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alonelysimp · 3 years

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Genshin Band Au

Characters: Yanfei, Xinyan, Barbara, Y/N (reader)

WC: 1975

Warnings: No beta we die like hilichurls

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, No Ships, Headcanons, Bulleted

Spotify Playlist: Pov: you're in a band with Xinyan Yanfei and Barbara

《 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓸𝓬𝓴, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓵 》

Once when you were having lunch with Xinyan and Xiangling, Xinyan said something along the lines of “wouldn’t it be cool if i had a band?” and you, of course, jokingly said “if you started a band, then I wanna be the first member to join” and that’s basically how it started

You offered Xiangling if she'd like to join as well but she declined. As tempting as a life like that sounds, she’s set on her dream to be a chef. “I’d rather be your biggest fan!”

Not really knowing where to go at this point, you suggested posting a notice to the bulletin board beside the long-unused alchemy table and the one beside the adventurer’s guild typically reserved for commissions, but Katheryne gave you permission to put it up.

Xinyan had already begun to have the beginnings of a fanbase at this point, but it wasn’t really much of a surprise you hadn’t heard anything in a few days. You had even gone so far as to ask the traveler to keep an eye out.

Thankfully, the traveler was more successful than the both of you, bringing back a letter from both the top legal advisor in Liyue and the Idol and Deconess of Mondstadt. When you asked them how or why they put in so much effort, they just smiled and waved you off. The only payment they wanted were some small shiny rocks you had laying around as paperweights that you got from a hilichurl. Odd, but you insisted they accepted mora as well.

And so, on the agreed date mentioned in both of the letters, courtesy of the traveler setting up, you sat around a table at Wamin with a few assorted dishes of Jueyun Chili Chicken and Crab Roe Tofu. By the end, you were able to convince both of them to join. It was a bit.. really hard in the beginning, with Barbara and Yanfei having jobs. Barbara living in Mond didn’t help much either, but after some work it became manageable. You agree to meet every week at Pop’s Teas, one of the vendors at the stone gate. It would only take half an hour-ish each way.

“What should we call it?” You ask, languidly setting down your tea. Xinyan looks at you, still hunched over a few sheets of paper with her head propped up on her hand. “The band,” you clarify. Barbara hums from across the table, pressing a finger to her lip.

“I have a few ideas.” Xinyan pulls a blank sheet from the pile and scribbles BAND NAMES at the top. “Let’s brainstorm them while we’re all here.” One by one, you begin to throw out ideas.

Firelytical

Rockin Resistance

Wildfires

Illuminated Flames

Inferno

Sudden Freedom

She taps the pen to her lip, thinking of other names to suggest.

“These seem a bit.. fire-centric, even for a pyro-based band,” you comment. Yanfei nods, still deep in thought.

“Oh that’s a good idea, y/n.” You glance over, seeing Xinyan write down “Pyrocentric” on the list.

“Maybe it’d be best if we came up with ideas and shared them next week?” You nod at Barbara’s suggestion.

“I’ll keep a notepad with me in the office…” Xinyan tosses the pencil back on the table, watching Yanfei pull out what you assume to be the notebook and flip to a page, moving on to the next topic of discussion. “Costumes,” she says as her lips twist into a slight frown.

“Oh! I have some ideas for that,” you pull a sketchbook out of your bag, showing them your ideas. “I’m not very good at drawing but.. I wanted to keep some bits of your normal clothing too, I hope it’s not too much.”

“Y/n these look so amazing!” Barbara smiles, moving one to get a better look.

“Aw these are so awesome!” Xinyan slides over the one for her, grinning. Yanfei nods, looking over hers. “I could totally make these.” Her eyes sparkle with interest, radiating in the sunlight. “Oh,” she looks back up at you. “If you don’t mind, that is.” You wave her away, giggling under your breath.

“If Barbra and Yanfei don’t have any adjustments to make, I’d love to see my designs come to life!” You sip your tea, which has long gone cold by now. Barbara turns the paper around, pointing at the skirt on the page. “What if we add another one under it? If we make it a different colour, it’ll pop more.” You nod, pulling out a sheet and writing it down.

“Oh, oh y/n what if we added something here too?” Yanfei points to a slightly emptier spot on the hip. “Like an uhm…” she trails off.

“What if we put something like this from Xinyan’s?” You put your finger on a braided cord. “Like a belt, I guess?”

“Oh yeah yeah and I could put my vision on it–” she unconsciously reaches to touch the pyro vision at her side.

“Y/n?” Barbara sets aside her tea, as if she just found out the hard way that it’s cold. You hum, the pencil in your hand tapping against the page as you note details for Yanfei’s costume. “Thank you for working so hard on this!”

A few other names had come up during the week; BXY, Fiery Vale, and such, but you settled on Fervent Apricity. An odd name, but it’s meaning was able to win everyone over; the intense heat of the sun in the midst of winter. It fit the band well, you thought. Perhaps one day you should be able to live up to the name.

After a few months of dragging Yanfei away from her work to teach her the bass, which she picked up scarily fast (perhaps it's an illuminated beast thing?), you were able to arrange something with the millenith to not crash your debut concert. Yanfei suggested she just continued practicing for a while before she performed with it though.

You agreed that since there were only four of you, it wouldn’t be too much to have all of you as vocalists. Barabra lead vocals and choreography, Xinyan with lead guitar and harsh vocals, Yanfei rapping and eventually bass guitar, and you playing drums.

Tonight was the night. The night that Fervent Apricity would set foot on the stage for the first time. To be completely honest, you were a nervous wreck. Ignoring your worries didn’t make them go away, much to your annoyance.

Xiangling set up a food cart nearby, though she got distracted listening more than she cooked.

You sat in front of the drums, only moments left before you started. This was it. You’ve practiced so many times, it’ll be a breeze. Xinyan counted down, the strums from her guitar filling the summer night air as the concert began.

You would’ve felt bad being this loud so late at night, but by the time you had finished, you attracted not only a good portion of the residents in the harbor, but the wholehearted support of the largest fleet that docks in Liyue. The Crux and her crew! You recognize a lot of people from Xinyan’s previous concerts, loyal fans you assume she’s gained, and a good few handfuls of new faces. Travelers, probably.

You played into the night, without a care in the world for who may be listening. It lasted almost half an hour longer than one of Xinyan’s normal concerts. If you had to put the experience into one word, it was freeing. You were alive. The feeling was… incredible. But, as the adrenaline wore off, you came to realize how undeniably tired you were.

And so, that breathtaking performance marked the day that you would start your, Fervent Apricity’s, journey of becoming one of the most popular bands in Teyvat

For the week after, you had been working out the details of the next large concert. Xinyan carried on with her nightly performances, you caught word of Barbara still performing in Mond, although slightly less than usual, and you had been exchanging ideas with Yanfei. Despite her job and work schedule, she proves to be a great help, almost overwhelmingly so. After the second day, it felt more like her setting it up and running it by you instead of the other way around. Not that you could really complain, just a little less work for you.

After a few months of performing regularly in Liyue Harbor, Barbara suggested that you come to Mond. It’d be a new experience, since you had never really traveled outside of Liyue, but you were concerned it might affect Barbara’s reputation. She insisted. Playing with the band is something she’s proud of and the message your music brings is something she supports.

Was it running away? Finding a new audience that would love your music just as much as you did? No, just the opposite. It was finding a new audience, one that was just as foreign to it, and lighting it up one spark at a time.

You started working out the time with Yanfei and Barbara to fit their schedules and Xinyan started picking out songs she thought would be more… well accepted by the northern people and bouncing some ideas off you. The instruments weren’t much, so you were able to transport it easily. Barbara said to come to the plaza at the top of all the stairs a few days prior.

Xinyan had to tell the sentries you were here to perform with Barbara, to which they let you through with no further difficulties. People stared, and whether it was a good or bad thing, it was almost.. empowering? You met with Barbara and the other sisters, introducing yourselves as the other members of Fervent Apricity.

They were a bit weary of you, a ragtag group of musicians with a vaguely red and black colour scheme with Barbara, who had run off shortly after you arrived to change into her costume.

By the time she had returned, the makeshift stage had already been set up and a crowd began to form. It appears Barbara was quite popular here. You could tell they were a bit cautious though. Perhaps it’s because it’s pretty clear that your music was different from what Barbara usually played. All the better to prove how amazing rock could be.

There was but a few minutes left before you were scheduled to start. All the fireproofing needed was complete; you were ready to light up the city of freedom.

It was just like one of your normal concerts, a handful of songs you had played many times before. The crowd was a bit taken aback by Xinyan’s screaming, you had to hold in a laugh. You made a note to after, bring it up to her to get the crowd more fired up before choosing one that… intense. No matter how many times you performed, it was always just as lively as the first time.

Having mentioned your thought to Xinyan after the show, Yanfei came up to the both of you. She said she wanted to play her instrument in the next concert. Xinyan replied that if she wanted to then that’s a-okay but she shouldn’t feel pressured into it before she was ready

You overheard the “Barbara fan club,” as Barbara had mentioned earlier, crowding her and asking so many questions, it made you want to kick their asses to Inazuma.

“Barbara-sama, are you joining them permanently?”

“Barbara-sama, will you still be performing on your own?”

“Barbara-sama, how long have you been with them?”

“Barbara-sama, is this why you don’t let me join you to the stone gate?”

After a bit of rescuing and creep-yelling-at, Xinyan made a final announcement, mentioning the band’s name and the upcoming concert dates in Liyue.

Oh, how quickly time passes

ohmygod THANK YOU SM FOR 200- SHAWTYS ILYSM- ugh I might actually take this blog seriously soon..

Fervent Apricity Masterlist [ X ]

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brokenbeskar · 3 years

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Denial

Chapter One of Memories Reforged ( Din Djarin x F!Reader )

Word Count: 8.2k

Summary: After crash landing on the planet of your next job, you learn another mysterious mandalorian bounty hunter is working the same contract as you and you decide to investigate.

Warnings: descriptions of blood and death, canon level violence, grief, there's a nightmare sequence but nothing crazy!

A/N: I’m super nervous to start posting this, but I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know if you find any mistakes or have any criticisms/advice! Theres a lot of mystery surrounding you for the first couple chapters, but I promise they will be explained soon enough!

Everything around you is happening so rapidly, in flashes. Red, surrounding you, clouding everything around you...

It’s blood. Blood--blood on your hands, you realize. Blood on the ground around you, on you--on everything. Your vision is so blurry you can barely make out the shapes around you. You’re sobbing, your chest aches, burning, smoke and ash in your lungs, you try to cry out but barely any sound comes through. A rushing in your ears so loud you can barely hear.

You're desperately applying pressure beneath you, but the bleeding won’t stop. You beg and plead to the maker, the universe, whatever could possibly hear you, whatever could possibly help you, you're so desperate. you’re trembling, shaking so hard you can’t keep steady despite trying so hard to keep the pressure on the gushing wound beneath you...

Another flash, you can’t see anything anymore, everything is too blurry, but you feel something brush up to your cheek, you lean into it. It’s comforting, but the burning in your chest only gets worse, your sobbing doesn't stop. The brush on your cheek is so tender, so precious, but so painful. So bittersweet...

More red, another flash, and now a sound, cutting through the white noise that fills your ears--a steady beeping. Through your clouded vision you can barely make out the light flashing on the bomb that's been set to detonate in his hand. You press your forehead to something cold, and you squeeze your eyes shut, blackness engulfing your vision, only the faint blinking of the light shining through your eyelids...

Suddenly, everything is crystal clear. The feeling of his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you tighter against the cool metal of his helmet, the warmth of the blood gushing out of the wound you are still so desperately applying pressure to, and when you open your burning, sobbing eyes, the crystal clear reflection of the bomb blinking in the corner of his visor. The light growing brighter, and the beeping growing faster, louder, and louder---so LOUD-- You shoot up with a sharp gasp in your seat, absolute panic still consuming you, the beeping from the bomb still going off rapidly--no...you realize suddenly. The beeping from the cockpit of your ship, you're dropping out of hyperspace.

You’re shivering, covered in a cold sweat, things slowly starting to come back to you. It was another nightmare. You must have fallen asleep while you were still in hyperspace. You glance over to the helmet in the copilot seat next to you, the familiar visor staring at you, hollow. The stars reflecting off the tint of it, and the beat up, once glossy copper accents framing it. You try to get your breathing under control while you shakily take hold of the ship's controls, flicking off the alarm and getting ready to break through the atmosphere of the planet thats suddenly in front of you.

This is going to be rough. This ship, if you can even call it that, is a piece of shit. It’s barely holding together, you were shocked it was even able to make the jump into hyperspace in the first place. It's trembling dramatically under you, as you try to hold her steady while you descend.

“Talk about a bumpy ride,” you barely mutter to yourself through gritted teeth as you struggle against the violent rattling of the hunk of metal surrounding you, suddenly very thankful you were already buckled in. Suddenly the whole ship lurches violently despite your firm hold on the controls as you break into the atmosphere, and alarms start blaring deafeningly throughout the cockpit, the ship is barely holding together at this point. You clench your jaw tight, this is going to be a rough landing. Another violent jerk of the ship and you feel something big break off. You can’t even begin to think about what it is though, because you are quickly losing control entirely. You are descending much too fast, and there's nothing you can do about it. Alarms blaring in your ears as you try to make this the softest crash landing possible. The sandy surface of this planet is coming quick, until it's all you can see. You violently collide with the ground, you can't see anything, sand shoots up all around the ship blinding you. You had tried to hit a good angle coming down, but your ship slides through the sand, bounces back up, and rolls twice. You get roughly knocked around in your seat and you wack your head pretty hard on the dashboard in the collision, you black out.

You groan, slowly coming to, clutching the sore spot on the side of your head while you try to collect yourself. Maker, it HURTS, you can feel the pulsing behind your eyes and you’re seeing stars, your vision blurry from the impact. You shakily undo your seatbelt, and try to lift from your seat, hand still clutching the side of your head. Everything on you hurts, you know you’re going to be covered head to toe in bruises despite being buckled in the whole time. You tap the nav console in the center of the dashboard, but nothing, unresponsive. The whole ship has gone completely dead. No more flashing lights and blaring alarms. Just the slight groaning of the metal struggling to stay together after the crash.

“Well fuck…” you sigh out, but then the dread and anger hit you all at once. A pit pooling in your stomach and rising up tight in your chest like an inferno, You had scrounged together every last credit you had for this piece of shit, and now it's absolutely trashed. It would cost you more than its worth in repairs, if it can even be repaired. You would bet all your remaining credits it was far beyond saving. You violently slam your fist down into the control panel, cursing loudly into the cockpit. You needed this ship, badly. How were you supposed to collect bounties without it? How could you afford a new one? You bang your fist into the control panel again, then slump down defeatedly back into the pilot's seat, resting your elbows on the edge of the control panel and leaning forward to burying your head in your hands.

You take a deep breath in and run one of your hands through the hair framing your face as you lean back in the seat and let the same breath out. You turn your head slightly to look over to the copilot's seat, but you shoot back up to your feet when you find the seat is empty. Your heart is racing again. Where is it? Where did it go? You frantically scan the floor of the cockpit, desperately looking for even the smallest glimpse of it. When you finally catch sight of the familiar hunk of metal in the far corner, you rush over and drop to your knees next to it. You carefully pick up the heavy beskar helmet and rotate it so the familiar T of the visor is staring empty at you. You breath out heavily as you press your forehead to it, clutching it so tightly in your hands. You pull away to inspect for any damage--well any new damage at least. The helmet was in bad shape. It had a couple dents and gashes in it, the paint that once coated it so beautifully now chipped and worn, the small crack in the corner of the visor catching the light. You sigh at it, realizing you probably wouldn't even be able to tell what's new and what's not at this point.

“Well,” you breath out to the helmet as if it could hear you, “no point in wallowing, right?” You stand from where you were kneeling on the floor, tucking the helmet under your arm. “We’ve got a bounty to catch.” And with that you step into the hull of the ship, trying your best to ignore the mess caused from the crash, all of your belongings thrown about and scattered unceremoniously throughout it. You find your go bag and sling it over your shoulder. Then head to the exit ramp to leave, but pausing before you step out into the sandy environment to slowly slide the helmet from under your arm, over your head, with a click.

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

You hate desert planets. You're burning up under your bulky beskar. It barely fits you, so you have to bulk up under it to make sure it stays on properly. It doesn't look as awkward as it feels, and no one can tell how much you're sweating under the helmet, but maker, you’re miserable. With every step you can feel the soreness lingering from the crash earlier. It was quite a walk to the nearest settlement. You’re in some kind of marketplace. It’s bustling and busy, vendors lining the sand covered streets selling all kinds of wares, a lot of it junk.

You’re in a terrible mood. Between crash landing your one and only ship, the heat of this planet baking you alive under your armor, and the sand that you can feel working its way uncomfortably into your boots, you’re seething with anger. You swear it would only take one local giving you the wrong look for you to snap and break their neck with your bare hands alone. You bet it shows in the way your walking, you're used to people staring at this point, it comes with wearing beskar, but the way people are quickly stumbling to get out of your way as you angrily stride through the streets, crowds parting for you so you can pass, you know you probably seem more intimidating than usual.

Stepping into the nearby cantina, is instant relief. It’s much cooler in here, but you try not to relax too much and lose that power in your stance as you enter. Something feels off, when you notice the reactions in the bar. The stares and hushed whispering were normal to you, but something about it was different this time. Maybe the heat was getting to your head. You stride over to the bar and silently take a seat. The patron in the seat next to yours, quickly gets up to move away from you, and you don’t even bother to look in his direction.

The bartender in front of you, polishing glasses speaks before you get the chance, “Let me guess, you want information on the bomber.” You tilt your visor up to him a bit surprised. How did he know? “You’re friend already came by, I told him everything I knew, I’ve got nothing else for you.” Now you’re really confused. You cock your helmet slightly to the side quizzically without saying a word. Friend? You don’t have any friends. And definitely not any you would be working on a bounty with. Not anymore at least. The bartender seems to catch your confusion so he continues, “The other mandalorian.” Other mandalorian? There was a mandalorian here hunting your bounty? when you don't move he elaborates, “The big one, uh you know--real shiny guy, all chrome and whatnot…” the bartender trails off not knowing how else to describe him. Well, that's surely interesting. Suddenly you decide maybe you need to investigate this...shiny mandalorian. You nod at the bartender as a quiet thank you as you rise silently from your seat at the bar. You toss a couple credits onto the counter for the information, even if it's not what you were initially looking for. The bartender at the sight of the credits points you in the direction of where he had seen this mysterious mandalorian head off to, likely understanding now, that the two of you were most likely indeed, not friends.

It doesn’t take long to spot him. He must have just left the cantina not too long before you arrived, he was close by, and the reflective beskar stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd that was parting for him in the same way it had for you. You kept your distance, keeping out of sight but trailing behind just enough that you wouldn't lose him. You knew damn well, that he probably knew you were following him, any truly skilled bounty hunter would realize that fact, let alone a mandalorian. Your theory was proved correct when he suddenly took a turn and dipped into an alleyway. You weren’t trying to sneak up on him, but you still kept your distance, turning the same corner and following him until you lost the crowd completely. The both of you walking to a part of town with no one, the bustling of the marketplace becoming faded white nose in the background. He makes a few more turns and you follow a few feet behind, until you go to turn the next corner and he's gone, no longer in front of you.

But you’re no fool, in a flash you whip around behind you, your blaster unholstered and pointed straight in front of you. He’s standing there, his own blaster mirroring yours. You both stand there, perfectly still, unmoving, blasters pointed to each other, fingers on their respective triggers. He speaks first, “Why are you following me?” but he doesn't move an inch “Why are you hunting my bounty?” you quip back. Making sure to stress the fact that this is your bounty, not his. You need those credits, you can’t afford to let them slip away from you when you have no way off this sandy shithole.

He tilts his visor at you slightly but doesn't reply. So you continue, “The bomber is mine, I suggest you find someone else to hunt down. I’ve got this one handled.” and by that, you mean if he does anything to compromise your ability to collect this quarry, you won't hesitate to kill him too, and you know he knows it...doesn’t he? The mysterious mandalorian doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move a muscle and neither do you. The silence between the two of you carries a tension just as deadly as the blasters you have pointed at each other.

