#like it’s just like throwing a blanket statement over the situation to indicate some sort of gayness going on in the partnership without too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

morganaspendragonss · 3 years

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so so many thanks to everyone who read even one of these stories. i am forever grateful for all the support i've received; every comment, every kudos, every reblog, every like - they all mean so much. i'm overwhelmed, honestly, but in the very best way. ily all 🥰

day one: against all odds (we're still here) for @trkstrnd

Carlos will hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused on his task that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

a simple trip to the grocery store quickly turns to disaster for tk and carlos

day two: out, damned spot for anon

TK wakes up gasping, choking on air. The sheets are suffocating him and, when he tries to free himself, they only seem to get tighter. The hands reaching out for him, trying to calm him, are the final straw; TK throws himself from bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him as he collapses against the sink.

On some level, he is aware that the hands were Carlos’s, that the sheets were theirs, that his hands are clean, and that the dream was just a dream.

But they weren't always that way.

day three: the meetings for those in my wake for @freddieholic

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news, and almost always about their son. Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas, which is why she thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Gwyn, it’s TK. He's... They think we should say goodbye."

day four: a friend in me for 📍 anon

Carlos has come to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But, right now, as she sits hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, he's never seen her look so small.

the story of how nancy and carlos become the new champions of 126 games nights

day five: truth is heavier than fiction for anon

Carlos pauses with his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to prepare himself before going inside. TK’s shift finished an hour ago and he’d texted to let Carlos know he was home, which means Carlos is going to be walking right into a conversation he’d rather avoid.

Not that he’d have much choice either way; he might be able to cover his cracked and bruised ribs for a little while, but the arm in a sling will tell on him as soon as the door opens. Carlos doesn’t want to hide his injuries—they’ve had enough conversations in reverse on that theme to make him a hypocrite if he did—but he may have made some choices that he doesn’t particularly want to go into right now. Not while he’s tired and aching and just wants to cuddle with his boyfriend.

He blows out a breath, then opens the door, bracing himself for TK’s reaction.

“Hey— Shit!”

day six: slowly, and then all at once for @pragmaticoptimist34

The realisation that he loves Carlos hits him like a bolt out of the blue.

And at the worst possible moment.

We are getting updates on the active shooter situation at the Four Seasons Hotel. Austin Police Department have closed off the area and officers are currently preparing to enter the building to detain the suspect. It is as yet unknown if there have been any civilian casualties, but—

“Paul, turn the damn TV back on.”

“No.”

five times tk can't admit his feelings about carlos, and one time he finally does

day seven: the promise of tomorrow for anon

Up until five minutes ago, Carlos had been terrified of never having TK in his arms again. Now, the thought of letting him go scares him just as much, and TK seems to feel the same, if the way he’s clutching at Carlos’s jacket and pulling it tight across his back is any indication.

Carlos hugs him close, sinking down to his knees as TK falls into the chair behind him, letting the rest of the room fade away to nothing as he realises that they weren’t too late—that TK is here, with him, alive and mostly whole.

day eight: we'll hold each other soon for @221bsunsettowers

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away.

It's the last good memory Carlos has, and he's going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he's going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK's smile.

day nine: now i am just but the wayward man for anon

Ben is glaring at him again.

Klaus is very familiar with this specific glare—it’s the one Ben breaks out when Klaus is being ‘stubborn’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘a fucking asshole junkie with no self-respect who only cares about the next high and, really, it’s a fucking miracle you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet, Klaus’.

He has to hand it to him. Ben really does have him down to a tee.

winter is approaching and klaus has nowhere to go. his siblings are his only option—meaning he effectively has no options.

day ten: i can't imagine my life without you for 📍 anon

It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

nobody likes to be asked 'trouble in paradise?', particularly when the answer is yes.

day eleven: start again from the beginning for anon

Owen trusts his son. He’s watched TK fight his addiction and stay sober for the last six years, and he has faith that he can handle himself.

But when TK doesn’t show up for work the night after proposing to Alex, Owen knows that something is wrong. After all, they've been here before.

day twelve: let me love you when your heart is tired for anon

TK knows it’s going to be a bad day from the moment he opens his eyes. Slowly, slowly, each twitch like he’s moving mountains, he inches his hand blindly across the bed to reach out for Carlos. If he can just feel his boyfriend, if he can just see him—

But, of course. Carlos has a shift today. TK has a vague recollection of him getting out of bed at five this morning, rousing him with a shift to the mattress and a gentle kiss on the forehead.

If this were a normal day, he might smile at the memory.

day thirteen: couldn't utter my love when it counted for 📍 anon

TK takes his time in the bathroom, stopping to stare at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes and trying to talk himself down from any more-than-friendly feelings towards Carlos.

Later, they’ll tell him that this saved his life.

But that won’t be for a long time, until after the smoke has cleared and the dead have been counted and the statements have been taken. For now, TK steels his resolve and nods at himself, then turns to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle.

That’s when the explosion rips through the building.

after the boba date, tk lets carlos go. they're friends, which is working just fine, until a horrific accident threatens to take even that away from them.

day fourteen: if i walk out the door (a thousand eyes) for anon

TK gets this feeling sometimes, a sort of prickling at his back, like someone’s behind him, breathing down his neck. At first, it was only a once-in-a-while situation, so he thinks nothing of it; when it becomes an everyday occurrence, he starts to wonder, but he’s probably just being paranoid. The shooting, kidnapping, firehouse explosion, and the fire at his and Carlos’s house had all taken their toll, and TK’s just generally more on edge these days.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the feeling, not even Carlos. There’s no reason to fuck up everyone else’s peace with something so stupid. It’ll go away eventually; TK’s sure of it.

That is, until one of the lots just down from the firehouse gets occupied.

day fifteen: find you here inside the dark for @fanfic-corner

Yaz has walked this room too many times to count now; she’s traced her fingertips over the walls, searching for any cracks or crevices to indicate where there might be a door.

If the Doctor were here, she’d have her sonic out by now, spitting out words, only half of which Yaz could understand. She’d find a way out in no time. Or, if not, at least she’d be here. Talking a mile a minute, probably annoying the hell out of their captors. Yaz can almost hear her now—

Wait.

She can hear her now.

day sixteen: accidents happen for @ilovemosss

So, Jason reflects, it may not have been the best idea to take Pythagoras out training while they’re all suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Being the more logical of them, Pythagoras, to his credit, had attempted to talk him out of it, but Jason ignored him.

He very much regrets that decision now.

day seventeen: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team) for @laelipoo

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the little blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

day eighteen: in perfect harmony for @anyotherheartwilldo

Here’s the thing—Carlos doesn’t believe in signs. He used to when he was younger, raised on his abuela’s stories, but as he’d gotten older his father had taught him that what mattered was the choices he made. He’s the only one who has a say in the way his life turns out, and if he wants something, he has to put in the work to get it.

But there comes a point—namely, after his fifth thwarted attempt to propose to TK—when he begins to wonder if the universe really does have something against him.

proposing to tk proves far more complicated than carlos had first thought.

day nineteen: whatever here that's left of me (is yours) for anon

“Are you…” TK leans closer, peering at the hoodie Carlos is wearing, and—yep. “Why are you wearing my hoodie? Was there nothing in your size from the crew? You should have said something. We can fix this, you don’t need to be uncomfortable.”

There’s a beat, and then Carlos, studiously avoiding TK’s gaze, clears his throat. “It smells like you.”

post-2.12, carlos finds comfort in tk's hoodies.

day twenty: can't smile without you for anon

Carlos would be lying to himself if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before. He has always worried for TK’s safety, and the knowledge that a serial killer is on the loose in Austin has sent that worry skyrocketing. Especially because he’s the lead detective on the case; he’s spent hours poring over horrific crime scenes, examining all the facts until they’re burned into his brain.

Admittedly, the killers seem to be mostly indiscriminate in who they take, meaning the chances of it being TK are slim.

But there’s still a chance.

a before, during, and after of tk's kidnapping in a hole where your memory goes

day twenty-one: lately you've been searching for a darker place to hide for @freddieholic

“Can I ask you something else?”

TK stiffens at the sound of Mateo’s voice, a nervous note to it that wasn’t there last time. Something tells him he knows exactly what Mateo wants to ask; still, he turns to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as casually as he can manage. “Sure.”

“Are you…” Mateo trails off, biting his lip and avoiding TK’s gaze. “I mean, do you… I mean—”

“You can say it, you know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “If you want to know if I’m thinking about heading out and getting high, then just ask.”

five times tk turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms when he wants to use + one time he finally asks for help

day twenty-two: know me crazy, soothe me daily for anon

It had freaked Carlos out the first time it happened.

“It was a seizure,” TK explained, after Carlos had finished telling him about it. TK had been disoriented and confused for about ten minutes after, and couldn’t even remember half of their earlier conversation. “I… It’s because of the drugs. They fucked something up in my brain, especially after my first overdose, and now I get seizures occasionally."

in which carlos gets a little over-protective and tk is mildly exasperated

day twenty-three: lover, be good to me for anon

Carlos holds his arms out, and TK comes willingly, setting what Carlos now recognises as a tray of food carefully on the bed. “What’s this?”

TK stares as if it’s obvious. “Date night.”

“What?”

TK pauses, then gasps. “You’re right.” He pats himself down frantically, then pulls an object out of his pocket with a dramatic flourish. It’s a little electric tea light—real candles long since banned from the bedroom—and Carlos watches in bemusement as TK flicks it on and sets it down on the tray. “Now it’s date night.”

his fiancé being bed-bound isn't going to keep tk from date night

day twenty-four: bring you in from the cold for anon

As a cop, Carlos has always been uncomfortably aware of his own mortality. He’s considered his own death more than is probably healthy, but when you’re facing down the barrel of a gun almost every single day, it’s kind of forced on you.

He’s imagined himself being shot, stabbed, strangled, and everything in between.

But he’s not sure he ever pictured dying in a walk-in freezer after getting trapped there by mistake.

day twenty-five: heaving through corrupted lungs for anon

TK is itching to go home and check on Carlos, to make sure he’s still breathing and actually resting like he’s supposed to be. On the other hand, Carlos would probably kill him if he left work, illness be damned. It’s just… Carlos had looked so ill that morning, skin ashen and voice all but gone, and it had taken a lot of convincing for TK to still go to his own shift. He’d insisted on making sure Carlos had all the blankets and water and snacks and anything else he could possibly want, but even so, he’s still uneasy.

His gut is telling him that something’s wrong, and TK doesn’t think he can ignore it for much longer.

when carlos falls ill, they think it's just a bad cold. but when tk goes to check on him, he's in for a nasty shock.

day twenty-six: slowly becoming lovers for @pragmaticoptimist34

Things don’t get fixed overnight. They agree to give them a shot, but that doesn’t change the fact that TK is still reeling from his break-up and overdose, nor that Carlos is still hesitant and afraid of pushing too hard at once.

But, slowly, they get to know each other. And, slowly, they start to fall in love.

tk and carlos, getting to know each other and falling in love

day twenty-seven: and curse the gods for @girlwhowasntthere

Jason knows what it is to be cursed.

day twenty-eight: ignoring every warning for @moviegeek03

TK is fine.

