to be a warning it was a shitty one.

Survival instincts set in immediately. You turn your eyes to the floor and make your breathing as small and quiet as possible. Obediently, you comply. Kneeling on the ground and reaching out a shaking hand to begin plucking the shards from the carpet.

Cavill stalks behind you in an instant, one hand sealing around the back of your neck and pushing your head down to immobilize you. Simultaneously, his other hand wraps around your wrist, twisting your arm back and making your body to fold in on itself, pressing you into the ground.

You can’t help but cry out, the sharp motion forcing you to quickly catch yourself with your free hand. Your palm lands directly in the broken glass. You’d give anything to erase the wet sound it makes from your head forever.

It takes you less than a second to realize he’s trying to force your face into the carpet. Into it. Fuck.

“D’you want to tell me, huh?” He’s folds in half to speak directly in your ear, his spit hitting your cheek. He twists your arm further, grinding the hand supporting the rest of your body deeper into the glass. You grit your teeth to prevent another pained sound from escaping. “Wanna tell me who the fuck you think you are? Too good for me, whore? Too good for all this?”

The doors burst open. Cavill lets go of you in shock, it gives you time to crawl away from him as Mando levels his blaster at the boy. You scrape one of your knees in the process, you don’t notice it over the adrenalin pulsing through you.

Lucius swears loudly, standing.

“Don’t move.” Mando’s words are more of a growl than anything else.

In the pause this creates, you’re able to kick out your leg and take Cavill out from the back of the knees. It’s not graceful or pretty but it works. Cavill falls to the ground and you quickly clamber on top of him, forcing his hands behind his back, keeping him down with a bloodied knee to the spine.

Mando throws you the cuffs, training his blaster back on Lucius as you work on securing the binds around his quarry’s wrists.

“The spice,” Mando barks out the order. Lucius, eyes wide with terror, looks from the bounty hunter, to you, back to the bounty hunter.

“W-What?”

Mando shoots Lucius in the leg. The boy screams a curse, folding into himself in pain. The air smells like burnt flesh and coins. You swallow, looking back down and busying yourself with keeping Cavill still as he struggles against the floor.

“The. Spice.” He repeats. Choking on his sobs, Lucius reaches a shaking hand into his suit jacket’s pocket, throwing the little bag on the floor. Mando stalks over to him, Lucius cowers.

“Listen, man I—I’ll give you anything you want, ok? My father—”

Mando pistol whips him, the force behind it is enough to also slam Lucius’s head into the table as a result, knocking him unconscious. The bounty hunter turns, snatching up the spice on the ground and crossing over to you, kneeling beside Cavill, whose face is pressed into the ground.

“Mother fucker,” Cavill snarls, the first coherent set of words he’s said since Mando entered. Without reacting, Mando pinches Cavill’s nose shut. You’re confused for a moment, then Cavill opens his lips to either breathe or continue his litany of abuses and Mando takes that opportunity to empty the rest of the spice directly into the quarry’s mouth.

Cavill’s eyes widen, then almost immediately roll back into his skull. He jerks once, then lays still.

It all happens so fast you barely process Mando’s gentle order for you to stand. You do eventually, your legs a bit shaky as you cross back over to the bar cart, holding your palm up to the light in order to puck the largest pieces of glass out before wrapping your wound with a decorative napkin.

When you turn, Mando is pacing the room’s glass perimeter, looking down at the dance-floor to see if anyone noticed the commotion over the pounding music. His takes two brisk strides to cross the room, back to you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice curt and professional. You duck your head in a nod, still pressing the napkins to your bleeding hand. Mando then turns to deal with Lucius’s body, stuffing his mouth with one of the tux ties on the table, binding his wrists. Buying the two of you time, you guess.

You look down at Cavill’s crumpled body. Unconscious, like this, you realize he couldn’t be more than twenty years old. Maybe even nineteen. “They’re all just kids, aren’t they?”

Mando’s sighs, crossing the room again to lean out the open doors to gauge the best way of getting back to the driver. “Pel kar’ta.” Whatever he just called you, it sounds like an accusation “That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” you murmur to yourself, gaze still fixed to the boy on the floor. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

The napkins you use on your injured hand manages to somewhat stop the bleeding. You wait in the backseat as Mando and the driver stuff Cavill’s body into the trunk. You manage to pluck the last of the shards out of the meat of your palm once Mando silently slides into the seat beside you.

The driver leans over to the seemingly empty passenger seat, plucking a bundle of swaddled fabric and passing it back to Mando. It’s the child, sleeping deeply.

“Febhana said she had a feeling you’d want to get off planet as fast as possible. She sends her well wishes,” the driver grits out. He pulls the speeder off the roof of the club, quickly maneuvering the vehicle into Canto Bight’s weaving back alleys.

You take a deep breath, leaning your head against the window.

“I’m sorry,” you manage after a few minutes of driving, the words so soft they break slightly as they leave your mouth. “I… I didn’t think it could get that messy. I should have stuck to the plan.”

He says your name softly, it crackles over the speakers of the modulator. You take too much comfort in how he says it, the way it fills the space between the two of you. “Jobs like this are never clean.”

“You said this needed to go quietly,” you turn your head to look at him directly. “That wasn’t quiet.”

“I should have interfered earlier, that was my fault,” his response is immediate. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and resting your head against the window. “I am not trying to make this about me. I just—I know it was a leap of faith involving me in this. I screwed it up, I want to apologize.”

“I didn’t think you were. I was making a clarification. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The kid makes a small sound in his sleep, you know he’s stretching and nuzzling into the crook of Mando’s arms without having to look over.

“Okay. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He says your name again. You shake your head.

“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen like that, if that’s okay?” You keep your gaze trained out the window, watching the city as it passes a good distraction from the pain pulsing from your hand up your wrist. “I’ll be fine once we get home.”

From your periphery, you see Mando nod.

Arriving at the hangar, you scoop the child in one arm and open the speeder door with a slight wince. You thank the driver and make a beeline for the Crest, busying yourself with tucking the little one in his cradle while Mando deals with the body.

By the time you shed the dress Febhana leant you—now ruined, thanks to that asshole—and quickly shower, you’re starting to catch a second wind of energy. You’re wide awake by the time you pull on a sleep shirt and a soft pair of shorts, catching yourself on the wall as the Crest rumbles into hyperspace.

Settling at your med station, you examine your injured hand under a small portable light, making sure you didn’t miss any pieces of glass due to the dim lighting of the landspeeder’s interior. You hear Mando step behind you.

“Let me see it,” he says. You straighten, looking up at him. Mando is holding a hand out, for yours. He’s back in the clothes he sometimes wears during your long stretches of travel, no armor save for the helmet on his head. His gloves are removed.

The first time he’d done this it had nearly knocked the wind out of you, stopping your words mid-sentence as you entered the cockpit to feed the kid breakfast. He was reclined in the pilot’s seat, the sturdy fingers grasping a rag to oil the pauldron he held in his other hand. You only caught the brief glimmer of a thick beskar ring on his thumb before averting your eyes, stuttering an apology.

At this point, you’ve seen enough of his hands to have memorized every scar and callous. You know it all, from the broken mountains of his knuckles to the small tattoo below the web of his thumb, so weathered by age you still cannot make sense of what it’s supposed to be.

This is different, though. He’s asking to touch you, skin on skin. That’s what makes you pause, looking at him blankly. Mando tries again.

“It’s my fault you got hurt—please, let me take care of you this once.”

There’s something in his voice that sounds incredibly pained, it’s enough to break you from your thoughts. You hesitate, then shift to face him on the crate you’d pulled over to sit on.

You offer him your hand, palm up, in wordless agreement.

He starts his work there, diligently giving it one last look over for glass before slathering it in bacta and firmly wrapping it with gauze. His hands feel just as you thought they would, rough but warm, hesitant at first but firmer once he gains the confidence to really touch you.

Mando then begins to examine your shoulder, delicately asking you to lift your arm, shift it in different directions and tell him when it hurts. You comply, easily succumbing to his little, light touches.

Maker, if Lucius had managed to give you butterflies on the dance-floor this… this couldn’t even be qualified at anything close to that feeling. The flight of birds, more like. A whole flock. A force only rivaled by the quick beat of your pulse.

“I got you something.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think his voice has a certain tinge of shyness to it. “A few days ago. I kept forgetting to give it to you.”

“Do tell,” you manage a casual yawn, then wince when his fingers dig into your scapula. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he removes his hands from you, turning and walking to the other side of the hull. He rifles through a crate and emerges with what looks like a little box, offering it to you. You balance it in your bandaged hand, recognizing the object the second you see the speakers affixed to either end of it.

A wide grin breaks out over your face as you look up at him. “Is this a radio?”

He nods, plucking the tube of muscle warming agent from the med-kit and spreading it against your shoulder. His gloves are still off, the rough feeling of his hands against you enough to steal all words from your parted lips.

“Thank you,” you manage. “Mando—this is so nice I—”

“It’s nothing,” he says it frankly. You gladly don’t continue your sentence, turning the object over in your hand. “The woman told me it should work just about anywhere. If it loses signal it’ll just play some kind of recorded catalogue.”

You nod, bracing your forearms against your thighs and fiddling with the radio’s controls as he continues to talk, his thumbs working against every part of the joint they can. The feeling is far too easy to give into, you allow yourself to close your eyes as he continues, placing the radio beside you and leaning back to rest your elbows on the table to your back.

“I thought it was the least I could offer you. You seem so happy whenever there’s music,” Mando says as he kneels in front of you, wiping off your injured knee, rubbing away the scabs that were already forming with a disinfectant-soaked towel. He disregards the hiss you give and begins applying the bacta to the scored surface. “Especially tonight, when you were dancing. I didn’t realize you could.”

You laugh, smiling to yourself. “I was most nervous about that, as ridiculous as it sounds.” You muffle a relieved groan at the numb warmth that begins to spread as soon as the bacta sets in. You turn over what you want to ask for a long time before you muster the courage to say it. Why not? “I could teach you.”

A pause. “What?”

“I could teach you to dance, if you want me to,” you open your eyes to look down at the man kneeling before you. His fingers are frozen against the bandage he was in the process of tying off—incorrectly, you might add, but you can fix it later. You can’t help but smile at him. “Put this radio to use.”

He pauses for a moment longer, then shakes his head and goes back to adjusting your bandages. “Don’t mess with me like that, I’ll take back the compliment.”

“Hey! C’mon,” you bite your lip, stretching out your uninjured leg to faux-kick his side. He grabs your foot before it can make contact, gently guiding it back to the floor. “I’m being serious. Gotta blow off some steam before I can sleep.” Heat shoots up to your face, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them through. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Alright.” Mando stands, crossing his arms over his chest to regard you.

You genuinely don’t believe it. Your smile widens. “Are you serious?”

His head cocks to the side. “If you make a big deal out of it I’ll purposefully step on your toes.”

It’s hard to contain your glee. You push yourself up to your feet, Mando’s arms shooting out in a protective gesture to catch you when you wobble slightly.

“Relax, I’m fine,” you gently push his hands away, walking over to the other side of the hull to place the radio on top of a stack of crates. Fiddling with it for a moment, you find a station playing something slow.

Turning back around, you see that Mando has turned off the med-station’s light, the brightest source of illumination now coming from the radio’s tiny interface behind you. The rest of the hull’s sconces are in night mode, the dull orange glow just enough to see what’s in front of you.

“Okay,” you begin, standing in the middle of the room and motioning Mando towards you. He complies. You hold out both hands. When he doesn’t get it, you press your lips together to suppress a smile, taking them for yourself where they rest limply at his sides. “So, you’d start by approaching your lady and holding her hand up, like this.” You bend your right elbow, your loosely interlocked hand forcing his left arm to do the same.

Mando nods, head bowed to you in observation, a diligent student.

“Then,” you continue, guiding his right hand to the curve of your waist. “You’d place your other hand here, or mid-back, whatever feels most appropriate for the situation.” He doesn’t move his hand. It sends a bit of a thrill through you. You place your left hand on his bicep, looking up at him and grinning. “See? You’re a natural.”

The both of you laugh at that one. His comes out as nothing more than a hoarse release of air from the modulator, but it’s enough to have you absolutely elated.

You start to sway slightly, to the rhythm of the song now playing from the radio’s speakers. Mando picks up the hint, taking up the role of leader while you gladly follow. He’s actually okay—granted, the two of you are just swaying in place, but still.

“I meant that, you know.”

“Hm?” You ask, partially distracted in trying to figure out what move to teach him next. The waltz you and Lucius did would be far too complicated, maybe there would be some kind of way to simplify it…

“What I said earlier. You looked beautiful, tonight,” Mando says, chin still tucked to look down at you. You blink, only actually processing what he’d just said a few seconds after he said it. You purposefully keep your eyes trained to his chest in order to keep your thoughts straight. “I um… I didn’t know how to tell you. Earlier. In the car. But I wanted to.”

“Hate to inform you, but the dress is in tatters and I am way too lazy to put all that makeup on again,” you chuckle, using the side of your foot to nudge him into a bit of a wider stance. He has the resting state of a soldier at attention—fitting, you guess, for a Mandalorian. It’s something so natural about to him that you’ve only really noticed the rigidity of it now.