With him standing in front of you like this, you’re able to get a better look at him. You look with only your eyes, careful not to move your head at all, as to not give him any indication you’re looking anywhere other than his visor, which is staring deadpan into yours. The bartender wasn’t exaggerating when he said this strange mandalorian was shiny and chrome. His beskar armor is unpainted, and beautiful, not a single flaw. You’ve never seen anything like it before. Whoever forged that for him was truly skilled in their craft.

“Your beskar,” You suddenly nod in his direction after the silence drags out far too long, “it’s new.” He still doesn't say anything. He’s giving you nothing. You’ve been doing this job awhile, there's usually something you can pull from, a slight change in breathing, tensing on the shoulders, anything to know what your enemy’s intentions are, but him....he's giving you nothing. “I’m looking for a forge master.” You hope by elaborating, you make your own intentions clearer.

“An Armorer?” he questions, and you nod once slowly. “Don’t have one in your clan?” He tilts his visor at you in inquiry, and you slowly shake your head once.

“I have no clan,” and you can sense his confusion so you continue, “I’m no mandalorian.” you confess, and instantly his blaster arm straightens and you hear the click of his safety switch off. You expected nothing less.

“Beskar belongs to the mandalorians. Hand it over.” His voice is dark and firm in his demands, but you can't help but scoff.

“I may not be a mandalorian, but this armor is mine.” your voice darkens threateningly, “It belonged to someone very important to me, passed down in their family for multiple generations. They’re gone, so now it's mine and I will die defending this armor in their honor.” “Did you inherit it from your father?” his voice through the modulator is firm, unwavering, and when you shake your head, he tries again, “Your mother?” You shake your head again. “Then it’s not yours, take it off...or I will” he threatens taking a step forward.

You take that step forward as an attack in itself, there's no way in hell anyone will take this armor from you, you quickly lunge towards him in a flash and he goes for you. You go to grab for his blaster, but at the same time he grabs yours and next thing you know, both your blasters are skittering across the sand in opposite directions. You both snap your gaze back and your visors meet each other, pausing for just a second before you're immediately swinging in his direction, aiming directly for his unarmored throat. He catches your fist, and swings with his free hand, you duck expertly out of the way and knee him right in the gut below the beskar chest plate. He doubles over, but manages to kick out one of your ankles causing you to stumble, and he goes for another swing. You jump back the best you can, and punch him perfectly in his unarmored side. He groans loudly at the impact, and stumbles back, but then before you know it, he gets you right back, and then again, his beskar fist colliding with the side of your helmet. It knocks you to the ground, your vision blurs again reminding you of your earlier injury from the crash. You shake your head and try to regain your footing, but he lunges down to grab you. You both struggle on the sandy ground before you get a hold of one of his arms and kick him up with both feet, hauling him over you, so he lands roughly on his back behind you.

He scrambles to get up, but you’re too quick, you’re on top of him pressing the mouth of his own blaster under his jaw. He doesn’t move and the only thing that can be heard is the rough modulated breathing of the two of you through your helmets. He moves the slightest amount, you're not sure if it's to adjust or to try to get up but you won’t risk it. You press his blaster farther to the underside of his jaw and click the safety off, a threat you think he understands well. You will absolutely not hesitate to kill him if he makes a wrong move. You’ve had a bad day, blowing a hole through his head would be the first good thing to happen to you, but at the same time, he clearly knows where to find what you're looking for and you want to get that information from him before you kill him.

“The armor is mine,” you say gruffly through your heavy breathing. You nudge the blaster into him again, just to make sure you’re being clear, “and if you, or anyone so much as lays a finger on it, I will kill you.” He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move an inch. Neither do you.

Instantly heat blasts against the side of you, and white noise erupts in your ears, a powerful force sends the both you flying sideways and slamming into the wall of the other building next to you, smoke and sand fly up and surround the air around you. You’re groaning as you slowly try to pick yourself up off the sandy floor, the heat from the fire building next to you quickly heating up your armor. It takes you a second to realize what's going on. The bomber. You had almost forgotten about your bounty, you were so transfixed on the strange mandalorian next to you, grunts coming from his modulator as he struggles to his feet. There's another explosion next to you and you try to keep steady scanning with your visor through the smoke to see if you can catch a glimpse of your quarry--and there! It's quick, but unmistakable as you see his heat signature duck away behind the roof of a neighboring building.

“Stay out of my way.” you spit darkly at the rival mandalorian, before turning and breaking into a sprint in the direction of your bounty.

It doesn’t take you long to catch up to him. You're running through the alley beneath the cloaked bomber while he jumps from roof to roof above you, desperately trying to shake you off his tail. He throws explosives in your direction, but you evade them expertly, bursting through the clouds of smoke and sand just when he thinks he's gotten you. He thinks he's being smart when he decides to throw another explosive ahead of you this time, blocking the rest of the alley with rubble from the surrounding buildings as their walls crumble. He lets out a loud and victorious laugh as he continues to run, celebrating far too early, not realizing he's made a critical error.

Instead of the rubble halting you in your pursuit, you use it to your advantage, nimbly leaping off a large piece and hauling yourself into the roof. Now that you're level with him, and off the maker forsaken sand, you start gaining on him, quick. He looks back in horror at you and tries to speed up, but you both know it's futile. You would have shot him already, but you left your blaster in the sand, forgetting to pick it up after the explosion, so you have to use other means. You grip the vibroblade strapped to your thigh and unsheath it. You’re just about to lunge for him, grab him and pull him to the ground, but something hits him and he drops instantly onto the roof below him.

You come to a screeching halt, almost tripping over his body. What the hell happened to him? You look down at him, convulsing on the floor, he's been stunned, quite literally electrified. You immediately know who's responsible and angrily look up to see that damned shiny mandalorian a few roofs away, lower his rifle and start to stride across to you. The sun reflecting off the top of his helmet in such an irritating way.

“I told you to stay out of my way!” you shout in his direction, “This is MY bounty! I’ve got it handled!” you grab a pair of cuffs off your belt and drop to your knees to cuff the bastard below you roughly despite his lack of resistance.

“You were too slow.” he says matter-of-factly as he approaches you. Oh you could kill him, you're tempted. The fact that he not only had the audacity to take down your bounty, but now dares to mock you? It would be an absolute pleasure to sink your blade into his neck.

Your thoughts are cut short when a gloved hand holds your blaster down to you. You look at it in confusion, then tilt your helmet to look up at the reflective beskar staring down at you. He nods towards you and nudges the blaster towards you again. You snatch it from his grip and put it in your holster without a word, and haul yourself up onto your feet with the bounty. Keeping a firm grip on his cuffed wrists behind his back while he struggles to hold himself up, “Bounty is mine.” you remind him, your visor burning a hole through his with how intensely you stare.

“I shot him down,” he reminds you.

“I had it handled,” you shoot back at him. Suddenly you’re curious, and you have an idea. You tilt your helmet up at him, if this works, you might have a solution to your crash landing earlier. “How much are they offering you? For the bounty.” He doesn't answer, you assume it's because he doesn’t trust you, so you offer your commission price readily, “Mines ten thousand.” with the way his visor snaps straight ahead in response, you know you have him beat. Probably by a lot. “I’ll tell you what,” you continue, “let's split the reward.” He cocks his helmet to the side in surprise...or possibly confusion? Maybe both. You can't really tell. So you repeat yourself, “let's split the reward. Five thousand between the two of us.”

“What's the catch?" Well, it’s not a no, so far so good.

“I need a ride,” you admit with a modulated sigh running through your helmet, “I had a bit of a rough landing. My ship’s scrapped."

"Five thousand credits isn't enough for a ship."

"That's not your problem. We'll part ways after we split the credits. We got a deal or not?"

"Only if you hand over that beskar when we split the credits."

you pretend to mull it over in your head, but you know that nothing in the universe could possibly convince you to give up your armor. you will die with it, and even in death you will take it to your grave.

"I'll consider it." you say finally. you know it's not what he wants to hear, but you hope it will be enough.

"Then it's a deal." He nods and doesn't say anything more, just starts walking in what you assume is the direction of his ship, so you kick the heels of the bounty you're still holding up by the cuffs.

"Move it." you snap at him and start pushing him forward as you follow the silver armor ahead of you. the bounty is still barely hanging onto consciousness, dragging his feet, you're doing most of the work for him.

Then suddenly the bounty stops all together like dead weight, digging his heels in, refusing to budge.

"I said move it!" you nudge him again roughly, more aggressive this time, but the bomber doesn't comply. His shoulders start shaking, rumbling beneath you, it takes you a second to realize he's laughing. "what's so funny?" you jostle him lightly to encourage a response. and at that, he throws his head back and starts laughing maniacally. That shock bolt from earlier must have done something to him, fried his brain or something. He just keeps laughing, like he can't control it. the mandalorian in front of you has stopped walking, and turned back around to you and the bounty to investigate the commotion.

"You're too late" the bounty spits out darkly between laughs, and he roars out louder, finding whatever it is he's going on about absolutely hysterical.

"What are you talking about? you roughly yank him around to face you and his laughing subsides leaving a sickening smile ripping across his face. He cranes his neck to look back at the bustling marketplace and begins roaring with laughter once again. but he's cut off at the sound of multiple pieces of metal hitting the tile of the roof in front of him.

"Talking about these?" the mandalorian asks, tossing another destroyed detonator bomb to the bounty’s feet. and the bomber looks at the pile horrified. it doesn't take long for you to put two and two together. This shiny mandalorian must have caught onto the bomber's plan early on and found all the hidden explosives long before you ran into him.

The bomber continues to stare down at the destroyed explosives in distress, realizing his plan failed, before that same sickening smile breaks out across his face and he chuckles out, “You missed one.”

He bursts back into a horrible laughter, and you suddenly have a pit in your stomach at the sound of it, you yank the bounty roughly by the neck, “Where is it?” your voice is rough and threatening, but he just continues to laugh maniacally. You can’t take it, todays been too much and his horrible laughter pushes you over the edge. Still grasping at his throat, you slam your armored fist hard straight into the center of his face, cutting his laughter off all together. He hangs his head limply, blood dripping down from his mouth, where his disgusting smile once was. “Where is it?” you grit out, pulling him in close to your visor with your grip tightening around his throat.

The bounty in your grip lifts his head just enough so his gaze meets your visor, and he smiles again brokenly, blood continuing to drop down from the middle of it. “Who knows?” he shrugs. Then spits blood at your visor, chuckling again weakly at you. Your veins turn to ice at the blatant disrespect and you can’t help yourself. You slam your fist into him again, harder this time, sending him flying to the ground at your feet, unmoving, out cold from your attack. Your stare lingers on the bloodied bounty beneath you too long, violence swirling through you. How dare he--how fucking dare he disrespect the armor like that--how dare he disrespect him like that.

Your fists clench at your sides, as you try to calm yourself. Your helmet snaps to the chrome mandalorian besides you, his visor shamelessly staring directly at you. You wonder if he can sense the anger whirling inside of you. “Where did you find the others?” You manage to grit out through your tight jaw. “The explosives.” Everything about you is rigid and tense from the altercation.

“At vendor tables he was harassing a few days ago, after the first bombing at a neighboring settlement. I checked all of them.” The chrome helmet doesn't move its gaze off of you. He's standing statuesque, unmoving. You look back to the bomber still unconscious on the floor. You’re trying to rack your brain, think where the last explosive could possibly be. You haven't even had the chance to investigate anything yet, you didn’t even get a chance to gather information, you immediately ended up tangled up with the strange mandalorian next to you when you made it into town. That’s when it hits you--the cantina. “Did you check the cantina?” you snap your visor to meet his again, and he shakes his head. “Keep an eye on him,” you nudge the bounty on the floor with your foot, then take off in the direction of the bar without another word. You have to be quick, you don’t know how much time is left until the bomb detonates and kills everyone in that cantina.

The bartender greets you when you rush in, “Ah! Your back! Did you find your friend?” but you ignore him, you don't have time for pleasantries. You start scanning the entirety of the bar rapidly, looking for any sign of anything unusual. You don’t even know where to begin, patrons staring at you and murmuring to each other while you silently search around--but then you hear it. The faintest of noises barely cutting through the hum of the scene around you. You follow the sound of the achingly familiar beeping, it's at the bar, close to where you sat earlier today. The bartender mistakenly thinks you’re walking over to him directly, and panics at the way you’re striding over in his direction, with purpose. “H-hey, listen-- I don’t know what I did, but i'm sure we can work something out--there's no need for any un--unnecessary violence...,” he backs up nervously, his hands out in front of him trying to show he's unarmed and willingly surrendering.

You continue to ignore him, and he swallows audibly as you make it to the edge of the bar, but you immediately drop down to reach below it, snatching the blinking explosive from where it's stuck under the bar and rising back up, holding it in your hand. He stares at you--stunned. Now realizing what your intentions were as you toss the explosive to the ground and crush it with your boot. The light fades from within the device and you pick it back up, staring at the cracked device in your hand. Your mind wanders for just a second as you remember your nightmare from earlier, the painful memory that still haunts your dreams. The environment of the cantina fading entirely until it's just you, and the broken metal in your hand. You swear you can almost still see the faintest of light blinking from inside it.

“Thank you.” you snap back to reality at the bartender's words, suddenly realizing where you are. You nod at him once accepting his gratitude. “Drinks are on me--always! Forever! Anything you want, you can have, I owe you that much…” he fades off looking down to the destroyed explosive in your hand. You smile at him, knowing he can't see it, and nod again.

You’re about to reply, but the bartender cuts you off, looking behind you, “Ah! I see you found your friend!” You turn to look towards the entrance of the cantina, where you find the shiny and chrome mandalorian standing, the unconscious bounty slung over his shoulder, while his visor is staring at you. You hold up the destroyed piece of metal in your hand for him to see, and at that, he's already turning to head out. You go to follow him, but stop when you hear the bartender start to speak again, “Maker,” he breathes out, “I’ve heard stories of mandalorians before. Never thought I would see one in person--let alone two!” he chuckles to himself.

You turn your helmet in his direction over your shoulder without turning fully towards him, “I’m no mandalorian...” your voice ringing through the modulator at an audible volume, despite how quietly you feel you say it. You don’t wait for a response, you immediately continue your way outside of the cantina to catch up to the stranger carrying your bounty ahead of you.

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

When you finally arrive at his ship, just on the outskirts of town, you’re a little surprised to see his ship isn’t much nicer than yours was. It’s old and worn down. It looks like it's been abused to no end. “Are you sure you’re able to give me a ride? She doesn’t look like she would last the journey through the atmosphere…” “Where’s your wreck? We’ll stop by so you can grab what you need.” You know he ignored your question on purpose, and he hits a button on his vambrace, which triggers the slow lowering of the ship's ramp, kicking up sand around it.

“I’ll punch the coordinates into your nav comp. Just get that asshole in carbonite.” You’re already climbing up the ramp to his ship, not waiting for an invitation, and walking into the dark of the ship's hull, its armored owner following close behind you, your bounty still slung over his shoulder unconscious. You take a quick look around as the ramp closes behind the two of you, dim lights illuminating the space. It’s not big by any means. You make note of all the crates and other miscellaneous goods neatly tucked around the hull’s nooks and crannies, it’s surprisingly cozy.

While the mandalorian moves past you towards the carbonite chamber, you take that as your sign, and you make your way up the ladder of what you assume to be the cockpit of the ship. Opening the door once you make it to the top and stepping inside, you let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the control panel. It’s familiar enough, thank the maker. With how old the ship is you were expecting the controls to be unrecognizable and ancient, but you could pilot this. Easy. You step up to the navigation panel and punch in the coordinates of your wreck.

You go to sit in the pilot's seat and initiate for takeoff, but stop suddenly. This isn’t your ship, you should wait for him. You’re going to be stuck with this stranger of a mandalorian in hyperspace for an unknown amount of time, you don’t want to overstep and cause another scuffle. He's, unfortunately, your only way off this planet, and he's got your bounty. You should be considerate seeing as you’re a guest, and he's doing you a favor. A five thousand credit taxi ride...maker what a shitty deal you negotiated yourself into.

You settle into the copilots seat, and groan slightly as you sink into it. The soreness from the crash earlier is starting to settle in now that all your adrenaline from the day has worn off. Your glaring headache is becoming more and more unbearable. You reach up and, with a click and a hiss of the release, slide your helmet off your head and rest it in your lap. You breathe in deeply, maker...nothing beats the initial hit of fresh air when your helmet comes off. You lean back further in your seat trying to relax against the plush, worn leather seat. Everything aches, you're exhausted. You close your eyes and continue to breathe deeply as you enjoy the feeling of air hitting your face without your helmet. You don’t even hear the door to the cockpit slide open while you take a moment to relax.

He says something, as he approaches behind you, but you didn’t quite catch what it was, so you spin in your chair to face him, “Sorry,” you shake your head slightly, “I was zoning out, what was that?” but he doesn't say anything or move. The armored wall of a man looks frozen, tense, his body language is all rigid and weird compared to how he usually stands. You just stare back at him confused. Is there something outside? You look behind you and out the windows of the cockpit, feeling your hair brush against you at the movement. Nothing there. You turn back to him, “Uhh? Everything okay, shiny?” He continues to stand there staring at you, stiff as a board, before he suddenly looks away from you and makes his way to the pilots seat, sitting down without a word and initiating for take off.

What the kriff was that about? You continue to stare at him confused, hoping for an explanation, but he continues flicking the controls and grabbing hold of the thrusters to take off without a word. You know he's focused on flying, but at the same time, it's really starting to feel like he's purposely avoiding looking anywhere in your direction. You can’t help the way you tilt your head at him in suspicion, but you decide to let it go. You just met the guy, he doesn't owe you anything other than the ride you agreed on. But maker, is it going to bother you the whole time.

You ride the rest of the way to your ship in silence, luckily it's not too far and you make it there relatively quickly. The second his ship touches the sand next to yours, you jump out of your seat tucking your helmet under your arm. “I’ll be quick. I don’t have much.” you wait a second for a response, but he’s still avoiding looking at you, and doesn't say anything. You tilt your head at him again with growing suspicion, but head out regardless without another word.

Stepping back onto your trashed ship feels surreal. Looking at all your belongings scattered around and trying to decide what to take is upsetting. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this, having to leave behind the majority of your belongings and start over, but it never gets easier. You pack mostly practical things, the essentials: clothes, medical supplies, rations, whatever weapons you have. You figure you should probably bring your blanket, you aren’t quite sure how long your journey will be and hyperspace is cold.

When you head over to your cot however, your gut wrenches seeing what you still had of his things scattered throughout the space. The old box you kept some sentimental items in had spilled, scattering the contents across your bed. Some of his old clothes, a crumpled note he left you once, you chuckle lightly to yourself at the memory of it. A necklace, he got it for you as a gift on Coruscant. You pick up his old sleep shirt that's bundled up in the corner and bring it up to your face, taking a deep inhale. It still smells like him. Despite sleeping with it every night, his scent still clings to the material. It's faint, not as strong as it once was, but it's there. Your heart aches, not a day goes by that you don’t miss him. You gingerly and lovingly fold it up neatly and pack it away with the rest of the belongings you plan to take with you.

You haul the large bags of your belongings over your shoulder, off your own ship and carry them up the ramp of the stranger mandalorian’s ship. You hit the control panel on the wall once you're inside, closing the ramp behind you. You set your things down in an unoccupied corner and make your way back up to the cockpit, helmet still under your arm. When you enter the cockpit however, you pause.

There’s a strange cooing coming from the pilot's seat where the mandalorian is sitting. Was...was that sound coming from him? There’s no way. You slowly make your way over so you can peer over his shoulder, you gasp at the sight of the green creature bundled up in his lap. It’s big dark eyes staring into yours. “What is that thing?” you mutter out, barely able to squeeze the words out as you stare at it curiously.

“A child.” You furrow your brows together at his answer. Well no shit. That was clearly a baby, but not like any baby you’ve ever seen. You don't recognize its species. Let alone the mystery as to why the mandalorian in front of you has it in his possession. “Is it...yours?” you're not quite sure how to vocalize all of the questions running through your head. Is the mandalorian the same mysterious species under that beskar? How has he managed hunting bounties with a youngling on board?