He is absolutely, 100% fine.

And, sure, maybe he’s not supposed to be at work right now, and maybe his hand hasn’t fully healed yet, but it’s nothing. His doctor cleared him to go back to work, which means it’s healed enough, and TK is certainly not going to admit defeat no matter how much he's hurting.

day twenty-nine: can you beat back the night? for @girlwhowasntthere

He misses the bard. Geralt won’t admit it, not even to Roach, but he misses him. After months—years—of Jaskier’s constant chatter and the sound of his lute, the silence, once valued above all else, is too much.

It’s been months since the dragon, since Geralt lost both Yennefer and Jaskier in one fell swoop. He’s cursed himself many times over for the words he said—to both of them—and cursed himself more for the mistakes he made to get in this position in the first place.

this is the lot of witchers, to be alone.

day thirty: ease my mind for @silvarafael

Briefly, Carlos considers calling TK and telling him about the accident. But… He only broke two of his fingers and it barely even classifies as a minor injury in his book, so there’s really no reason to bother his fiancé while he’s still on shift himself. He pockets his phone then looks around to figure out where the exit is.

Only, an all-too familiar laugh distracts him from his task, drawing his attention to the nurses station.

Where TK is standing, smiling as a nurse swats at him for stealing one of their lollipops.

Carlos is, beyond doubt, fucked.

day thirty-one: scars turn to memories for anon

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then, he remembers.

Carlos was off shift tonight. He was here. Alone.

#masterlist #holly's august extravaganza #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing

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pascal-istheway · 4 years

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Bounty Flaw - Chapter 2: The Future

Read it here on ao3

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars

Rating: Not Rated

Characters: Din Djarin x F Reader

MASTERLIST

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So it turns out she was none of them. She didn’t run, bargain, or fight. At least not in the beginning. Whatever happened back there - there’s just something unexplainable that I can’t shake. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never once offered not to carbonite a bounty. Now, here I am, offering up a pretty sweet deal with this girl. All because the kid did some magic back there. And that’s another thing - what the fuck was that?

I’d known there was something different about the little guy, that much had been obvious from the start. I just wasn’t sure why he was so special to them but now I know. His… abilities made him special. I will never be sure of the full extent of them, hell, I don’t think he even knows the full extent of them. But whatever he did wiped him out for a while.

I don’t know what I was thinking. There was just something in those terrified eyes that made me turn soft for a moment. I just couldn’t bring myself to be cruel to her. After watching the kid heal her, something inside me just snapped. I have never seen him do that for… anyone. Not a single one of my bounties. Most of the time he didn’t even look at them. What’s so special about her?

------

When you finally are able to open your eyes, they are heavy as lead. You lay there for a few minutes trying to assess your surroundings, taking in the metallic surfaces around you. Maker, it’s so hard to open your eyes. You are completely and utterly exhausted.

You try to move your body and find it is very stiff, your limbs refusing to move. You uncurl your fingers and flex them once or twice before you decide to test your legs. It doesn’t actually register with you that you’re in the Mandalorian’s ship.

When you reach out, feeling the metal walls surrounding you on all sides, you realize “ something doesn’t feel right” ... then, it hits you. In rapid succession, you sit up, the blanket sliding off your shoulders, and immediately whack your head on a metal structure hanging above you giving, what you’re sure will be a nasty concussion or, at the very least, a gnarly looking bruise.

You rub your head, cursing under your breath “ dank farrik-”, your pulse begins to slow as your eyes adjust to your surroundings. All the memories of the past few days hit you instantly. The escape, the infection… The Mandalorian... Your vision comes into focus as you look down and see yourself inside some type of bed carved into the far wall of his ship.

You don’t remember getting into this bed. It isn’t very comfortable. In fact, your back really hurts. You groan, moving your shoulder around and rubbing the side of your neck as you stretch. How long have you been out? It feels like it has at least been over a day because your body is so stiff and locked up. You notice how dark it is in here. Where are the lights? The only thing you can see is a few, very small red and green lights, illuminating along with parts of the ship indicating working machinery in the hull.

Scooting forward, you cautiously step down onto the floor and work your way off the cot. As soon as you place all your weight onto your legs, you almost topple over. Your hand instantly reaches down to your leg, searching for your wound. To your surprise, you feel nothing. The bacta shot has completely closed the gash on your leg, not even leaving a trace of it ever being there. This brings you to the next question, your clothes. They are not the ones you remember wearing when you arrived …

In fact, you don’t recognize these clothes at all. The shirt is about two sizes too big for you and the pants, despite having a drawstring, still hang off your hips with room to spare. You sigh, knowing you need to find this guy so you make your way forward, feeling your way around in the dark by putting your hands out and waving them around in front of you before you step. The steps are slow and cautious in an attempt to find your way to some sort of light source. He might’ve put you in some warm socks at least? The ground was freezing...

You turn your body slightly to the right and feel around, looking for something to grab hold of. Suddenly you feel a sharp pain stub shoot up your foot as you begin hurtling towards the ground. You throw your hands out in hopes of catching yourself, but you are too late. You let out a helpless yelp as your face smashes into the cold, metal surface.

“Dank fucking farrik!” you yelp.

You lay there for a few minutes, rubbing your foot while trying to regain your bearings when a bright light bursts into the hull from above making you squint painfully away. You hear metal clanking against metal as someone descends down the ladder. A pair of boots slam to the floor close to where you are lying, then silence.

“Are you always this clumsy?” A modulated voice cuts the silence.

Your cheeks flush a bright red as you try to shuffle your way up. Yes, you are indeed very clumsy, but he doesn’t have to point that out. In fact, you almost feel insulted that you just need to reply in your pure sassy form.

“Are you always so friendly and charming?” you shoot back in a high-pitched tone. He just stands there like a statue, making no sounds and remaining impossibly still.

He is a little intimidating , you would never admit that, though. The way he just stands there in complete silence, towering over you. It’s unnerving , you think to yourself. You stare back, puffing your chest out in hopes you at least look somewhat menacing to him.

The silence seems to drag out forever, neither of you wanting to be the first to break it. Finally, he clears his throat.

“How is your leg?” he asks, pointing to your now completely healed wound under your baggy pant leg.

“It’s fine… thanks.” You shoot back, lifting the sagging fabric to show him. There’s a slight scar, but you’re impressed at how far the bacta goes to heal wounds.

As you let the pant leg fall down, you suddenly remembered that these clothes were not yours.

“Did you put these clothes on me?” you asked with a fit of annoyed anger rising in your voice.

“Your other clothes were destroyed,” he said simply, “they were ripped up, covered in blood and who knows what else. Did you expect me to just leave you in them? Of course, I put those clothes on you. Who else would have?” he throws his hands up as he asks you, mirroring your agitated state.

Your cheeks begin to flush when you realize he had, in fact, seen you naked. You both stand there in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before he lets out a loud sigh.

“I don’t know what else you would’ve expected me to do in this situation…”

You adjust the shirt at your waist, trying to get comfortable in his presence. “I just wasn’t expecting to wake up in something different. It was a shock, that’s all,” you tone down the sass in an attempt to be grateful. Because you really should be grateful for them. That was the truth of the matter, you were out of credits, and only packed one extra set of clothes because that’s all you could carry, which reminded you, “where did you put my old clothes, speaking of.”

“Compactor… where else would you put them?” He said it so casually it made your head spin.

“I only have one spare!! I could’ve repaired them!” you yell at him, “what the fuck were you - oh Maker, never mind!” you throw your hands up in exasperation.

“I was only trying to help you,” he stood there with his hands crossed over his chest, “ and need I remind you that I am being kind enough as it is not throwing you into carbonite. You. Are. A. Bounty. I have no reason to offer you kindness.” He shoots back at you. You can see him recede a little as soon as the words leave his mouth.

He lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Look, you’re going to have to cut me some slack here. The trip will be a lot less painful for both of us if we can stop being so hostile with each other. I need you to work with me. Just make the best out of the situation.” He lowers his voice in a poor attempt to make his last statement seem less aggressive.

You stand there for a few seconds before you try to relax your face. He is right. He didn’t throw you into carbonite. He also was only trying to help. The anger inside you slowly starts to leave your body as you take a few deep breaths.

“Look, I am sorry. I just… this isn’t the most wonderful situation to be in. Maybe you should cut me some slack,” you come back at him, “you’ve forced me onto your ship to take me back to my worst nightmare. Just please… try to understand why I am so pissed.” You reply softly in hopes of diffusing the situation. The last thing you want is to end up in carbonite next to the other bounties he’s collected. There is no chance of you escaping if that were to happen.

“Thank you… really… for all your help” you continued hoping you sounded sincere. He stands there for a few seconds more in silence before speaking.

“Taking you back to…” he pauses, approaching the question with caution, “your nightmare?” he asks. “What do you mean?”

This guy probably doesn’t want to hear your entire backstory. He probably doesn’t even care, so what’s the point? You sigh, frustrated that you even have to explain.

“It doesn’t matter...don’t worry about it” you reply abruptly.

Din lets out yet another sigh. “I’ll be up in the cockpit. I don’t trust you to leave you alone down here. If you’re going to be out of carbonite, you’re going to be within my sight at all times until we get to Nevarro, understand?” he asks harshly.

“Whatever you say tin foil” you mumble under your breath. You meant to say it so low he couldn’t hear you, but the quick snap of his helmet back in your direction affirmed that he had heard you. “ This is going to be just fucking great ,” you think to yourself sarcastically.

A few hours later, you are still sitting in the co-pilot seat of the cockpit. You and Mando haven’t spoken a single word to each other. As soon as you followed him up here, he had demanded you sit in the seat and not move. You had crossed your arms over your chest, like a child , and plopped down in the seat with an angry look across your face. You weren't giving him the satisfaction of having you obey his every command without protest.

You sat there, sulking for a few seconds before you were distracted by something. Your eyes shot up to the windshield of the Crest to take in the beautiful scenery before you, hyperspace. You had never been in hyperspace before. It was more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. Your mouth had dropped open without you realizing it. The stars dazzling across your face were the most magnificent thing you think you’d ever seen.

“Close your mouth before you catch bugs in there”. Mando had exclaimed.

That was enough to make you realize you never wanted to talk to him again unless you needed to. He was so annoying .

So here you sit, hours later, still sulking with your arms crossed in the co-pilot seat of the Crest. You start searching your mind for ways that you can get out of this very shitty situation. The only way you see yourself even having a slight chance at escape is by running when you land. You knew you wouldn’t get far unless there was some type of distraction. He was good, so the distraction was going to have to be great. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of something shuffling behind you.

You turn your chair around, slightly startled, only to see two big black eyes staring up at you. The kid . You had almost forgotten about him. He is just about the cutest creature you have ever seen. You looked him over from the soft pink color on the inside of his ears to the wisps of hair that dotted along with the wrinkles across his forehead. He looked almost old in ways you couldn’t quite explain or put your finger on. You hesitate to ask, thinking better of it.