“No, no I’m not… That’s not what I meant. You look that way always just—tonight, especially.”

“Well, Mando, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you sound a little bashful right now,” you joke, trying to move on as quickly as possible to cover up the fact that you had no idea how to take a compliment. You turn your head a little too quickly to look back down at his feet, ready to instruct him on the next steps, and your forehead collides with him helmet.

It fucking hurts.

You wince, cursing slightly under your breath and screwing up your face, trying to laugh off the heat burning in your cheeks and across your chest. “Ow.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Mando mutters, releasing your hands and cupping either sides of your jaw with his hands. His thumbs press along the underside of your chin, tilting your face up towards him as he inspects it for damage. “Are you okay?”

You close your eyes and nod, swallowing. “Yeah, just surprised me is all—never had to teach a tin can how to dance before, forgot I had to be conscious about the...” one of his thumbs traces a curved line against your chin before he removes his hands from your face. The motion is quick and then gone immediately, just as he had done in the hallways of the Tagge mansion. It has a far more vivid consequence of completely scrambling your thoughts, this time around. “Helmet,” you manage.

After a moment, Mando tilts his head.

“Close your eyes,” his voice is husky, from the modulator or something else you don’t know.

You comply without question, pulse increasing as you feel Mando step away and rummage through something. He returns, standing behind you this time. Fabric is wrapped around your eyes—once, then twice. You reach a hand up to touch it, recognize the slightly rough texture of gauze almost immediately.

There’s some kind of a hissing sound, then the clank of metal being placed on something solid. Then he’s back in front of you.

“Think you can teach me like this?” And it’s his voice. His voice. Rough but warm and unobstructed. Just as his hands had been. It takes the wind right out of your lungs.

“Mando,” if you could think of anything else to say, you’d cringe at how breathless you sound. What are you, a locked-away damsel in distress?

“When I was younger I was… a bit more lax. Running with the wrong people. I relied on… technicalities, in our code, a little too heavily back then.” You never want to stop hearing his voice. There’s something about the modulator that doesn’t do the light lilt to his words justice, the low but crisp resonance of his voice. “But I’ve… this is new. But okay. Within the rules.”

“Are you—” clearing your throat, you try again. More firm this time. “Are you sure?”

“Just don’t touch my face with your hands,” his voice remains clipped, slightly cautious, but resolved. Typical. “If you—I can put the helm back on, if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You interject, placing both hands on his chest in reassurance. “No, I… no. I feel honored and happy, really happy, that you’d trust me like this. It means a lot.”

You hear him hum low in his throat, a sound you know he makes sometimes when he nods. He takes your hand, again, the other going back to your waist. “Okay, start over.”

“So,” you begin again, trying your best to run your mouth enough to distract from how… serious this feels. You know it most likely isn’t a huge deal, if he’s willing to do this after one accidental collision—but, well. Still. “When you’re ready, you’ll step forward and I’ll step back. And… uh…” you bite your lip as his hand drifts lower, just an inch, to rest at the small of your back. You look up at him through the blindfold out of habit. “You lead, I follow, simple as that.”

“Simple as that?” His words have a rare, palpable heat to them. You can never be certain, of course, but you’re convinced there’s a small smile behind his question. It’s easier to tell, now.

“Yeah,” your chest feels tight with an emotion so close yet so different from the joy you’re used to feeling. Your smile is uncontainable, if barely visible in the hull’s dim light. “It really is.”

He’s a fast learner, easily taking you in slow, looping circles around the room for the next few songs. The silence between the two of you is comforting.

The longer the radio plays, the deeper you sink into one another, your entwined movements eventually spiraling back to the center of the space, settling into an easy, sedentary sway there. You only really notice this as Mando’s hand drifts from your lower back to wrap around the curve of your opposite hip, the length of his sturdy forearm braced against your body. After a beat, you let go of the hand you’re holding onto and wrap both arms loosely around his neck, leaning into him fully.

The two of you don’t acknowledge it, playing it off as an incidental thing, this gradual enclosure of your bodies. The equally quick thrum of your hearts betrays the known secret behind the little game you are playing.

“What did that phrase you use mean, when we talked earlier?” You press the side of your face to Mando’s chest. He props his chin against the crown of your head in welcome response.

The hand previously holding yours moves up your spine in order to gently cradle the back of your neck, gently holding you in place. His thumb traces repetative arcs against the sensitive line between the corner of your jaw and your earlobe. It feels like a salve in its own right, erasing the feeling of Cavill’s skin pressed against your own.

“What did what mean?” Mando asks innocently enough, as his hand continues its serene movement. It’s the most he’s ever touched you, and you suppose he keeps his tone completely casual to make up for the fact. As if the two of you were conversing from other sides of the room, not entangled in each other. You’re more than willing to play into the charade if it means you can have this, the ability to close your eyes and take in the rumble of his voice against your ear.

“Pel… pel kar-ta?” You wince at your gross mispronunciation. “What you called me back there, at the club.”

“Oh—” he seems surprised, like he didn’t even remember saying it. “That’s—that’s Mando’a. It means… well it’s the closest expression to kindness we have.” He keeps rubbing the corner of your jaw with his thumb, keeping rhythm with your movements. If it could even be considered that, at this point. “A more direct translation would be ‘soft hearted.’ Someone who is unapologetically forgiving towards others, even to those don’t deserve it. An ability to love that clouds greater judgment.”

“I have the feeling it’s not the most complimentary nickname for Mandalorians.”

“No, no it isn’t,” the breath of his laugh ruffles your hair. You can’t help but hide your smile in the warm fabric of his shirt, laughing with him. Mando shifts slightly, curving over you, your cheek against his, rough with a well-developed five o’clock shadow. “But, um. I mean it as a compliment, for you. As stupid as you can get.”

If someone punched you in the gut it wouldn’t have left you this breathless. You try to disguise the euphoric feeling it gives you in humor. You’re worried that if you give too much away he’ll stop touching you. Stop holding you like this. Like you were the one gentle thing he’d succumb to.

“Well, it seems hardly fair that you get to call me a nickname and I get nothing at all,” you huff in playful offense, barely able to keep the smile off your face. “Totally unfair.”

“Give me your best, then.” He’s still smiling, you don’t know how you can tell but you just can. It’s infectious.

“What about… hmm… I dunno—tin can?”

“That one’s taken.”

“Oh, have some lady in waiting I should know about?”

“That’s probably the exact opposite way I’d describe him.”

You laugh. “Bucket head?”

“Not very original.”

“Well,” you give an airy hmph. “I’m stumped. You win. Mando it remains.”

Continuing your sway as the music maintains its soft tumble from the radio’s speakers, the two of you go so long without speaking you think the conversation has ended--until:

“Din.” He says the word so softly it wouldn’t have been picked up if he were still speaking through the vocoder.

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, what?”

“Din. Din Djarin. My name. When it’s… when it’s just us, you can use it. If you’d like.”

You cup your hand around the other side of his neck and pull back slightly. His hand automatically lifts to press against your cheek, a refusal to allow you to move any further despite the fact that you’re wearing the blindfold. Pure habit, you think.

You blink against the fabric stretched over your eyes, trying to quell your burning desire to do something absolutely disastrous.

So you say his name instead.

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar @mandoandyodito @kyjoraven @ineffableloveforyou

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed !!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mandalorian and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch4 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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wishingstarinajar · 3 years

Text

I am going to ramble a bit but I will hide it under a cut because it's a bit long. It will be about the previous fandom I was active in around two years ago and how it affects me to this day. It's also about popularity and putting others on a pedestal.

If this sort of ramble isn't up your alley then feel very free to skip over this post! I don't mind. If you want to read more about it, just check under the cut.

The Franchise And Its Creators

====

THE FRANCHISE AND ITS CREATORS Around mid-2014, I joined the Wakfu and Dofus fandoms, a small-ish fandom as a whole but popular in certain circles.

For those who don't know, Wakfu and Dofus are (online, console, mobile, figurine, card and board) games, comics, animated series, specials and movies created by a French studio named Ankama. These two franchises are intertwined with each other as they play out in the same universe but in different timelines. I myself dabbled around in the animated part of the fandom; I was a huge fan of the two series and the Dofus movie.

There was very little catering to the international part of the fandom when it came to the studio's attention and interactions. There were no English dubs or subtitles; international fans had to rely on English fan subtitles on ripped/pirated episodes of the show and movie, same for the franga/comics. Merch was hard to get. A lot of articles related to the shows and whatnot were in French only, which is understandable because it is a French-made product. But there's no denying that the international fanbase felt a little neglected back then.

====

MY FANDOM JOURNEY

Because I was very interested in the lore of both franchises, I had to do a lot of digging and translating to be able to fully indulge in it all. I went full in! I dug deep, created OCs, art and also tried to write fanfiction. I also shared news and info about the series and movie; I ran a fan blog dedicated to sharing things with the international part of the fandom. I was also often approached about lore, particularly for a few of the canon characters and one of the races that play a role in the Wakfu franchise; the Eliatropes. It was fun, it felt good to help other fans out, it was nice to make friends and be creative with others about similar things.

Eventually, the character and art theft began. We all know this is a 'normal' part of fandoms, so I won't hammer too long on it. My issue with it was the fact that my main OC, a female Eliatrope, gathered a lot of attention because female Eliatropes were a rarity in the Wakfu franchise. They existed but didn't get a moment in the limelight, except for one that even received her own game (Islands of Wakfu) but it was so obscure that a lot of fans didn't know about its existence. My OC was somehow mistaken as canon by plenty of folks and many others started to use her as a template to create their own (female) Eliatrope OC. I didn't mind, as long as they weren't straight-up copies and I tried to be supportive by answering lore questions and give feedback whenever it was asked for it (which happened a lot). Of course, copying and theft happened more often than not; over the five years I was part of the fandom, I sent out almost a hundred DMCA reports for art and character theft (like true theft; I could handle some similarities or one-time occurrences). One particular case went to the extreme but I won't beat that dead horse any further; it brought me enough misery to last me half a lifetime, that's all I'll say on it. I kept a lot of the negative experiences behind closed doors and dealt with a lot of it quietly to not bother, worry or burden anyone else with any of it. I wanted a positive and supporting environment for my followers, even if the truth wasn't as pretty.

====

ANKAMA'S STRUGGLE

Over the years, studio Ankama increased attempts to cater more to the international fanbase of its animated properties (articles in English, English dubs and subtitles, etc). However, the studio's struggle to garner the attention of international supporters (aka companies and sponsors) didn't go too smoothly, and to make matters worse, they were also struggling with finding a platform in France to broadcast the Wakfu series on after wishing to take a different and more mature direction. Ankama wanted more freedom with the Wakfu show, like less censorship, a serial rather than episodic, and it not being aimed at a young audience like its previous contractor demanded Wakfu to be. Ankama even turned to crowdfunding to get certain projects (like new Wakfu seasons) off the ground and let's just say that those crowdfunding projects are best described as tiny dumpster fires; they weren't pretty to watch. The first one was a disaster with plenty of displeased backers and the following crowdfunding attempts often didn't meet the end goal due to bad past experiences or the lack of interest.

Luckily, Netflix breathed some life into the international Wakfu fandom, which was great! But it was still received badly (mostly due to the awful English dub and sound mixing of the first two seasons and special) that the third season Netflix made possible was not getting the attention it deserved. It was also a rushed product due to financial and time constraints on Ankama's part. Netflix eventually declined a fourth season and it all fell a bit apart from there. Ankama turned to crowdfunding once more to try and make season 4 a reality. Last time I checked (which was quite a while ago), it did decently enough to make season 4 a reality. (Please don't ask me about it, I don't know anything about it.)

====

THE PEDESTAL

While all this was happening behind the scenes, I was starting to struggle with the reputation I built up in the Wakfu and Dofus fandom over the few years I was a part of it. The best way to describe it is that I had grown exhausted.

Aside from dealing with the theft and answering people's questions daily, I wanted to be treated as an average fan but I kept getting put on a pedestal. People went as far as to call me by titles (like lady Wish and miss Wish) more often than not. To be called and treated as such made me feel alienated, like as if I wasn't considered real. I often asked to just be called Wish, no titles/formalities required, and that I wasn't as 'popular' as they believed, but the majority of the people didn't seem to listen. People were either afraid or refused to interact with me because they considered me 'too popular', or simply wanted nothing but my validation, feedback and/or free art. I also had my fair share of haters and people that didn't approve of my 'status' in the fandom. Join the club xD I wasn't very happy with it either.

I really started to dislike being called 'popular' because it had such a bad impact on the people around me (and my own mental wellbeing). Friends started to become jealous of the attention I garnered and it dragged me down every time. At times, it would turn toxic. It was never my intention to make my friends feel like they meant less because they surely didn't. To learn that they believed others were only friends with them or only looked at their art/writing because they were good friends with me hurt so much. It still does. I refuse to believe that was fully true because I was (and still am!) surrounded by very creative people and they all deserved as much attention as I was getting, at times more. I wish others saw it that way too.