“For now.” You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. You slowly lower yourself into the copilot’s seat, not once removing your gaze from the green baby in his arms.

“And that means?” You tilt your head and the baby mirrors you, cooing at you.

“He is mine until I can reunite him with his own kind. I’m looking for a jedi to take him on.” the baby reaches out to you babbling happily. You go to hold him, reaching out to take him from the mandalorian’s arms, but stop in an instant when his visor suddenly snaps up to look at you. He's doing that thing again, just staring at you intensely. You decide to ignore it, more transfixed by the baby. “May I?” you tilt your hands still outstretched in front of you, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that he still doesn't trust you. He just met you, another bounty hunter, and now you're asking to hold his baby. Much to your surprise however, he allows it and cautiously hands the baby to you, his visor never moving from your face.

The baby coos happily and reaches up to you as you pull him to your armored chest. He’s adorable, the way his little teeth poke through his smile, it swells through your chest. Oh he is absolutely precious. You wiggle your finger at him and he latches his tiny green ones around it. You haven't even noticed the mandalorian still staring at you. “Does he have a name?” you press your finger lightly to the baby's nose and his little green smile grows larger as he giggles in response. You can feel yourself smiling too, you can't help it, it's contagious.

“Grogu.” You can still feel his visor on your when he replies. “Little Grogu…” you repeat softly, stoking the baby’s cheek. His big ears perking up at the sound of his name. He reaches up with his little fingers, so you hold him up a little higher against your chest, and he grabs onto a piece of your hair. You chuckle lightly at how captivated he is by you, in the same way you are with him. “He’s adorable.” you finally break your gaze from the baby in your arms, looking up to the shiny wall of beskar sitting next to you. Your smile fades into a frown when you see he's still staring at you. Okay, this is getting weird. “What's your deal?” you snap out at him, the baby still babbling away in your arms, his little hands reaching out to touch your face and hair. “Why are you staring at me like that? We got a problem?”

The mandalorian quickly averts his gaze to the control panel, and begins initiating take off again, punching coordinates into the navigation. “No, sorry.” He mutters, barely audible through the helmets modulator.

“Then what is it? Is there something on my face?” and with that he pauses. Stops flicking switches for just a second too long, before continuing. “No.” He grabs a hold of the thrusters and pulls back, lifting the ship off the ground, and taking off. Maker, his responses are so--frustrating. Absolutely infuriating. How many more questions do you have to ask before you get to the bottom of this? You decide to give up again, it’s not worth your efforts. Let him be difficult if he wants, you’ll forget about him soon enough when you part ways. You turn your attention back to Grogu, immediately your irritation dissolves into nothing. Maker, you’ve only held this child in your arms maybe five minutes and you are already absolutely enamored with him.

By the time you make the jump into hyperspace, the child has fallen asleep soundly in your arms. The mandalorian stands, and carefully takes him from you, descending the ladder into the hull with him to put him to bed, you assume. Now that you're alone in the cockpit, you look down to the helmet in your lap with a sigh. You grasp onto it lightly and tilt it up to stare into the visor. You reflect on your day; the crash, the scuffle with the strange mandalorian, the rush of trying to find the last bomb your bounty hid. Nothing ever goes smoothly for you anymore. Everyday feels like a struggle now that he's gone. It's been over a year since he died--almost two, you realize suddenly. The nightmares still plague you almost every night. You clench your eyes shut, and shake your head lightly trying not to think about any part of that horrible day. You should have died with him--you were supposed to. Whatever kind of sick joke the maker was playing, saving you and not him, you’ll never understand. You flutter your eyes back open, another sad sigh escaping your lips, as you stare back into the familiar visor. The smear of stars through hyperspace reflecting off of it. Hollow...empty. You gently hold the beskar up in your hands, and lean forward to press your forehead into it, taking a deep breath as you do so.

You gasp lightly when you hear the cockpit doors open, and pull away from the helmet in your hands as the new and mysterious mandalorian you just met enters and resumes his seat in his respective chair. You’re suddenly embarrassed, hoping he didn’t see that. Such a personal and intimate moment you don't want to be witnessed by anyone, let alone someone you just met... and quite frankly don’t like. You relax slightly after a moment of silence, and lean back into your seat, resting your aching body against the back of it, closing your eyes against the streaks of light coming through the window.

“Who did it belong to?” His modulated voice ringing out through the silence catches you off guard.

“Hmm?” you open your eyes and turn your head slightly against the back of your seat to face him. He hasn't moved his gaze from the cockpit window.

“Your armor. You said it belonged to someone important to you.” You suddenly get the feeling he definitely saw you earlier, when you had your forehead to the helmet in your lap, and you tense a bit. You’re just staring up at him cautiously, uncertain if you can trust him.

You’re quiet for too long before you let out the softest of sighs and take another deep breath in, “Maybe another time...” is all you can manage. You’re not sure why, but the idea of telling him seems impossible. It's not a secret by any means, you haven't hesitated to tell anyone before. Maybe it’s because you're not sure you can trust him, or simply the fact that you don’t like him. Maybe it’s because he's a mandalorian...

It's probably all of those reasons and more, all mixed up. It doesn't really matter, there's no reason for him to know. You will be parting ways with this mysterious mandalorian soon enough. Thankfully he doesn’t press the issue. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. The two of you ride your way through the silence of hyperspace without another word. Only the low rumbling of the engine beneath you filling the air. *** MASTER - Next

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #mandalorian fanfic #fan fic #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction

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the-himawari · 4 years

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A3! Magazine Interview Translation - 2D☆STAR Vol. 11 (2/2) [Spicy Cuisine Research Society]

Their main activities are mixing spices, finding delicious restaurants, and eating!

5 members from the “Spicy Cuisine Research Society”, a club for like-minded people within MANKAI Company, have convened! Let’s listen in on their fired-up talk on how they first got hooked on spices, and the unexpected methods of using spices they’ve been secretly wanting to try out!

“Chikage’s blend is a toxic substance. No one can eat it.”

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

——This time, everyone within the “Spicy Cuisine Research Society” from MANKAI Company have gathered! What was it that made you first interested in spices?

Omi: I guess it was when I joined the Theatre company and noticed that Director subtly changed the spice mixture every time she made us curry.

Chikage: Director has a pretty good tongue, doesn’t she? Her sense for choosing spices isn’t bad either.

Tsumugi: A sense for something like that exists too, huh… I was interested in edible flowers, so I was invited to join.

Citron: For me, spices are the arch of my national flag*! I love spicy food!

Tsumugi: Could it be you mean “taste of your homeland”? The kingdom of Zafra has many spicy dishes and they were all delicious.

Chikage: I seriously considered permanent residency there.

Omi: Ahaha, Chikage-san stocked up on a lot of spices in Zafra, right?

Kumon: (Autumn Troupe’s) Sakyo-san asked if he was a vendor!

Chikage: I suggested adding “Mankai Company’s Specially-Made Red Sauce” to our goods but I was rejected instantly on the spot.

Citron: Chikage’s blend is a toxic substance. No one can eat it.

Chikage: I wonder if I should prepare the proper documents and hold a full-scale presentation next time.

Omi: You’re serious about this, huh…

Tsumugi: I guess it’s time for the trading company employee to show his true abilities…

Kumon: Rather than interested, I think guys who mix spices are kinda cool…!

Citron: It’s like making an original drink at the drink bar of a family restaurant, right!

Kumon: Yeah, yeah! You can get a taste of how it feels to become an alchemist~.

Tsumugi: Didn’t (Spring Troupe’s) Itaru-kun say something like that too…?

Chikage: In other words, that’s what a chuuni…

Kumon: UMMM! I think everyone would rather hear Chikage-san’s story over mine~!

Omi: Well, you do think of Chikage-san when you mention spices. I’m also curious how Chikage-san became interested in them.

Chikage: It’s a long story though…

Tsumugi: Keep it brief here.

Chikage: I've always liked spicy things from the start, and I thought that if it was spicy, then all foods were generally the same. But then at one point, the chicken masala I ate at a restaurant in a certain country was shockingly delicious… And not only that, but also the yukgaejang, mapo tofu, chili con carne… No matter what I ordered, everything was exquisite.

Omi: That restaurant served a lot of multinational dishes, huh…

Kumon: All of them sound tasty! I wanna try them…

Chikage: So, when I thought about what made them different from other restaurants, the answer was quite simple. That’s right. The spice mix they used was perfect. With just the difference of a few milligrams of a single spice…

Citron: Too long. The word limit will be used up with just Chikage’s story.

Chikage: I haven’t even finished telling half of it yet.

Tsumugi: We’ll listen to the rest when we get home.

——(Haha). What type of activities does the Spicy Cuisine Research Society usually do?

Tsumugi: A lot of the time we eat the dishes Omi-kun made for us using the spices Chikage-san prepared.

Kumon: Ah, but we went out to eat recently, didn’t we? At that mysterious restaurant Citron-san found!

Chikage: It was a Chinese and Vietnamese cuisine restaurant, right? It felt strange when the là zǐ jī and phở were served together.

Omi: Haha. The restaurant’s appearance and owner felt a bit shady, but the food there was pretty delicious, right? The cilantro was nice to eat and I learned a lot.

Citron: Omi is eager to learn, huh! I’m expressed**!

Kumon: Expressed?

Chikage: Could you possibly mean “impressed”?

Citron: That’s it!

——Do you have any spicy dishes which you actually secretly want to try out or eat right now?

Tsumugi: It’s summer, so it’s the season you want to eat spicy food, right?

Omi: That’s true. If you have any requests then let me know. If you want, I’ll make them for you.

Kumon: Me, me! I wanna eat some mildly spicy braised pork!

Chikage: Braised pork that’s dyed bright red… Sounds nice.

Tsumugi: He said mildly spicy, Chikage-san…

Citron: I heard shichimi*** is tangy and apparently goes well with beer!

Omi: That’s true. It seems like it can be enjoyed as a side dish with alcohol.

Kumon: Beer, side dishes … That’s so adult…! So cool!

Citron: I want to eat atchizo**** made with red chili peppers!

Omi: Ajillo? Braised pork and ajillo are both simple, so I’ll make them tonight.

Kumon: Seriously!? Woohoo! I’ll tell (Summer Troupe’s) Tenma-san over LIME!

Citron: How eggciting~! I’ll make (Winter Troupe’s) Azuma bring out the good wine!

Omi: Tsumugi-san and Chikage-san, do you two have anything you want to eat?

Tsumugi: Actually, I think it might taste good to pour sweet chili sauce over ice cream.

Omi: Oh, I see. That sounds like it’s worth giving a try. I was just coming up with a dessert for Chikage-san.

Chikage: I told you that you didn’t have to worry about me. But well, thanks. I’ll look forward to it.

Citron: Omi’s a bother***** after all, hm~.

Tsumugi: It’s mother.

Kumon: Does Chikage-san have one? A spicy dish you want to try.

Chikage: Hmmm… Ah. The other day when I went to an escape game with (Autumn Troupe’s) Banri, we received a shaved iced making machine for some reason as an extra prize for clearing it.

Omi: Ahh, that’s why (Autumn Troupe’s) Taichi and them were fired up about making shaved ice.

Citron: Ohh! Japanese summer! I want to make shaved ice too!

Kumon: That sounds super fun! Melon syrup’s the only choice for me!

Chikage: Speaking of syrup for shaved iced, the classics are Melon, Strawberry and Blue Hawaii, but I…

Tsumugi: I have a bad feeling about this.

Chikage: I think habanero sauce would go well with it, don’t you?

Omi: Would that… taste good? I feel like that would just be spicy ice water…

Chikage: Wouldn’t the flavour depend on the sauce?

Kumon: I don’t think that’s the point…

Citron: Chikage’s exclusive dessert has been decided here.

——It was fun getting to understand everyone’s love for spices.

Tsumugi: Thank you very much.

Kumon: Ah~ I got hungry while we were talking. Why don’t we grab a bite and then head home?

Omi: Well there’s still some time before dinner. I guess we can have a small, pre-meal snack.

Citron: I have a restaurant I want to visit!

Tsumugi: What type of cuisine does the restaurant serve this time?

Citron: Indian & Bhutanese food!

Chikage: Heh, I’m a bit interested. It seems I’ll be able to eat some interesting dishes.

Omi: More like where do you find a shop like that...?

---

*Citron originally says "国旗のアーチ" (kokki no achi: arch of my national flag), which Tsumugi corrects as "故郷の味" (furusato no aji: taste/flavour of your homeland) **Citron originally says "バッチンバッチン" (bacchin bacchin), which Chikage corrects as "感心、感心" (kanshin, kanshin: impressed) ***Shichimi is a common spice mix in Japan which contains 7 ingredients ****Citron originally says "アッチーゾ" (atchizo[?] I'm not actually sure if that’s a real word), which Omi corrects as "アヒージョ" (ajillo: spanish-style garlic shrimp) *****Citron originally says "ヤカン" (yakan: kettle), which Tsumugi corrects as "オカン" (okan: another way of saying "mother" in the Kinki dialect)

Summer Troupe |

#a3!#a3! translation #act! addict! actors!#hyodo kumon #utsuki chikage #fushimi omi #tsukioka tsumugi #citron

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buckybarnesbabydoll · 3 years

Text

Lost and Found: Chapter 2

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warning(s): none <3

Word count: 2,000+

Summary: You teach the Mandalorian how to ride a blurrg, and you have a strange dream after he's gone...

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Note(s): i hope you guys enjoy this next part! i'm new to writing fanfics so pls go easy on me <3 I might try to make this a little bit of a slow burn fic too, also this part is now posted on my ao3!

The following day, you stood behind the ropes of the circle where you tame blurrgs. The Mandalorian has been trying to ride the same blurrg that attacked him the day before. He’s been trying since early morning and judging by the placement of the sun, as well as his groans in frustration, he hasn’t made a lot of progress. Kuiil was watching from inside the tent for a little bit, before leaving the rest to you so he could work on another one of his projects. You had your hood pulled over your head to keep the sun from beating down on you, leaning on one of the poles while you watched this hopeless lesson.

One arm resting on the wooden cylinder, while the other absentmindedly fiddled with the necklace you had on. It was a simple leather rope that was wrapped around a crystal. You found it interesting how that crystal became your favorite color, or perhaps your favorite color was because of the crystal. The only thing you knew about it was that you’ve had it since you were a baby, never being away from it. Even taking it off for a second made you feel vulnerable. At this point it was a part of you, the only thing binding you to your past, which was still muddled in smoke and mirrors.

Hearing the blurrg squawk and growl brought you back to the mess in front of you. You tried teaching the Mandalorian the same way Kuiil showed you how to ride, but now you’re learning that maybe everyone learns a little differently… It wasn’t that he wasn’t able to mount the creature, it’s that it wouldn’t let him stay on. Throwing him off at any attempt or scurrying away to different parts of the circle, it’s been a bit of a goose chase to watch. You couldn’t blame it though, he did try to burn it alive, or so that’s what Kuiil told you when he found the Mandalorian. But you had to admit, seeing a Mandalorian, who were revered for their strength in battle, get thrown around like a ragdoll was a little funny.

After getting bucked off into the dirt for the umpteenth time that day, the armored man exclaimed a ‘Dank Farrik!’ and stood up. Almost stomping towards you in a fed-up cadence with his arms swinging from irritation. You could almost perfectly imagine his expression underneath that helmet.

“Alright, this isn’t working. Do you have a speeder bike or anything else I can use to get there? I’ll pay you,” the modulation didn’t hide any of his feelings either, you bit your lip to keep from chuckling at his suffering.

“Sorry, we don’t have anything like that,” you swore he rolled his eyes under that helmet, unable to believe there wasn’t any other form of transportation besides those oversized land piranhas. “Perhaps try approaching it more… gently.” The silver helmet looked at you again, a brief silence before repeating you.

“Gently?” There was a slightly incredulous tone to the question. He’s been trying almost every method all morning, sowhywasn’tanythingworking.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “your methods are too blunt for it. It’s scared,” you gestured to the blurrg that was pacing on the other side of the circle.

“Scared of what? It attacked me,” you shrugged in response, looking at the distorted reflection of yourself on the beskar.

“At least try and approach more passively.” He sighed, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to try it your way. It was something different after trying forever. The Mandalorian moved closer to the blurrg, holding up his hands with his palms facing towards the creature. The blurrg started to act anxious again, watching his movements. But he gently shushed the creature, displaying his body language as less threatening as he scooted closer.

As the blurrg seemed to further relax, he quickly grabbed the reins and got up on its back again. You held your breath as you watched him climb up, and as the moments passed the creature seemed to start walking around like normal again. You cheered a little bit, since this was the first time you’ve taught someone how to ride a blurrg, you weren’t exactly sure how it was going to turn out. Fortunately, your first (and hopefully, last) attempt at teaching was a success. Thankfully, he didn’t die!

“Alright! Now let’s get you to your bounty!”

After the success of the Mandalorian learning how to ride a blurrg, you promptly hopped on yours to guide the way, where his bounty was waiting for him. You rode through the desert planet, hopping over fissures in the ground and riding across large swaths of cracked mud. You found it sort of fascinating how the cracks sometimes appeared hexagonal, how something so monotonous could be interesting to you, you’d never know. Again, it was hard to find a lot interesting on this desert planet. Your mind drifted off to different places on your ride there since the bounty hunter you were guiding was a man of few words. Well, at least when he wasn’t frustrated. You didn’t know a whole lot about Mandalorians, but you were sure you’d probably never know since he’s most likely going to die trying to get his bounty. They always did.

You rode up to the location of the Mandalorian’s bounty, the spot used to be a small town where you would visit and play in the fountain in the middle. Once a month there used to be different festivals for the various alien cultures that lived there filled with music and life. You’d walk around to the colorful vendors full of tasty food and pretty trinkets, always asking Kuiil for something from them. You didn’t have a whole lot, so those days he would always spoil you sick with anything you wanted. The resurfaced memory is fuzzy and warm, but things have changed now since it was taken over by raiders and pirates. It was never the same and it hurt to see something that special be ruined so quickly.

“This is it, whatever you’re looking for, it’s in there,” you tilted your head in the direction of the town. Or at least what was left of it. The Mandalorian took out his fob, holding it in the direction of the abandoned town. The quiet beeping increased over the ride to the spot, showing you had taken him to the right place.

“Thank you,” he said, nodding to you. You glanced over and noticed he was handing out a small pouch to you, but you shook your head in rejection. “Please, you’ve helped me a lot.” He reinforced the statement by urging the pouch your way again. The offer was nice, you’ve never encountered a bounty hunter quite like this one.

“That’s kind of you, but the only payment I need is seeing this area cleaned out of them,” you looked back at the territory a little solemnly. “Things… haven’t been the same since they arrived, but no one has managed to get rid of them yet.”

“...Then why help me?” He folded one hand over his wrist, holding the reins in the lower hand. It made sense why you were so patient to help him out, perhaps this place meant more to you than he knew. You paused to consider your answer.

“I’ve never met a Mandalorian, I’ve only lived here my entire life so all I know is the stories my father told me,” you mused, “if they’re correct, then this shouldn’t be too hard for you.” You start turning the blurrg before pausing, a hint of amusement on your face, “Not to mention, it was fun seeing you get bullied by that blurrg. Good luck!” You giggled to yourself, riding away as he shook his head. His face was definitely burning just a little bit from the memory of that display.

You took your time riding back, the Mandalorian still on your mind. Even though you got a ways away, the sound of blasters being shot reached you. Taking a minute to listen, it took a little bit before it went quiet again. That’s how it usually was, you’d bring them to the quarry, they would go off and get in a shootout, and you’d never see them again. You sighed, shaking your head. You wanted to have hope for the Mandalorian, but hopefulness won’t keep him from getting killed by a blaster shot.

“Well, at least now I know I can teach the next one how to ride a blurrg,” you shrugged to yourself, riding off back home. As you rode away into the desert, in the dust of an ended firefight the Mandalorian stood, gazing down at a small, green child in a floating pram. A child that would change both of your lives.

You arrived back home a little before nightfall, leading your blurrg back into her area before closing it off again. You pulled your hood off and sighed as the cool air drifted through your hair, the cool breeze felt nice on your scalp. Kuiil walked over to the entrance of the tent, holding two containers of water in his hand.