The kid lets out a quiet babble as you see him raise his little hands up in your direction. Does he… does he want you to pick him up? You start to soften as he brings up his other hand making a grabby motion with his fingertips. You scoot forward to the edge of your seat before you are interrupted by a menacing, modulated voice.

“Don’t even think about touching him,” the Mandalorian says flatly without even turning around to see the child motioning so sweetly to you.

“He’s asking politely,” you respond, ignoring him and grabbing the small creature under the arms and lifting him. The Mandalorian swivels his chair around and grabs the child from your grasp which sends him into an uncontrollable fit. Well, serves him right. He tucks him into his lap, ignoring his cries and takes a small knob from a shifter to his right, and unscrews it, handing it to the small child. This perks him up slightly as he plays with it but eventually, he just throws it on the floor and makes more grabby hands towards you.

“I don’t mind holding him while you drive… or fly… er, whatever it is you do here,” you roll your eyes at him.

He groans and bows his head, looking at the child, before sighing in defeat and turning around to face you. “This is a one-time deal. Don’t go getting any ideas in your head,” he slowly hands him over to you as you tuck him into your lap. He instantly cheers up, clearly appreciating the change of scenery. The Mandalorian gets up and grabs the small silver knob from where it rolled on the floor and hands it to him, patting him once on the head before taking his seat again and falling back into that uncomfortable silence.

The entire ride to Nevarro stays like that. From your spot behind him, you’re able to really watch and examine him. You watch the subtle twitch in his hand against the steering column - this rhythmic tapping he does almost like he’s thinking. The child has fallen asleep in your arms at this point, so you sit there, slowly letting your eyes drop as you watch this metal man tap away on his console. Before long, you feel the jolt of the ship dropping out of hyperspace and dropping into the atmosphere of Nevarro.

“Wake up,” is the only warning you get from him as he starts flipping switches and pushing buttons, preparing for a landing.

“Good morning to you too,” you reply, stretching your arms over your head. Panicked in the realization that the child is no longer in your lap, you look around, searching for the little green guy.

“He’s already where he’s supposed to be. You guys took quite the nap together,” he explained. You sagged back into the seat, sighing in relief.

“So what’s the plan,” you fidget with your hands in your lap. It occurred to you previously in the trip that you’d need to come up with some kind of plan between now and when you landed but you hadn’t expected to sleep through the entire thing. This really wasn’t beneficial for making plans. A slight sheen of sweat brushed against your brow as you quickly flipped through your exit strategies and realized, you really didn’t have one.

You’d never been off Tatooine and you had no clue where to go from here. No credits that could help you out. Shit. This was really not fucking ideal.

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a little screech coming from below your chair. You jump so hard you almost fall out of your chair. You look down to see that the kid has returned from wherever the Mandalorian had stuffed him away. He is standing at the base of your chair raising his hands toward you wanting you to pick him up again. How can you resist such a cute gesture?

“What did I tell you, kid?” The Mandalorian exclaims. He lets out a frustrated sigh. “It’s nap time.” He begins to get up from his seat and reach for the kid. You swoop him up as quickly as you can before he has the chance to take him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Leave him alone! Why does it bother you so much that he wants me to hold him?” You shoot back. The Mandalorian freezes in his position, arms stretched out towards him, without offering you another word.

“That’s what I thought, shiny. You have no reason.” You exclaim with triumph in your voice. He doesn’t have to be so damn grumpy. You look down at the kid with adoration. He is just about the cutest creature you have ever seen.

He brings his little hand up slowly, making a sweet little noise as his fingers connect with your left cheek. You almost melt from how cute it is. Damn, he really seems to like you. If the situation were different, you might actually want to keep him for yourself.

Suddenly, a bright light is flashing over your vision. You almost scream out in shock… until you see him . Your brother. It’s the strangest thing you have ever seen, it’s like you are watching him on a holographic screen. You see him running through a forest, fallen trees, and disturbed soil exploding around him. It looks like he has been badly injured. There is blood trickling out of his right ear and multiple cuts and bruises all over his body.

Suddenly, he stops, frantically looking back towards something in the distance. You cannot see what he is looking at, but you can see the pure fear on his face. Before you can process what is happening, you see a blurry hand reach out and shove him in the back. Simultaneously, a blaster fire comes from the same direction and buries itself into his back, causing him to collapse.

“ NO!” a scream escapes from your throat. You reach out trying to catch him, but it’s like you can’t move. His body seems miles away from you, shrinking into the distance. Images burst in your eyes - blaster fire, blood, wood shards flying… then a flash of his lifeless body laying on the ground before nothing but darkness.

A blood-curdling scream bursts from deep within your throat, like a waterfall of tears, burst from your eyes. You have no idea what is happening, but you are witnessing one of your worst nightmares. Nothing you’ve lived through, not even watching your parents dying, had ever been this vivid or intense. A strong hand grips your shoulder and everything comes back to you at once. All you can hear is the ringing in your ears, muddling everything in the room.

“Hey!” A modulated voice shouts, cutting through the screeching in your head. Your vision fades in and out, slowly coming back into focus along with your surroundings. Reaching out at the sides of the cockpit, the cool metal-like ice on your fingertips. The Mandalorian is standing in front of you holding a knocked-out child in his left arm and shaking you violently with the other. You blink a few times trying to bring him into focus. You can feel the wetness on your cheeks as tears continue to fall out of your eyes.

“What the FUCK?” you scream as you grab his arm trying to center yourself. “What the actual fuck was that?” You repeat, trying desperately to make a rational string of thoughts.

“Are you okay? What happened?” The Mandalorian asks, clearly concerned.

You sit there for a moment, swallowing several times before you answer. Are you okay? What the fuck just happened? Clearly, it was something the kid did. He is clearly gifted, you already knew that much from watching him heal your leg. Did he just give you a vision too? Your mind suddenly clicks as the realization hits you. The future.

“My brother!” You scream out, another wave of panic coming over you, “I have to get to him. He’s in trouble!” You bolt upright, almost shoving him over as you start to hyperventilate. You have to get out of here, now.

“Hey, slow down there little bird,” The Mandalorian exclaims as he grabs your shoulder, “just tell me what’s going on! What just happened?” He asks as he whips you back around to face him. Clearly he was just as concerned as you were, although it was unclear if he was more concerned for you or for the child.

“He showed me! I- I think he showed me the future.” You shout. “I don’t know how, but I saw him! I saw my brother and I have to get to him before he gets hurt. I can’t lose him too.” You exclaim. You notice the sobs starting to work their way through your body as you drop to your knees. You sit there for a moment, letting out a horrid-sounding sob from deep in your chest.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. I can’t stand this.” You cry out. You let out a final, pitiful, “I can’t lose him too,” you whisper through your sobs. It was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear you. You pound your fist into the cold, metal floor in frustration, “I can’t fucking lose him! I already lost everyone else I love,” you scream, pleading to the universe, “I can’t watch this happen and not-” you lose yourself in the gut-wrenching sobs. There is absolutely nothing you can do. You’re stuck on this damn ship with this damn Mandalorian who is taking you back to slavery. You are completely helpless.

Feeling your body practically invert itself, you curl into your knees, letting yourself pour your heart out. You let every memory, every feeling you’ve ever had go in that cockpit. You cry for your parents, for the way they were killed. You cry for your friends back home and the pain they will endure for your failed escape attempt. You cry for your brother and his inescapable fate. And you cry for yourself for this disastrous fate you got yourself into.

The Mandalorian shuffles around a bit before you see his massive frame coming into your blurry vision. His fingertips slowly reach under your chin and force your head up to look at him. He has kneeled down to your level, helmet merely inches from your face.

“Hey… I need you to open your eyes and look at me,” he says in a much softer tone.

Doing as he says, your eyelashes flutter open softly. Your vision is very blurry, nose runny, spit falling from your mouth, just a complete mess. Hating how vulnerable you look in front of him, you attempt to reach up and wipe the mess off your face.

“That’s it, just take deep breaths, little bird,” he whispers softly. His thumb starts moving slowly across the bottom of your chin. “Eyes right here,” he instructs.

“Listen to me ,” he says softly, “I don’t know who you are, but my kid and you have some kind of connection going on here that I just can’t seem to explain,” You had to give him credit, the guy was trying his best with you, “I don’t know why they wanted so much for you. I took this job because bounties are shit jobs lately and I’ll be honest, you were good money.”

You stare at him in shock, your mouth dropping open. This was the most he’d spoken to you since he picked you up and quite frankly, this was the most honest anyone had ever been with you in your entire life. A part of you felt like you wanted to slap the shit out of him - if it weren’t for the helmet. But the other part of you thought how refreshing it was for someone to just tell you the damn truth for once. You wipe your face with the back of your hand, praying you didn’t look too much like a disaster.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t know why they wanted me back so badly,” sniffling, you look up at him from where your hands were wrapping around that strand of hair. “I keep thinking it over… wouldn’t it just have been cheaper for Morga to write me off as a loss as he does with the other slaves? Why does he want me back so badly?”

“I can’t answer that for you,” he sighs deeply, clearly weighing out the options. It seemed to be weighing heavily on him, whatever he was considering because the silence was heavy enough to slice through with a knife.

“Alright well here’s the deal. I’m sticking my neck out for you with Karga. If I do this, I gotta be able to trust you…”

“What… uh what do you mean?” you question him, nervous for the answer.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this again,” he whispers softly, almost soft enough you could barely hear him, “ but I don’t think my kid will forgive me if I turn you in.” His nervous laughter echoes between the two of you. “So I was thinking -” he paused, deeply considering his words, “what if I didn’t bring you back?”

There’s a long pause of silence where you both just stare at each other before you speak.

“I’m sorry, what?” you simply stare at him, eyes practically bugging out of your head.

“What if,” he draws his words out, “what if I just didn’t bring you back? I did it with the kid before. Sure it’s a risk but, clearly, there’s something else going on here and he was smart enough to pick up on it and I don’t know…”

“Where would I go?” you question him. This would surely solve one of your problems, but not the remaining part, “I have no credits, no home to go back to, no job. I have nothing. You threw away my other set of clothes.” You stand and start pacing the tiny confines of the cockpit.

“Well let’s make a deal. You stay with me. I can protect you, offer you a place to stay, and in exchange, you watch the kid while I’m out collecting quarries,” he replied.

Holy shit he was serious. It almost makes you want to maniacally laugh. Shit, maybe you were having a full-blown breakdown... You cover your mouth with one hand but a giggle escapes. “Oh shit, you are serious aren’t you?”

“Well not if you’re going to laugh at me about it…” he replied.

“Ok, so let’s say that I do stay. What would you tell, uh, Karga was it?”

“Uh... I haven’t gotten that far yet,” he puts his hand on the back of his neck and looks up, “however, I feel like we need to have a little more mutual trust going on here between us,” his finger points between the two of you. “Because this isn’t working. This silent treatment isn’t going to work going forward. Not for either of us especially if you’re going to be living here.”

“Wh - what do you want?” you ask.

“Well, when you’re ready, why don’t you tell me a little something about you? And in exchange, I’ll tell you something about me. Sound good?” he sat down in his chair and crossed his ankles together, motioning for you to sit down.