I was also heavily chained down thanks to the role (model) I played in the fandom. Too many people (especially young ones) looked up to me and there were a lot of expectations that I felt forced to meet. I started to lose the energy for it, but if I dared to stray a little from the path, the pitchforks and torches would come out. It was very restricting.

In the end, I felt stuck. Things started to grow toxic. There was a point where I began to dislike the franchise because of the bad feelings it brought me. I couldn't even get myself to watch the series or movie anymore. I focused less and less on the canon side of things and more on my own ideas, which was one of the only comforts I really had left in the fandom. I started to shut myself off, which upset a lot of people. I am sorry for that, I wish it didn't happen that way but I was at my wits' end.

When I realized and also accepted that I was no longer enjoying myself with canon or fanon, I knew I had to move on or stuff would end badly. It was a very tough realization and decision to accept and make; I literally dedicated five years of my life to the fandom. I spent hours a day digging for info and news to translate and share, doing 'research' for my fanfics, answering questions, and whatnot. I truly lived the fandom day in and out. It was the first fandom I ever actively participated in to this degree. What the heck was I going to do without that?

====

THE NOW

Abandoning the fandom was a scary step to take but not one I regret. I left the Wakfu and Dofus fandom behind me in late 2019. I feel freer now and so much happier. I no longer have the burden of expectations, being a lore guide or be forced to portray a certain role model weighing me down. I am no longer on that f*cking pedestal. I can finally explore interests that aren't exactly child-friendly without a big part of my following pummeling me down for it. (Don't worry, I always try my best to keep it in the appropriate places.)

Do I still like Wakfu/Dofus and all the stuff I've created with it? Yes, I do but I also want nothing more to do with it. Aside from the friends I've made there and also stuck around on my new adventures, I left the fandom behind me.

I still get approached at times about how my Wakfu OC, art and writing inspired someone and ask me if I could give them feedback for their own ideas or give them advice/information on Wakfu/lore. I am extremely humbled by it every time. It's great to see someone feeling inspired and be creative. However, I've moved on. I've left interacting with the Wakfu/Dofus fandom and fan-made stuff far behind me. I haven't touched it for almost two years and it shows on all the social media I share my art and writing on. I at times wish people could be considerate about the fact that I moved on but I also know and understand that not everyone knows my reasoning or my side of the story. I try not to be too harsh on it.

====

MY ADVICE

I don't hate anyone for how things turned out; a lot of it was my own doing by not saying no or taking a stronger stand.

It did teach me a lot of things, especially about caring for my own well-being and putting others on pedestals. Please be mindful when you treat someone like others treated me before; it's not healthy, for yourself and the person you put on that high pedestal. Take everything in moderation and consideration, that's all. Everyone's human, everyone has feelings, and everyone deserves a sense of being. Even your favorite artists and content creators. Don't treat them like an otherwordly being that you have to worship.

In turn, if a fandom or something you enjoyed is making you unhappy nowadays, you owe it to yourself to make or find a change. Be good to yourself, always!

Thanks to anyone who read through this ramble. I needed to get this off my chest. I am not asking for advice, neither pity or whatever else. I just wanted to share my thoughts on past experiences because I have a feeling others might be going through something similar.

Thank you again, please take care.

#wish talks #wish rambles #edited with some format fixes

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soyeahitsmiddleearth · 4 years

Text

(Gen Start-Up) Not Worth It pt. 1

{Reader gets sent from our world to middle earth and falls in love with either Fili/Kili/Thoron or heck maybe all three, I'll leave that up to you, and upon coming to middle earth they get the healing powers. All they gotta do is put their hands on the person and concentrate. BUT these healing abilities have a cost if the injury is severe. Maybe they either transfer the injury to themselves until it evens out between the two? Or it takes a lot of energy from them and if they use it too much they will die. Then Reader tries to heal Thorin/Kili/Fili at the end." --- Britishfajita}

Fluff and Slight Angst

Authors Note: This is the beginning of a wonderful three (or maybe more) part connected series! Same reader for all three of the Durin's who I plan to make this for. There may be multiple parts for them, idk yet. We'll just see what happens :D!

The Durins/Reader

----

You could have been so extraordinary in your past life.

Special, wanted, powerful.

And, to some extent, you were wanted and desired, but you could never deliver on those expectations and hopes.

Your special ability to heal, ease pain, and help others was never anything special where you lived. Many people had healing abilities similar to and better than yours, and most, if none, had the drawbacks that yours did.

Where normal healers can use their powerful auras to mend and strengthen others to accelerate the healing process, yours is much more of a give and take, parasitic relationship between 'doctor' and patient. Instead of your aura enhancing the healing ability of others, it instead participates in a transfer that can leave you wounded yourself.

You retain your ability to heal and, essentially, switch auras in a wound transferral. You do not always inherit the wounds of those you heal, however.

Depending on the severity of an injury, you may be left winded, tired, or extremely hungry, but in more serious instances, the damages completely transfer to you instead.

The best way to exemplify this would be to explain how you found out about this horrible symbiotic relationship in the first place.

Your parents knew you were a healer from a young age, for there are individuals who test all children in schools to determine what classes they will need to hone their abilities, and they figured out your ameliorative nature rather easily.

The fatigue and pain you sometimes felt during training and classes was just chalked up to your control and aura being weaker, for your parasitic power was something very uncommon at the time.

It happened during your first ever shift at the local hospital.

Up to this point you've only ever dealt with smaller wounds because of your easy fatigue and exhaustion, but this day was different.

A disaster struck a nearby bank that left 40 people, and counting, injured, and it was all hands on deck. Every person on staff had somethings to do, and when a young woman with debris sticking out of her abdomen came rolling in, you were the only one free to help at the time.

You took up the assignment without hesitation, but as soon as you began to heal her, something felt different.

There was no weakness at first, something very alien to you, and you were able to heal her in record time for even one of the most skilled (and normal) healers, only, you eventually realized that something wasn't right.

The pain you felt that day was horrible and unimaginable, and you went down in a matter of moments.

It wasn't until 5 minutes later that someone found you unconscious on the ground, pale and barely breathing. If it weren't for your current location, you certainly would've died that day.

That young woman had been saved and, somehow, her power had been enhanced as well after your treatment, but it left your aura damaged and practically sucking the life out of you following her miraculous recovery.

The whole premise of your power is the nature of give and take. You give a piece of your aura to someone else to heal and enhance them (be it their power, strength, wakefulness, or anything else), and in return you take a part of theirs and become weakened depending on how much you give, needing to rest and regenerate what you gave away in that moment. You can also heal yourself of your own, personally received wounds without incident, which is rather strange.

For most, there is a finite amount of their aura that they can ever have throughout the duration of their lives, but your supply is nearly endless. However, the more you spend healing or helping, the more you lose. You can regenerate your aura forever, but if you keep going without ceasing, then your life will eventually begin to drain too, to compensate for your loss.

It isn't an instant process, though, for it takes time for your body to catch up to how much of your power you spend, so you had to train really hard from that moment on to ensure that you never spend more than you've earned.

If it weren't for this fateful vice of yours, you'd probably be one of the most powerful healers in your world; the only limit to the wounds you may heal is your own aura and life force, and the amount of time it takes all depends on your concentration and intent.

Because of this, you became unwanted.

Unwanted in a sense that, people did want you to help them become stronger, but no organization or job wanted to hire such a liability, and those with such horrible vices are always subject to horrible criticism and scrutiny, so you eventually just stopped using your ability altogether.

It isn't until you fall into Middle Earth that you start to habitually use your powers again, and it's because of the life-threatening journey you're forced to join.

Here in Middle Earth, however, you're one of a kind.

There is healing magic and those gifted with the knowledge of higher level healing, but your ability to heal simply using your hands and mind is something totally unheard of.

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield were the poor unfortunate souls that you scared half to death on the day you arrived in Middle Earth.

You came, quite literally, out of nowhere.

One second you were washing the dishes in your house and the next you were unconscious in another world.

From their perspective you came falling out of a tall tree, nothing to break your fall other than the cold, unforgiving dirt below, and it successfully gave everyone a huge scare.

Your right arm seemed to have broken and you were horribly battered and bruised, and the dwarfs, hobbit, and lone wizard couldn't just leave you there.

They made camp for the night and made you as comfortable as possible, hoping above all else that you'll wake up at some point, and you eventually do. Though, it isn't a nice or very calm occurrence.

When you finally woke up to a new hat and 4 thick wool blankets smothering you, you freaked out.

At first, you thought someone had kidnapped you or something, but the calm, old wizard named 'Gandalf' managed to calm you and explain that you're not healthy enough to be thrashing and panicking so frantically.

That's when you shocked them all.

You managed to kick off those pesky blankets and shake off that too-warm, but also soft hat, and get a look at yourself, and you were dismayed to see so much of your skin marred with bruises, cuts, scrapes, welts, etc, and your broken arm was unsightly enough to make you nearly sick.

"I-I'll fix it then, I guess." You grumbled nervously, laying back down in the heaping pile of blankets to focus on mending your broken and shattered bones, re-weaving your muscles together, and accelerating the healing of the more superficial wounds.

By the time you were nearly completely healed you were too tired to finish fixing the cuts, scrapes, and other lacerations, so they were left as week-old injuries that had been scabbed over and mostly fixed.

When your eyes fluttered open again you were, once again, shocked to see multiple people leaning over you with awestruck expressions, and you realized in that moment that things were even less right than you initially feared.

Rather quickly did you realize and accept that you were no longer in the same place or time as you were before, but the news was actually fairly easy to accept because of the nature of your past life.

You were probably accidentally sent here by someone with power over the space-time continuum, and it's impossible to come back from one of those accidents. You didn't trouble yourself with coming up with a way to go back home, because you knew for a fact that it was over. You'll be here until the day you die.

You made fast friends with the two younger Durin brothers, for they were always full of questions and curiosity for you and your abilities. Many times have you had to heal them as well, for they're quite prone to trouble.

Small things were always easy to heal, so your powers proved to make you not only a very desired part of the group, but the subject of heavy praise and kind words; it's wonderful and new, for you were neither wanted nor praised in your old home once your crippling vice made itself present.

Night after night you helped them to sleep, gave them the strength to carry on, rid them of discomforts and small, painful wounds, and, essentially, made the original healer of the group, Oin, obsolete (in a good way for him, of course). Oin taught you some things about natural medicine and was, ultimately, allowed to focus on rest and fighting (which you assume is good for a dwarf of his age).

Being needed and relied on feels like heaven, and for the first time in 5 years, you have a purpose.

The true nature of your healing powers didn't become apparent to them until the fight following the Goblin Tunnels, for Thorin Oakenshield is nearly fatally wounded in his fight against Azog the Defiler, and he's left weak and dying.

The group runs as fast as their feet can carry them as those wargs and nasty orcs draw near, chasing all of you to a cliffside with plentiful trees and nowhere to go.

It's a dead end, and those foul creatures know as much.

You aren't much of a fighter so Bofur and Fili keep you ahead of them, urging you to climb the far tree with Gandalf and some of the others, and you do so without hesitation.

Fear drives your frantic climbing and trembling muscles, and, with great effort, you manage to climb far enough that those horrible dog beasts cannot reach you.

Everyone manages to climb a tree and avoid a violent death that would leave them in pieces, and you're relieved to see that there isn't much the enemy can do in this moment; that is, until they begin to uproot the trees and push everyone further back into the barely hanging on tree you already reside in.

There is absolutely no way this flimsy tree will hold all of you for long if the wargs loosen the soil around the roots, and it seems that you're not the only one to notice this.

Gandalf prepares the perfect pinecone ammo that serves as an excellent enemy deterrent, for the flames burning within the heart of the pinecones spread easily and set the cliffside alight.

The wargs retreat to escape a fiery death, but the triumph doesn't last long, for the tree begins to creak and groan as it dips beneath the weight of all 15 of you.

"T-The tree's going to fall!" You cry hopelessly, unsure what to do.

A fall from this height would kill everyone before you even had a chance to try and heal them, and this knowledge leaves an empty, useless hole in your heart.

"Everything will work out the way it's supposed to, Master Healer." The grey wizard tells you, though you can hear the unease and slight panic in his voice as well.

You open your mouth to say more, but movement catches in your peripherals and you turn your head to see what it is.

There stands Thorin Oakenshield on the thick trunk of the tree, facing the white orc with murder and hate shining in his blue-gray eyes, and your heart drops all the way down to the violent deaths below you when you realize what it is he plans to do.

The to-be King Under the Mountain abandons the tree and meets the orc in a battle, albeit short, and he loses.

Just by looking at the way that albino dog uses him like a chew toy is enough to fill you with dread, and when another orc goes in for the dying blow, you're fully prepared to experience this horrible tragedy, only it never happens.

That brave little hobbit, Bilbo, challenges the rest of the goblins one on one, and his bravery encourages everyone able to get back up and fight.

Only, this secondary fight doesn't last for terribly long, for these huge, magnificent birds come soaring out of seemingly nowhere, and they scoop up each and every one of you.