“Do you think this is the one?” You glanced over at your adoptive father, taking a drink he offers to you.

“I am not sure, we will find out in a few days,” he tilted his head to the side in uncertainty. “Do you think this is the one?” You shrugged at the question, taking a swig from the container. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to make it, but with no one else making it back it was kind of hard to think anything else except that. “I’d like to think so. It would be cool to say I know a Mandalorian that didn’t immediately die after meeting him,” the Ugnaught snorted at your reasoning. “And… I don’t know, he just seems.. different. I don’t know if I can explain it.” Perhaps it was the slowly increasing need for change in your life, but you knew what you felt.

At least that’s what you thought.

The rest of the evening passed by without anything else eventful happening, but before you went to sleep you found yourself still wondering what happened to the Mandalorian. Perhaps he was dead, but oh well. You’d get your answer in a few days. Accepting the fate of your brief acquaintance, you let your eyes close and peacefully drifted off to sleep. You dreamt of the desert, the imagery moving over the sand to the location of the small town you used to frequent as a child. However, it wasn’t the nostalgic memory you were used to, it simply showed the current state of the town. But the movement didn’t stop there, you were slowly guided through the town, the echoes of laughter and cheer, of your childhood, bounced around until you entered the main building.

It was dark inside, the only source of light was the sun pouring in from the windows and entrances. Your heart wanted to wander around, to relive those fond memories. Relive moments when you weren’t worried about bounty hunters or mercenaries coming through your home and making you feel a little more on edge. But something drew you away from those thoughts. There was the slight tugging in the back of your mind, almost like a small string pulling you in a different direction until you saw what could be the source. You apprehensively approach a white, spherical floating object. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought it was a baby pram. Until it popped open, showing two green ears poking out from underneath.

You tilted your head in wonder, seeing something small start to peek out from underneath the blanket it was in. But you couldn’t get a good look at it, the face was blurred for some reason. It all felt… foggy. Despite the low visibility, you felt your hand lift a little to hold your finger out towards the small thing, wiggling it a little bit. It reached out a three-clawed hand at you, right as its hand wrapped around your finger, you woke up.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando #mandalorian #pedro pascal #the child #baby yoda #grogu #star wars #mando x reader #the force #fanfiction #fanfic #slow burn #the mandalorian x jedi! reader

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.27

Beaten and Lost

03/24/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,109

Warnings: language, canon level violence, injuries, wounds, blood, smidge of angst

A/N: So...I should really edit this more but I’m tired and I’m sure you all want this more than you want my edits. lol I’m pretty satisfied with it. Hopefully y’all like it too. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work! xoxo

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY STORIES. Reblogs are appreciated!

“No! Clint! Get to those citizens. I’ll handle James.”

“Oh, you’ll handle him? Much like you handled those bandits in Bosset?”

“I did handle them.” Nat argues, ducking as another flaming ball of tar goes soaring over their heads. “We got out of there, didn’t we?”

Shielded for the moment behind an overturned vendor’s stall, she and Clint find themselves catching their breath as chaos reigns around them.

Nat can see Peter flying across rooftops, shooting his web at Hydra soldier after Hydra soldier. Incapacitating them by grabbing them and knocking them out or suspending them from the streetlamps and balconies.

She can’t see, but she can hear the whoosh of wind as Sam flies overhead, aided by his specialized wing suit.

“Barely.” Clint nods. “It’s all over after today, you know that, right? Everyone in the kingdom…in all the kingdoms will know who you all are now.”

“It was bound to come out.” Nat shrugs. “It was Steve and Tony that wanted to keep things quiet, for their families’ sake.”

“I can relate.” Clint sighs.

“I’m sorry, Clint. I didn’t mean to drag you back into this.” Nat assesses her old friend, dirty blonde hair, handsome features only slightly aged and looking more exasperated than tired.

Time with his family has done him good.

“It was inevitable.” He nods. “Alright, on the count of three.”

Nat nods, reaching down to take hold of a long metal rod that has broken off from a carriage in place of her usual adamantium daggers.

“Is that really a good idea?” Clint asks, eyeing her sheathed daggers now out and visible with her lack of cloak.

“I love him, Clint.” Nat shakes her head. “I’m going to marry him. I won’t kill him.”

“You might have to.” Clint insists.

Nat only meets his gaze, defiance written all over her scratched up and dirty face.

“One…Two…Thr-” As Clint and Nat make to rise, the weight of their temporary shield falls out from behind them and they have to scramble up onto their knees as they watch the stall levitate up into the air.

“What the-?” Clint begins and they both watch as it rises higher and higher, a strange red energy lifting it into the air.

It swirls around the stall like smoke, vibrant in spots where it pulsates with power.

“Looks like we aren’t alone anymore.” Nat says, bringing Clint’s eyes to her.

He sees her watching the road in front of them and follows her gaze to a young girl, no more than twenty with her hands in the air, clearly directed towards the stall that had just been ripped away from them.

She’s wearing a form fitting red leather tunic and jacket over a pair of dark gray pants. Inexpensive clothing that looks as if it were once new, but now tattered and torn.

Nat at least wears a collection of torn up skirts woven together around her hips making it look as if she were wearing a skirt while leaving the front of her legs exposed so that she can reach her weapons.

This girl is wearing just the pants. No weapons, nothing but the strange red energy.

Her hair is also red, but duller than Natasha’s, and waist length. Left to do as it pleases, it floats around her body as the red magics that she is clearly manipulating dances about her.

With eyes like scarlet fire, she suddenly brings her hands down and both Nat and Clint scramble up just in time, diving out of the way as the stall crashes into the cobbled road and explodes into splinters.

As she approaches, they get to their feet only to feel the strange rush of air and force along their fronts and get knocked to the ground again.

“Do you see-?” Clint begins.

“No.” Nat replies.

They rise again, attempting to get to their feet only to feel the same rush of air and force against their back.

They’re shoved forward and fall onto their hands and knees, landing roughly so that the frozen stones beneath their hands draw a little blood.

Annoyed, Nat glares.

“This is getting ridiculous.”

“The girl is a witch. Could she be doing this?” Clint wonders.

“No, I don’t think so.” Nat sighs and makes to stand again only to get pushed hard in the stomach. It sends her soaring backwards into the air a few feet until she makes impact with something large and hard.

It catches her under the arms and the heat suddenly makes sense as she’s helped to her feet.

“It seems you’re having a bit of trouble, Lady Widow, shall I help?”

“Thor!” Nat gasps, grateful to be up on her feet, but she frowns at him all the same. “How many times must I tell you? It’s Black Widow.”

Thor smiles at her. “It seems you’ve found yourself a bit of a nuisance.”

“Indeed.” Nat nods.

“Hey, how about a little assistance, your Majesty?” Clint gestures at the girl whose stopped advancing at the sight of Thor.

“That girl is not your problem.” Thor says, pointing at the girl and watching her with a furrowed brow.

“Then what is it?” Natasha asks.

“It’s the boy.”

“Boy?” Clint pushes himself up onto his knees and looks around, confused. “What boy?”

Without warning Thor draws his arm back, calling into it his hammer which very nearly reaches him when the body of a man wearing head to toe silver appears with his hand around the handle midflight.

As it reaches Thor, dragging the boy along with it, Thor quickly grabs him and slams him into the ground only to place his hammer on his chest.

“This boy.” Thor smiles down at him.

Nat’s mouth is slightly agape as she stares down at Thor’s catch, Clint then rises and moves over to look down at the lad as he struggles and grunts against the weight of Mjolnir and attempts to push it off.

“Why couldn’t we see him?” Clint wonders.

“He was moving too quickly for your eyes to see.” Thor explains. “He didn’t know that he wouldn’t be able to lift my hammer.”

“Not so quick now, are you?” Clint taunts.

“I think Hawkeye and I can handle the girl.” Thor says, turning to Nat with a look of stern approval. “Barnes and Hydra are regrouping in the town square. You’d best head there and help the Spiderling, Pigeon, and Stark.”

“Spiderman and Falcon.” Nat corrects, but she’s already backing away from them. “Clint?”

“Go. I’ve got a God on my side.” He watches as Nat turns to run, then looks to the girl whose fingers are still dancing with red waves. “How are we going to handle this one?”

“You could never handle my sister.” Says the boy still struggling, glaring at both Thor and Clint. “The Scarlet Witch will warp you into your darkest nightmares. She will tear your mind apart piece by piece until you are nothing more than a sobbing, whimpering fool.”

“You promise?” Clint asks, then turns to give him a smug smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

She can hear it before it hits. She can feel the heat against her skin before she can even form the plea for Tony to stay his hand.

“James, please.” She begs, holding his arm back behind him with as much strength as she can muster.

Behind her the Falcon has lost a wing as is fighting hand to hand against a mob of Hydra foot soldiers.

Peter is with him, attempting to help as much as he can while also pulling the occasional bystander away from the fight.

Nat has been able to hold Bucky off for only a few minutes. Seven? Eight minutes? Maybe ten.

They feel like hours. Every punch avoided, ever kick expertly maneuvered feels like another thorn in Nat’s heart.

“Please, my love.” She whispers into his ear as he grunts and with a surge of strength pulls his arm from her hold behind his back.

He turns around and grabs her by the neck, squeezing with his flesh arm so tight that her eyes grow red as her hands hesitantly travel down to the blades along her thighs. As her fingers make contact with the cool metal, she realizes that she can’t do it. Nat can’t hurt him.

She mouths his name, a haggard whisper through the constriction of her throat, and brings her hands up to hold the one choking her to death.

Nat thinks she sees a shift in his eyes, a return of warmth, but if it was real it came and went too quickly for her to be sure it wasn’t just her oxygen deprived mind wishing he’d remember that he loves her. That he asked her to marry him.

She wishes that she could have a chance to tell him yes. That she’ll marry him. That even if she can’t give him the life he deserves, if he will have her, she will happily live out the rest of her days by his side.

He flips her, then slams her down against the cobble road. Nat gasps in as much air as she can as the darkness in her vision begins to clear. Her head is pounding, she can feel blood pooling along her scalp.

Wheezing, she forces her body to move, to shift. She wants to see him.

Bucky has turned and is moving towards Tony who has somehow found one of his gauntlets. At the center of his palm is the gleaming blue shine of his blaster. The magic and lightning that he seams to have weaved into his suit and tamed it to use at will.

He raises his glove, holds it up towards the approaching threat.

Nat pushes herself up and throws her and out towards Tony, almost mimicking his movement as the blue light grows brighter faster.

“Tony, n-!” She tries, but he fires, and it hits Bucky square in the chest.

He’s sent flying back into a heap on top of a pile of wooden crates.

Nat falls onto her side, staring at him in relief that he’s down, but she knows it isn’t over. She moves as quickly as she can to subdue him and manages to get onto her feet.

Racing to his side, she reaches for his arm, but he throws it up towards her and she’s sent flying back into one of the now broken lampposts.

She hits it hard and crumples with a pained groan around the base. Somehow, she manages to refocus, pulling herself back up onto her feet with the assistance of the broken post.

By the time she’s up, searching for Bucky, she finds him charging at Tony who has found the rest of his suit probably kept safe in his carriage. Hidden, like Steve’s shield had been. Like all of their tools.

Bucky races at full speed at Tony, not stopping as Tony sends shot after shot towards him. He dodges each blast of energy. He even grabs Tony’s wrists and points his hands up at the sky rending his shots useless.

Tony counters with a kick to his chest, sending Bucky skidding back only to readjust his footing and dive at his target.

Tony punches and kicks, avoiding Bucky’s metal arm as best he can while also trying to blast him with his hands.

It takes only a minute for Bucky to get Tony down on the ground. On his back, Tony is at a disadvantage.

Nat begins to race for them as Bucky brings his metal fingers down around the blinding circle at the center of Tony’s chest.

With his swollen cheek, cut lip, bloody nose, Bucky huffs with the strength he uses to pry his fingers in around the orb.

Nat can hear Tony’s own wounded grunt, one hand pulling at Bucky’s normal arm to pry it away from his neck and the other squeezing and tugging at the metal one around his power source.

“Don’t make me do this Barnes.” Tony gasps.

“Don’t!” Nat cries, still too far away.

The orb within Tony’s chest begins to glow brighter, more blinding, more chaotic in its pulsing energy.

“Tony, don’t!” Nat pleads, pushing her leg to run through her limp.

“I’m sorry.” Tony whispers, and the light in his chest explodes shooting up into the air with a twenty-foot beam.

Nat is thrown back by the force of the blast, but she recovers quickly, forcing herself to scramble up towards them.

Bucky lays motionless a few feet away from Tony’s gasping form his metal arm gone. Severed by Tony’s energy beam at the shoulder. Shards of sharp metal protrude from the wound.

“James!” Nat calls, falling to her knees at his side. “James, please.”

But he’s so still.

For one breathless minute, Nat watches the love of her life lay before her, not breathing.

But then his chest moves, and she’s saved the grief of mourning her one true love.

Turning to Tony, she finds him sitting up, one leg bent with his arm resting over it as he watches her and Bucky.

“Are you alright?” She asks him, ignoring the rage she feels towards him because she knows it was necessary.

“Alright?” Tony gets to his feet. Groaning and grunting as his body protests the movement. “I’m a king. I am…perfection. Urghhh…”

“Perfection my ass.” Nat mutters, turning her gaze back to Bucky.

“Is it my turn?” A shaking elderly voice suddenly speaks.

“By all means, old woman. Assist away.” Tony waves her over, walking with her as she exits one of the shops where she’d been hiding watching the entire fight.

Agatha stops beside Nat and gives her head a quick inspection.

“Get this bandaged up right away, unless you’d like to lay unconscious beside your lover.” She orders.

Nat frowns but tears a piece of fabric from her open skirt and begins to wrap the strip around the worst part of her wound. She doesn’t have time to do it justice.

Agatha drops down beside Bucky and begins to look him over. She opens his eyes and they look as normal as ever.

“Well?” Tony asks, impatient.

“He’s out. It also appears as if whatever spell he was under, it has been broken. His injuries are extensive. He will not wake.” She assures them. “Perhaps ever.”

“What?!” Nat demands, voice panicked.

“This wound.” She suddenly rips Bucky’s tunic open then unbuttons his shirt to show a massive amount of black bruising along the left side of his body. “This will not heal easy. We need to get him somewhere safe. The quicker the better.”

“Tony…” Nat begins, turning to him, but Tony is watching the crowd in the distance.

“We can’t just leave them. There are still too many Hydra soldiers running around the city.” He frowns, his mind also jumping to you and Steve.

Are the two of you alright?

“You won’t.” Thor says from above before he lands with a small earth-shaking boom beside them. “I will stay along with the Pigeon, the Spiderling, and the Hawk. The two of you should take Barnes and the other prisoners back to your castle.

“Someone also needs to begin the search for Steve and the little bird. From what Peter said, Steve was gravely wounded. And Y/N is pregnant. I need to know she’s safe.”

“Prisoners? What prisoners?” Tony wonders.

“Don’t worry.” Thor assures them. “They too will not wake before you reach the castle. Go, my friends. I will provide what assistance I can here.”

“Thor…” Nat begins, desperate to thank him.

“Natasha…” Thor cuts her off, turning a serious and suddenly terrified gaze on her. “Find her. Find Steve. Make sure they’re alright.”

Nat agrees, knowing that she too will not rest well until she knows that you’re home safe and that your little prince is hopefully, unharmed.

You’re exhausted, trudging through overgrown fronds and grass as you struggle to weave your way through densely packed sycamore trees.

The forest is old, the canopy all but obscures the night sky above.

In the darkness, you cling to Steve’s hand as he leads you through the trees. Every now and then the late winter wind blows and scatters the branches overhead to give you a stunning view of the clear sky. A jeweled sky dazzles you, then retreats behind the leaves once again.

Your arm is yanked forward, and you gasp tripping over your dress which you quickly yank up with your free hand to keep from falling.

Steve’s cloak, still around you to stave off the frigid air, nearly does you in with a second trip but you managed to find your balance.

“Steve…” You begin, a warning in your voice because he’s your guide. He can see better than you can apparently and you’re relying on him to keep you upright with your little prince at stake.

What you find is Steve slumped against a tree, still somehow standing, but clearly weak and unable to stand upright. He drops his shield where it falls with a muted clunk.

“Steve!” You gasp, releasing his hand which he was still holding onto tightly, and rush to his side.

Getting in close is the only way that you can see his face, so you get right up against him. His nose only a few inches away.

He has both eyes closed, one swollen and black, bruised so darkly you shudder to think what that might look like under proper light.

His lips are slightly blue and that gives you such fright. You throw the cloak off of your shoulders and quickly wrap it around him.

With a split bleeding lip, now crusted in the corners where he allowed the crimson to dribble and pool, he protests.

“No.” He says, still managing some volume and a stern tone despite the exhaustion he’s clearly feeling and the pain his body is fighting.

The longer he stands there pressed against the tree, the lower slides along the thick trunk.

“Keep it on. It’s c-cold.” He shudders and you frown at him.

“You need it more than I do.” You assert and clasp the cloak at around his neck then draw the rest closed to help him keep what little heat he has.

“But our baby.” He sighs, finally reaching the base of the tree where he sits with his legs bent but weakly splayed out as you make sure his cloak is secure.

“Our little one is warm and safe in my belly.” You give him a smile but begin to notice the way his shield arm is resting at an odd angle. “Steve, your arm…”

“It’s nothing.” He tries.

“Don’t lie to me Steven.” You frown.

“It’s dislocated.” He relents quickly not missing a beat, knowing the tone you’re using well from the night you found Sharon in his bed.

“Shit.” You bite your lip but move to position yourself beside him. “Steve, why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“We had to get away.” He shakes his head but meets your eyes. “I needed you safe.”

“I am safe. But what will I do if you pass out here, in the middle of the forest? You should have told me. We should have stopped when I asked hours ago.” Your worry is outweighing your anger, and he seems to see that because he smiles weakly.

“Is this really the time to rub it in how right you are all the time?” He teases.

“Steve…” You fuss.

“I’m alright, my flower. Truly.” He lies.

You growl and move around the base of the tree sticking close to the ground. You move all the way around it, circling until you come up on Steve’s other side.

“What are you doing?” He wonders, curious but also wary.

“Looking for something. Do you still have your dagger?” You reopen his cloak and begin to feel around his waist.

He shifts for you, shoving his hips out a little and arching his back which makes him grunt with pain.

“Center of my waist. On the back.” He instructs.

Quickly you reach for it and pull it out before you pull his cloak shut again then turn around and begin to crawl away from him.

A tug on your skirts stops you and with his dagger in hand you turn to look back at him.

“Where are you going?” He frets, brow furrowed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far.” You promise, reach back, and pull his hand away from your skirts.

You crawl around for maybe ten minutes, picking up every stone and pebble that your fingers blindly encounter. At one point you swear you feel a silky scaled body slither past your outstretched digits but you ignore it and swallow down the panic as you convince yourself that it was probably more afraid of you than you are of it.

At last, several trees away and just out of Steve’s sight, you find what you’re looking for. You reach around for the long thin branch that you’d felt earlier. With the knife, stone, and branch, you crawl back to Steve to find him sitting up, craning his neck for sight of you.

Upon it, he sits back and releases a long-held breath.

His legs are a little more relaxed, stretched out but still wide open in his fatigue. You settle between them, scooching as close as you can but turn back forward as you sit up as straight as you can.

“Can you undo my bodice?” You ask, with your collection of tools placed before you, you move your hair out of his waist.

“You can’t take off your clothes.” Steve says, not understanding what you’re trying to do.

“Steve…just do it. Open my dress and once you see my corset strings, open it and then rip the driest part of my underdress. As much of it as you can.

“Y/N…” Steve begins, defiant.

“Please.” You beg, but you make it clear it isn’t an option.

After a moment of hesitation, he huffs out a gust of air before he gets to work on your dress.

It takes him five minutes to undo it and your corset, then another three to find and rip as large a piece of your underthings as he can.

“Is that dry enough?” He checks, holding out for you a strip long enough to wrap your arm several times.

“That’s perfect, my love.” You gush, taking the strip to feel how damp it might be.

Your skirts would have been too wet, trudging through snow all night.