You gingerly take a seat on the edge of the chair, feeling like prey ready to run at the single sight of danger. Your reflexes are so tense and on edge, you’re practically about to burst.

“Alright, well, what do you want to know?” you ask, swallowing a lump in your throat.

“Anything you’d like to tell me,” he leans back, clearly relaxed in his own space.

You swallow the courage that was bubbling into your throat, realize you need to ask him. You have been presented with an incredibly rare opportunity here, one that not many people have been gifted. You were given a prophecy, a vision of the future. Your brother's future more importantly. And in this future, you’d seen him killed. A moment in time, stamped in the future. Something you could prevent from happening altogether. Not many people had this kind of power and only the ones that did have their fates entwined with the force.

You close your eyes, imagining yourself on that ledge with fate, grasping their hand and taking the leap off together into the unknown.

Your eyes pop open, staring directly at him as if willing to see his eyes behind the shiny beskar. “If I am to stay, I have a request,” you say softly, praying he will accept the new terms. He just sat there, waiting for you to finish and when you didn’t, he just simply said, “alright.”

You pause, confidence rapidly fading, but instead, you push on, “I don’t know how else to say this, but I can’t stay here and go out looking for my brother on my own, which we both know I will never find him in time… or -” you pause, hoping he picks up the rest of your intentions.

The Mandalorian stares at you in silence, not saying anything. You sigh loudly, waving your hands in the air, “fuc- will you help me?” you pause, looking at him. “Please?” you add for good measure.

“I can help out around here in return. I ca- I can watch the kid while you do your work. I can...fly? Well, I can’t fly, but you could teach me? I can-” He cuts you off before you can continue rambling.

“Stop.” He exclaims as he holds his hand up. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

He seems to consider it, leaning forward and nodding his head while he rests his arms on his knees.

“If we’re going to do this,” he starts, “I’m going to need a little trust from you. We need to learn to trust each other. You have to give me something. I don’t know anything about you, and you don’t know anything about me. If I am to help you, you need to give me a little background. I cannot help you if I am walking in blind.” He stares at you patiently, waiting for a reply.

You look around, literally anywhere but directly at him. The thoughts dancing through your brain go from one moment in time to the next. When someone asks you to talk about yourself, why is it that your brain suddenly can’t think of a single interesting thing? What would be the right thing to say that would make you seem like a trustworthy person?

“Okay…” you start out, clearing your throat, “I was born on Tatooine… been there my whole life I guess. I -” you pause, looking up at him to see if this is what he’s looking for, “I...I am, or I guess I was, a slave to the Hutts,” you pause, sucking in a reassuring breath of air, “I have been all my life. My whole family was. Slaves, I mean...” you admitted. You look up at him again to search for any sign of a reaction. You get absolutely nothing, just the blank stare he always has when you talk to him.

“Being a slave is all I have ever known. In fact, this is the first time I have even left that damned city on Tatooine,” you pause, thinking back to your little hut. The small room off the kitchen with a tiny cot for you to come home to and crash after a long day at the cantina. How many nights you’d spent on the roof, staring up at the stars wishing on every single one that someone would come and take you away… You’d pray every night for a life better than the one you had. You hadn’t imagined anything close to this…

Taking a sharp breath in, you continued with your story, “I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. The market on occasion when Morga needed something important, but that was rare. He had runners for those things. My parents…” you trail off, feeling tears starting to form in the rim of your eyes, “- I’m… I’m all that’s left… other than my brother. At least I hope he’s alive.” Your throat starts constricting as the emotions start to overtake your body. No… I will not show weakness in front of him. You clear your throat in an attempt to get rid of the sensation, swallowing the burning lump in your throat.

“I haven’t heard or seen him since he was just a boy. I don’t really remember what he looks like even. Sometimes I’m afraid I wouldn’t recognize him if I saw him because it’s been so long.” You smile, thinking back at the boy he used to be. Brown curly hair and the most brilliant blue eyes you’d ever laid your own eyes on. The Mandalorian just watches you silently as you talk, taking in what you’re saying. You give him little bits, not really divulging into anything too deep.

“It’s just… it hasn’t been easy. I want something more with my life. I want to find my brother and run away to another planet. I just don’t want to live that lifestyle anymore. I don’t want my brother to have to live that life anymore. He was able to get away but last I heard he was caught and resold to another planet. I don’t know where but I wanted to try to find him. They aren’t good to me, never have been. Morga wasn’t good to any of us.” You didn’t even realize you were crying until you reached up and felt the wetness dripping off your cheeks. Apologizing silently for the rambling, you wonder if this was even what he was asking for because he never responds. He isn’t even reacting - just staring. Just listening.

“You can call me Mando,” is his only reply.

------

“Ahh, Mando! This is a pleasant call! What do I owe the pleasure of seeing your face over a holographic instead of in person?” Karga said over the blue hologram.

“I’m delivering news that your last bounty is undeliverable,” Mando says plainly into the receiver. You stay back out of the receivers shot, anxiously waiting.

“I can’t say I’m not surprised, considering your track record, but I’m also a bit shocked. Had to wet your whistle, did you?” Karga laughed and the sound was enough to make your blood boil. What you wouldn’t give to meet this guy in person to sucker punch him in the fat fucking mouth.

As if Mando knew what you were thinking, he reached out to block you from stepping into the shot, “That’s enough Karga, just know she’s undeliverable and that’s the end of it,” he gave you a gentle shove back. “If you have something you’d like to say further, I have no issues with meeting you at the gate.”

“As tempting as it would be considering you still owe us from the last undelivered bounty , ” Karga’s voice is dripping with disdain, “I can’t waste the men at this very moment.” He smiled sweetly into the hologram. You laugh, knowing that means Mando would completely whoop his ass. Mentally, you pump a fist in the air at him.

“You may not understand why I have to do this Karga, but just know it has to be done. If you were me, you’d do the same thing,” Mando’s voice strained. Whatever happened between them with the child clearly still bothered him.

“That’s the difference boy , I don’t betray the guild or my creed . I thought Mandalore understood that above all else. Guess you were just defective or-” Mando cut the transmission, abruptly standing and chucked the receiver across the small room. He was frustrated with himself more than anything but what came across was just pure rage. Something you were familiar with being on the receiving end of.

He stands there, arms taught on the center console of the cockpit, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath. The anger physically radiated out through the Beskar. Afraid to make a sound, you stood there watching him, waiting for any sign that you hadn’t done anything wrong - that he wasn’t going to suddenly change his mind and send you off to be resold.

“Mando I’m so-”

“Get out,” he cut you off, hand raised towards you, his words dripping with a distaste for you. Or at least that’s what you interpreted it as. In reality, he was angry at Karga for everything he said about you.

It wasn’t a good look for him, he realized that you were sure of it. But the outburst had sent you away in tears nonetheless. Between the two of you, the emotions were all over the place in this ship. You guess that’s just part of the adjustment period. You’d climbed down the ladder only to find a cot all made up in the middle of the ship. He must’ve come down when you were napping.

Which of course only made you cry harder because this only meant he’d been already thinking about this before he decided to call Karga and tell him to basically go fuck himself. You laid down on the cot, curling up and clutching one of the pillows, letting yourself cry again until you couldn’t cry anymore. After today, you were all cried out. Maker, this was going to be complicated.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #this is going to get rough #this is the way #slow burn #mando x reader #reader insert #pascal-istheway #pedro pascal

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tendertenebrosity · 4 years

Text

Tagging @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @iwhumpyou, @doglover82; @top-hat-aye;

The army was almost ready to set out. The ground of the lands outside the town was trampled into mud days ago, and then the mud had been thrown up by cartwheels and great hooves into ruts and puddles and ridges. Helis had never wished so badly that they could wear shoes like regular people did. They ducked through the chaos, eyes darting nervously. Trying to skip over the worst of the mud, trying not to get in anybody’s way, trying not to get hurt. They weren’t supposed to be here.

Where is he? They made it through into a calmer place, tried to balance their feet on a relatively stable piece of dirt, and scanned the crowd. Oh, please don’t let him have left already, please…

There. Near the command tents - a mounted figure in a pitch-black jacket, standing out above the rest of the crowd. The figure turned and bent his head down to address someone; the neat tail of hair down his back confirmed it was Illiam.

Helis chewed their lip anxiously and left their island of dirt, plunging across the expanse of mud. If he was already mounted that probably meant he was leaving very soon; they were probably only just in time.

As Helis approached, the person Illiam had been talking to became more clear - a noblewoman, a little incongruous in her deep blue velvets. At least to Helis, who’d just passed through the main bulk of the army with its dull browns and greys. Her hair was the same deep black as Illiam’s, though twisted into an elegant knot at her neck.

Oh. Illiam’s sister. Helis knew better than to interrupt - they paused a few metres away, twining their fingers together anxiously.

“Of course I will try, Jetta, but I don’t control the letter once it leaves my hand,” Illiam was saying impatiently. “I will write them. I cannot promise you more than that.”

Jetta sighed. The resemblance was clear, looking at them both from this distance; her eyes were the same ice-blue, although her face was a lot more mobile and expressive. There was a plaintive note in her voice as she tipped her face up to look at her brother, and Helis was struck by how young she seemed. “I wish I were going with you.”

“No, you don’t,” Illiam said brusquely. “You’d be whining to turn back before the week was out, you know you would. If…”

Jetta had paused, cocking her head, and Illiam trailed off as well.

“What is it?”

“Look, Illiam, your pet’s here,” Jetta said, a half-hearted smile pulling up one corner of her mouth. “To say goodbye to you? How sweet.”

Helis remembered, a touch late, to lower their head and watch the ground submissively. When nothing more was said, they glanced up through their lashes, nerves fluttering in their stomach. Both nobles were now looking over at them... and Illiam was scowling. Helis dropped their head again, heart sinking, wings drooping.

“No,” Illiam said coldly. “They’re coming with me, actually, but they’re supposed to be setting out with the second party. I don’t know why they’re here.” He turned away, his attention directed back downwards to Jetta. “Never mind coming with the army, you stay safe here, you hear me? Keep busy and keep writing to me. It won’t be so long, you’ll see.”

“And I can visit you in Crestmead once the war’s over,” Jetta said, a wavering brightness in her voice. “You can show me around! All the things you used to talk about. Right?”

After the invasion, in Crestmead? Helis wondered. Once it belongs to the North? What things do you think are still going to be there? Is Illiam going to show you around ruins and piles of dead people? They supposed the city wouldn’t be destroyed, not completely, but the way Jetta spoke about it you’d think she was talking about going sight-seeing, not visiting an occupied and war-ravaged city.

“Yes,” Illiam said, after a moment. He sighed. “Jet, don’t cry. Come on. That’s enough.”

Helis glanced up and saw that the woman, the girl, was still smiling, in a fixed, brittle way. They weren’t close enough to see whether she was in fact crying, but they felt guilty regardless. Helis combed fingers through some of their feathers, uncomfortable. They were intruding. Jetta barely seemed to register that Helis existed a lot of the time, but Illiam usually didn’t speak like this to her if he thought Helis could hear. Easy familiarity, the sharp edges filed off his tone. And now he was riding off to war. They both had to know he might not come back.