Cue a short, but also liberating, journey to the nearest, safe area (which just so happened to be a secluded and inaccessible mountain top).

As soon as your feet touch the ground you're being scooped up into a strong pair of arms, and the perpetrator breathes your name with relief on their lips.

"Are you alright?" It's Kili, the taller of the two Durin brothers.

You nod your head once and hug him in response, winding your toned healer arms tightly around his shoulders for a few beats before you pull away.

A quick glance around shows you that some of the others still have yet to touchdown on the peak with all of you, so you instead move to Fili, who had rode to his brother, and hug him next.

The blond heir firmly locks his thick arms around your middle and holds you to him for a moment, but his arms disappear as soon as Thorin is gently dropped to the ground, bloodied and broken.

Gandalf rushes over to the heavily wounded dwarf and kneels down next to his unmoving form, and Bilbo runs up behind him with wide, stunned eyes.

You pull away from Fili and rush to Thorin's side without hesitation, falling to your knees beside him as you immediately hover your palms over his body to find the biggest issues ailing him.

The internal bleeding catches your attention right away, caused by the bone crushing bite from the white warg, and you start working on healing that without hesitation.

You know that a wound such as this will hurt you, but it doesn't halt your frantic healing for even a second.

The mountain peak is dead silent while you work your magic on the unconscious Thorin, the knowledge that they would be lost without him spurring you on, and in a matter of 5 minutes he's groaning and his eyes are opening.

You feel nothing at first which tells you that soon his damaged aura will begin affecting you, so you slowly rise to your feet and move away from the still grounded Thorin to avoid falling on him if you do go down.

Pats on the back and praises are thrown your way as you separate yourself from the king, but they cease the moment Fili worriedly asks, "Wait- What... what's wrong?" He seemed to have noticed your shaky movements right away as your health begins to deplete.

You step up to Gandalf and place your hand gently onto his shoulder, mumbling with slurred words, "Gandalf, I should've told you before..."

The old man looks up at you with worried eyes, and he rises to his feet so he can grasp your trembling arms with gentle hands, "You should have 'told me before'? Told me what?"

"I..." You begin to speak, but you're unable to form another coherent thought as your legs suddenly give out from beneath you, and you slump forward into the cloaked wizard.

Gandalf releases your arm at light speed and catches you around the waist, slowly lowering you down to the ground before your eyes slide shut and your consciousness fades in place of Thorin's.

---

Gandalf the Gray was not too happy with you when you woke up sometime later, having had to save you after you saved Thorin with no prior knowledge regarding the truth about your ability.

He scolded you first, calling your actions foolish and scaring you with information on how you could have died had it been any worse and had he been any worse at his job, and then he thanked you.

"But even so, still must I say with the utmost gratitude; thank you. The service you provided was well beyond what we asked for, and much more than we deserved. After all you've been through and done for us, you would have been right to keep to yourself and not heal him. You are a very good person, Y/N, and I should like to see you survive this journey."

Is he telling you not to heal people anymore, or is he telling you to be more careful, you wonder.

Apparently this situation scared everyone shitless, because as soon as Gandalf was done getting on your case, you received countless apologies for having you heal small, meaningless wounds and for the other things you've done for them.

Of course, you tried to explain that the smaller boosts and injuries are nothing for you, but you were still apologized to a whole bunch anyways.

Fili and Kili's apologies stuck out to you the most, however.

When everyone felt better knowing that they'd informed you that you no longer need to waste your power healing them and the excitement died down, the two brothers approached with sad expressions darkening their handsome faces.

"You should have told us that we were hurting you." The dark-haired dwarf informed you sadly, taking up one of your hands in his carefully.

"We wouldn't have bothered you so much if we knew." The blond-haired brother agrees, swiping up your other hand in one of his.

Their words make you grimace, and you try to console them. "No, the smaller things don't hurt at all! I don't 'get hurt' because I heal you, I only suffer when it's a major wound that needs to heal more than just the body."

Their expressions don't change and they don't seem to fully believe you, so you try to explain in simpler terms.

You squeeze both their hands weakly, still needing rest to regenerate your own aura, then reiterate, "Think of it this way. You've got a huge jug of water about this big," you make a big circle with your arms, " and it's completely full. Now, if you take a sip of the water when you get a little thirsty and look inside again, it will look the exact same, and you can refill it super quickly... now, if you and a few others are super thirsty, dehydrated, and you need to take big drinks then it drains even more, and very soon it's almost a quarter empty. It takes longer to fill it up then, because there's way less because of how thirsty you were."

They both look at you and nod their heads slowly in understanding, but you simplify it a little more after that.

"So, what I'm trying to say is that if I do something small like help you sleep or heal a cut, maybe mend a headache, I'll only feel a little tired if that, but if it's something horrible like Thorin's wound, then it affects me more severely. It almost transfers to me, but not the physical injury, just the effect of it while my 'power' heals yours."

Everyone is listening at this point, and it seems that they all gain a better understanding of what you can do.

It seems Gandalf figured it out, though, judging by his unsurprised expression and slightly proud smile (pride because of your easy to understand explanation, most likely).

"So... what about now, then?" Kili asks, still holding your hand by your side, "What do you need?"

"To rest. Only for a little while until my water replenishes."

---

It's going to take around a day for your aura to heal and your strength to return, but, unfortunately, you don't have the luxury to just lay back and relax like you want.

You all had to stay on the move, so the dwarfs took turns carrying you on their backs.

At first you denied any and all requests for piggy back rides, embarrassed by the mere thought of being hauled around all day while you wait for your aura to heal, but it goes that way regardless.

First it's Fili and Kili, then Dori (the strongest *according to the book*), Dwalin, and, finally, Thorin.

Thorin carried you for around an hour or so, and each step he took was careful. He wanted to make your ride as comfortable as possible, and he was succeeding for the most part (you're as comfortable as someone on a piggyback ride can be).

"How are you feeling?" You ask at some point, adjusting your gentle grip around his shoulders as you do.

"I should be the one asking you that question." He replies without missing a beat, turning his head to the left slightly to catch a glimpse of you.

You don't say anything right away, looking at him with a small frown before countering, "Okay, but I asked your first."

"Truthfully, it shames me to say that I feel very good at the moment. My strength has returned tenfold, and I feel as if I've just recovered from a long rest."

"It shames you?" You ask softly, leaning your head against his carefully, "Don't let it. I chose to do that knowing fully well what I was getting myself into."

Thorin sighs heavily and shifts his grip on your legs, "I do not wish to treat you as a child. I respect your choice, but I must implore that you do not waste your life on me. It simply isn't worth it. You're too precious."

You feel your face heat up and you find that you become slightly embarrassed. "Thank you Thorin, but I think that a king is slightly more important then a commoner from another world."

"No... a king is only as strong as his people, friends, and allies. And I happen to value you as all three."

You don't argue or disagree this time and instead just nod your head once, "Then I'll say thank you again."

The rest of your conversations with Thorin are much more light hearted and wholesome, and you find that this piggyback riding isn't as bad as you initially though it would be.

#the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit bilbo #reader #fili x reader #kili x reader #thorin oakenshield x reader #fili #kili #Thorin Oakenshield #healer reader #Not Worth It pt.1

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polarisbibliotheque · 1 year

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Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 6

Nemesis

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Age restriction: 18+ - there’s a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: This chapter STARTS with a dream where the reader sees themselves hurt - same going for Vergil. There's blood, broken hearts, difficult feelings, self-doubt and talks about giving up. Proceed with a lot of caution if that's difficult for you.

Special Credits: Our dear Ovid is a character created by @furyeclipse and, even when they don't show up, I'm crediting and thanking forever ^^

You can check out Fury’s writing (which I highly recommend) on this link: Fury’s Ao3

Author's Notes: Yes, it took forever, but hey, we're back! (Yes, I've a mix of Backstreet Boy's Everybody and Eminem's Without Me playing rent free in my head) This chapter is a little shorter than normal BUT we're meeting the devil in the red coat, DMC 1 style ;)

It's just so good to be writing again. I'm so sorry for taking huge times off, but I'll always update as soon as I can! Thank you so much to everyone who spends time here reading, I appreciate each and every one of you!

And special thanks to the anon who sent the ask worried about me, you motivated me enough for this chapter to happen. You have my deepest gratitude <3

Chapter 6

“I can’t mend it.”

Your hands rested on your lap, your shoulders defeated. The shards of your crystal broken heart laid on the floor, covered in blood. Your eyes were surrounded with a rim of red, so tired of crying, as well as your body – so tired of fighting.

You were done. Done. One day, you would fall on battle and you wouldn’t be able to get up. Your knees would fail, your legs would tremble, and the tears in your eyes would finally be shed.

All that strength… All that will, all that power… It came from something inside you that didn’t allow you to give up. But you had to admit, that was running out.

It doesn’t matter if you can mend it or not. You thought as you observed yourself, unable to help, unable to speak, unable to make them see. The only thing you could do was to look at yourself, deep inside, as if it was the first time.

And it probably was.

It doesn’t matter if your heart heals. It doesn’t matter if it’s broken. You have to get up. You have to keep moving forward.

“I can’t… Put it back…” That’s when your bony hands moved to your naked chest – empty, dark, with a never-ending abyss that could swallow you whole. Your fingers trembled around the corners of the wound, revealing an infinity of nothingness. “I… I’m tired.”

Your red eyes finally met yours – but they didn’t recognize you. They just looked forward, up, somewhere, searching… Maybe for hope, maybe for a way out.

As you saw lonely tears dripping from your tired eyes, you knew what that look was.

Hopelessness.

That dreadful void in your chest pulling you down, into oblivion, into a pit of tar that would make you crawl, fight and lose the battle, with your body finally choosing to shut down after wasting energy without a goal. Without hope.

“We are better than that.”

You furrowed your brows, as your tired form didn’t move. But that voice… You haven’t heard it in years: since the last opening of the Abyss, it was gone. Almost as if a distant nightmare, from so many lives ago.

The blue coated devil, that arrogant demon that managed to draw your blood as you did the same to him. As the years went by, he just… Vanished. You never heard of him again. When you had a suspicion of an Abyss opening, he wasn’t there. When the energy of the Abyss was felt once again, he wasn’t there.

And as the years went by, you started to fear. Was your nemesis… Gone? What if that really happened? Did you have anything else pushing you forward?

You had the Abyss, yes. You had your researches, your deal with Ovid. But apart from that, what did you really have? Losing your archenemy would be a great loss – even greater if it wasn’t by your hands.

“We are not… This.” As his voice echoed again, your defeated form looked forward once more, finding his form.

But he was so different. If you, as an observer, could, you would have gasped out loud. He was kneeling on the ground, without his clothes, skinny and bony, pale skin glistening in the dark void like the faint moonlight – you could even see his dark veins underneath it, so glaring on his face. His eyes carried a bloody anger you had never seen before – worse than when you fought: those were the eyes of a broken pride.

His bony hands were tied behind his back, wrapped in chains, just like his feet. A heavy set of iron clasped around his neck, with chains fading in the dark. His body was covered in scars, some open and bleeding, some old and closed. His lips had a tinge of purple, as if frozen, and his heart… Shattered near his knees, him being unable to pick it up, even if he wanted to.

“We are broken… Again.” You whispered back, your eyes lacking any kind of feeling. All the anger stored in his contrasted with the void in yours. “There will come a day we will not be able to get up again. Our bodies… Will give out.”

“As long as our spirit does not...” His voice was as stark as always, but, for the first time, you heard it wavering. “It does not matter if our bodies do.”

“For me, it does.” You had a faint melancholic smile on your wine-red lips – getting darker and darker as you gave out. “I’m only human.”

His eyes stared back at you, those silvery pieces of ice, burning like the last circle of Hell. Your form didn’t close your eyes, but you did. You wanted to get out of there. You wanted to breathe. You wanted it all to be gone. You wanted peace of mind.

“That is what makes you so different.”

You opened your eyes in a jolt, heart beating as the thunderous rain outside. You were back in your room at the Hospital, sitting on your bed, tucked in your warm emerald-green covers, during a peaceful night. You were safe, you were warm, and you were alright – and he was nowhere to be seen.

Furrowing your brows and taking one of your hands to your heart, you started breathing a little more calmly, trying to ground back into reality.

Since the day you two defeated the Hell Puppeteer, you kept having nightmares like that: seeing yourself, watching your feeble hands try – and constantly fail – mending your heart. It was the first time you hinted at giving up, though.

And you wouldn’t lie: you could feel it in your bones, in the stretch of your skin, in the weight of your flesh… You were tired. For so long, you had been fighting and avoiding any kind of help, any kind of relationships, any kind of support. You only had Margie and the Hospital staff – but even then, you wouldn’t allow too much closeness.

There was something missing inside of you. A piece of your heart, your own soul, that needed to be filled. You could try to keep going as much as you wanted, but you knew… Somewhere in the road, your knees would falter and you’d need someone to lean on.

But there was no one. As always, you were alone.

With a deep sigh, you wrapped yourself around your blankets and closed your eyes once more – maybe the warmness of the bed could keep those feelings at bay… At least for the moment.