Steve does your dress up as best as he can or attempts to before you’re up on your feet moving away from him.

“Wait…” He complains but you don’t stop and instead begin to feel around the large trunks you pass.

“You can dress me again in just a moment.” You tell him, but he growls.

“You’re going to catch your death with your back open like that!” He fumes.

You ignore him in favor of your search and after only two minutes this time, you find what you’re looking for. A knothole almost just out of reach.

Licking your lips, you push yourself up onto your toes and with trembling fingers search the space within.

You shut your eyes and refuse to think about what animals you may be disturbing.

Luckily, you find none, and instead find what you’re looking for.

With your stick and fabric in hand you scoop out as much dead and dried foliage as you can into the fabric with your stick placed in the middle of it all. The knothole is abundant in material, so you take as much as you need before you wrap it up around one end of the stick.

You cut a few small holes into the fabric to give the twigs and leaves and dried grass some air before you move back towards where you can hear Steve groaning in pain.

As he hears you near, he makes sure to stop.

Because he needs it more than you do at the moment, you find your spot between his legs again and turn around for him.

Quickly he begins to do your dress up, fighting the pain of his dislocated shoulder.

He’s pushing himself too hard and you know that he will pay for it. You hate that!

By the time he laces up your bodice, the spark from his steel dagger on your flint rock strikes a spark and your torch comes to life, blazing bright in what was only a second again pitch dark.

It’s blinding and you blink against the light before you grab it and turn to look at your husband.

He’s impressed, his face full of it, but what a face it is all beaten, black and blue.

“Oh, Steve.” You cry, your heart breaking.

“I’m okay.” He promises, reaching up with his good hand to stroke your cheek.

“No, you’re not!” You smack his hand away and shove the end of your torch into the ground to free up your hands.

With his cloak already open from him dressing you, you reach for his shoulder and feel for the shift.

Giving him time to fight you on this is not an option so you quickly force him back against the tree.

“Stay still.” You order, and without waiting for him to acknowledge what you’re saying, you begin to pull his shoulder up in small smooth circles.

“No, Y/N, wait.” He groans.

“Shh.” You frown but continue to lift his arm up.

“Y/N…” He repeats, his voice fighting the agony.

“Shush!” You insist, then finally feel the shift as his arm pops back into place.

“AH!” Steve cries, his breathing hard and his eyes shut tight.

You guide his arm across his chest and push it towards him to make sure he knows to keep it there while you tear more fabric from the thick layers of your skirts.

With his arm in a sling, Steve seems a bit more relaxed.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Steve wonders as you get up and fix your dress before you reach over for the torch.

His eyes are glued to your face, full of admiration and adoration, bloody lips curled slightly in a smile.

“I grew up alone, remember? I had to take care of myself.” You move to his good arm and hook your own through them. “Come on, your Majesty. On your feet.”

He groans and grunts as you pull him back onto his feet and tired legs. While he gets used to the sensation again, you hand him the torch and lean him against the tree. Then you move to grab his shield and with a long spare piece of your skirts available, you tie the disc to your back where you know it will be safe.

“You look good in my insignia.” Steve flirts.

“Of course, I do. I’m your wife.”

Steve huffs a small laugh.

“Come on, King Flirt. Lean on me.”

He wraps his good arm around your shoulders and leans as much weight against you as he’s willing which gladly is enough that the two of you can get moving again. And with the torch now out to show you the forest, you gasp as you realize just where you are.

“What is it?” Steve asks, sensing your glee.

“I know where we are!” You smile. “Come on. If we make good time, we’ll get there before the sun rises.”

It takes two more hours of you pulling Steve forward, forcing him to move faster just as he’d first forced you away from danger. You’re starting to feel the bite of the cold, but you don’t dare take the cloak from him. Only now are his lips beginning to show a bit of color. His cheeks aren’t so pale. His eyes are a little brighter.

You’re at the top of a hill when you finally stop and you’re breathing hard as your eyes take in the sight you’d thought you’d lost forever.

If not forever, then at least for a long time.

Below you both, nestled into the hillside is the Village of Bright Rise. A dozen and a half thatched roofed buildings that were once the only home you thought you’d ever know.

The church is on one end of the square, old and crumbling but still made with materials far better than the village houses that look to be in the midst of repairs.

The mill to the farms is on the right, and the old manor home—long since abandoned by the lord that had settled Bright Rise way before your parents had been born—sits derelict and half destroyed about a mile away from the village.

Still, despite the poverty you see before you, there is beauty in the large trees and the flower fields that you can only remember from your memories now with winter having taken the blooms. The small pond is frozen, and the roads are blanketed with fresh snow from earlier in the night when the sky had filled with clouds before being whisked away by winter winds.

“Where are we?” Steve wonders, staring at the little village below.

“We’re in Bright Rise.” You declare. “This is Bright Rise, Steve. This is where I was born. This is where my parents died and where I grew up. Just outside of the village, just before you reach that abandoned manor, you see that main road?”

Steve follows where your gaze to the spot you mean and nods.

“I see it.”

“That’s where my life changed. That’s where I found Grandmother fallen over in the mud. Where I searched, elbow deep in a bog for her purse. That’s where Father found me. Took me. Changed me.

“That’s where my destiny to be your wife manifested. This…this was my home.” You turn to him, watch as his face changes and devours every inch of the small place he sees below him.

“Do you see that small cottage over by the farms? To the right of the mill? With its crumbling walls and overgrown vine?” You ask, watching him.

“I see it.” He says, “Is that-?”

“That was where I lived. We’ll be safe there for a bit.” You whisper, suddenly nervous about him seeing your home. “Will you stay?”

Steve hears the insecurity in your voice, the fear of what your old home might say about who you were. Who you are. Because even if you are no longer that same girl that was taken at the side of the road, she is still within you. She’s your core. The base of who you have become.

“Anywhere.” Steve says. “So long as I’m with you.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x reader fanfiction #medieval fantasy au #royalty au #marvel au #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #king!steve x you #steve x you #captain america x reader #avengers x reader #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt27

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jojo-fantasy-aus · 4 years

Text

Fantasy AU!

Josuke x F! Reader- CH 1.

First post, yay! This will be a longer series, so feel free to give me any criticism or suggestions!

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Being born into a peasant family was definitely not the greatest way to secure a happy life, but you made due with it. Your mother was a seamstress, father a carpenter, and you made it a point to learn everything you could from both of them. The more skills you had, the more likely you were to get a better job, and in turn, create a better life for you and your family.

And that was exactly what you did. You managed to get a job at the Royal Palace, a favor from some family friends, and quickly moved up the ranks. Everyone knew that it was because you were kind, and had made a good impression on the king, but you'd rather say that it was because of all the hard work you had done.

You had been the head lady-in-waiting for some time now, and had thought you'd seen everything. The Crown Princess, your beautiful best friend, tended to always get into some sort of trouble. You always made a point to try and prepare yourself for any incoming inconveniences, but today was... different.

"I just don't understand why Father makes me go to these things!" You hummed in response, currently focused on lacing up the powder pink dress she was to wear tonight. The beautiful fabrics elegantly draping just below her ankles, you regarded the dress with pride, it was one of your mother's designs. She was over the moon when Yukako asked for one to be made for the People's Gala.

The People's Gala was more of a festival than anything. An outdoor event, and favorite of everyone in the kingdom. The festival was a kindness the king gave the commoners every year to show his gratitude. It was a wonderful tool to keep the everyone in the kingdom happy.

"Well, there isn't another crown princess to attend for you, Yukako." She huffed, standing patiently still as you tightened her corset to a breathable squeeze. You checked her hem for any stains or rips once more, and stood once you were done, making sure she could move around just fine. Smiling a bit when you remembered something that was sure to lift her spirits.

"You know, rumor around the Palace is that the page boy you like will be attending. Koichi Hirose, was it?" Yukako's icy face lifted immediately, excitedly turning around to clutch your hands. She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly closed it. Brows furrowed, frowning. You already knew what she was thinking. A ball of sadness and empathy forming in the pit of your chest.

"I'm sure he wouldn't want to see me again. Not after what happened." You had almost forgotten. You sighed, the princess had... a bit of a manic episode a while back. Focusing on Koichi in an... unhealthy amount. Needless to say, he had become quite wary of her. But she still snuck glances at him when she attended the royal library during her studies. You had never been in love yourself, but you knew enough about it to know she had it bad.

"I'm sure he won't be too flighty Yukako. At least you will be able to see him once again?" You murmur half-heartedly, briskly making your way around the room to blow out rose-sented candles and put things you had used to get her ready back in place.

"I suppose..." you let out a pitiful chuckle, hoping that your friend would feel better once she was at the gala. It had become her favorite, but only because she always seemed to be able to speak to Koichi as he shadowed the head page during the king's speech. You didn’t actually know Koichi that well, so you hoped for the princess' sake that he had forgiving mannerisms.

You quickly brought the Princess' shoes out, and laced up your own boots as she put them on. Smoothing out your plain blue skirt as you stood, you held out an arm to escort the princess. Usually it was unseemly to see a woman escorting another, but Yukako refused to let anyone else escort her. The king only allowed it because you managed to keep her out of trouble. (It was also partly due to the fact that she was too infatuated with Koichi to have eyes for a woman.)

The walk down to the palace gates was unfortunately, and uncomfortably, long. Yukako was squirming in her corset the entire time, desperately trying to look ladylike while she did. You tapped her arm lightly, a simple reminder to keep her composure. Servants and cooks were running around the ground floor like crazy, frantically trying to get everything together. Weaving in and out if the fray was quite tiring, but eventually the two of you made it to the gates unscathed.

Vendor tents were proped up as far as the eye could see, sweet smells floating in the breeze to antagonize those who had not yet eaten. The guards let you through with a wave as you and Yukako prepared yourselves for the onslaught of people along the streets.

The tents were all decorated beautifully, flowers and suns and other symbols painted on the cloth roofing. The setting sun casting a beautiful golden hue on everything and everyone. Those who recognized the princess bowed and curtsied as you passed, and those who didn't just waved and gawked at her beautiful dress. Some simply said nothing, as her cold outside demeanor seemed a bit intimidating. You knew yourself that she could be a bit scary when she wanted to be, but right now she was in awe. Looking at all the vendors with a sparkle in her eye. It was good to see her be herself in public for once.

"Try not to get too enamored, Princess, your father wants us to meet him for his speech. Knowing him we'll be there all day." You mused, leading her through the crowd carefully, keeping away from alleys and sketchy figures. You knew you were probably being overly cautious, but for some reason you just felt the need to be careful. Nerves welling in your stomach telling you so. Having always had correct gut feelings, you search for something else to focus on to mask the concern, not wanting Yukako to lose her cool herself.

You thought about that for a moment, no, Yukako would never be thrown into a panic due to gut feelings. She'd be a bit more defensive maybe, but she'd never let weakness like that show.

Every once and a while you would pass a few royal guardsmen watching over the festival, you made a point to wave at them when you could to make sure they were watching you and the princess. This settling sense of anxiety was pointless, you knew, but you certainly would rather take precautions then suffer the consequences.

At last, you had finally made it to the gazebo. Elegant white and gold trim framed the marble pillars, ceiling slumped in a slender tent-shape. It had been freshly cleaned, but the doves still fluttered about in the rafters. The king was atop a temporary throne, speaking to his advisors. The knights at all four corners bowed as you two carefully ascended the steps.

"Yukako! Dear, just who I wanted to see!" The king cheered when he spotted her, calling out your name just after. The king was a rather large, jolly man. He wasn't quite handsome, not to the point of being ugly, but needless to say it was hard to believe that Yukako had come from, well, him. The king's crown sat grandly upon his head, dressed in fine fabrics and deep indigo colors he certainly looked the part for his title.

"I assume that there were no problems arriving?"

"No, your majesty." The words fell from your mouth robotically, more of a reflex than an answer at this point.

"Wonderful!" The king started to ramble on as he does, and your thoughts drifted to lunch, the chores awaiting you at home. You wanted to think about anything that could make the time possible pass faster. The king continued to drone on, always prone to these things. Yukako herself looked like she was about to fall asleep from boredom. Her arm slipped out of yours quite a bit ago, but you hadn't really noticed. Blankly staring at the king as he spoke about the splendid flower arrangements, and the farms that they came from.

"Yes your majesty, the hydrangeas are quite beautiful." He heartily laughed, sending a friendly wink your way.

"They always have been Yukako's favorite! Ever since she was a girl she- Yukako?" The king looked around with a confused look, you didn't understand why. The princess was right next to you-

But then again, she wasn't. She had disappeared from you side. You spun a around in a panic, searching through the wide, open, gazebo. She was nowhere to be found. You were right about the gut feeling yet again, weren't you. Panic built up from your stomach and pushed into your chest, overwhelming any other sense.

"Princess?" You try your best to push the words out of your throat, turning to the side exit. Your eyes desperately search through the crowd. The king was talking to you, words muffled, you had blocked everything out, just until you saw a flash of pink in the crowd.

"Hurry and find her!" And just like that, you took off in a sprint. Calling for her as you pushed through the crowd. Your heart was pounding in your ears. Didn't she know how dangerous this was? The least gaurded festival of them all and she decided to disappear like that? Was it even her own decision to run off, or was she taken. You didn't know, and you certainly couldn't rationize anything right now.

The methodical feeling of your boots hitting the ground and pushing you forward was what you focused on to keep you calm. Step, push. Step, push. Rinse and repeat until you had almost collected your witts. There!-A flash of her pink skirt around the corner. You had found her. Or, you did, before your foot skidded across the gravel, and you plummeted to the ground. You slammed against the gravel, hard.

"Whoah! Are you ok?" You pushed yourself off the ground as quickly as you could, but a pair of hands steadied you as you stood. They belonged to a taller man, blue eyes peering at you quizzically. He was a muscular build, probably a knight, you assumed. His hair was done up in such away that you would assume he was a royal, if it weren't his dirtied chain mail armor. You certainly had no time to gawk however. You tried to take off running once again, but he caught your arm.

"Let me go!"

"Just hold on a moment, would you? Why the rush? Are you being chased?" You didn’t have time for these questions! To no avail you tried to tug your arm away from him. And when you realized he wouldn't let you go you blurted out the only thing you could think of in that moment.

"The princess is missing, I'm trying to find her, so let- Go!" His eyes widened, grip loosening for a split second, just enough for you to slip away. Once again sprinting in the direction you saw her last, turning the corner. The guy who had let you go was calling for you, and somehow made it to your side almost impossibly quick.

The crowd started to become denser as the pathways winded farther away from the gazebo. Carts rumbling around the walkways and vendors passing out samples in the streets. Unwillingly you had started to slow, the man pulling ahead of you by just a bit.

It was hard to pay attention to the people around you while you searched for Yukako. Bumping into one person and then another as you squeezed through the crowds. Turning your head just a bit you saw that the man still had an eyes on you. Peering over his shoulder as he ran. He mouthed something to you that you couldn't quite understand.

You almost tripped again when he grabbed your hand, and yanked you into a makeshift alleyway.

"What the hell do you think your doing!?" You yanked your hand away from him, running back to the entrance and trying to peer over the dense amount of people. Nothing. You started to get angry. Yukako could be in danger and you had lost her trail thanks to him.

"I'm helping you find your princess." You wiped around in rage, a mouthful of words ready to fire. But once you looked past him, you saw that characteristically long hair, powder pink dress dirtied from her disappearance. A little man with silver hair, Koichi, defensively standing in front of her. You stood in shock, he did help you find her.

"Oh, Josuke! Its just you," Koichi dropped his defensive demeanor, and Yukako's eyes followed him, completely enamored. She hardly even notice your disheveled, panicked self next to the handsome stranger that Koichi apparently knew.

"Yeah, sorry for the interruption-" Your shock started to wear off a bit as they talked, relief and anger overwhelming your senses. Yukako was actually smiling as she watched Koichi talk though, at least she was happy.

That's what you wanted to think anyway. You were too overwhelmed with emotion to think if anything but the fact that she wasn't hurt, and she was certainly not dead. Both men looked at you quizzically as you passed them and wrapped Yukako in a hug.

"Yukako, what were you thinking?!" You had started to tear up, holding onto her tightly. You had forgotten about formalities just this once, thankful that your friend was ok. Once you let go of her she simply shrugged, pointing a sour look at you. Making eye contact and flicking her eyes to Koichi and back. Oh.

You eyed Koichi with suspicion, and he immediately stiffened up, starting to ramble.

"I'm sorry! I was just enjoying the festival and then I saw Yuka- her highness! And I thought she was lost so I-" Honestly it became harder to understand what he was saying the more he went on. The man from before, Josuke? Clapped a hand on Koichi's back, and he started to chill out a bit. Josuke looked up at you with a slight smile, and you almost blushed. He was quite handsome. You cleared your throat.

"I suppose I should thank you. I'm sorry for the rudeness." He laughed, and you knew you were blushing, you tried your best to suppress whatever spell he had you under, treating it as a simple, shallow emotion that you wanted to rid yourself of.

"Don't sweat it," He said curtly. "You had me thinking that she was in danger though, I'm a little pissed at that. But I don't mind." The crude words almost hung in the air, it was strange to hear people cursing so openly. You used to have the mouth of a sailor yourself, until the proper poise of the castle servants started to rub off on you too. Lord help the soul who curses in front of the king.

"I know that her highness can be a bit unmanageable sometimes." His eyes grew serious, looking dead at you like the Princess wasn't even there. You could feel Yukako prickle behind you. She was definitely pissed. your face had twisted in a foul way at his words as well, but you pushed out a sigh, pushing down the defensive words you wanted to say because you knew he was right.

Koichi started to complain at Josuke's attitude and you almost felt relieved when his serious gaze shifted away from your own. You turned back to Yukako with a sigh as the friends bicker. She still had her eyes squarely on Koichi.

"Yukako, what happened?" You whisper, lacing your hands together to resist popping your knuckles or fidgeting. Yukako folds her arms, dark gaze pointed at you once again. You probably would've been afraid if it weren't for the fact that you knew her well enough that she wasn't going to pose any threat as long as Koichi was around.

"I'm not going to apologize because I'm not sorry. The old man should've known how boring his speeches were anyway." She explains why she ran off, Koichi was in the crowd, he waved, mouthing something to her. She ran over to him on impulse, and he panicked, trying to get her somewhere where there were less people, and where there was less of a chance of her getting hurt.

She started to blush when she started to get to the end, you suppose that something more happened between her and Koichi that she was leaving out, but didn't press. Instead, you raise your eyebrows at Yukako with a slight smile. She playfully swats you away, fully flustered now.

Neither of you knew what to do when you heard the screaming.

It was everywhere, women, children, and men alike, the crowd outside the alley clearing out fast, people frantically running from something or someone. You slowly step forward to stand beside Josuke, Koichi backing away to make sure yukako was ok. You tried to peer over the crowd looking for what the commotion was all about.

You yelp as someone yanks you back, but you already knew who it was, recognizing the restrained tug. You snap your head up to spit out a retort at Josuke, but the words die in your throat, he was focused on something that you couldn't see. His eyes set in a terrifying manner, you couldn't tell if the fear stinging in your chest was because of him or the mass panic. His hand remained on your back, softly holding onto you.

"...Jo…Josuke…" Koichi's cough causes you to jump, heart pounding in your ears as you and Josuke whipped around. Both Yukako and Koichi were in a coughing fit, a mysterious gas filling the back of the alley. You didn't think it was even possible for any more panic to settle in your chest until you saw Yukako double over, falling to the ground in her fit. Koichi fell beside her as you ran to them. Josuke was calling for you to come back but you could only hear the blood rushing in your ears.

The moment you stepped into the mist it felt like you couldn't breath. The gas ripping coughs out of your chest, lighting your lungs on fire and leaving you to struggle to push out the smoke. Your eyesight became blurry as you saw figures step out of the thickest part of the mist.

"N...no…" You struggled out, watching as they picked the two of them up.The insignia on their backs burning into your memory. Your eyes began to get heavier and heavier, you started to slip into the abyss.

You didn't know how Josuke pulled you out of the mist. In fact, you didn't even realize you were out until you were in his arms as he ran. You tried to speak, but only a groan came out. It was hard to focus, hard to stay awake… Everything was hazy and hard to understand.