“Well. I still need to go and pay my respects to Father,” Jetta said, her voice under control. “Goodbye, Illiam. Be safe and good luck! Please write!”

“I don’t need your luck. I’m very good at what I do,” Illiam told her, the confidence in his voice a touch over-exaggerated. “Farewell.”

Jetta giggled. “You are! Goodbye!” She kissed her fingers and fluttered them up at Illiam, still smiling that fixed smile. Then she turned and strode away, head held high, towards the command tent.

There was a long pause; then Illiam raised his voice. Any softness or good humour that might have been there was erased from it; it was only cold and hard. “Helis. Here.”

Helis flinched, but they straightened their shoulders and stared to pick their way closer to him, feeling their stomach flip in trepidation. Oh, great, I already made him angry. They tried to marshal their thoughts, the careful statement and request they had prepared on their way here. They didn’t outright ask Illiam for things often, and they had no idea how he was going to react. But the situation they had just left frightened them so much that this had seemed worth it.

It had seemed worth it when they were over with the supply wagons, under the eyes of the soldiers. Now they were a little less certain.

They stopped, rocking back on their feet as they looked up. Illiam on foot was intimidatingly tall; Illiam on horseback towered.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped. “Running about everyone’s ankles like an escaped chicken? You’re going to get yourself run over by a cart, and frankly I’d be half inclined to shrug and leave you there. Are you carrying a message? Because that’s just about the only reason I’m prepared to accept for your presence here, and not back with the supply wagons, where I expressly ordered you to be.”

Illiam rearranged his reins, and brought the horse around a few steps so that he could glare more effectively down at Helis. The horse snorted, rolled a large dark eye at Helis.

“I - no message,” Helis stammered, inching away from the animal’s head, back towards Illiam. “I’m sorry. I, there’s no message, but I can’t - I wanted to ask you -”

“Of course there’s not,” Illiam growled. His voice dropped, low and threatening. “We had words, did we not? About how I cannot afford distractions? Have you seen anything in the past couple of days that have indicated to you that my priorities have changed?”

“N-no…” Was this still worth it? Too late to back out now. Helis was not going to go through all this, walk back through the whole army, and end up back in the same situation they had left except with Illiam angry at them, too.

“Then what. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

Helis took a deep breath, and all of the carefully formed phrases left their head. “Please, Illiam,” they blurted. “Please…”

He raised a hand in a gesture of frustration. “You haven’t asked me anything yet! What do you want?”

“I c-can’t… Illiam, who am I supposed to stay with, in the other group?” Helis said desperately. They stepped closer, and put their hand up to rest lightly on his saddle blanket, not far from the cuff of his boot. They focused on it, fixing their eyes on the stitching in the black leather. “What will I do? Where will I sleep? I know I’m going in the wagon with the servants but they don’t exactly… I think they’ll be upset if I try to…”

Helis had met the servants that were traveling with the supply wagons. They had made their feelings on sharing any sort of living space with a beastfolk quite clear, particularly one who didn’t know their place. Helis’ head still smarted from the lesson. They had yet to find any beastfolk, but Helis’ hope of finding any sort of fellow-feeling with the beastfolk of the castle had been dashed weeks ago anyway.

“And, and, it’s going to be weeks on the road, you said, and I’ve never been…” They blinked hard, trying to push tears back. “I don’t, um, Illiam, I don’t feel… safe…”

They felt a distant, hysterical urge to laugh at themselves. They were saying they didn’t feel safe away from Illiam? When had they ever been safe with him? A few weeks ago he’d threatened to throw them off a wall to their death!

But he was predictable. He yelled and belittled them, threw things and made threats, and they were too afraid of what he might do to try another escape attempt; but if he’d genuinely wanted to kill Helis he’d have done it already. He valued Helis in some way that none of the servants or soldiers would share. You are worthless here.

Helis chanced a look upwards. Illiam was staring at them, fixedly, his face a little too high to easily focus on from this distance, and unreadable. Disbelief? Ambivalence? Confusion? They had no idea.

“Some of the soldiers keep looking at me,” they tried to explain, miserably, and flinched in preparation for the scathing rebuttal they would probably get for that. Looking at you? God forbid you endure people looking at you! “What am I going to do? I mean – they s-say things, and I don’t...” Panic rose in their throat, and they had to pause and just breathe for a few moments, thinking about that, thinking about spending the night outside alone surrounded by people who thought they were worthless.

When they had themselves under control, they still hadn’t been interrupted. Helis looked up again, carefully, tilting their head back.

They ended up meeting Illiam’s eyes, because he was still staring down at them. His brows were drawn together, and his mouth was downturned, but he wasn’t yelling or telling them to go away, so Helis felt a fragile swell of hope.

“You don’t feel safe,” he repeated, his voice hard. “And so you find me to complain. What do you want? To come with me instead?”

“Oh, please,” Helis begged. “I’m sorry, I know it’s inconvenient, I know I’ve disobeyed you, but I just… I’m scared, Illiam.” They swallowed, blinking the tears away. “I’m so scared. Please?”

He broke the eye contact, looked up and away from them, and then out across the muddy fields and the army that occupied them. He watched the milling chaos of people, horses, vehicles for a few moments, and then shifted his gaze up to the clouds drifting past in the grey sky. They saw him swallow, once, his jaw tight, his face shifting minutely as he thought.

Then it stilled as he came to a decision. He looked back down at them, scowling, and twisted in his saddle to reach down.

Helis blinked as his hand was suddenly right in front of them.

“Fine. Put your foot on the stirrup,” he snapped.

Helis caught their breath. “I - you mean I can? You mean it?”

“Come on. Today, if you don’t mind!” He clicked his fingers impatiently.

Their stomach flipped again with relief and fear. Good news - they could travel with Illiam. Bad news - they would travel with Illiam. This was better, they knew it was better, they had weighed up their options and this was far preferable. But their stomach still dropped at the thought of his touch. And when they made the decision to ask… somehow they hadn’t factored the horse into things.

Helis carefully put their hand in his, half expecting this to hurt somehow, for it to be a cruel trick of some kind. Instead his fingers closed over theirs, firm but not painful, and held them stable while they tried to get their clawed foot up high enough for a hold on his stirrup. The horses’ ears flicked back, but at a murmured word from Illiam, it held steady.

Their breath caught in a yelp in their throat as Illiam pulled them up, and they tried to help as much as they could, their wings opening to flutter ineffectually at their shoulders. But it was mostly his strength that hauled them up and over, caught them under the armpits to resettle their weight on the saddle in front of him.

“You realise, of course,” he grumbled from behind them, “That this is going to be very uncomfortable for the both of us. I don’t suppose you have any experience riding at all?”

“Uh. No,” Helis squeaked. They searched desperately for something to hold on to, gripped a part of the saddle with white-knuckled fingers. The ground seemed so far away!

“Wonderful,” he drawled. Illiam’s arms went around them, gathering up the reins, pushing Helis back against his chest and squashing their wings between them. “Hold still. You’re going to be black and blue by the end of the day, you know that, don’t you? I didn’t bring the best saddle for this. And I’m going to have to change horses twice as often. Thank your lucky stars you don’t weigh very much.”

“Sorry,” Helis said meekly. They shifted, trying to ease one pinched wing. Where were their feet supposed to go? “Thank you…”

“Hah. We’ll see if you thank me tonight when we stop. I would put money that you don’t.” His voice was odd, deep and reverberating from behind them, with its characteristic clipped anger. “Stop wriggling, idiot. Want to get us both thrown?”

“Throw… No, of course not.” Helis hunched their shoulders, tried to settle against Illiam and the horse carefully. It was awkward, being this close. They wanted to shudder at the feeling of his arms around them, but they pushed the impulse back. “Thank you, Illiam. I’m… I really appreciate it. I’ll hold still.”

His legs moved behind Helis and his hands shifted on the reins; the horse started to move, and Helis yelped again, fingers clutching the saddle for dear life.

He grunted. “You’d better. This is going to be a very long day.”

#Illiam #Helis #captivity whump #my stuff #Jetta de Graer #New side character I haven't introduced properly but oh well #riding double #Villains have loved ones too #war and military stuff #probably writing horses terribly but oh well #better the devil you know #mercy #kind of

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forzalando · 7 years

Text

Wedding Plans ~ Fred Weasley

OH GOD OH GOD I CRIED THE WHOLE TIME I WROTE THIS. thank you to @potter-harryjames for proofreading and telling me what she thought because I was nervous to post this. I hope you all love this as much as I do, it was so cathartic writing this like y’all don’t even know.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested: no, I just like to torture myself

Y/N: Your Name

Warnings: sUPER MEGA FRED FLUFF, mentions of d*ath, mild language (i think just h*ll, sh*t, and d*mn)

Word Count: 2.5k

P.S. there are time skips and they are indicated by a break! also please let me know what you think! i love feedback, whether you say something in a reblog, message me, or comment! i love you all :)

As sweat dripped from your forehead while you worked in the yard, you cursed the season of summer. It was the end of July, and the blistering heat was definitely getting to you.

“Fred, can we please take a break?”

“Bloody hell, yes, I thought you’d never ask.”

“Me? I was waiting for you to ask! I thought you wanted to have everything finished before your Mum came home so she wouldn’t be too upset that you and George ate all of her baking!”

“Well I did, but it’s so damn hot out I don’t even care anymore. I’m so glad we live above the shop and don’t have a yard to deal with.”

“Tell me about it. I can’t believe your brother wanted a summer wedding and now we are stuck making sure the yard looks perfect for his bloody ceremony.”

Fred threw an arm around your shoulders as you walked into the Burrow to grab drinks and relax. He poured you a glass of lemonade, sat down, and then pulled you onto his lap.

“We definitely won’t have a summer wedding. I think May is a nice month, don’t you?”

“I always thought a May wedding would be nice…” you said confusedly as you turned to look at your smiling boyfriend.

“Brilliant, me too, darling. May 2nd sounds perfect to me.”

You had to admit, it was an absolutely perfect day for a wedding, even if you preferred late spring weddings. You had almost torn your hair out due to stress, but everything was worth it when the tent was up and when you saw the looks of pure bliss on Bill and Fleur’s faces when they were finally pronounced husband and wife.

You sat in a chair as the reception began with a dreamy look on your face, when suddenly you were pulled from your seated position and tugged towards the dancefloor.

“I didn’t know you wanted to dance with me, Fred,” you giggled as he swayed back and forth.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, my love, of course I want to dance with you; but first I had to escape the clutches of my relatives.”

“How’s Aunt Muriel? I see she left you a little lipstick stain on your cheek.”

You quickly wiped the bright red stain off of his skin and replaced it with a light pink mark that matched your own lipstick.

“There, that’s better. Now all of Fleur’s Veela cousins will know that you’re taken by me.”

Fred chuckled at your statement and leaned in to leave a quick but passionate kiss upon your lips.

“That was just in case there were any blokes out there who might have thought about asking you to dance.”

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you as you rested your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around his middle.