As you drifted into sleep, right in the lands between, almost awake but with a step in the land of dreams, you could swear you heard a whisper in the wind.

As long as our spirit does not, it does not matter if our bodies give out.

“I’m telling you, he won’t be that difficult to find!” Lady’s voice had a little fun in it as you just rolled your eyes in response.

“He better be nice. If he isn’t, I’m leaving all the work to him.” You had one of your hands in your pocket, standing inside a phone booth, looking out the street during that foggy night. “Honestly, if I didn’t owe you, there would be no job to get me out of bed in a night like this.”

“Well, that serves as a lesson to both of you.” She laughed back as you only sighed in a lack of hope. You would never borrow money from Lady again – that woman was ruthless. “Besides, I’m also workin’ tonight, if that makes you feel better.”

“Yeah, I bet you chose the better job.” Of course, you had to complain.

“Of course I did.” And the way she almost sang the answer back to you made you sure she was winking back. “Ok, remember: white hair, blue eyes, red clothes, black boots, red long coat. There’s no way you’re not gonna recognize him.”

“Yeah, man likes his red, I’ll give him that…” You shook your head, already hearing Lady messing with her guns on the other side of the line. “When this job is done, we’re square, right?”

“Yeah! I’ll keep my word on that! Are you doubting me?”

“No, just checking if we’re on the same page.” You smiled a little. “Have a good hunt tonight, Lady.”

“You too, y/n! Talk to ya later!”

With a deep breath, you hanged up the phone. Stepping outside the phone booth, you kept both of your hands in your black long coat’s pockets, waiting for Lady’s friend to appear.

You had met Lady during a routine job. Both of you were good with motorcycles and, after getting into some trouble with some bikers who tried to know more than both of you in a bar, you and Lady easily kicked their sorry asses. You shared a drink, talked a little bit and, after finding out you were both demon hunters, sometimes you invited each other for some jobs that required more than one hunter.

It was nice, knowing someone like you. Lady had a troubled past as well, and neither of you entered into many details about that. You kept your distance, as much as you wanted to connect – maybe it would be better not getting too attached to people, especially with the kind of job you had.

“Well, well, what is such a fine beauty doing alone here tonight?”

You didn’t even look back at the man who talked to you. He was tall and dark, with some kind of devilish handsomeness to him – but he would not fool you: that scent, it was the scent of a demon.

After some time, you had learned to pick it up – but you could only feel it on the especially foul ones. Those were tricky and dangerous, even for you.

“Nothing that concerns you.” With those words, you finally looked back at him. His dark brunette hair dripped around his face like water, his enchanting eyes doing its best to lure you in; but there was something off with his slippery smile. “Hit the road.”

“It might be dangerous for someone like you to be outside in the dark.” He wasn’t fazed by your sharp words, offering his hand in return. “There’s a club nearby. Come, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“You may have heard them the first time.” Another voice cut the man’s words in half. He turned around and you looked over the man’s shoulders – finding a tall figure standing behind him, quite relaxed, but with a sharp set of sky-blue eyes underneath his silver hair. “Hit the road.”

You allowed a small smile to cover your lips. Red clothes, black boots, red coat. Indeed, you couldn’t mistake Lady’s friend with anyone else in this world.

The man tried to win a stare contest, but he soon averted the gaze of Lady’s friend. Mumbling something you couldn’t quite understand, he kept walking down the street, faster than you imagined he would. After a few seconds, you looked back at the man standing in front of you – sporting a smart smile on his playful lips.

“You’re Lady’s friend, right?” You finally asked and he nodded in return.

“You’re deep in debt with her too, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say deep in debt. It was a one-time thing.” You pointed out, picking up a big black case on the ground by your side and walking alongside him. You noticed he carried a guitar case on his back, which made you giggle to yourself. “How about you?”

“I’m pretty doomed. The woman has no mercy.”

“If she ever gets tired of being a hunter, she could easily become a loan shark.” Your remark made him laugh a bit – not too loud: you didn’t want to make the man who talked to you earlier realize you were following him.

After all, you had to know where that club was.

“Well, she certainly has the talent to do so.” He glanced back at you, slowly taking in your appearance. Human, yes, but cold. Almost like someone he knew. “I’m Dante.”

“I’m y/n.” You didn’t seem to realize he was watching, though. “She briefed you on this, right?”

“Yeah. People go missin’ after a mysterious man picks them up on the streets, probably offering them something.” Dante sighed as if he had heard it a thousand times. “They always seem like happy couples, until the people go missin’, never to be seen again.”

“Yeah. I think you helped me dodge a bullet with that one.” You discretely pointed at the man walking in the distance, who seemed to be looking for something… Hunting.

“Always glad to be of help.” He joked back, adjusting the guitar case he carried on his back. “Did you bring your work stuff?”

“Yes. Right here.” You raised the case you carried, showing him the careful silver embroidery. You had learned that with Margie and, as she got older, she enjoyed embroidering your clothing as she rested on her chair. “I guess we stole each other’s ideas.”

“Huh, guess we did.” Dante glanced quickly at his guitar case. “What’s yours, though? I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“It’s a cello case. They’re sturdy and can carry a good number of things.” You smiled back, seeing as he raised his brows. “I don’t play cello, though. Can you play the guitar?”

“Eh…” Dante shrugged, dismissing your question. You didn’t know if it was because he didn’t know how to play it or if he didn’t believe he could play well.

He did know a thing or two, though. When he was younger, Dante would sit with an old guitar with some broken strings and try to play the songs he heard on his favorite records. He would never say he knew how to play the guitar, because he never learned it properly – but he did know enough to have his fun. And that was enough for him.

“Hey, look.” He nodded towards the man in front of you, turning your attention back to the mission at hand.

The man talked to another man on the street – a young guy who looked like he had been stood up by his date around a bar. The man offered him his coat, which the guy accepted with a dazzled smile – demons could be quite alluring, especially to unsuspecting humans.

The man offered his hand – and the guy took it. They entangled their arms and started walking on the street, talking as if they were a long-wedded couple. You and Dante just exchanged looks and followed them without a word: sewing through streets and dark alleys, your steps took you to a set of dimly lit stairs on another pathway, leading to a door with a small pink neon sign above it.

The Devil’s Den.

“Huh, who would’ve known. Demons got sense of humor.” Dante mumbled back to you, making you muffle a giggle while the man and his doomed date exchanged a few words at the door and were allowed into The Devil’s Den.

“So… What do you think? A strip club?”

“Well, they should’ve known the Love Planet is the best place in town.” Dante took a deep breath, looking back at you. “Ready to get to work?”

“Always.” Your words were sharp and certain, a little cold even. Dante furrowed his brows, as he recognized something inside you he thought he had lost forever.

Keeping those thoughts for some other time, Dante put one of his arms around your shoulders and both of you went down the stairs in the shady alley, towards the doors of The Devil’s Den.

Three knocks, followed by two fast ones. You heard the man doing that and it worked: the doors opened, but another man stood before you – ready to get rid of any inconveniences in the club.

“I have never seen your faces before. Are you new…?”

“We’re here to play tonight.” Dante kept his serious expression, but held the man’s gaze with no issue. Once again, it was a stare contest the other one was doomed to fail from the start: Dante apparently had an ungodly way of breaking demons with just one look.

Like someone else you met, a long, long time ago.

“Hmmm…” The man looked at both of your instrument cases, apparently somewhat convinced. “Who hired you?”

“John. You can ask him if you want to, but he is going to be furious if his main act tonight gets delayed by security.” You added with a slight nonchalant tone, but the threat cutting like a sharp blade.

The man seemed to shiver right away. Stepping aside, he showed you the way inside the club.

“Apologies. Welcome to The Devil’s Den.”

“Thank you.” You had a convinced smile on your lips and the posture of a royal as you walked in, still protected by Dante’s arm.

“Who’s John…?” Dante finally asked as you were far enough for the man not to hear you.

“I have no idea. I just threw a common name in and just went with it.” You mumbled back, making him laugh for the first time that night.

“Now that was a good one!” He pulled you closer, though: that place reeked of demons and, if he was right, you were one of the very few humans in there that night. “I’m definitely gonna steal that!”

“Be my guest.” You hummed a laugh in return, scanning the club.

Indeed, when the fight began… It was going to be showtime.

To be continued...

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sinqrowithascythe · 3 years

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Torn Families, a RWBY story

Hello there! it has been a few days now and the story is ready, so here it is!

Just a warning first though, this story does feature gore, character deaths and angst.

Everyone had their reasons for attending Beacon academy, and most would tell you without so much as a second thought.

“As a girl, I wanted to be just like those heroes in the story books... Someone who fought for what was right, and protected people who couldn't protect themselves!” Ruby Rose, 15yr old combat prodigy and leader of team RWBY.

Others, however, aren’t as comfortable in disclosing the truth about their circumstances, like: The beautiful, yet closed off Blake Belladonna, Faunus in hiding and secret Ex-White Fang agent.

“The White Fang is hardly a bunch of psychopaths. They're a collection of misguided Faunus.”

Most would assume that this is where the list ends, but there is another. A third option, or category, where they’ve been truthful but they just haven’t shared the full truth.

This is where the scraggly hero of our fable is found.

When asked for the reasons behind which Jaune Arc has strived to be a Hunter and train in Beacon (which is a regular occurrence among the student body, it’s pretty obvious why), our bumbling blonde will reply with something along the lines of “To become a hero” …. “To become a great Hunter, like the warriors in my family” or “To help people” which is true….

But…there’s more to it, there always is.

Rarely does someone ever question the reason he chose this path or after any event that led to such a decision, but it does happen occasionally. Some of the first conversations with his friends and even Ms. Goodwitch herself raised the question, with Jaune himself being quick to dismiss it or just repeat himself. Forcing the subject to be left alone question, with, replacing the young Arcs would-be interrogators interests with dissatisfaction and a quick change of topic. This is where the truth remains hidden, a burden laid heavily on our young Knight’s shoulders, where he intends to keep them.

But that wouldn’t make an interesting story, so here we go!

This tale sheds light upon that which our very own Jaune Arc would keep hidden, partially for the sake of his friends, but also to keep Jaune from crying himself to sleep… again…

Long before Jaune was launched from the school’s cliff faces into the emerald forests or the acquisition of his “Vomit Boy” moniker, as courtesy of Yang, the Arc found a burning resolve to fight the creatures of Grimm and protect those who could not protect themselves that rivalled the very star he stood under.

The Arc family estate was a large, dark brick house held deep within a forest, found on an island located beyond the western coast of Sanus. Close enough to still be considered a part of the kingdom, but also far enough for people to be left in relative peace from large city environments, bandits and any extremely dangerous Grimm.

Here, the Arc family lived and prospered, laughed and loved for days and years on end, with the only real worries being the evil bath times and dreaded bedtimes, family’s patriarch receiving minor wounds from guarding the small island village (But everyone just said he looked cooler anyway, so it’s a win!) or the sisters engaging into yet another fight over something that seemed to shake the very foundations of reality to them at the time.

“That’s MY hairbrush!!”

“You have, like, 10, just let me borrow this one!”

The house was run by the matriarch and the eldest of the sisters when their father was away, keeping Grimm from presenting danger to the village where they lived. The younger sisters and Jaune often played their days away, when their mother wasn’t home schooling them in the study where she spent most of her time, even outside the education of her children.

One sunny, beautiful day, with the sun was streaming through the leaves and trees and bringing light and life to all the woodland, waking to every insect, animal and plant found within, this family would be shattered.

The green glow of the forest created a feeling similar to a protective aura of warmth and protection. Here, the four youngest Arcs find themselves running past all manner of compassionate and cool streams with looming, yet comforting trees, hiding amidst the natural playground formed by the rocks of landslides long past and prickly piles of twigs that once held strong to their larger companions. The day was not unlike any other the children had been allowed to previously play in, perfect.

The juvenile Arcs were playing their usual rounds of “Hide and Seek” or “Tag” or some of their own invention, when the eldest of the assembled four found an oddity, one which had never caught her attention before. The Arc estate held no boundaries, save the forest itself as it was separated by a long stripe of a field before another forest began, not five meters away from their own, yet the children had never travelled, nor noticed this odd circular emptiness beyond their own patch of trees. “Yeah, that is weird” The three younger members of the Arc clan agreed, “Let’s try playing in that other forest! I bet there’ll be even better hiding spots and even bigger trees to play in!”

And so, they did just that.

Back at the Arc family homestead

The eldest four daughters of the house were treated to a rather large shock while preparing lunch as their mother had, seemingly from no-where, screeched “NOO!” like a banshee might and flung herself out of her chair, falling to their kitchen floor. You see, Jaune’s mother was paralysed, on the account that after her thighs reached halfway down, they were missing, an incident that predated Jaune’s memory and of which she refused to speak, hoping she never had to tell her children and shatter their innocence. And though it placed her within a wheel chair that stopped her from performing the tasks that the oldest of the Arc spawn find themselves occupied with most days, her smile was as radiant and genuine as when her first child was born, finding real purpose in her role as a mother.