"Don't you fall asleep on me, ok?" Your chest felt wet and sticky, a pain in your chest starting to reveal itself. Were you bleeding? You couldn't think straight. What had happened? Where were Koichi and the Princess? You could hear arrows whiz past you and Josuke. He cursed under his breath, and you weakly held onto him as he made a sharp turn.

He suddenly stopped. Shit. Dead end. He held you a little tighter as his face shifted into something unreadable. You were beginning to wake up more, but the pain in your chest remained constant. Josuke suddenly set you down with an apology as he set you against a wall to keep your balance, hands grazing your waist as he pulled away. It was getting easier to focus, you pressed a hand to where the pain was centered on your chest, sticky blood coating your hand when you took it away.

You almost felt faint, the adrenaline starting to set in again. You frantically looked for Josuke again, scared that he had left you. You spotted him at the very end of the alley, flinching as the sound of metal on concrete echoed off the walls. Josuke was catching his breath after setting the sewer grate down, facing you slightly.

"We're going in there, aren't we." You murmured, the anxiety returning as shouting grew closer to the alley. Josuke let out a pained laugh as he quickly made his way back to you. Helping you hobble over to the open grate. He hopped in first and you sat down, feet dangling through the hole, when you managed to move in just the wrong angle. A stabbing pain shot through your chest and you sucked in breath, unable to move.

Thank God Josuke noticed, a worried look flashed across his face. He grabbed your arm with one hand and hooked the other under your knees, awkwardly maneuvering you through the open grate. You could tell he was trying to be gentle, but the pain only grew worse. Your face contorted in pain as he gently set you down on the concrete maintenance path, his arms remaining put. You glanced up just in time to see the grate slide shut on. it's. own.

"What the Fuck?" You whisper, earning a wide smile from Josuke. His face quickly changed when loud voices shouted overhead.

"I thought you said they went this way, dimwit!" Josuke pressed you to his chest protectively, ready to take off with you in his hands if he had too. You could feel how built he was through the chain mail, and realized he had supported your weight along with the armour the entire way he had carried you. The thought alone makes you blush. You needed to put out this crush, he was a stranger you just met.

"They did go this way! I swear!" A scoff and the sound of a slap echoed, you flinched a bit, keeping your eyes closed tight as you prayed for them to leave.

You and Josuke both started to calm down as the footsteps grew farther and farther away. Josuke's stiff posture relaxing, yourself letting out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

It was silent for a while after, you assumed Josuke was waiting a while longer to speak just in case the men returned. You almost missed the warmth of his body as he pulled away to look through the grate. Satisfied with whatever he had seen, he sat down next to you, completely relaxed. Confident in that the men were long gone, (Thanks to Josuke's reaction,) you gathered the strength to speak.

"Where are they?" Your voice cracked. Josuke avoided eye contact with you, leaning his head back on the cold stone behind the two of you. You could clearly see that he was ashamed, and worry started to boil over in your chest.

"I couldn't get to them." He was struggling with the words, and you just knew he was holding something back from you. Keeping some sort of detail to himself.

A rush of mixed emotions flooded through you. Did he just leave them behind? Why?! What did he even mean he "couldn't get to them"? You decide to keep your manners in check as you sit. He was obviously a close friend of Koichi, and out of everyone you knew it was clear to you that Koichi was too honest and respectable to remain close with someone unworthy of trusting. If Koichi trusted him, you decided that you probably should too.

Shifting uncomfortably where he was sitting, Josuke turned towards you and oh so gently moved your arms a bit so he could see the wound on your chest better. Chills ran rampant across your arms, and you hoped he wouldn't notice.

"I managed to drag you out of there with my stand. But when I hesitated to get us out of there they started to shoot." Your brows furrowed in confusion as he scooted closer. You shuddered as he pulled open the ripped part of your white blouse just enough to see the shallow wound. It stretched from the tip of your shoulder to just below your armpit, and damn did it hurt like hell when he exposed it to the open air.

"Stand?" Josuke shook his head, and you were in too much pain to demand an explanation. Josuke's hands remained on the edges of the ripped fabric, and even though you could see them it somehow felt like he was touching the wound.

"An arrow grazed you a little too close while I was standing there like a dunce, I want to apologize for that. I should've registered that we needed to escape before you were hurt." You suck in a ragged gasp as the pressure of the invisible touch increased just lightly, and suddenly the pain stopped. You look in awe as the wound starts to heal itself up completely.

"A knight and a Mage too?" You mused after the initial shock wore off. It wasn't uncommon for "magic" and healers to be heard of, but it was certainly a shock to actually meet one. You honestly had been a little skeptical until now, and it was still hard to believe.

"Something like that." Josuke smiles lightly, sitting back against the wall where he was before. You didn't talk much after that. He asked you if you remembered what the men looked like, and you tried your best to explain the symbols on their cloaks, but you were afraid that you weren't very good at it.

Josuke couldn't quite understand what you were describing, and you both ended up agreeing that you both needed to look for Koichi and Yukako. Josuke as the muscle and you for… information? Moral support?

You didn’t know, but with Yukako's life on the line you weren't going to take no for an answer even if he wanted to find them alone.

Your eyes started to grow heavy, but you didn't want to sleep. You felt too open, to vulnerable to sleep. Josuke was a complete stranger, and yet he had done more for you than anyone else had in ages. He had helped you, saved your life even, but doubt still trickled in through the back door of your mind. How long would it last?

You wouldn't follow down that rabbit hole anymore tonight, sleep taking over your body swiftly as you truly started to process everything that had just happened.

#jjba josuke #josuke x reader #josuke higashitaka #josuke 4 #jjba #jjba x reader #fantasy au #it takes two fic

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spinchip · 4 years

Text

The What-Ifs

Summary: Zane and Nya discuss things that could have been while paired up on a mission together, finding maybe they’ve wanted the same thing all along.

Pairing: Braincellshipping

Wordcount: 1500

A/n: Nya and Jay have already been broken up for a while during this.

“I think about what-ifs, sometimes.” Nya’s not sure why she says it- probably a half-baked plan to break the awkward silence lingering between them, Zanes profile lit up by neon lights and the passing of cars headlights. Out of everyone, the two of them have spent the least amount of time alone together entirely because of her growing feelings and subsequent avoidance of said feelings- which led unintentionally to her avoiding him, and while she’d seen Lloyds considering look during meal times, she had never thought he’d stick them together like this. They had basically been partnered up on all missions the past few weeks, and while Nya was perfectly fine if she could keep her space, being so up-close and personal with Zane was making her tongue tie itself into knots. She was usually so good at knowing just what to say.

His eyes don’t break from the horizon, scanning the sidewalks, but his shoulders tense just slightly- she wouldn’t have been able to tell if not for the taxi that pulls around the corner, the headlights just barely reaching the alcove they had been holed away in, enough to catch the uncertain shift of his hoodie.

She scrambles, the implications of the statement hitting her too late, “Just- what if I had never said yes-?” cringing, she bites the rest of her sentence down, admitting a truth too raw in her haste to reassure him she hadn’t meant the Never Realm. Despite the shame making her face hot, she can't deny the relief that wiggles in her gut when his defensiveness drops for curiosity, his blue eyes pinning her with glowing interest.

Before he can ask for clarification like he clearly wants to, a shadow moves between the hustle and bustle of the street and Zanes eyes zero in. She picks up on the shift immediately, taking his elbow while he leads them into the crowd, seamlessly blending in with the other civilians enjoying the autumn night. Slowly, deliberately, they tail one of the Mechanics right hand goons, easily keeping pace with the man who seemed to have no idea how to avoid being followed. Zane wordlessly notifies the Ninjas group chat they’re on their mark, the others all spread out through out the city can relax. He doesn’t seem to have noticed the two ninja hot on his heels.

Though Nya does assume it would be hard to recognize the two of them like this, dressed down and casual, especially given Zanes human disguise and yellow hoodie and her own red jacket. If he was looking for white and grey, he’d pass right over them. Being dressed so informal seems to only make her even more paranoid, certain if they were caught they’d mess everything up trying to do spinjitzu in denim. A cool hand lays overtop hers where she’s been unwittingly squeezing his arm, and she wills herself to relax. They were just friends on a walk in the city, no need to be so on edge.

She focuses on the retreating man's back, letting the way Zanes' thumb passes over her knuckles remind her to stay calm, the motion soothing.

“So what was the question?” Zane asks and she inwardly cringes, it had been wishful thinking to believe he’d forgotten, “The one you wish you’d refused?”

“I don’t know if i said it that way…” She mutters, shoulders slumping. Exhaling, she decides it’d be a good idea to get the thought out of her head anyway, “I just wonder what could have happened if… if I…”

“You do not have to tell me.” He reassures her as she hesitates, curling his arm to cradle her hand in the crook of his elbow easier.

She swallows, “What if when Jay asked me on that date I said no?”

There’s a long pause, his hand stilling where he’d been comforting her, and she risks looking away from the man they were following to glance at him. His expression is surprised, but when he notices her gaze on him he tries to close it off quickly, “Oh.” He says simply.

“It’s not like I regret our relationship,” She winces, side stepping a group of people chatting outside a fancy restaurant, “We had some good times together, but I just… I wonder what I missed out on, sometimes. What could have been.”

The goon stops suddenly, turning around with a suspicious look on his face. Nya catches on first, shoving Zane nearly to the ground in her haste to hide them under the cover of one of the many food carts lining the street, the restaraunt advertising many different types of drinks and foods. She blows loose strands of hair from her face, peeking out from behind a weirded-out looking patron to see if they’d been spotted, Zane apologizing to the vendor for nearly knocking a rack of utensils over while she’s on lookout.

It seems they’d underestimated him. He’d disappeared into the crowd the moment their line of sight was broken. She curses under her breath, it was a busy Friday night and the streets were packed. It was lucky they’d even seen him in the first place, and now that he knew he might have been followed… She shares a grim look with Zane, pulling out her communicator to report back to Lloyd.

There’s a long crackle of static on the other line as Lloyd thinks, holding down the button until he’s ready to deliver their plan- which turns out to be no plan at all, “There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Finish up with a final sweep and we’ll meet back at the monastery later.” short and to the point. The patrons at the food stall seem to have caught on to exactly who their dinner guests are, whispering amongst themselves, and the Wwoman behind the counter’s eyes glitter as she pulls out her camera with hopeful eyes.

Zane shrugs blithely when Nya sends him a probing look, and they both lean over and pose with the owner while the older woman prods her patrons to snap a picture. One mini photo-shoot and some free Empanadas later and they were ducking back out onto the street, continuing their circuit of their designated lookout. Without thinking, she hooks her arm around his, linking them together again as they walk. It’s as natural as breathing.

She scans the crowd, nibbling on her food, when Zane announces in a tone that makes it clear he’s absolutely certain, “I would have asked you.”

She blinks, tilting her head as she puzzles the random words, “Huh?”

He looks at her, those brilliantly blue eyes earnest, “If you had said no to Jay.” He explains, “I would have asked you to dinner.” He smiles as if he hasn’t just pulled the rug from under her feet.

She’s so thrown she actually stops walking, and he jerks back as her hold on his arm stops him too, “You… what?”

He blinks, a flash of nerves making his shoulders hunch, “I think you are amazing.” Present tense. He still does.

They stand there on the sidewalk while she gawks up at him, only spurred back into walking when a passerby nudges past her. He awkwardly leads them through the streets as the city lives around them, thinking he’s said something wrong. She can’t find the right words to reassure him other than to say, “Well, what if you had asked?” She can feel him looking at her, but she doesn’t glance back, keeping her eyes on the crowd, “And what if I had said yes?”

He hums a little, glancing down at his sneakers as they walked, thinking, “I would have cooked.” he says obviously, “Your favorite: Baked macaroni and cheese- though that’s not your favorite now.” He says thoughtfully, “It is Pineapple fried rice, correct? I should make it more often.”

“No one else likes it though.” She says, looking up at him with a smile, warm fuzzies spreading across her face. He remembered her favorite foods.

He hums noncommittally and she gets the feeling he doesn’t care wether the others like it or not. Slowly she leans her head on his shoulder, lacing her fingers together where she’s been holding onto him to draw them closer together. She wonders how that night would have gone, if she would have been charmed by him, if it would have led to another dinner or a kiss. She wonders if it could have been Zane to offer her that promise ring, and if she would have gotten to keep it. What if.

The walk in silence for a long while, finishing off their impromptu dinner, coming to the end of their sweep. It feels so weirdly final, despite the fact they’d both be out here tomorrow night too, on the same hunt. It feels like a door is about to shut, one she desperately doesn’t want to close before she sees who’s behind it.

They come to the mouth of the alley they started the night in, both their bikes stored in the darkness and away from prying eyes, the shadows of the backstreet an ending she doesn’t want to face. She lets go of his elbow, standing underneath the lantern of the bar right next to them, only stopping him by catching his hand in hers while he’s still lit up by street lamps and restaurant signs. She’s always tried to be bold, when she knows what she wants, and she thinks she might have it figured out. He turns to face her, a inquiring tilt to his head.

“What if,” She says, smiling up into his questioning eyes, “I asked you to go on a date with me? Not the past, but here, now?”

He smiles and she can see him try to contain the happiness, his eyes flickering two shades brighter when he says, “I would say yes."

#zane julien #nya ninjago #ninjago #braincellshipping #spinchip fic #auuuuu sorry if this is ooc #ive seen so much braincell on my dash today.... hell yes

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vegalocity · 4 years

Note

10/18 spicynoodles plis

Prompt meme || @deborahsworld

10.A Shy Kiss/18. Holding Hands

Hell yeah time for fluff

Okay... first date....Going pretty well so far. The Movie was okay—MK wasn't very big on horror movies even ones as old as this one was, but Red Son was really excited when he saw it was being played for a ‘foreign movies’ night at the movie theater and what, could have have argued against such enthusiasm?—if a bit slow going and atmospheric.

Though after the heroes found the monster frozen and seemingly dead in the abandoned Norwegian outpost, all twisted and malformed, he really hoped his appetite wouldn't be killed by the end of this with even worse when the monsters started actually moving.

And then the monsters actually started moving.

The dog turning into a monster and killing the other dogs hurt the animal lover inside him, and he felt a bit of his latent arachnophobia begin to rear its head when the hairy legs sprouted from its back, and then the actual form the monster, halfway through killing the remaining trapped dogs had sent a chill up his spine and then-

“See how they were able to make the monster look goopy? It's not really very goopy except during the close up shots, because it's an animatronic so it had to be dry most of the time, they got the shine effect by piling liquid latex ontop of the finished paintjob until it started drying while it trailed off of the frame. And that right there? When it took the hurt dog? That was actually filmed in reverse, having the tentacles start out around the dog puppet and then rapidly pull away so when they reversed it it looked like they actually moved and had torque behind the action.”

“Really?”

“Yeah it's really fascinating how they went about effects before computer graphics were refined, everything had to be practical so even if it doesn't look the best, it doesn't hit that uncanny valley that bad CGI makes because even if it doesn't look real it looks real enough.”

It didn't feel quite as disturbing with that rattling around in his head, focusing on how much work must have been done to make the monster move as realistically as possible, how many times they'd practiced and trained in a controlled sound stage and adapting it to the set...

They weren't the only ones in the theater, but it was a mostly empty showing, as was usually the case with foreign films as old as this one. So it wasn't like they were disturbing anyone with Red Son leaning over to whisper interesting details MK would have never even thought to look up to make the overall experience less scary. Red Son seemed aware that he wasn't the biggest horror fan, and was trying to soften the blows the more intense moments would bring by talking through them and bringing back the reality that it was just a movie they were watching.

“I was alive in this era and I can state with general expertise that computers were certainly not that advanced yet. Computer AI wasn't past that of your average graphing calculator until at least the mid 1990's.”

“They got that sound effect by putting a microphone in a tin trash can and recording the sound of a racecar zooming by and put it in a reverb chamber until it sounded completely unrecognizable”

“Blair is already a Thing at this point, you remember when he was dissecting the Norwegian base's monster? He was using a pencil eraser to point out that era in its chest and then he'd touched the eraser to his lip! And since it started by probably just a small contingent of shed cells it probably took him longer to assimilate than the others.”

“This is actually really cool! The stunt double for Copper that they got for the scene actually was a double amputee! They made fake hands for him out of latex, filled them with fake blood, and styled the chest jaw like a bear trap for that disgusting pulling shot.”

Though... That one didn't work as well... When the long tendril shot from the Thing's stomach and sprouted slider legs and a second head, the extending neck hissing and glaring down at the heroes, he felt his gut turn, even as the heroes took the flamethrower to the monster.

The monster's first head ripped from its body and grew spider legs. And Oh GOD that was disgusting, without thinking he reached for the edge of the armrest to grip as the heroes had to play cat and mouse with a severed, spider head. He'd missed, and his hand clapped down atop of Red Son's and squeezed.

Red Son jolted beside him and MK saw him turn in his direction in his periphery.

“You know if this is freaking you out too much we can leave.”

“No! No, it's okay. You like this movie! You wouldn't know so much about it if you didn't like it!” Besides, he shouldn't be getting so spooked about some kinda gross kinda spidery horror movie from the 1980s, what kind of hero got freaked out at a little practical effects?

He couldn't see Red Son's face very well with only the light of the movie itself to see by, but he made a strange sort of humming noise and slipped his hand out of MK's, moving his arm to put the arm rest up and then slide his hand back into his own.

“Here, that should be more comfortable then.”

And it was. Red Son's factoids and chatter alongside the movie were doing well at cutting the edge off of it again, and it was aided by not just their connected hands, but now by his physical closeness as well.

“I've heard the director had this stylistic rule about after the Things start invading, the idea is that if a character has light reflecting off their eyes they're human, if not they're a Thing.”

“Most people think Palmers was the shadow the dog assimilated back earlier but I think it was Norris, Palmers didn't get turned into a thing until after they go and talk to Blair again I don't think.”

“Actually...I don't think I like that translation very much. Like yeah it's more polite and Gary's a gentleman, but 'I'd rather not spend the rest of this winter tied to this fucking couch' emphasizes the stress of the situation better.”

And then came the time of the final confrontation, MK braced himself, squeezed Red Son's hand in his own. It was indeed gross, and frightful, and the puppetry alone was REALLY good. All those moving parts and there's no way that THAT was an animatronic so it HAD to be a puppet. And wow that was a REALLY good explosion.

...huh...Apparently he could do it too.

The movie ended with what MK felt like was a tentatively optimistic note. The remaining two heroes sharing a drink as the research facility and the monsters it housed burned around them. And you maybe get the feeling the two of them won't survive the cold, but they stopped the monsters and that’s what matters.

Though MK was right to worry over the movie killing his apatite because by the time the lights went up and the credits rolled he found he wasn't very hungry. Which felt ridiculous since he was always in need of quick carbs for Monkie Kid things. But Red Son had lost his own apatite as well apparently and the two of them could do nothing but laugh a bit awkwardly at their date being derailed by a movie being a bit too gross.

So MK pulled him into a nearby park and they went for a walk instead of the restaurant they'd planned for.

“Most people think that Childs is a Thing and I'm tempted to agree, He doesn't have the eye shine but neither does MacReady and we know he's not a Thing, but MacReady's breath is steaming and Childs' doesn't until the very end there, and MacReady wasn't drinking, those were Molotov Cocktails, that was gasoline and Childs just downed it without a thought to taste or smell.”

“So you think the Thing won at the end?”

“I don't know, but they do have one flamethrower left and Childs whether he's a Thing or not just drank gasoline. So MacReady as a person is probably as good as dead.”

“I Dunno, I like the idea that he wasn't a Thing in the end, gives it something not dissimilar to a happy ending, but like, it's not like they hadn't been wrong about who was a Thing before. The dog handler wasn't a Thing but he got shot anyway.”

“That's very true.”

It was about there that MK realized he'd yet to let go of Red Son's hand.

Well... he hadn't pulled away... MK squeezed Red Son's hand in his own, and Red Son—on a tangent about how in the time before CGI they'd made the stylistic title card with use of a fishtank, garbage bag, flash paper and a lot of smoke—squeezed him back.