“Y/N, when we get married, promise me it won’t be this big of a fuss. I just want my brothers, Ginny, your sister, and my Mum and Dad. Is that alright?”

You sighed contentedly and answered him.

“Of course, Fred, whatever you want.”

“Wicked.”

“Y/N? Does your sister still hate George?”

You let out a bark of laughter at his incredulous question.

“No, she doesn’t hate your brother! She used to have a massive crush on him, that’s why she was always so mean to him during school!”

“Oh…how did I not notice that? Does she still like him?”

“Fred, she’s been dating Seamus Finnegan for a year now! I swear I’ve told you that before.”

“Right, sorry, I just thought it would be weird if the best man and maid of honor couldn’t stand each other so I had to check.”

You rolled your eyes at him and mumbled “alright, Fred” before going back to folding laundry.

“Hey love? Peonies are your favorite flower right?” Fred shouted from the kitchen.

You walked in to find him writing a letter home to his parents and you chuckled as he stood with a puzzled look on his face; worried that after almost six years together he couldn’t remember your favorite flower.

“Yes, Freddie, peonies are my favorite, but it’s October, love, they’re not exactly in season. They’re a late spring, very early summer flower.”

“I know but I want Mum to plant a bunch and apparently you’re supposed to plant them in early October.”

“What do you want peonies for, love?”

“I don’t want them, but we’re going to need them sooner or later so I figure Mum might want to make sure she has lots and lots of good ones for our wed…”

“Frederick Weasley, what sort of game do you think you’re playing? Your mother is worried sick about her two youngest children and you want her to plant flowers for me as some romantic gesture?”

“No game, sweetheart, Mum has been gardening and knitting a lot to pass the time since she’s so worried about Ron and Ginny. I was just politely asking her to plant your favorite flower.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, and he gulped.

“Besides, if I was planning a big romantic gesture for you, it would involve fireworks and chocolate and your favorite cake and – “

“Why don’t you just show me a big romantic gesture in the bedroom? Right now?”

“I think I can do that!”

And with that, all talk of peonies and romantic gestures ceased to exist for the time being.

It was Christmastime at the Burrow, but it definitely didn’t feel that way. The atmosphere was far from joyful; Molly spent most of her time in her room so that no one would see her cry, and the fake smile that adorned her face when she came out broke your heart into pieces. You and Fred had spent the past few weeks at his childhood home to help Molly and Arthur during this despondent time while George took care things of the shop.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were off hunting Horcruxes, and Ginny was at Hogwarts being taught by deatheaters and attempting to rally what was left of the DA for when the inevitable culmination of this war came about.

You all feared for their lives, and with no direct communication with your missing loved ones, a heavy blanket of sorrow surrounded each of you at all times.

You sat in front of the fireplace with Fred’s arms wrapped around you tightly.

“Fred,” you mumbled, “what’s going to happen? What if not all of us survive this war?”

“Y/N, your sister is safe, she’s staying with your Mom’s muggle cousin in America. My family…we’re tough, strong, and stubborn. There’s no way any of our family won’t survive.”

Even though Fred’s words calmed you down a bit, you still felt the weight of worry upon your heart. He softly stroked your hair and you felt yourself slowly drifting into slumber, but before you could fall completely asleep, Fred’s voice whispered into the silence.

“Besides, there’s another Weasley wedding on the horizon and no one is going to miss it.”

“I didn’t know Charlie found a girl…” you mumbled as you finally slipped into unconsciousness.

It had been discovered just a few weeks ago that you and the Weasley family were aiding Harry, and you were all forced into hiding, taking refuge at Aunt Muriel’s.

Fred and George spent most of their time focusing on selling their products via mail order, which left you to your own devices.

For whatever reason, Aunt Muriel had a record player, and your prized muggle record collection had been packed into your things when you moved into her house.

The sound of Elvis Presley’s voice singing “Can’t Help Falling in Love” filled the small room you were sitting in, and your eyes closed as you swayed to the music.

Fred had left George to find you, knowing that you were the source of the music that was echoing throughout the home. He took you into his arms and danced with you the same way he had at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

A tear trickled down your cheek and Fred, observant as ever, noticed you were crying before you had a chance to quickly wipe the tear away.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“I just…I always pictured myself dancing to this song at my wedding, but now I’m not so sure I’ll even live long enough to get married.”

“Don’t talk like that, Y/N, you’ll live through this war. We both will. And we’ll dance to this song at our wedding, and any other song you want to dance to.”

“You talk an awful lot about our wedding, Freddie.”

“It’s not talking, it’s planning.”

The two of you spent the next hour dancing around the room; long after the song had ended and silence filled the air.

You saw the blast knock his body tens of feet away from where he had been standing. The ringing in your ears causing you to lose focus of the situation at hand for a few moments.

Once you could see straight, you started to search among the rubble, searching for a familiar flash of red.

Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed your ankle. You whipped around to see Fred Weasley laying on the ground with his infamous smile plastered on his dirt covered face.

“Fred!” You cried as you helped him off the ground.

“Fred Weasley, you absolute moron, I thought I lost you. Don’t you ever scare me like that again or I swear to Merlin I’ll never let you leave the house for the rest of your life!”

You let him pull you into his chest and your tears soaked his jacket, but neither of you cared.

“It’s May 2nd, Y/N, I can’t die on May 2nd! That’s going to be the date of our wedding!”

“Shut up and kiss me Fred,” you mumbled into his shirt, paying no attention to what he was saying due to the fact that you were still in shock from seeing his body flung through the air.

“Oi,” George called from nearby, “there’s a bloody war going on, there will be time for snogging later!”

With one last kiss to your mouth, you and Fred took off running, throwing curses and hexes at anyone that dared to threaten your friends or family.

The entire Weasley family was at the Burrow; it was a bittersweet reunion. Although you were all overjoyed that everyone in the family had survived, you also mourned the loss of all the friends you had lost in the brutal war.

You especially were grieving the loss of Remus Lupin, who had become a father figure in your life ever since your parents passed away during your fifth year at Hogwarts. You excused yourself from the living room and trudged up to Fred’s old room. His belongings had been brought there from Aunt Muriel’s, and the two of you had yet to return to the apartment above the shop.

Your eyes landed on a particularly curious looking booklet sitting atop his trunk. In Fred’s unmistakable scribble, you read the words “wedding plans” on the cover, and your curiosity got the better of you when you decided to look inside.

The first page was dated July 29th, 1997, and on it he had written, “Date of Ceremony: May 2nd. Y/N and I agree that a late spring wedding would be absolutely beautiful.”

You flipped to the next page, dated August 1st, 1997, and saw that he had written down the conversation you had about wanting a small wedding while you danced at Bill and Fleur’s reception. Each page had something new written on it; the fact that you wanted peonies for your bouquet, “Can’t Help Falling in Love” as your first dance song, and so many other small pieces of information Fred had coaxed out of you since last summer.

Suddenly, you heard Fred’s voice call out from the doorway.

“What are you reading, love?”

You turned around, booklet in hand, with tears streaming down your face.

“Fred…I…I didn’t know that you’ve been serious this whole time.”

“Well I told you that it wasn’t talk, I was planning everything out. It’s been what’s kept me going this past year, you know, the thought of everything in that booklet becoming real.”

“Oh Fred,” you cried as you ran towards him and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You never said anything along the lines of ‘I don’t want to marry you’ so I figured we were on the same page. Besides, you always said you didn’t want a fancy proposal.”

“I did say that, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want one at all! You never asked me, how was I supposed to know you were serious?”

“Because I’ve always been serious about you, Y/N. You are the one thing in my life that I’ve ever been serious about and sure of. You’ve always been a bit oblivious though, so I suppose I should do this properly.”

He stepped past you and rummaged through his trunk before pulling out a small, black box. He kneeled in front of you and took your hand before smirking devilishly at you.

“I was only joking, you know, I had always planned to properly propose. But I knew if I did while there was a war going on you might have hexed my nose off, so I’ve been saving this for almost a year now.”

Tears were swimming in both of your eyes, and before Fred could ask, you gave him an answer.

“Yes. I want to marry you, I will marry you, on May 2nd of next year. It’ll be just us and our families. We’ll have loads of peonies and dance to Elvis Presley. I want to be Mrs. Fred Weasley.”

“Are you serious, love, I had a whole speech planned and everything, can’t I just say some of it?”

“Nothing will top me finding that notebook sitting on top of your trunk, but if you want to try…”

“You know what, you’re right, this turned out way better than I planned. It was romantic, you’re crying, the ring looks – oh bloody hell, I haven’t even put the ring on you yet.”

He fumbled with the box and slid the ring onto your finger. It was simple, elegant, and absolutely perfect.

Fred stood up in front of you and brought a hand to your cheek, swiping the pad of his thumb to catch the falling tears.

“We’re getting married,” he whispered as a tear of his own slid down his face.

“Yes, Freddie, we’re getting married.”

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley angst #fred weasley #hp imagine #hp x reader

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cno-inbminor · 7 years

Text

ta!taehyung (pt. 2/final)

and here is part 2/final of the ta!taehyung drabble i wrote waaayyy back. i would recommend reading the first part as a refresher!

prompt sentence: oops i accidentally slept with my ta

part 1

as the month decreases day by day, you get more and more nervous.

just because you and taehyung haven’t officially donned a label doesn’t mean you two never see each other. in fact, taehyung seems to find you everywhere and you’re starting to wonder if he keeps an open eye out for you constantly. one day, you might be sitting in the library cafe and he’ll take the seat across from you completely unannounced, sliding over a cup of coffee with a grin on his face. another day, you might be holed up in the biology and psychology building, absolutely ready to yank your hair out, but then taehyung shows up to save the day and calms you down.

it’s just really fucking unfair.

completely caught up in your feelings, on the first day of this month-long wait, you went and sent taehyung a facebook request that didn’t get answered until way later into the night. the fear of rejection ate at you every second until you were a nervous wreck, completely uncharacteristic of how poised you usually were. you cursed yourself for getting too far ahead of yourself, cursing the existence of romantic emotions, cursing the idea that you might stop taehyung from being his old player self. if anything, you became more confused than ever--what happened that night that made him willingly wait another month to take you out?

the five days afterwards were radio silence--it was as if taehyung and you had never spoken, much less slept with each other. you were starting to mentally convince yourself that your doubts were coming true: taehyung was overcome by his rejection and demanded to clear his record by making you think he wanted you, when in fact, he just wanted your approval and perhaps, another night in bed. but then, he and his cheerful grin came bounding into your life unexpectedly and if you had to be honest, you were terrified.

now the fear had dissipated and churned into anxiety, your nerves shuddering through your spine with each passing day. relationships had never really worked out for you, and the last thing you wanted was to throw your entire self into something that was fruitless from the beginning. having only looked for something fun for a night and ended up with much, much more, you are unprepared and scrambling to get your shit together.

wrapped up in your thoughts, you don’t realize that you’re lightly gnawing on the end of your pen, a habit that you had dropped years ago but arises when things get more stressful than you can handle. evidently this is where you are, cooped up in the bio and psych building at 10pm while wondering if you should camp in the chem club office tonight. you’re pretty sure some of your hairs have turned white at this point, and it isn’t until--

“penny for your thoughts?”

the unexpected voice rips your from your subconscious and makes you jump in your seat, pen nearly flying from your hand and breath caught in your throat. behind you stands taehyung with a cheeky, toothy grin and you release a shaky breath, chuckling a bit while also berating yourself for being so jumpy. taehyung takes it as permission to sit across from you and though your side is scattered with notes, your laptop, textbooks, and stationery, he does nothing but sit there with his chin perched on crossed arms planted on the table. the two of you stare at each other in silence, you unable to say anything and him waiting for you to express whatever is on your mind. in the end, you sigh heavily and look away, missing taehyung’s flash of concern in his eyes.