Each did their best to help their fallen mother, only to be thrown aside, much harder than they even knew their mother could push. “One of you, run to the village wall as fast as you can, find your father, tell him that Jaune and the triplets have left the stave!”

“Why?” “What does that mean?” “Huh?” Each questioned, their faces twisted with confusion and fear.

“Just GO! Right now! We don’t have time!” The oldest among the females of the home all but roared at her children, her terror evident on her face, scaring the 4 younger women. Pushing her fear aside, the eldest to ran out the door and sprinted down the trail into the town, where the guard and her father stood vigilantly, while her younger two sisters helped their mother back into her chair and checked to see what had happened.

“Mom, what’s happening?” “You scared us” “Why’d you tell Saph to get dad?”

“I’m fine, but your siblings are in danger…”

“How? We thought they were playing outside” “Yeah, they play in the forest every day! Why’s it so dangerous all of a sudden?”

“Hmmmmm…. The forest that surrounds the house is… special, you’ve seen how there’s something of a circle-like-field around the house cutting us of from the rest of the woods?” She questioned, obviously impatient and uncomfortable, much to the dismay of her daughters, never before seeing her so scared in their lives.

“Yeah” “uh-huh” They replied in kind.

“Well, your mother has a special power and can sense, and almost see, what happens in this circle, if you can imagine” Chuckling the last part, the nerves still very present in her voice. “Normally, your siblings always play in this circle, where it’s safe and where I can see them, but, because we live so far from town the woods next to ours can be filled with scary, dangerous creatures. I don’t know why, but, the triplets and Jaune have wandered into that forest and your father needs to find them, before something bad can happen.” looking away through the kitchen window, into the picturesque scene of the serene forest outside.

Meanwhile, Jaune and his elder sisters were playing a renewed game of tag in their new playground, their eldest sister rushing for her father, while the three under her found comfort in their mother, as a new found fear grew for their youngest sibling’s lives. This new version of tag involved a “Strength in Numbers” strategy, where the title of tag didn’t pass on to another player after contact, but spread so that the match only ended when everyone was ‘it’, basically creating two teams of ever-growing chasers and continually dwindling chase-ies.

Jaune, despite taking part and enjoying himself immensely in the game, found himself growing rather nervous, as he could have sworn, he had heard his mother mention not to go into the forest beyond their own at some point before, but none of his sisters could remember and said he just imagined it. Which inevitably led to them teasing him and saying he was a “Scaredy cat!” which, to a seven-year-old boy, was an offence of the highest order. So, with new resolve and determination, Jaune played with his sisters in the forest, running deeper and deeper into the unknown woods, finding a new and magical parts of the surrounding nature with each new game.

Nothing, it seemed, could go wrong for out four young Arcs, however, we all know what follows these kinds of observations.

The fight had started as nothing more than a simple debate. “I SO DID tag you!”

“Nu-uh! You only got my dress!”

“Did not! I tapped your shoulder! You’re it too now!” “Nu-uh” “So, too!”

This repeated for a few minutes, the two eldest of the triplets bickered back and forth until…

“Jaune!” Both shouted in unison, the fire in their eyes and voices startling the poor boy “Y-yeah?” His anxiety growing, as each girl looked ready to throttle one another all the way home.

“I totally got her, right!?” “No, she sooo missed me, you saw right!?”

“Uhhh…” Was his only response. Truth be told, Jaune hadn’t seen the incident in question, he was too busy trying not to get caught himself, he only came up to them when he saw they were fighting again, wanting to help.

“C’mon! I’m fine, right!?” “No, I definitely caught her!”

Jaune was not comfortable in this situation. In fact, he was scared, scared that his sisters were fighting and felt useless that he couldn’t do anything about it. This is until an idea came across his mind.

“What about Rock, Paper, Scisso-!” “AAAGGGHHH!!!” The high, piercing wail that blocked Jaune’s solution had come as a shock to everyone. They were all frozen in place, the fear and pain that filled that scream had turned them all to stone. And a sudden realization donned upon Jaune, one that only seemed to strengthen the anxiety currently lacing his blood.

“W-w-wait, th-there’s only three of u-us here…” Upon a quick count, they found that they were, indeed, one sibling short. “The scream must have come from her! We have to find her, she’s in trouble!”

“Maybe she just found a big spider! She’s terrified of them!” The oldest of the group stated, a fact which was well known within the Arc household.

“We just have to find her and get her away from wherever she found it!” The younger of the girls offered. This conclusion helped each of them relax, as spiders were the most dangerous of the creatures that they knew to inhabit the forests that surround their home. It brought them comfort, but they weren’t in their woodlands anymore.

They moved quickly towards the origin of their sister’s scream, until they unfortunately found her.

In a small secluded area of the forest, a clearing in the trees where the river widened considerably and was surrounded by large stones that easily dwarf the giant that was their father (as far as they were concerned), where the sun seemed to shine atop the water so bright that you could swear it was fragmented like the moon and resided in the river itself. This was where they found her.

However, the beauty of nature wasn’t what made them stop, nor was it the sight of their sister happily frolicking in the water after overcoming her original fear and relief flooding the trio of loving family members. No, it was the exact opposite to all those beautiful and much more preferable sights (Hell, they’d prefer to have found a spider, really).

What stood in the clearing, over their sister, was a monster.

A monster so dark, it made the moonless night sky seem bright. With markings so red, the blood that splattered its maw seemed pale by comparison. All of this packed onto a fur-skinned nightmare product between man and wolf. And their sister… stuck underneath.

No, stuck wasn’t the right word.

The creature didn’t hold her down, it didn’t need too, the girl below it simply couldn’t move. She was missing large chunks of her little body. They could see her shoe on the other side of the clearing, her foot still occupying it. A few feet from her there was some bloody assortment of meat, maybe something from inside, no-one could tell. Her neck had also seemed to disappear and had replaced itself with bloody chunks of something.

Each child, each one that still had a beating heart, remained completely still. No movement, no thought and no emotion, still enough were to make a statue jealous. The shock they felt was all they could feel, their brains refusing to process the sight before them. The first to break free of the paralysing chains holding his mind was Jaune, still looking into the large, half lidded and dull eyes of his older sister. The eyes that had once been so full of colour and everything right with the world, Jaune had found comfort and happiness in those eyes’ countless times before, being the two youngest of the family had created a close and tight bond between the two. And now, they laid in the red, stained grass, upside-down, staring at him with nothing, endless nothing, a perfect void, drained of any and all life.

Fear and sadness welled within Jaune, faster than the tears that had decided to occupy his eyes could, with his sister’s emotions following in turn.

The negativity had come crashing out of them in waves, comparable to a landslide, only cursing them further. This alerted the creature, its posture bolting upright slouching over the corpse of the young girl turned lunch. It turned at the waist, revealing just how long its arms really were, easily twice Jaune himself, each one holding a different end of the girl’s right arm. What was most terrifying was its canine-shaped head. The lupine resemblance almost uncanny, the bloody maul full of teeth as long as it’s claws and wet with a liquid that Jaune tried his best to forget the source of. The ears atop the skull of the creature pointed toward the sky, looked sharp and swivelled around, until stopping, pointed at the children.

What scared them the most were its eyes, the cold, harsh eyes that were the antithesis of its prey. Where the girl’s eyes had been full of life, joy and hope, the creature’s own orbs reflected hate, despair and death. It’s fitting really, that the eyes of love and hope had been filled with the deepest and most alluring of azure blues and the ones that killed them were as red and terrifying as hell itself would be.

The creature dropped its piece of lunch on top of the rest of its forgotten meal and lowered itself onto all fours, its impossibly long arms stretched forwards and its rear in the sky behind it, as a low yet rumbling growl escaped from between its teeth. Now, instead of pure shock rooting our children to the ground, it was the very fear and anxiety that told the beast they were there. And, in the space it took for Jaune let go of the breath his fear forced him to hold, the creature pounced.

In the few precious seconds, it took for Jaune to turn and push his sisters, the nightmare before then had covered the distance between them and stood right behind Jaune. This registered for Jaune as three large, ragged, diagonal cuts in his tiny back. Falling into the grass of the forest, quickly watching the green around him fill with his own red.

The creature ran after the girls, desperately attempting to flee, knowing its second victim had no chance of moving now. The two remaining girls were screaming and running, terrified of the lupine monstrosity behind them, not knowing that the very fear fuelling their escape them was exactly what made them even more delicious prey.

Jaune watched from his position, chin first in the dirt, as the beast caught up to them and doubled their pace, springing forward and turning to face his sisters, seeing the very same claw that had Jaune glued to the ground tear one of them in half, before she could even stop running. Her pieces staining the grass red in front of her remaining sister. The final sibling came to a stop before the stalking nightmare. Sobbing messily, she looked up from her tattered sister into the eyes of the monster that killed some of the best people in her life and seemingly paralysed her only brother. She began to beg, praying to the brother gods that, by some miracle, some stretch of the universe, that she would survive and make it home to her loving mother, sisters and father.

Her prayers and begs fell upon deaf ears as the beast shot forward, grabbed her temples between the daggers that made up its teeth and separated the top half of her head, sounding off with a sickening crunch mixed with a strangled cry of pain and torment.

And just dropped her body to the ground, discarding her like a toddler drops a toy they’re bored with.

Jaune watched the entire scene in front of him, unable to move or even think, terrified beyond all action or comprehensible thought, not that the he would have been able to move anyway, as the creature made its way closer to him, no longer moving in leaps or flashes, but walking, as its prey was rendered immobile by the large injury in its back. Jaune closed his eyes, tightening them as he braced for the pain he knew was coming, just as it had come for his sisters.

Jaune was so focused on biting back anything he felt and so drowned in his own fear and blood, that he didn’t hear the gut-wrenching scream of agony and desperate sorrow. Nor did he hear the heavy foot falls as something approached him and the beast, racing from elsewhere. What he did hear was the sound of his father’s shield deflecting the bloodstained claws, he heard and watched as his father, blinded by pure animosity and heartache forced the creature of death back and, eventually, decapitate it. In that moment, time had seemed to freeze, Jaune saw the fury and heartbreak on his father’s face, twisted into a cruel grimace, the image burned into his memory, alongside the corpses of his sisters.

Time only began to move again as Jaune’s father let out another cry, louder than all his previous screams, as he began to hack, slash and break any part of the Grimm before him, only stopping when its corpse had fully dissipated, as all Grimm do.

Only then did his father stop, drop his weapons and fall to his knees, weeping at the loss of his four youngest children, screaming and sobbing with his face in the dirt, almost seeming to burrow into it, wanting to find the blood of his children. Jaune watched as his father broke apart, small pieces at a time, tears flowing down his face, almost unending. But, as all things must ends, so too did the tears, sniffles and sobs of the town guard, his face steeled into a grimace of loss and sorrow, the piece of himself being replaced with a resolve, a vow to return his children to their home and never let thing happen again.

The Patriarch of the Arc family stood to survey the damage done to his blood. And here he froze, seeing the unsteady rising and falling of his son’s chest, missing pieces being filled properly again as new tears of joy and relief flood the father’s features. Sprinting to the wounded boy’s side, screaming his name and asking question he already knew the answer to, Jaune’s father dropped to his knees once again, but this time to help his damaged son, searching himself and the land around for any way to comfortably bring his son home. With the frantic search proving to be utterly fruitless, he simply, yet gently, picked Jaune from the ground and placed him on his unarmed shoulder.

Jaune’s father began the trek back to the family home, creating false promises, repeating apologies and crying, for the duration of the trip, moving as fast as possible, without causing the silent boy on his shoulder any more pain that what was already silencing him.

Jaune, however, heard none of these promises, “sorry” ‘s or sobs, only seeing the gleaming, blood-spattered shield, collapsed around the sword at his father’s hip, only able to focus on the warmth his father spread and the thought “That would have been useful” while staring at the blade’s handle, before the pain took his consciousness from him.

Jaune spent the next few days drifting to and from the conscious world.

He knew that he had been taken home, he remembered hearing gasps and cries upon his return, pain from the dressing of his wounds and more crying. Curiously enough, he also heard shouting, which would be normal enough in a house of ten... now seven. But this was different, most shouting normally came from his sisters, arguing about one thing or another or when his parents needed to discipline them, these bouts of shouting, however, came from his parents. They seemed to be arguing over something called “aura…?” Jaune wasn’t sure what if was or even if it was a word, but he did hear his mother scream “I CAN’T LET WHAT HAPPENED TO ME HAPPEN TO THEM, ESPECIALLY HIM!!” To which his father pleaded. “CAN’T YOU SEE IT ALREADY HAS, WE CAN’T LEAVE HIS LIFE IN DANGER JUST BECAUSE YOU FEEL HE SHOULDN’T KNOW ABOUT YOUR PAST OR THR WORLD!!” This is where the screaming stopped, hearing only loud and quiet sobbing and whispering coming from wherever the shouting had. All he really knew was that it scared him.

Jaune also remembered a doctor coming from town once or twice during those days. It was probably more, but he couldn’t stay awake half the time, what with the pain in his back knocking him out every few minutes after he woke.