A few hours and a plate or two of street vendor food when either of their appetites returned later and Red Son had insisted on walking him home. He was staying in a penthouse that his family technically owned but he was the only one who actually knew about it, and he wanted to be a gentleman before he headed back there.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself a bit. I feel as though I should apologize for choosing such a niche film, mother always said I was the only one who cared about foreign horror movies and just because I find movie effects fascinating especially in a time before technology was as advanced as it is now doesn't mean I should subject others to my incessant yammering.”

he didn't really think Red Son could pull off shy, but he'd folded his arms tightly and was very pointedly NOT looking at him now. And Sure, this felt like a big step, but that playfully self deprecating tone wasn’t gonna fly here. He moved slowly, giving Red Son time to pull away if desired. Placing one hand on Red Son's shoulder, the other on the side of his face to turn his head. He had to get on his tiptoes to make it to his level, but he leaned in-

It was nice. Soft, and Red Son of course ran hotter than an average person so it was warm too. He pulled away just as he felt Red Son start to press back against him. When MK opened his eyes, he noticed Red Son's were still closed for a moment longer before fluttering open.

“I like your incessant yammering.” He had such a cute blush. “it means you're passionate about something.”

“You... wanna come in? Monkey King gave me this new tea blend I've been meaning to try out.”

Prompt meme (I’ll stop when y’all stop sending stuff)

#Spicynoodleshipping #soff first date #Monkie Kid #MK Red Son #MK #letters to vega #Vega writes stories too #prompt meme #deborahsworld #The more times i write for Red Son the more I project hashtag autism moods #tfw u infodump on your date about an SI all night #and then SHCOK DELIGHT when you find out they think its charming

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hauntednightmarekitty · 3 years

Text

Comic-con Gone Wrong

Summary: Alex goes to comic-con with his girlfriend and meets a cute girl dressed up as link. Or so he thinks.

Warnings: misgendering, very very slight abuse mentions if you read into it

“Alex, come on! We’re going to be late if you don’t pick up the pace,” My girlfriend, Andrea, urged me as she pulled my arm. She was trying to get me into the comic-con faster, but I was distracted by all of the people in costumes - I think Andrea called it cosplay - and all of the crowds of people. I had never been to any sort of con even though Andrea adores them and goes constantly. I’ve been dating her for years, but I didn’t even know that she liked these things until about a year, but now I see why. There is so much and all of the colors just catch your attention, plus the people seem very friendly.

“I’m coming, sweetheart, don’t worry so much,” I said, but she just shot me a dirty look and continued to try to drag me into the building where the con was taking place.

Once we got in the building, I was immediately hit with a wave of stimulus. People were talking all around me, the lights were bright overhead, I could smell multiple different food vendors cooking various different kinds of food, and people shoved at me in an attempt to get by me.

“What do you want to do first?” Andrea asked, pulling me back to the current moment.

“I would really love something to eat.” She giggled a little then shook her head, her long red hair hitting bouncing around. She had dressed up as Poison Ivy and tried to convince me to dress up with her, but I had too much work and it was too short notice for us to be able to pull anything together.

“You can do that, but I’m not really hungry yet. I think I’ll go and look at that DC merch booth, okay? Just meet me there when you’re done.” I flashed her a smile which made her giggle again before she turned and skipped over to the booth.

I got into line at a booth that served various deserts shortly after. The girl in front of me was wearing a Link cosplay and looked up when she noticed me get in line. She had a nose ring and an eyebrow ring, but they, oddly enough, worked really well with the cosplay. Her fake elf ears poked out from her shoulder-length blonde hair and her eyeliner was sharp enough to cut.

“Hey, is this your first con?” Her voice was sweet and slightly deeper, but still beautiful.

“How did you know?” Her intuition freaked me out a bit, but she flashed me a toothy grin and offered me a hand. I took and she returned with a firm handshake that felt like we were sealing a business deal.

“You have that look about you. Everyone does at first. I’m Max by the way.” She flashed that toothy grin once again and moved forward as the line shortened. “Did you come with anyone or have you always been into comics and such?”

“My girlfriend made me come along, but it’s not like I mind. I usually go to superhero movies with her, so it’s not like I’m completely in the dark about this stuff.” Max kept comfortable eye contact this whole conversation up until I said the word ‘girlfriend’ when she looked away and rubbed the back of her neck.

“That’s cool. I always wanted my boyfriend to go to this stuff with me, but he never wanted to. He didn’t like me going by myself either though, so I often didn’t even get to go.”

“I’m guessing you’re not with him anymore since you’re here.”

Another toothy grin. She really was cute when she smiled. “You would guess right. My friend made me dump him a little while ago. She’s actually here today, but I don’t know where she went.” Max got up on her toes and looked around for her friend, but eventually settled down and shrugged. “She likes to go off on her own, but she’s my Zelda, so our cosplays are incomplete without each other.”

“I was going to cosplay with my girlfriend, but my work schedule got in the way, so I didn’t end up with a finished cosplay before the con. Maybe next time.” Max’s eyes, once again, darted away when I mentioned Andrea, but she recovered quickly when I talked about cosplay.

“I can only hope that I find a boyfriend as cool as you. Maybe my expectations are too high.”

“I don't think expectations can be too high. You have self respect and I respect that. I’m sure you’ll find a guy that will appreciate a girl as lovely as you.” Max gave me a funny look and laughed when I finished my little speech and I could feel my ego deflate slightly. She recovered quickly though and noticed that she hurt my feelings a little.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it just feels so impossible.” Max was, finally, next in line and she ordered something that looked like something that Andrea would never eat and instead she’d just complain about the carbs in it and throw it away if I bought it for her. However, Max seemed comfortable in herself and comfortable with the extra calories in what she’s eating.

When I got up to the booth I ordered the same thing as Max and stepped out of the walkway with her in order to talk a little more.

“You should follow me on Instagram,” she said as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I do cosplays more often than just at cons, so you could see some of that on there.”

I pulled my phone out as well and handed it to her, so she could follow herself on my Instagram. She handed it back to me with a big smile when she was finished and pulled out her own phone to follow me. It was then that I saw Andrea coming over and I waved her over to Max and I.

“Alex,” she said, looking at Max, “did you make a new friend? Introduce me.”

“Andrea, this is Max.” Max held out her hand and Andrea shook it while regarding her. She must’ve passed whatever test Andrea had for her because Andrea turned to me and smiled.

“I should probably go find my friend, she just texted me asking where I am,” Max held up her phone almost as if she was showing proof that she wasn’t lying. “It was nice to meet you though, I hope you message me on Instagram sometime.” I waved and she disappeared into the crowd, looking down at her phone as she walked.

“I think you should message Max sometime, it’d be nice for you to have more friends who aren’t overgrown frat boys.”

“You’re ok with me talking to a single girl that I just met? Is this the Andrea that I know?” I pressed a hand to her forehead, but she just pushed my hand away and gave me an odd look.

“What do you mean? Max was obviously a guy. Even with makeup he couldn’t completely hide his jawline. Plus most girls love showing off their boobs in link cosplay and he was flat chested. And I’m not that controlling, I just didn’t like Adeline because she was constantly flirting with you.” Andrea crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip like a little kid, but I was still stuck on the fact that the girl that I was just talking to wasn't actually a girl at all.

“But she said that she had a boyfriend.”

“Gay people exist, Alex.” Andrea’s tone of voice was one that you may use on a child, not on your boyfriend and that’s how I knew that she thought I was an idiot. Maybe I was an idiot, but I was not ready to let this go.

“I called her a girl and she didn’t correct me, she just giggled.”

“I’m sure he felt awkward about you calling him a girl and didn’t want to embarrass you or himself, so he just stayed quiet about it. I know I’d stay quiet if someone called me a guy.”

“You wouldn’t do that, you’re just trying to prove your point. You’re too proud to let someone call you a guy.”

“I cosplayed as Marshalee last summer and posted pictures on my Instagram and a few people thought I was a boy, but I decided that it was too much trouble to correct them, so I just let it go. A lot of cosplayers do that, especially if you’re cosplaying as the opposite gender.”

“It still makes no sense that she wouldn’t correct me.”

“You got her Insta, right?” I nodded and Andrea took my phone from me. “Let’s check his bio. I know his type and they usually put their pronouns in their bio.” She swiped at my phone for a few unbearable moments before showing me my phone.

He/him/his

The words were at the end of his bio and they were the words that I least wanted to see at that moment. I didn’t want Andrea to be right, and I didn’t want to be dumb, but she was right and I was dumb to assume.

#lgbtq characters #lgbtq+#gay #tw misgendering #short ficlet

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imagineimaginethat · 4 years

Note

Okay so you did telling nobunaga you’re pregnant, but could you do the same for shingen? In his route he literally says he wanted a family but didn’t think he could have one bc his illness

Hi! I already did one for Shingen, here is the link. But I wanted to revisit it from his point of view in a short fanfic!

**Requests are open!

Shingen had always wanted a family, but with each passing day he doubted he’d be able to. This was something he had on his mind often, of course, if he ever brought it up to his wonderful wife, she would tell him the family they have in their friends is more than enough. However, Shingen saw the way she played with other children in town, how she made little clothes as gifts for some of the maids’ children, and how happy she would be whenever someone announced their pregnancy to her. He also swore he saw a look of longing cross over her features shortly after, but when he brought it up, she’d always dismiss it, in favor of protecting his heart. She truly was an angel. Shingen wasn’t sure exactly how to bring up and get her to truly tell him how she felt, he knew she wouldn’t change her mind about him, this he was sure of now, more than anything. She made sure he knew just how much she loved him every single day they spent together, and he did his best to meet her efforts tenfold.

Shingen was always prone to being concerned about his love, how could he not be? She was always wandering around and befriending everyone, not to mention she had a habit of being clumsy on occasions. So, one day when he wakes to find she woke up feeling sick, he is a bit on edge, but it seems to be passing, but he insists they spend a day in together anyway, just to be sure. She seems to be okay from that point on, until a few days later when she is sick again. Shingen recommends that she see a doctor, but she assures him, she doesn’t feel that bad, and that she’ll be okay in a few days at most. This seems to be true, because after a while she doesn’t suffer from anymore sickness, or so he thought. That was until he heard a few of the maids speaking in a hushed voice, in concern for his love’s health. Had she hid being sick from him? Why? What if it was serious? He would have to bring it up to her, but he had been so busy with work, he wasn’t sure when he’d have the chance.

Finally, the perfect occasion came up, a festival was supposed to be held not that far away, it would be a perfect way to get her alone and to talk about what has been going on through his mind. When they met to depart he noticed she was carrying a parcel in her arms, no doubt something she had for him, but she insisted on waiting to show him what it was until later in the evening, perhaps after the fireworks. He could agree to that and happily spent time looking at different vendors and walking through the crowds of people. They talked about small things going on around the castle, some funny rumors she had heard, and he caught her up to speed with what he had been doing with his work that had kept him busy for the past few days. When you two finally decide to watch the festival from a bit farther away, he knows it’s the perfect time.

He sat with her on a tall hill and smiled, her beauty illuminated by the soft lights just below them and the moon up above, “Has something been bothering you lately? I’ve heard whispers that you’ve been unwell,” he keeps his tone serious, but he knows she can probably hear how concerned he is.

“I have something I want to tell you, but first I want to give you something.”

When she gives him the haori his face lights up in appreciation, it was wonderful, made from a thick material that would be excellent for the winter, or cool nights. He held it up, “you never cease to amaze me, my love,” he takes another moment kiss her on the cheek as a thank you, just before he notices another piece of fabric slip out. He knew she usually reused any left-over fabric, had she possibly left it on purpose? Shingen picked up the fallen fabric and realized quickly it was a tiny haori, surely it could only fit a child. Perhaps she had meant to give it to one of the maids who was expecting. Shingen felt a pang in his chest, that was the other thing he had wanted to talk to her about, but why had she gone to the trouble of making him a haori? There wasn’t special occasion or anything, or had he missed something? Putting everything he knew together, there was another tug at his heart, but he was scared to believe it. He had to hear it from her lips, just to be sure, he had to know. He his love close to him, wrapping his arms around her tightly and placing her in his lap.

“Tell me what it is you wanted to share with me?”

The way she smiled at him was more than enough of an answer, but he still waited.

She was beginning to get teary eyed despite her big smile as she spoke, surely she could feel his joy, despite how he tried to hide it, “I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a dad and mph-“ he kissed her and then again and again because, he was truly amazed. His heart felt like it would burst from how happy he was.

“Life bringing goddess,” he holds her as close as he can, “time and time again, I think you have made me as happy as I possibly can be, and time and time again, I find that your prove me wrong. I love you.”

His love. Their family. Their family was growing and Shingen was more than ready to face any and all obstacles that dared step in their way.

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen shingen #ikesen shingen #ikemen shingen/mc #shingen/mc

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Thirty Six

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

June 23rd, 1998

“Hey, kid!” a protester yelled rather loudly as Emile was walking by.

Emile paused and turned to the guy. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked.

“You’re too young to be throwing away your life like this! You’re condemning yourself and you can’t be more than what, eighteen?”

“I’m seventeen, and Catholic, and pretty sure I’m going to Heaven no matter what you say,” Emile said.

The man sneered and Emile felt his stomach sink. There were others joining the man, all seeming ready to argue with him. Someone grabbed his arm and he looked over. Faith was guiding him away by the elbow. “C’mon, Emile, those types don’t even deserve the time of day.”

Emile turned to look back at the man, who was glaring at him until some other poor person walked up and he resumed his shouting at them. He winced. “Are there always people like that?” he asked.

“Not by the entrance, usually,” Faith said. “But yeah. One day, though, they’ll be the minority of the situation.”

June 1st, 2001

Emile was doing the dishes in their apartment with a small smile on his face. Ever since they had gotten back from Emile’s parents, Remy had been acting a lot more animated: getting excited about cooking, going off on tangents about how nice Emile’s parents were, them introducing him to badminton properly, Emile’s mom’s garden and how she grew a few ingredients to use in recipes (and asking if they could translate that to the apartment because then we wouldn’t have to pay for groceries as much, Emile! which Emile was still skeptical about).

It was a Friday, but Emile was officially out of school for the summer, which was very exciting. He could spend more time with Remy because working part time meant they both had a couple times a week where they would have nowhere in particular to be. He paused in washing. It was Friday, but it was also the start of June. Pride month. Emile had been to a pride parade or two, but he doubted that Remy had. And if they were careful, they could go out to one to celebrate!

He grinned. Oh, he’d have to go to the library and get on one of the computers to see if he could find a good pride parade nearby. He definitely wanted to introduce Remy to the joy that was pride parades!

As the last of the dishes in their apartment were drying, Remy walked in with his signature “work was awful” sigh. Emile strode over and gave Remy a light hug. “Hello, my love,” he said. “Would you be willing to go with me to the public library today?”

“I mean, I guess,” Remy sighed. “I’m really tired, though. Would it take long?”

“That depends,” Emile said with a shrug. “I’m not sure how easily I could get access to whichever site the pride parade information might be on.”

“Pride...parade?” Remy asked.

“Yeah, I wanted to take you to one. I figured you’d never gone before, and it’s super fun, and you get to be yourself with no judgement,” Emile said.

Remy’s blank expression had Emile confused. “Emile...what’s a pride parade?” Remy asked.

Emile blinked. “Have you really never heard of a pride parade before?” he asked. “I assumed you would have never gone, but you never even heard of it?”

Remy just continued to stare blankly at Emile.

Emile took a deep breath. “Okay, okay. The short version: a pride parade is where people who are gay or bi or trans or lesbian or whatever can go and celebrate who they are without worrying about what other people will think. If we went to one in a nearby city but not here, it’s unlikely anyone you don’t want to know you’re gay would be there. And they’re super fun! They have all sorts of pretty pride flags, and sometimes they have free buttons or stickers, and you can of course buy some stuff, too, from certain vendors, once the literal parade is over but the celebration is still going on. It’s really cool and I’d love to take you.”

“Emile,” Remy held up a hand. “Information overload.”

Emile pressed his lips together but he was practically vibrating in anticipation. He really wanted Remy to come with him. Remy did that blinking thing he sometimes did as he processed information, then looked at Emile. “And no one would fire us over going to this parade?”

“If we’re careful, no one will know we went to it, and no one who’s part of the parade would ever fire you for being gay,” Emile said with certainty.

“And...there’s like, no drinking or anything involved?”

“Not if you don’t have an ID,” Emile said. “Some vendors won’t sell to you at all until you’re twenty one.”

Remy hummed in thought.

“Would you...want to drink at pride? Rem? If you were able to?” Emile asked.

“I...don’t know. Alcohol is...clearly a depressant for me, and I don’t really want to be depressed at something you find fun,” Remy said with a shrug. “Honestly drinking is...kinda boring. Like, if I had some sort of food to go with it? Maybe. That could complement the food and make the meal taste even better. But drinking on its own is...eh. Not interesting. I’d only do it if I didn’t want to remember the night I drank.”

Emile relaxed at that. He knew that a drunk Remy had plenty of issues both with memories and in whatever situation the two of them found themselves in. If Remy decided he’d rather not drink, that was one less thing that Emile would have to worry about.

Remy frowned. “You’re relieved. Why are you relieved?”

Emile forgot that Remy could read him like an open book at the most inopportune times. “It doesn’t matter, Remy. Let’s just go to the library.”

“It matters to me,” Remy said stubbornly. “Why are you relieved?”

“Remy...” Emile sighed. “This is a conversation that is doomed to be really long and I really want to get to the library before it closes.”

Remy stood his ground, searching Emile’s eyes. Emile resisted the urge to squirm. “Why are you relieved?” Remy pressed.

“I’m relieved because you don’t want to drink,” Emile said.

Remy blinked. “Do you think I’m irresponsible around alcohol?” he asked, jutting his chin out in challenge.

“I think that considering both your past with your family and your identity you’re extremely likely to develop a drinking problem in order to self-medicate. That’s not healthy. Hearing that you don’t want to drink just because is a relief. Sure, hearing that you’d use it to forget a stressful night isn’t great, but you’re not going to become addicted to alcohol because of one bad bender,” Emile said.

“I’m perfectly healthy, Emile. Sure, my life wasn’t the easiest, but I wouldn’t resort to alcoholism.”

Emile ran a hand down his face. “This is why I didn’t want to get into this,” he muttered. He kissed the crown of Remy’s head. “I know you’re smart, honey. I know you know that alcohol isn’t an answer. But that doesn’t mean it can’t look tempting after a particularly bad day.”

Remy crossed his arms and Emile knew that Remy’s stubbornness was in full swing. “You’re dangerously close to controlling territory, Emile,” he growled.

“Controlling would be guilt-tripping you into not drinking. I’m just pointing out what I think about your statements. Not trying to guilt-trip anybody,” Emile placated.

Remy continued to snarl and Emile sighed. “Rem, I’m not your...I’m not your babysitter, I can’t tell you what you can and can’t do. I’m just trying to express my thoughts. It clearly came across wrong. For that, I apologize. But I would never intentionally want to guilt-trip you.”

“You were about to say you’re not my parents,” Remy growled.

“A habit I’m trying to kick,” Emile replied smoothly.

Remy ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t like it when you say that, Emile,” he warned.

“Which is why I’m trying to kick the habit. It won’t leave overnight,” Emile said.

“It should never have taken root in the first place,” Remy accused.

“You know what? You’re right,” Emile said. “It doesn’t do anything other than upset you and try to boost my ego. I shouldn’t have started saying it. But I did. So now the only thing I can do is try and stop it.”

Remy crossed his arms, scrutinizing Emile. Eventually, he sighed. “So, the library?”

“Yeah,” Emile agreed. “I can drive us over, or we could walk. It is a pretty nice day.”

“It’s a little hot to me,” Remy said.

Emile rolled his eyes. “Well, duh, you’re always wearing that leather jacket when you go out. You’re gonna overheat in that thing.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay for the aesthetic,” Remy said, face expressionless.

Emile sighed and walked out the door as Remy grinned and followed him. “You worry me, Rem. Like, a lot.”

“Aw, come on, the aesthetic is amazing! It makes me look cool,” Remy said.

“I would argue it makes you look hot, and not in the attractive sense,” Emile argued, even as he kissed Remy’s cheek. “Either learn to drink more water during the summer, or lose the jacket.”