“it’s nothing, just the stress of finals coming up,” you say gently and return to looking at your notes. it’s a half lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. the last thing you need is taehyung peering into your soul, putting together the broken pieces behind your irises, and giving you excuses to pack up your stuff and flee the scene. “besides, what are you doing here so late?”

“i volunteered to help make sure we had everything for the lab practical, but i’m not allowed to set it up.”

“well, that’s nice of you, i guess.”

“i also figured you might still be here, so i took a chance. i’m in luck,” he cheesily winks at you when you look up at him, absolutely bewildered. taehyung volunteered to do a bit of a thankless task on a thursday night in hopes that he would catch you here, studying?

“i...i guess you are. doesn’t mean i am,” you say in defense, the walls going up around your heart instinctively. your hand grabs a highlighter to indicate important key points and once again, you miss taehyung’s fallen expression. but even then, that could mean a lot of different anythings and you don’t want to jump to conclusions.

“you don’t want to see me?”

“you want to see me?” you finally look up at him with a disbelieving look on your face.

“of course i want to see you. you know, i’ve been counting down the days like clockwork. i really want to take you out on a date. like seriously.”

blood rushes to your cheeks before you can fight it off, causing you to duck your head so he doesn’t notice. but you guess you’re too late because he giggles, fucking giggles, before mumbling “cute” under his breath but clear enough for you to hear. with that statement, the blush becomes even more evident and you mentally berate yourself. what are you, a five year old at disneyworld meeting prince charming for the first time?

“it’s thursday night, shouldn’t you be at a party now? everybody knows the weekend starts on thursday. plus, everybody’s trying to get their last drinks in before they settle down for finals,” you ask in an attempt to switch topics.

“i haven’t been to a party in a while,” taehyung sighs and leans back in his chair, hand running through his recently-dyed caramel locks. you have to say that the color gives him a gentler tone, less fuckboy-ish and more boy-next-door sort of feel. “there’s no need to either.”

“how come?”

“well, finals are coming up. plus, why go without you?”

you purse your lips and continue to bore holes into your notebook. you hope he hasn’t noticed that you haven’t flipped the page in the past five minutes because you haven’t been paying attention, too focused on trying to calm down your racing heart. something inside of you screams that taehyung isn’t just telling you all this to get on your good side, yet the blanket of fear is close to suffocating you in sheets of doubt.

all of a sudden, it’s too much. there’s no way that taehyung is dropping his player attitude for someone like you. while your self-esteem isn’t at the bottom of the rocks, you don’t think you’re a special snowflake or anything. as your own person, you are unique, but you don’t feel any sort of entitlement. you have your quirks, your knacks and turns, yet you don’t have this idea that you can change anybody or the world, much less taehyung. old habits die hard.

“it’s late, i need to go back and get some sleep before starting again,” you excuse yourself abruptly, quickly gathering your things and putting them into your backpack. anybody could tell that you were trying to escape, and even though you were so close to doing so, taehyung grasps your wrist with a strength you forgot he possessed, allowing yourself to stubbornly be dragged to the chem club office on the third floor. the elevator ride is so tense that even a breath could make everything combust, and it isn’t until taehyung has swiped his student id to get into the office that you shakily let it out.

he nearly slings his backpack down and forces yours off your shoulder before crowding you against the wall, not caring that someone could see through the glass pane and question the compromising position. the chances of that happening are, however, extremely low, seeing as the cleaning ladies have probably gone home already and no student would come this late at night.

“why are you acting like this?”

“acting like what?” you try to feign innocence.

“you know exactly what i’m talking about. acting like...acting like we never slept together or i never asked you out or that i haven’t been eyeing you since the beginning of the semester and hoping that someday i could take you out and treat you like the princess you are.”

you stay silent, teeth sinking worryingly into your bottom lip as you search your brain for a plausible answer. perhaps you're trying too hard to play it safe, but why risk getting hurt? was taehyung really worth it all?

“i don't understand,” he continues. the desperation and confusion is evident in his tone and you want to do nothing but hug him and dispel all his worries. “what did i do? did i move too fast? do you actually regret sleeping with me? did i--”

“no no no,” you quickly deny. “look, i’m just, stressed, and i don’t think i’m really ready for all this,” you wave a hand between the two of you. it’s 40% lie, really. in one sense, you are entirely prepared to dive straight in, yet the more logical part of you tugs your heart back, a lasso around said organ and pulling at it like a reminder.

“so...you’ll be fine after finals?”

“...i think so.”

“what do you mean, you think so? i thought this whole one-month thing would be fine and--”

“please stop pushing the issue!” you exclaim, the outburst startling him and setting some distance between you two. “this whole situation is so confusing and i don’t know what you want or what i want for that matter, but for the love of everything good, just please stop asking and pushing! you can’t plant the idea that i’ve changed you and your habits--”

“--change me? what? hang on--”

“--and you can’t just appear all the time giving me false hope! i don’t know if you realize the gravity of what you’re trying to do, but i do and i need time and space so i’m gonna go and leave and hopefully you can think about all this, too.”

and in the time taehyung is trying to process everything you said, you grab your backpack and bustle towards the stairs, legs nearly stumbling over the descending steps. you don’t realize you’ve held your breath until you exit the building and the cold air slams against your chest, forcing you to watch your cloud of breath dissipate into the air.

finals come and go. you manage to pass them all, including the microbio lab practical. you’re ready to go home and cuddle up with a good book and a steaming mug of peppermint hot chocolate, and in the midst of packing your suitcase, your phone lights and sounds with a notification. it’s a text from an unknown number, but the words on your screen let you know exactly who it’s from.

“please don’t leave me out here in the cold with a venti peppermint mocha”

you’re tempted to. part of you wants to blame your lack of concentration all on him, but it would be unfair and misplaced. after all, he hasn’t done that much wrong--at least, not enough to stop you from letting him into your dorm and accepting the warm paper coffee-to-go cup. you’re not nervous about letting him into your room and almost crack a smile when he seems unsure of where to sit or stand. he looks frazzled, eyes darting and unnecessarily clearing his throat amidst the silence.

“i’m sorry for how i reacted last time we talked,” you address the elephant in the room, staring down at the drink in your hands before looking up at him. “relationships have never been my thing, and i’ve never really believed in the idea of a man changing for a woman. evolutionarily, men love novelty, so i thought it might’ve just been an infatuation. so again, i’m really sorry,” you smile apologetically. taehyung chuckles and moves to stand closer to you.

“it’s just like you to bring evolutionary psychology into this,” he muses, gazing at you with a bright grin and soft eyes. “i know my...reputation doesn’t help, but i really want this to work out. if you’re fun in lab, i’m sure you’re even more fun outside of lab,” taehyung jokes and you laugh with him.

“so...is this our first coffee date?” you ask with a smirk, lifting up your half-finished peppermint mocha. somehow, his grin becomes even bigger than thirty seconds ago, and the excitement dances spiritedly in his eyes.

“only if you want. but let’s be honest, our first date should be outside with good food. how does that sound?”

“sounds perfect.”

and perfect did wrap everything up nicely. sleeping with your ta was, once again, definitely not a mistake.

#bts drabbles #kpop drabbles #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #v scenarios #v drabbles #taehyung drabbles #kim taehyung #lazy drabbles #taehyung #v #kpop scenarios

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megcapulet · 6 years

Text

Repercussions|| Mez

Who: Megan Montague, Oz Montague, Drew Capulet

When: Wednesday 27th June 2018

Where: Penthouse

Notes/ Warnings: Megan is home but Drew and Oz work together to implement changes for her.

tw:medicals

@ozmontague @drewcapulet

Oz woke the next morning in a clearer state of mind. However he was unsure if his claim had gotten the message. Not really. She was stubborn to say the least. Probably best given his own nature. A weak claim would have been crushed under him and his needs. He traced a hand over her still sleeping form before tucking the blankets in tightly around her. Only then did he slip out of bed. As he prepared the morning coffee, he called to speak to the one person he thought would be as livid as he was about the situation - Drew Capulet, the new claim of Cade Webster.

Megan woke to the distinct smell of coffee and some very suffocating bedding. Extracting herself she visited the bathroom before wandering through to find Oz and some breakfast. "Good morning," she said softly, a sinking feeling as trepidation set in over what sort of mood he might be in. Still she had given her apologies the night before and she wasn't going to dwell on it all. "Can I pour you another cup of coffee?" she asked, suddenly remembering she needed to eat before taking her new tablets.

Oz looked over and leaned in to dust a kiss over the beautiful submissive's forehead. "Sit my beauty. The breakfast quiche is already in the oven. Nathaniel had it dropped off before you woke. It'll be ready in moments." He poured his coffee and then hers. The meal passed quietly after the simple pronouncement that he would be working at home today and then gave her a stern look, indicating that he expected her to rest. He tidied the dishes and sent her off to bed, taking away both her phone and tablet so that she couldn't do anything more exciting than read. With that work accomplished, Oz settled into his office and pulled out the reports about the expected impact of the upcoming tax plan proposed by the new Mayor.

Megan did as she was told and sat down. Letting him serve her was always a rather novel experience but in this instance it just brought home what had happened the night before and how he didn't trust her. She was shooed off to bed as soon as breakfast was done and all her medication taken but it was the fact he took both her tablet and her phone that annoyed her most. Stewing for a while she did fall asleep but she woke about eleven and feeling totally fine. After a few minutes of plotting she got out of bed and went through to his office. Waiting in the doorway until he finished a call she crossed her arms and looked at him firmly, "Why don't you go down to your proper office? I'm sure you will get more done there and I promise not to leave the apartment. I'm just going to watch TV and maybe catch up on some notes. I'll be fine."

Oz shuffled the papers to one side but didn't look up. "I'm fine here. You are not going to be doing any work but feel free to use the television if you wish." He stated firmly. Then the phone rang. Oz picked it up with a snap, "Yes. That is correct. All right then. Thank you." he directed. Again he did not look at Megan until he dusted off his hands and rose to his feet. He walked toward the door and leaned in to dust a kiss over her cheek. "Go sit my beauty." He murmured before heading out toward the main living area of the condo. He strolled through and then tugged open the door. "Good afternoon. Thank you for coming."

Drew couldn't help but turn his head so that he could peer around Oz as the man opened the door. He knew Meg had to be nearby, and he wanted to see her. Now. "Of course, my Lord," he replied, straightening back up once he realized he wouldn't be able to see her from where he was standing. "Thank you for calling me. How is she? Where is she? Can I see her?" He didn't care about pleasantries right now and just wanted to see how his friend was doing with his own two eyes.