It wasn’t until a week and a half had passed since the deaths of his family members that Jaune regained consciousness properly. He awoke to the tearstained face of his mother, the tears seeming to have cut long furrows down her face. She almost squealed with joy upon being woken up by her son trying to brush the tears from her face, the pure elation of her son being alive and awake causing more water to leaks from her eyes.

When the rest of Jaune’s remaining family burst into the room, each had similar reactions upon seeing his mother hugging him gently, with him awake this time. Which was then preceded by the inevitable questions, Jaune explaining everything, each detail clear in his mind, when the tears from his own eyes didn’t impede his speech as the emotions finally caught up to him. Often his family sat together for hours at a time, waiting for Jaune to finish crying before he continued.

No harsh accusations followed his tale, nor any blame, simply hugs, tears and promises from his family.

After that day the house flowed back into normalcy, albeit quieter, until three full years had finally passed. The wounds Jaune had received were not lethal nor debilitating, the claws not digging deep enough and missing anything important along his spine, “a small miracle!” The town doctor had claimed.

The town’s people had helped organise and set up, even pay for the funerals. Everyone knew the Arc children and none showed any particular hatred, only the same small loving-malice that followed mischievous children’s pranks and activities. Any and all real hate was directed towards the Grimm that resided in the forest, evident by the furious stares many levelled towards the trees beyond thew village walls.

Eventually, the dull gleam that seemed to cover the eyes of each family member, the same gleam that held the stars and oceans contained within their eyes at bay, disappeared as they could finally move on.

But, never forgetting.

Whenever the children played, they were always supervised, never left alone. Their father had managed a change in occupation and now worked from home as a writer of sorts. Their mother had grown more possessive of her family and Jaune’s elder sisters followed this attitude when it came to him, never letting him be by himself. At first, Jaune was okay with this, even feeling happy and safe from this caged lifestyle due to having seen the reason for its inception.

However, this did not last. Whenever Jaune had asked about the creature, his father only bitterly replied to ask his mother, to which she would say “an evil creature, but, as long as you stay here, you’ll be safe and not have to worry about it”. This never sated Jaune’s mind, but, was the only definition either parent would ever give him. When Jaune would ask to be trained like his father, to protect and kill the “Evil creatures” in the forest, his mother would shoot the idea down in the exact same way, forever denying combat to her remaining children. On this, his parents agreed and Jaune began to lose his feeling of comfort in his protective cage.

Jaune would eventually learn more of his family’s legacy through omitted records of their deeds in the study and from stories his mother told her children and discovers his own drive to become one of the Arc heroes, prompting him to become a Huntsman, despite his great lack of knowledge on the topic (What’s worse is that he doesn’t know just how much he doesn’t know about it).

He finds a way into Beacon and creates some of the best memories he’s ever had, the best friends he’s ever had and even a new family.

And everything happens as we know it will. Friendship. Growth. Happiness. Accomplishment. The Fall. And new beginnings.

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

Hiya again!

thank you for reading my first actual piece of RWBY fanfiction. I made this concept up a few years ago, back when I was (possibly) obsessed with why Jaune knew so little of the world around him, despite a lot of it being vital to being a Huntsmen, So i wrote this little number (I don't know why i made it so dark of a story, but eh).

After rediscovering it, I thought I'd fix it up and post it here and thus, here we are indeed.

I know this doesn't answer how he got into Beacon, but that's not the point of the story in the first place. Please leave any notes of criticism, I'd really love to hear what you though about my story

Anyway, Thank you so very much for reading my work.

#jaune arc rwby #jaune arc #rwby #arc #arc family #hurt #death #gore #saphron cotta arc #saphron arc #comfort #fanfic #fanfiction #dark

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rhubarbbaby · 4 years

Text

Strawberries and Art 3

Jihoon x Y/N

Genre: College AU, Fluff Word Count: 5k Summary: Like every passionate art student, you spent most of your time immersed in your drawings and paintings. The day you meet Jihoon, your everyday life suddenly gets a lot more exciting…

All chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Chapter 3

You woke up to the exaggeratedly loud chirping of a bird that seemed to be sitting right on your window sill. What was it even doing there? Rude. Rolling to your side, the first rays of sunshine fell onto your face. Not wanting to open your eyes just yet you let the warmth linger on your face. As your consciousness slowly tore itself free from the claws of the dreams, you wouldn´t be able to remember in a second, you realized you were still wearing the jeans from last night. Last night…Last night…Jihoon. Suddenly everything that happened hit you like bricks.

Did Jihoon really walk you home? Had he really held your hand? For a moment you thought you were messing up remaining pieces of your dreams with reality but then you remembered the text he had sent you before you fell asleep. Prying your eyes open you looked at your phone. The text was still there, staring back at you, still unanswered. (You also had 4 unread messages from Jo but you couldn´t care less right now)

Unknown: I just got home. Goodnight, Sweetie. Don´t forget to drink lots of water!

Sweetie. You knew you wouldn´t be getting used to that soon. When he had called you Sweetie last night you felt so taken aback because maybe for the first time in your life, you had enjoyed a guy calling you by a pet name. He had sounded so honest, in a certain way even serious, he had sounded so different from all those boys who were calling girls by all those sickly sweet things just to get into their pants, belittling them in the process. He had been so incredibly considerate. The way his voice had seemed to have gotten a tad bit deeper when saying it, the way you could practically hear him smirking, it was sheer impossible getting used to something like that.

After you had saved his contact you stared at your phone. Simply seeing his name on your screen made your heart, not jump, but it did make a distinct little hop. With a big sigh you let yourself fall back onto your mattress. What crazy ass romantic movie parallel universe have you stumbled into? Meeting a guy you were interested in, was already a rare occurrence. But meeting a guy you were interested in, who was also showing interest in you (AND CALLED YOU SWEETIE) was something that only happened once in a blue moon.

You knew you had to send him a reply. It didn´t help that you were reading his message over and over again, hearing his voice in your head. You needed to focus. Just because you didn´t have to look him in the eyes, and didn´t have to actually form words with your mouth, just because you simply had to type it, you did only spend about 5 minutes coming up with a (you hoped) funny text.

You: Hey! I fell asleep yesterday. With my clothes still on! Like I actually wore jeans to sleep. That´s like fucked up. Anyways, thank you for texting me :) I had so much fun last night.

After hitting send you instantly threw your phone onto your bed. You were scared of him answering right away. Scared but also excited but also scared. Giggling to yourself because you were aware of how dramatic you were handling the entire situation you decided to get up and start with your day. It was only eight and you made an agreement with yourself not to think about him until after breakfast because having a crush on a (extremely beautiful and funny and handsome and hot) boy who you had just met two days ago was ridiculous, or so you told yourself. Taking a shower, brushing your teeth, putting on clean clothes… your undertaking was going well, you hadn´t thought of him, at least not directly. You had thought of not thinking about him…and you counted that as a win. During breakfast you decided to check Jo´s messages.

Jo: Did you use condoms??

Jo: Did you get home safely?

Jo: Is he staying over?

Jo: Are you ok?

You couldn´t help but laugh at how excited she was about the whole situation. She probably had been annoying Hansol with it all evening. Poor man.

You: Yup I got home very safely. And no he didn´t stay over.

You: We had so much fun tho.

You: Did you get home safely?

She answered within two minutes.

Jo: Don´t you dare make this about me. I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING.

Jo: Did you kiss?

You: No we didn´t. But we held hands.

Jo: CUTE. When will you see him again?

You: I don´t know yet. I hope soon.

Jo: I hope so too. I´m already planning the marriage.

You: omg stop it…LOL

Just after you had hit send, you felt your phone vibrate with a new text. Of course it was from Jihoon. Without an ounce of hesitation you practically threw your phone next to you on the couch. You did not want to look at it. Actually, you did. But you needed to physically prepare yourself for reading what he had messaged you. You could feel your heart oh so clearly in your chest. How ridiculous it was that you reacted this way just because of a goddamn text…Calm down. You took a deep breath in and out.

Before reading his new message (and it wasn´t just one!!!! There were three of them) you reread what you had last written.

You: Hey! I fell asleep yesterday. With my clothes still on! Like I actually wore jeans to sleep. That´s like fucked up. Anyways, thank you for texting me :) I had so much fun last night.

Deep breath in. And out.

Jihoon: Hahahahaha yes Y/N, that is fucked up.

Jihoon: But I´m pretty sure you still looked cute.

Jihoon: You wanna get lunch tomorrow after class?

HOLY FUCK. This was real. You just got asked on a date by one of the most beautiful boys you had ever seen. Yes, you had already held hands yesterday, but there had been alcohol involved and people do a lot of things when they´re drunk. But all of your past overthinking just turned out to have been utterly pointless because Jihoon wanted to see you again. And he had called you cute. Your entire face was burning and your stomach seemed to do some weird gymnastic exercises.

You did not have to think long before typing your answer.

You: I´d love that :)

Jihoon: Awesome. I´ll show you my favorite place.

He actually wanted to show you his favorite place. Your heart was still beating way too fast and the blush on your face was still very visible but at the same time you felt a calming warmth spread through your stomach. You remembered you had felt so comfortable talking to him last night and for some dumb cliché romantic movie reason you felt like you had already known him for years. And now he wanted to show you his favorite place. That was a big hell of a deal. You couldn´t stop smiling.

After dumbly grinning at the ceiling for several seconds you scolded yourself. You couldn´t just be lying around all day daydreaming about a boy. Sighing you remembered that today, you had to finally start with your portrait assignment. It was already due on Wednesday. You needed it to be good. Your professor was very supportive and had been pushing you to become better. Disappointing her was the last thing you wanted to do. But you didn´t even know who you wanted to draw yet…some random celebrity was just boring…a family member maybe? But you had all drawn them before already. Burying your face in your hands you sat on your couch. After about fifteen minutes you reluctantly started sketching your mother´s face. You´ve drawn her face so many times already, it was nothing special. You weren´t satisfied with your choice at all but you couldn´t think of someone better at the moment.

When you realized it was already getting dark outside you stared down at the lines you had been working on for basically the entire day. You didn´t like it. Far back in your head you knew that other people would label your work as good, maybe even great, but you just couldn´t bring yourself to like it. The facial features you were trying to portrait just didn´t seem right to you. You only had so many good pictures of your mother and remembering every single wrinkle and mark on her face was harder than you thought. The way the lines were flowing over the paper didn´t look right, it didn´t look like you had drawn them. You were aware that every artist had days like this, but the deadline was next week and you simply didn´t have the time to start over. Also you had a date tomorrow. How the fuck were you going to survive the next days?

Before going to bed you forced yourself to lay out the clothes you wanted to wear for tomorrow. You weren´t exactly a morning person and you knew you´d panic if you had to find an outfit to wear right after waking up. An outfit Jihoon was going to see you in…

You fell asleep thinking of tomorrow, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation making your stomach feel weird.

The first thing you did, after waking up the next day, was to check your phone:

Jihoon: You still up for lunch today?

Jihoon: 1pm in front of the arts building?

You: I´ll be there!

After having typed an answer, you got dressed, grabbed all your things and left your apartment. You weren´t one of those people who got up an hour earlier to do yoga or whatever bullshit normal people do in the morning. Every day you woke up only twenty minutes before your first lecture started. Every single second of sleep counted.

While you were walking you got a message from Jo.

Jo: You up for breakfast after the second lesson? You need to tell me everything!!!!

You knew she was probably already dying from curiosity. She was too nosy for her own good. But you had mercy.

You: Sure!

You were actually looking forward to telling Jo everything. You still couldn´t believe what had happened yourself, maybe it would become more real through finally saying everything out loud. Your first two lessons you spent listening to the professor talk about Paul Cézanne and, for some reason, reciting every last unnecessary detail of his private life. You decided that the only important piece of information from this lecture was that some of Cézanne´s landscape paintings were sort of pretty.

When you finally sunk down in the chair opposite of Jo´s you were already grinning. You simply could not wait for her reaction to everything. She immediately leaned forward while leaning on her elbows. “Start already” “Oh my god. Can´t I just relax for a second.” “NO.” You had to giggle at her urgency. “Alright, alright…”

After you had told her everything, from the long talk the two of you had had, over the way he had made you blush continuously, to when he had walked you home and had given you his phone number she just said, “That´s so unbearably cute and romantic it´s disgusting.” You couldn´t help but laugh out loud at her remark. “You two are so sickeningly romantic I wanna die. Why can´t you be as cool as me and Hansol?” she was grinning. “First of all, we´re not a couple and second of all, you two are at least as disgusting!” you were laughing. “You realize mine and Hansol´s first date was when I drank too much and he had to hold my hair while I was throwing up?” “Yeah. I know the story.”, you were still laughing. She continued anyway “And then he drove me home. And he kissed me even though I had just thrown up minutes ago. Ok, now that I think of it, maybe our first date was even more disgusting. I´ll shut up.” Both of your laughter was carried through the entire cafeteria. The other people, who were most likely just trying to have a calm morning were probably already, annoyed by the both of you but you couldn´t care less. “Also. I kinda maybe have a lunch date with him later.” “You´re kidding!!!!!” You just shook your head and smiled. “Oh my god, I´m dying this is the cutest shit. I´m sooo happy for you. Are you nervous?” “So fucking much. But I can´t wait to see him again.”