“How much water would I have to drink, exactly?” Remy asked.

“At least eight cups,” Emile said.

Remy tilted his head back and groaned. “That’s so many,” he complained.

“The price to pay for the aesthetic,” Emile teased.

Remy scowled before grabbing Emile’s shoulders and leaping on top of him. Emile squawked and nearly fell over right outside the apartment complex, where two of their more...conservative neighbors were currently walking in. Emile waved to them. “Hey, Grace, Roy! How are you?”

They didn’t reply to him, not that Emile minded. He was a little busy trying to get Remy off him. Remy was laughing maniacally as he had his legs wrapped around Emile’s torso. “Remy, Remy! Re—oof! Remy! Don’t kick there!” Emile protested.

“I wouldn’t have to kick you if you didn’t squirm so much!” Remy argued.

“I am not a jungle gym! Off! Now!” Emile shot back.

Remy sighed and put his legs down. “I didn’t hurt your back, did I?” Remy asked.

“My back? No. My kidneys? Give me three to five business days,” Emile drily replied.

Remy winced. “Sorry.”

Emile waved off his apology. “Let’s just get to the library, okay?”

They got in Emile’s car and drove over, Emile immediately heading to the queue for the computers. When he put his library card on the list, he waited for a computer to open while Remy went to look at books. As soon as he was allowed to get on a computer, he did, waving Remy over. They went online and Emile searched for local pride parades. “There’s this one we could go to, it’s two towns over,” Emile said softly.

“Two towns over still seems kinda close,” Remy murmured.

“Well, there might be protesters around but I don’t know any people out here who would go out of their way to drive over there to wave around a sign about going to Hell,” Emile said. “And we don’t want to go too far away. It would be a one-day thing, it’s not like we have the money to rent a room at a hotel.”

“Okay, that’s a valid point,” Remy muttered. “Do we have to make reservations or anything? RSVP?”

“Nope, all we have to do is show up and not bring anything they don’t allow,” Emile said, grinning. “You’re gonna have a great time, Remy, I already know it.”

Remy shifted where he stood. “I guess I have to take your word on that, because I don’t have a reference point,” he said. “But I’m still not sure.”

Emile sighed and clicked around the site, making note of what the parade did and didn’t allow. “If you don’t want to go I understand,” Emile said. “But it would be way more fun with you, and I promise it’s safe.”

Remy chewed his lip. “I really want to believe you, Emile. It’s just...it’s hard. Not because of you, necessarily. It’s just hard in general.”

“Yeah,” Emile agreed. “I was super nervous my first Pride. A few protesters got close to me, tried to shout me out of going in. But my friends kept me moving, away from them, and I had the time of my life, getting to be myself, loud and out and proud of it for just a couple hours. And I couldn’t wait to go back to it the next year.”

“And you didn’t...?” Remy paused. “You don’t worry that the protesters are right?” He was hugging himself as he softly asked, “You know you won’t go to Hell for it?”

“Honey...” Emile chewed his lip, before standing and hugging Remy tightly. “They’re wrong, they’ve always been wrong and always will be wrong. It doesn’t matter who the protesters are, either. Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, Jewish, or just plain old homophobes without much inclination towards any religion. They aren’t in the right. You won’t go to Hell for loving me or any other man. Okay?”

“Okay,” Remy said softly.

“Okay,” Emile repeated. “Now, are you going to come with me to Pride?”

Remy smiled softly and nodded. “I’ll give it a shot.”

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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agoodgoddamnshot · 4 years

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Hey, Little Songbird - Geralt/Jaskier [G]

Gif isn’t mine.

Originally posted to my AO3 account.

The sun perches higher in the sky with each day that strolls them further into summer. Even the biting winds that would tumble down from the mountains, the last remnant of a bitter winter, are being chased away. If a breeze does blow through, it’s always warm. It doesn’t prickle his skin. As he walks along the dirt roads, the ground is firm and sure beneath his boots. He doesn’t fear of treading into a puddle or getting his feet wet and cold, unable to warm them with a fire that probably wouldn’t have started because of the howling winds.

But now, Jaskier tilts his head back and feels the sun on his face. Farmers are out in their fields tending to their animals and their crops. Green grass and fields lined with a growing harvest spread out, reaching for the horizon. Life has returned to the continent.

His lute is slung over his shoulder, swaying with how he walks. He’s like the rest of those living on this stretch of land. Sunlight warms his blood. It makes him giddy and inspired. The next town is only a few more miles of a walk. He wouldn’t have even bothered travelling a couple of weeks ago, when the roads were waterlogged and the air bitterly cold. But when the first of the daffodils started sprouting their buds along the long stretches of road, everyone knew that spring wouldn’t be far behind.

The days have been getting warmer. It’s been steady, but Jaskier knows by the middle of the year, the sun will perch and stay there for hours on end, scorching everything and everyone underneath it. It’s a fine line the world treads, trying to find a good balance between being not too cold and not too warm, for the benefit of the people living on it and off of it. Whatever forces are at play in the making of the weather seem to be doing well so far; but Jaskier has lived through some excruciating seasons.

By the time he gets to the next town, a fine sweat starts speckling along his brow. Everyone milling around seems to be the same. Men wander around in their loose linen shirts and breeches, while women cover their heads with light shawls. Market stalls line the streets with wares already stacked in front. Vendors call out to those passing through, offering small free samples of produce. Those selling silks and cloth hold out segments for people to touch. Jaskier’s pockets are light on coin; nothing a short performance in a tavern won’t fix.

People are merrier when the weather is kind. When he picks a tavern’s table to serve as a stage, when he strums the opening chords of the songs he wrote during the spring, people smile and sing along with him – or as best as they’re able to, with the tankards of ale and wine flowing. A good summer means plenty of barrels of grapes and barely.

The summer becomes excruciating. It holds nothing over the summers of the south – not the south of this continent, but beyond the expanse of Nilfgaard. Not that Jaskier has ever been that far south, of course. Nilfgaard stretches on for leagues, and to the best of his knowledge, there are no maps of anything further south. But he imagines oceans of sand and rock.

It’s too hot to travel, so he holds up in Cidaris – with the only real problem being that he has to spend his days listening to the droning tones of one particular troubadour echo throughout the entire city. Even when he ventures out from tavern to tavern, the troubadour’s voice is always grating against his ear.

He’d rather lie down in the middle of the road and let himself wither underneath the sun.

But as he’s standing out in the middle of the street, counting coppers for a small bag of apples and considering letting the summer sun prune him, he spots a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye.

“Geralt!”

The Witcher stops mid-stride, looking towards Jaskier. His expression, outwardly, doesn’t change much. But Jaskier has known him for too long to know the little tells of an Annoyed Geralt to a Not-So-Annoyed Geralt. The Witcher is much like the rest of them; his hair pulled into a messy bun, out of his face and neck, and wearing one of the light black shirts Jaskier so often used to see him in.

Jaskier palms the coins in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

Geralt gestures vaguely to a wooden notice board fixed to the side of a nearby building. “Monsters don’t let up just because the weather is nice,” he explains simply. When he starts walking towards the board, Jaskier follows.

The last time he’d seen the Witcher was before the last of the crops were hauled in. It was what they usually did; both of them wintering in their own ways. What it was, exactly, that Geralt did, or where he went, Jaskier could never find out. When a Witcher’s most used word is not a word at all, but a grunt, one learns to stop awaiting answers to questions.

They always find each other after being parted for some time. Even with the Continent being as sprawling as it is, their roads will eventually cross one way or another. Geralt takes the offered contract, and Jaskier follows. There’s a griffin nest nearby, apparently. “I heard about that,” Jaskier hums, rolling up his shirt sleeves. Heat scalds the cobbles beneath his feet. “A few sellswords who were staying in the Red Arrow Inn went to investigate.”

Geralt hums. “Did they come back?”

Jaskier blink seems to be enough of an answer.

He finds out quickly that Geralt is just as crotchety in the summer. Maybe it’s the heat, or the swells of people insisting on packing themselves into every street and road they can find just to mingle, but Jaskier doesn’t get much in terms of conversation as he trails after the Witcher.

Not even an order to stay behind, because it’s a griffin, and those things are fierce beasts.

Jaskier does stop underneath a grand oak tree, though. The overarching branches full with lush green leaves provide a shield from the sun overhead. “I think I’ll stay here while you...do whatever it is that you do,” he waves his hand towards a nearby hill where the griffin is supposedly nesting.

Geralt looks over his shoulder and grunts. He holds out Roach’s reins. “Try not to get her killed. Or I’ll kill you.”

The mare has grown used to him. Now, she only tries to nip his fingers when he tries to lead her underneath their shelter, instead of kicking out for his shins. “Come now, you dame,” he sighs. She comes with him easily enough, recognising that standing underneath a tree’s branch, catching passing cool breezes, will be something better than facing off a griffin.

It takes Geralt almost two hours to come back to them. Roach is the first to notice him returning, pawing a hoof into the ground and nickering softly. Jaskier looks up from his lute, fingers stilling over the strings.

Jaskier’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of the Witcher returning; he carries a slight limp and a smattering of blood across his face and arms. Clutched in one of his hands, a griffin’s head swings with every footfall.

Jaskier’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out for a while. “You’re covered in blood,” he notices as soon as Geralt gets closer. The front of his black shirt is drenched.

Geralt gestures to the griffin’s head. “Most of it isn’t mine.”

“Most of it?” Jaskier narrows his eyes. Huffing a sigh, he clambers to his feet. “Come on then; we’ll get your pay and get cleaned up.”

The year trudges by. The sun doesn’t let up. When Jaskier does move between towns, he watches farmers in their fields, tossing buckets of water over their crops, trying to keep them hydrated and green. The celebrations of harvests keep going, though. And where there are celebrations, there will be Jaskier with his lute in hand. He doesn’t see much of Geralt during the rest of the summer, but he does hear whispers about the Witcher’s adventures from patrons of taverns and inns.

He had a nursemaid when he could barely reach his mother’s waist. She told him a story once, when they were out of ear-reach from his parents who probably wouldn’t have appreciated elven tails being spoken of underneath their own roof. But Jaskier always listened intently, letting his imagination run wild. His nursemaid spoke of gods who loved each other, but couldn’t be together. They found a way, of course. They always did. It wouldn’t be much of a story if they didn’t. But Jaskier remembers his nanny’s face turning serious for a brief moment; harsh summers make for harsh winters. Even when the world seems out of balance, one thing must always equal another.

So when the summer gets hotter, and the grass and trees turn yellow and threaten to catch fire, he worries that their winter will freeze the continent over completely. He doesn’t worry for himself, so much as he worries for those who live off of the land. How will people ration their crops if it withers away during the summer? How will those living outside of city walls cope in their cabins and shacks, where one strong gust could blow it away?

The transition is spent worrying. Niggling thoughts in the back of his mind flare up whenever he feels a cool breeze nip at his skin. The sun still sits in the sky. Clouds are still wisped along the blue sky. But everyone knows that winter will be upon them if they’re not careful.

Toussaint is quiet. Jaskier’s fingers pick at the strings of his lute. He’s sung his summer songs. Other bards in other towns have been left with their echoes. Oxenfurt would be the best option. A city of sturdy walls, well stocked with food and wine. The Academy would have his accommodation still held on to. All he needed to do was start his trek there; weather keeping good, that is.

But whether it’s his own time management or something else entirely, Jaskier looks out one of the tavern’s windows one day and sees a greying sky. He blinks. Not a single cloud had been seen for most of the summer. But now, he wanders over to the window, peering at the sky, it’s starting to look bleak.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath.

The trees hardly had a chance to turn red and yellow before their leaves litter the sides of roads and pile up against buildings. Shop windows, that would have been open, are now barred closed. Down every stretch of road, Jaskier is accosted by a shrill breeze of cold air. He swears sometimes it whispers to him; telling him that he needs to move. Where he needs to move to, he doesn’t know. And it never tells him. But just move.

His arms are full of bread and portions of dried beef when he spots Geralt again. The transition seems to have treated the Witcher a bit better; Jaskier notices a new cloak draped over his shoulders, with a woollen thin blanket pulled over Roach’s hindquarters. The mare’s winter coat is starting to come in, if her feathered ears and fetlocks are anything to go by.

Jaskier wanders over. “I thought you would have gone to your keep by now,” he says as soon as he’s close enough. Roach spotted him coming, the mare’s ears twitching forward at recognition.

Geralt cinches up the girth to her saddle. “I thought you would have gone to your academy by now,” he fires back, checking on some provision bags attached to the saddle.

Roach nudges Jaskier’s arms. A loaf of bread almost goes to the ground, but he manages to catch it. “Yeah, I,” he clears his throat. “The weather caught me out, unfortunately.”

It’s only then does Geralt turn to look at him. Yellow eyes drop down to the food-laden in Jaskier’s arms. “Where are you staying then, if not the academy?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Here, I guess. I don’t want to risk trying to get anywhere else.”

Geralt’s frown only deepens. Toussaint is a nice town, but it’s built for warmer weather. People don’t winter well in places like Toussaint. Especially people who can only live night-by-night in taverns and inns, which Jaskier is going to have to do—

“I’m going to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt says stiffly. “Come with me.”

Jaskier’s mouth falls open, but he’s quick to shut it. Geralt holds his gaze. “I’m...what?”

“Would you rather spend your winter here?” Geralt’s voice hardens. “Out in the cold with ravens watching from the trees, waiting for the first of the starving or sick to drop?”

And he’s seen it all before; winters were he didn’t make it to Oxenfurt on time, winters spent weathering out howling winds in shabby road-side inns and taverns. His bones shiver at the memory of it.

Something must give away his answer. Geralt hums and turns back to Roach, doing up the last of her bridle. “It will be a long walk,” he says, “but if we go now, we’ll get there before the snow starts.”

Jaskier frowns. The winds have already started to nip at his skin. All the clouds need to do is turn grey with rain, and they’ll have feet of snow in no time at all. But Jaskier nods. He knows that the keep is a province away, and a trek up the mountain. They’ll need to move before the weather turns too cruel.

It’s something he never thought about when he left to explore the world; relying on the weather to be kind to him was something he had to quickly learn.

He’s heard stories of Kaer Morhen; whether or not any of them are true, he has no idea. But none of these stories have come from Geralt, so he can only assume that they’re full of shit.

He follows the Witcher on the path back to the keep. Geralt seems to know the way as if the wind just carried him along. Not once does he look up at wooden posts point in the directions of towns and other settlements. He keeps his eyes on the horizon and just keeps walking.

When they reach the foot of the mountain, the wind starts to change. Geralt lifts his head, squinting at the dark skies above them. Roach shakes; her winter coat keeping her warm, but it’s useless against any rain or snow that will fall if the clouds continue to grow heavier and heavier.

“It’s going to rain,” Geralt says after a time. He tugs at Roach’s reins. “There’s an inn nearby.”

And the innkeep lets them have the room for nothing. He’s an old man with a weathered face and pearl white hair. When Geralt steps into the tavern, the man nods towards the staircase and goes back to polishing a tankard.

There’s a hearth in the room, already lit and laden with wooden blocks. A large bed sits in the middle of the room, woollen blankets and throws and fur pelts sitting at its foot. When his eyes fall on a bathtub with hot water already in it, Jaskier’s bones groan. “You wouldn’t mind if I...?” he trails off, gesturing to the tub.

Geralt regards him for a moment before shaking his head. He stalks off to the other side of the room, resting both sheathed swords against the wall before pulling off his cloak and the heaviest of his armour. Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek, but turns for the bath.

There’s a slight chill to the room when he gets rid of his own clothes, folding and setting them nearby while he dips his hand into the water. And he just about swallows a moan at the warmth of it. There’s a faint scent of oats and lavender, and Jaskier can’t get into the bath quick enough.

Geralt pads around the room, tossing some of the blankets on to the bed and arranging his own side. Jaskier watches him out of the corner of his eye.

This isn’t new; sharing a space. In all the summers he spends with the Witcher, he finds them sharing the same bed for the most part. Though most staying in taverns and inns will be in good spirits, and laden with coin, sometimes gold is scarce, and can only stretch so far.

But it doesn’t stop the tips of his ears from warming. This is new; sharing winter with Geralt. The thought of what the keep will be like circles his head – as does the wonderings of what the other Witchers will be like. Geralt rarely speaks about the others; but Jaskier managed to wrangle out a few names from the Witcher.

He lowers himself deeper into the tub, letting the water lap against his chin. The room is quiet, with nothing but the hissing and sparking of the hearth’s fire to break it. Even Geralt is silent, lying on the bed, head turned towards the other side of the room.

Jaskier hums.

His nursemaid’s voice, decades-old now, whispers into the shell of his ear. He can remember her words as if he were still a boy held on her lap, lulling to sleep listing to sleep with songs and stories.

The lady loved him and the kingdom they shared But without her above, not one flower would grow So the King agreed that for half of each year She would stay with him there in his world down below. But the other half, she would walk in the sun And the sun, in turn, burned twice as bright Which is where the seasons come from And with them, the cycle of the seed and the sickle And the lives of the people And the birds and their flight—

“Even your thoughts are loud, bard.” Geralt’s voice cracks through the silence. “You’re thinking about something. What is it?”

Jaskier pushes himself out of the water slightly, resting his arms on the edge of the tub. He can blame the growing blush on his cheeks on the water. “Nothing.”

Geralt grunts. “Either come out with it bard, or quieten your mind.” When Jaskier glances over to the other side of the room, he blinks as he sees Geralt lying in the bed, blankets already pulled over him.

“Did you ever hear the tale of how the seasons came to be?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt hums.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. A nursemaid told me about it,” Jaskier says. “It’s a sweet tale. There’s not many of them, particularly where folktale is concerned. But I always liked that story. Two gods being in love with each other, not wanting to be apart, and the weather suffered for it.”

The room is silent for a moment. “Did your nursemaid tell you that one of the gods tricked the other? Got the poor girl to eat food of his world, damning her to stay there for certain parts of the year?”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “Yes, that is a version of it.” Jaskier huffs. “You’re so old that you were probably there witnessing the entire thing. What were they like, the gods? Did you know them well?”

It earns a light laugh out of the Witcher – a sound that always sends a thrum of heat through Jaskier’s veins. “Why are you thinking about stories like that?”

“The weather hasn’t been right in the last few years,” Jaskier says. “A few people in Cidaris were talking about it; saying maybe it had something to do with the gods.”

“Never took you for being superstitious.”

“I’m just noticing, that’s all.” The water is cooling and gooseflesh prickles his skin. Outside the window, he spots the sky turning black, and the moon making a valiant effort to fight through a cover of clouds. When he stands, he tries not to groan at the chill that runs over his body. Grabbing a towel, he dries off quickly. His clothes are clean, if not for the light sheen of dust from the road; something solved with a quick shake out.

By the time he pads over to the bed, slipping beneath the blankets, he fears Geralt might have fallen asleep. The Witcher is still, with even long breaths filling his chest. But the second Jaskier’s head meets the pillow, the Witcher turns on to his side to face him.

“I don’t know what’s happening with the seasons,” Geralt rumbles, “but Kaer Morhen is open to the friends of Witchers.”

Geralt doesn’t even open his eyes. Jaskier stares at him for a moment. “Are you admitting that I’m your friend?” A slow smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “Because if you are, I’m going to need you to confirm that. In a full sentence. And, if possible, could I have it in writing?”

“I don’t want to come down from the keep one spring and see you dead on the side of the road,” Geralt mutters. When he does open his eyes, Jaskier has to stop himself from inhaling too quickly at how wide the Witcher’s pupils have become. “The keep will shelter and feed you for the winter.”

Jaskier swallows. “Why?”

“Because,” Geralt sighs, eyes slipping shut again, “you’re important to me.”

And a shiver wracks through him. Not one he could blame on the cold. The burning hearth and the small mountain of blankets and furs covering the bed shelter him from the cold. But this is different. Warmth settles in his core. A smile breaks out along his face. “You’re important to me too,” he rasps, hoping that, even though the Witcher’s eyes are closed and he’s sinking further into the mattress, he can at least nod off knowing that Jaskier said what he said.

Because gods be good, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say it ever again; not when Geralt’s glower could return at any moment.

He gets confirmation of the Witcher hearing it in a soft hum.

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