The rest of your classes passed rather quickly. Not being the biggest fan of auditory learning you were happy about it, but at the same time you couldn´t help getting more nervous every time the hand of the clock on the wall moved. Rationally you knew you were being silly. There was nothing to worry about. You were only going on a date with the most attractive guy you´ve ever seen, who is able to make you blush with just a raise of his eyebrow. There was totally nothing to worry about. Fuck.

When you classes had ended you still had fifteen minutes before you were meeting Jihoon. You were so nervous, your hands were shaking and you didn´t have the faintest clue how you would be able to form a straight sentence later. You slipped through the door into the girl´s bathroom. You washed your hands with cold water while staring at your own face in the mirror. The last time you had spoken to him, you had been drunk, there was no doubt the alcohol had helped you with your anxiety. Today you were on your own. Why did you always have to be so nervous? With one long breath and a last look in the mirror, you were actually happy with how your hair fell today; you pushed yourself away from the sink and made your way to your meeting place.

Through the glass front of the building you could see him standing next to that weird sculpture, which the seniors from last year had designed, in front of the building. He was looking at his phone. Every step you took made you even more nervous (how was that even possible?). How were you going to greet him? Hug him? Shake his hand?? NOoo, what the fuck that´d be way too formal. Why were you thinking bullshit like that? You took a deep breath, put a loose strand of hair behind your ear and opened the door. He still hadn´t seen you.

“Hey.” You called softly, loud enough for him to realize it was meant for him. “Hey you.” He looked up and if you weren´t mistaken, his eyes lit up when he saw you, a sparkle that you were sure you could watch all day. But maybe it was just the sun reflecting in his eyes (it was not). You were now standing in front of him, unsure what to do. He smiled at you; put his phone away in his back pocket and then he pulled you into a hug. Your first hug. And holy fuck, a hug shouldn´t be a big deal but it definitely felt like it. It wasn´t one of those hugs people gave because they thought it was expected of them. His hug was tight and you could actually feel his hands on your back. Jihoon´s embrace was so soft, so affectionate. You actually felt like you were stuck in one of Claude Monet´s paintings. Gentle, colorful, overwhelming, so beautiful, yet realistic and real. You smiled, thinking of that comparison. Neither one of you noticed the students leaving the building smiling at you because the hug was obviously too long for a hug to be considered normal. He felt so warm and safe, and when you wrapped your arms around him even tighter you briefly touched his hair, and goddamn it, it was so soft.

“It´s good to see you again.” He finally mumbled against your shoulder. “You too.” He pulled away and looked at you. He was grinning like a kid in a candy store, his eyes had disappeared and small wrinkles had appeared around his nose. It was absolutely precious. You had no choice but to smile back at him.

“You hungry?” he finally broke the silence. “A bit.” At that moment your stomach growled. (It must´ve been destiny) “A bit? I see…,” he laughed. Your cheeks flushed with a light tone of red. “Come on.” he took your hand, not giving you enough time to be embarrassed about the situation. “Where are we going?” you asked. “I promised I´d show you my favorite place.” He gently started pulling you away from the building while still looking at you, smiling. Your body still felt like there was electricity running through your veins and your face must have been still flushed red but it felt so right to hold his hand. You smiled back.

He took you to a little ramen restaurant, close to town. The front door seemed so inconspicuous that you had probably walked past it without noticing it in the past. As the two of you entered he was still holding your hand. He led you through the interior of the restaurant, where some people were already having lunch. You knew you already liked the place when you saw how diverse the clientele was. At one table sat two boys, approximately your age, stuffing their mouths full of Ramen, while at another table two businesswomen seemed to have a heated conversation. Jihoon dragged you past them, and only stopped when you were standing in a small backyard with a few tables of which only one of them was occupied by an elderly couple who were sharing a plate of what looked like Gyoza.

You chose the table for two that was the furthest away from the door and took a seat. On the way here, you had been overly focused on Jihoon, on how tightly he pressed your fingers, how he occasionally stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, the quick glances he threw at you, your undivided attention had been all on him but now that you were sitting here in this absolutely adorable backyard, you allowed your brain to briefly focus your attention on your surroundings. Climbing plants were growing up the wall of the house, carrying small pretty blue blossoms, the blue of the flowers looking especially pretty in front of the beige colored wall plaster. In the corner, where two walls from two different buildings met each other, the blue and beige mixed with a white from the neighboring wall and a light pink of some petals that were growing on bushes that were planted there. The colors alone went so beautifully together you just couldn´t help but stare. When you saw the little clay-figure of a frog in a suit sitting on the ground, as if he had to guard those bushes, you had to giggle.

“What is it?” Jihoon interrupted your thoughts. He was beaming at you as if you had just found the cure for cancer. You couldn´t have known it, of course, but Jihoon would´ve been able to watch you look at those flowers for hours on end. He was sure the way your eyes started to sparkle when looking at something beautiful was the cutest thing he had ever seen in his entire life.

“Nothing really. It´s just, that frog there looks so adorable.” “What frog?” he turned his head to look at the figure himself and then continued “Oh that frog. That´s just Ferdinand.” As you were laughing at his remark, he smiled fondly at you, proud of himself for being the one bringing those sounds out of you. “Ferdinand? You serious?” you grinned, finally having caught your breath again. “Yep. He´s like my best buddy. We always have very interesting conversations whenever I come here.” “Ferdinand does seem like an intellectual to me, I bet your talks are always incredibly exciting.” At that Jihoon joined your laughter. His laughter reminded you of vacation, of secluded beaches, of evening sun, of a loaded ice cream cone, of not worrying. “Can I tell you something.” you already knew from the tone in his voice that he wasn´t going to say anything serious. “Always.” “I don´t even know Ferdinand. This is the first time I noticed him. We´re basically strangers. Hell, I don´t even know if his name is Ferdinand.” Your stomach already hurt from laughter while you held your hand in front of your mouth, trying not to laugh out loud again. “Jihoon, you are so silly.” “Oh, I know sweetie, I know.” he smiled knowingly, almost cocky as he leaned back into his chair and locked his arms behind the back of his head. You were still laughing but you had no choice but being You stunned over how easily he could go from being the sweetest and cutest human being to making you blush like crazy. It was simply not fair.

“So tell me, how was your day?” he came to your rescue. He was still smiling, enjoying the effect he had on you. When you started talking, it took you a few sentences to gain back your confidence and certainty in your voice. Your conversation was light and easy but not at all shallow. He listened to you attentively and even asked for details, you seriously felt like you were telling him the most exciting and fascinating stories he has ever heard. Maybe you really were living in a romantic movie now because he honestly was making you feel like you were the most important girl on earth right now. You only were interrupted by the waiter who quickly took your order. Talking to Jihoon felt so familiar while at the same time not. You did have the feeling of having known him for years, but you also felt like you didn´t know anything about this boy sitting in front of you. Both in a good way. He made you comfortable and curious. And because people who have a crush are blind to some things you wondered if he was feeling the same way about you.

When the waiter had dropped off the two plates of food in front of you, and you both had just taken your first bite, neither of you had to say anything. You even closed your eyes briefly and let out a short sigh. The food really was that good.

“It tastes like heaven, doesn´t it?” he cocked an eyebrow at you. “It really does. How have I never been here, I´ve been missing out on this for so long.” You sighed dramatically which made him grin. “Thank god you met me, huh?” Your gazes met, and although his remark had definitely contained a hint of cockiness, he now looked at you, as gently as if you were the most beautiful, most delicate thing he had ever seen in his life. Looking into his eyes, your heart skipped a beat, and even though you were flustered, you could simply not turn your eyes away. Because, yes, he was right, you were really happy you had met him. “Thank you so much for showing me this place. Seriously.” You finally said, your voice way too hushed to sound confident. “You´re very welcome, Y/N. I´m happy you´re here with me.”

You quickly fell back into a conversation about music. You absolutely loved listening to him talk about his passion. He got so excited talking about his work and when you mentioned that he finally had to show you some of his work, he even got a little shy. As fellow artist you understood the insecurity that came with showing other people personal works. Nothing was more relatable to you than the fear of not being able to convey to other people what you had tried so hard to express through your art, or the fear people wouldn´t even understand your kind of expression. But you also knew that any kind of art is always, in a way, a portrait of the artist himself. And when you were looking at Jihoon, listened to the way he talked, you already knew that his music was going to be just so goddamn beautiful.

The minutes you had spent talking to him had disappeared like the wind carries away seeds from a dandelion clock. The time had gone by so quickly, you hadn´t even realized that the two of you had been talking for over two hours. When the waiter came with your bill, you wanted to grab your wallet, because fuck gender roles but Jihoon was faster. You looked at him aghast, ready to tell him he really should´ve let you pay. The words already on your lips, Jihoon didn´t even let you start “I know, I know”, he held his hands up defensively “You wanted to pay and I´m sorry, well actually I´m not…” he laughed. “You didn´t even give me the time to look at the bill!” you were smiling now too but you still tried to keep your tone at least somewhat serious. “I´m sorry, sweetie.” He took your hand “What if I just let you pay next time?” You felt like the floor had been pulled from under your feet (and you were still sitting on your chair). He really wanted to see you again. You weren´t completely oblivious (only a bit) and you knew the date had been going well, but hearing him say those words was a totally different story. You nodded; he was still smiling at you. “Yes, I can live with that.” Your voice was a bit shaky. “Deal.” He was still holding your hand over the table, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

He shortly looked down before posing his question “Ok so the thing is, I really enjoyed this and I kinda wanna keep talking to you so, do you wanna go for a walk?” And fuck you really really really really wanted to. Like REALLY. But the thought of your portrait assignment made you hesitate. You knew you still had so much work to do, hell you probably had to redo everything you drew yesterday. “I…” you started when he cut you off. “You don´t have to, Y/N. I don´t want to pressure you into anything.” he smiled softly but you could see a tiny bit of disappointment changing his features, he must´ve noticed you were a bit hesitant to answer him.

“No! I´d really love to. I love talking to you too. But I should go home to work on an assignment. It´s due on Wednesday and I´m kinda panicking because I haven´t even really started yet.” You looked down at the table where your hands were intervened. “Oh I get it. What´s the assignment?” “Basically I just need to draw a portrait of someone but I really really want it to be good. I started drawing my mom yesterday but I don´t like it. I think I don´t have enough good photos to draw her realistically and I´m not that great at drawing from memory.” “So you basically need someone to model for you.” You laughed softly, “I guess so.” “Why don´t you draw me then?” he winked at you. You blinked. Once, twice. Had he actually winked at you?? This man was going to be the death of you. Your eyes slightly widened, a blush was creeping up your neck again “You´re kidding.” “I am. Unless…” he was grinning from ear to hear. He really was enjoying your embarrassment way too much. “Also I´d say my face is pretty.” If he wasn´t holding your hand you would´ve tried hiding your face but that wasn´t an option now. “It is.” You stammered. “Did you just call me pretty?” he smirked. That was the last straw. You couldn´t take it anymore. You pulled your hand out of his grasp and hid your blushing face. “Maybe.” “I see. But I do think your face is even prettier.” He chuckled. You looked at him, that goddamn cocky grin on his slips. He knew what he was doing. Gathering all your left confidence you replied, “I can´t draw myself though.” “That´s why you should be drawing me.” “Wait, are you actually being serious?” “I´m not not serious.” He was still grinning but you could hear the earnestness in his voice. “I don´t even know what to say…” “Just say: yes Jihoon I´d love to draw your pretty face and I´ll even make your eyes a bit bigger so you´ll be even prettier than in real life.” You momentarily forgot about your heart beating this fast and your still cherry red face. You loved his eyes and how they disappeared whenever he was smiling. “What? No! Your eyes are perfect just the way they are.” “I appreciate the compliment, sweetie.” He smiled warmly at you. “But I really think we should go now, you still have to draw my portrait today.” You giggled. “I didn´t even agree yet!” He was getting up from his chair “Oh come on,” as soon as you were standing up too he reached for your hand again, “no one would turn down an offer like this.” “Jihoon, you are so full of yourself.” you laughed heartily. He over dramatically clutched his heart with his free hand. “Ow, don´t hurt me like that Y/N when I´m just trying to trick you into spending more time with me.” His blatant honesty made you speechless. You just looked at him and if you weren´t completely mistaken a tiny bit of red was covering his cheeks now too. “Fine. I´ll draw you.” “I am disproportionately delighted to hear that.” You giggled at his choice of words while squeezing his hand a bit tighter. And then the two of you were walking to your apartment, side by side, hand in hand, wearing matching grins.

Hi! It´s me, Jo. I´d like to thank you for reading my stuff! I really hope you enjoyed it. If you have any feedback, comments, requests, questions please let me know!

#jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen ff #seventeen #seventeen fluff #jihoon fluff #woozi fluff #kpop ff #rhubarbbabywrites

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