Oz nodded at the firm greeting. "She is here. I would be delighted for you to speak with her. Please go through." He stepped back to allow the man to enter. He wasn't at all put off my Drew's attitude, feeling the situation utterly merited it. "Go straight through the main living area to the hall that leads to the smaller rooms. You will find her in the TV room I believe, although she may have moved since then.

Megan hated when he wouldn't look at her but she stood her ground. The fact she was allowed to watch TV was a bonus and better than when she had concussion and Oz made her stick rigidly to the no screens rule for the entire two weeks. Standing by the office door she remained until the doorbell rang and she headed to the TV room, still wearing his shirt and finding some sort of comfort in that. She turned on the TV, vaguely able to hear voices at the door but trying not to listen as she flicked through channels and knowing that she should try to enjoy the fact she wasn't working.

Drew gave Oz a curt nod, knowing he probably should be more formal with the head of the Montague family but unable to bring himself to do so in his worry about Megan. "Thank you," he said simply before striding off through the condo until he found the TV room with his friend inside. He didn't bother to knock before entering. "Megan Capulet-Montague," he said sternly as he sat down next to her on the couch. He grabbed her nearest hand, his fingers automatically moving down to her wrist to feel for her pulse. "How are you feeling?"

Megan refrained from rolling her eyes when Drew barged into the room. Not that she didn't want to see him but she was well aware that Oz wanted him to come and lecture her. "It can't be that bad you missed out the Claire," she quipped as he reeled off her name, his tone showing that he did indeed mean business. Megan didn't resist as he lifted her arm, had the situation been reversed she would probably have done the same. "I feel alright," she replied quietly. "A bit tired but that's the tablets they gave me."

Oz stood in the door way and watched as Drew addressed the petite woman. He closed the door and then turned and walked to the kitchen. He proceeded to make a large pot of coffee and set out a few pastries sent from Illyria. He set out the coffee and pastries on the table, pouring himself a large coffee and taking a pastry or two before retreating to his office.

Drew kept his temper under wraps until he was convinced that Megan was in a state where she could take his reprimand without it causing undue stress to her heart or body. Her pulse was good, and her response had just enough fight to it that he knew she was doing better. "Good," he said, letting her hand drop down into her lap. He stood at the same time, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at her. "Now, tell me what the fuck was going on in your head that you knew something was wrong but you didn't come to me or your Dominant until your body gave out?!"

Megan sat back as her hand was released and ready to chat with Drew. She was not expecting him to speak to her in such a cross manner and she found herself looking down at her lap with remorse. "It wasn't like that. It was all just little things....I thought I was just stressed again." After a moment her gaze rose to his face, "I was going to come and see you but I never quite found the time." 'Never quite found the time again' echoed in her mind but she thought the better of voicing that final word.

Drew pinched the bridge of his nose as Megan answered him, her excuses frustrating him to no end. "All just little things," he repeated, "that you knew were off, and you didn't care enough about your health to take care of them when you should have done!" He threw his hands up in the air in his frustration and spun so that he could pace the room, his emotions having to go somewhere. "God, Megan! Do you understand what you put me through, every time this happens? Do you understand what you put your Dominant through? You can't go on like this. You need to take care of yourself, for fuck's sake!"

Megan had never seen Drew so frustrated, or at least not at her and she was doing her best to hold back the tears that threatened to run down her cheeks. She looked up with a sniff, wiping a hand roughly over her eyes as he scolded her. Altogether too aware of how she had worried Oz the night before she hadn't thought she could feel any worse until Drew spoke. "I didn't mean to worry anyone. I didn't know this would happen," she snapped back with more bite than she really meant and aware that she really didn't have any justification for her actions other than she didn't expect her health to get so bad so quickly.

Drew barked out a sarcastic laugh at her excuse. “Just because you didn’t mean to worry anyone doesn’t mean you didn’t do just that!” he countered, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. He took a deep breath and made his way back over to her side, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked down his nose at his friend, looking so tiny on the couch. “You have a fucking medical degree, Megan. What did you think would happen?!” He looked down at her as he seethed silently before finally coming to a decision. “You and I are going to set up weekly appointments. This is non-negotiable. Understood?”

Megan could do nothing but let him sound off. She had no justification and she knew if the roles were reversed she would be saying the same to him. "I'm a physical therapist," she shouted back at him feeling her own temper flaring. Staring daggers back at Drew his last statement was too much. "Like hell I will! You have too much of a caseload as it is and I'm working every day till whenever. Don't be ridiculous."

Drew narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he tried to keep his temper somewhat under control. He was glad she was feeling well enough now that he wasn’t overly concerned about her putting too much stress on her heart, but he was keeping an eye out, just the same. “Non. Negotiable,” he repeated, trying to keep his voice even, though he didn’t fully succeed. “You are not going to put your health to the backseat any longer, Megan,” he said. “I am quite positive your Dominant will agree with me as well. If we have to schedule your appointment at three in the fucking morning, that’s what we’ll do, but you are not getting out of this. You may not give a fuck about your health, but I do!”

Megan jumped up and stomped to the other side of the room shaking her head at his reprimand. "Of course I fucking care but it's my health. I screwed up one time and it won't happen again but I am not a child. I already have Oz threatening to change my rules because of last night I don't need you..." Her words tailed off as she saw her dominant standing in the doorway. Her chest heaving and her body visibly tense she stayed where she was and apparently unable to move in that instance.

Oz could hear the yelling. He let the two talk for a while but as things started to escalate, he set down his coffee cup and headed back to the tv lounge. "All right. Enough. Doctor, I agree. Until the situation is well in hand, you will have a weekly appointment with Drew. You will also be dropping at least one of your positions, which should free up your time. This is also non-negotiable. Now come to the living room for a coffee and something to eat. It is time to cool the tempers in this room."

Megan certainly hadn't expected Oz to agree with Drew, or at least not so readily and it made her wonder how much he had heard. She looked between them in horror as not only was she now supposed to see Drew every week and give up one of her jobs. "Wait a minute," she snapped as Oz told them to go and have coffee as if he hadn't just spoken. "I'll see Drew once a month, even once a fortnight but I'm not dropping a position. That was never in the discussion."

Oz looked over at Megan sharply, "Oh I'm sorry did you think this was a discussion? I apologize. Let me be clear. You either reduce by one position or you can be unemployed. That is your decision. Second, for the next few months you will meet with your physician once a week. Period. This is not up for discussion. Tread lightly right now Megan Capulet. My control is rather tenuous and it is clear your friend's temper is no more leashed."

Drew looked over at Oz, a brief flicker of worry going through him for the way he’d been speaking to the man’s claim, despite how certain he was that Oz would agree with him in this matter. He kept his hands crossed over his chest as he watched the interaction, unable to help the feeling that he was intruding, just a little. He cleared his throat after a moment, dropping his hands down to his sides. “As much as I believe it would be beneficial for her health to be working less, it is not something I would deem necessary at this point in time, my Lord,” he said, keeping his attention on the Dominant. “It is something I may recommend in a week or two, but so long as she is stable, I feel she can continue working as she is, though perhaps with a slight reduction in hours. It is, of course, your prerogative if you wish for her to step down from one of her positions, and you have every right to make that call—but it is not one I would make at this point in time. In spite of how bull-headed she is.”

Megan was forced to hold back her temper and well aware she wasn't going to win against Oz. If he chose to have her give up her work altogether then she would have no choice. Before she could speak Drew did and she could feel herself wanting to tell him to stop talking. Oz had made up his mind on this and he wasn't going to change it, especially not on the basis it could change again in a week or two. "Can I have a week or two to decide which position to resign from Master?" she asked quietly and no idea how she was going to make that choice.

Oz looked over at the doctor, "On this, I will not budge. I never want to find her collapsed on the floor again. Once was enough. Which means she either reduces or stops working." He glanced back at Megan, "You have 48 hours to choose. That is all. Do not test me on this Megan. Now ..." He clapped his hands together, "Coffee, doctor?"

Drew looked between the other two people in the room and inclined his head. While he didn’t want to see his friend lose something she cared about, he was in no position to change that, and he’d done what he could. The positive was that it would help her health in the long run. “Coffee would be wonderful, my Lord,” he said. “Thank you. Should I schedule her appointments through you or with her later?”

Megan flopped down onto the couch as an alternative to stamping her feet. How the hell was she supposed to choose between three jobs, all of which she had done for at least the last five years and in only 48 hours? She was clearly surplus to requirements now as Drew and Oz went to have their coffee though she huffed loudly at the question about scheduling appointments through Oz as if she was a child who couldn't do it. Megan stayed on the couch, her arms crossed and her legs tucked under her silently stewing and regretting bitterly the fact that she not just stayed in bed when she felt off yesterday and then none of this would have happened.

Oz nodded and stepped back to allow the physician to step through and join him in the kitchen. "Oh no doctor, once she comes to her senses, she will no doubt have the good sense to set up the regular schedule. She enjoys her work. I do not wish to take it from her. However, since she has made it clear she will not take adequate care without additional guidance, then I will provide that guidance as her Dominant."

Drew headed through to the kitchen and moved behind one of the dining chairs, not sitting yet as he had not yet been given permission. “I look forward to setting a schedule up with her, in that case, my Lord,” he said. “I appreciate your support in requiring her to meet with me. If she doesn’t take her health seriously at the moment, then it is up to those of us who are able, to see to her care.”

Megan could only catch snippets of what was being said as the two men moved through to get coffee and despite how annoyed she was she did know that they were both concerned for her health. After a few moments curiosity and her stomach beginning to grumble over the smell of coffee brought her to her feet and she followed them through. Sitting down on a chair she quickly spotted her favorite pecan pastry and her hand shot out to grab it before anyone else could get it. Lifting her gaze towards Oz for a moment she felt an overwhelming wave of love and gratitude towards him. Even when she had messed up this badly he was still thinking of her.

Oz waved a hand toward the table. "Please have a seat doctor. Do you care for milk or cream?" He murmured as he poured his own coffee. Then he spotted Megan approaching and filled her cup as well. He brushed a hand over her shoulder before taking a seat. "So how are your plans proceeding Drew?"

Drew slid down into a chair with a tight smile, still frustrated by Megan’s attitude. “A bit of cream would be lovely, thank you,” he said. He ignored Megan’s presence entirely and kept his head turned toward Oz. “We’re still in the planning stages of everything, really. Cade’s work on the condos is moving forward, and our next trip is in the works but not fully decided yet. Master Cade is taking care of those arrangements.”

Megan reached for the milk and finished her own coffee, further frustrated that Drew was so blatantly ignoring her. She had never felt so inconsequential around him before and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. At least she could comfort herself with the small touches from Oz. Tearing her pastry into small pieces she ate them slowly, her thoughts consumed with how to choose between her three different roles and the fact she would have to give one of them up.

Oz listened with actual interest. After all, Cade was very dear to him and this man, for all his prickly ways and Capulet pride, was important to both Cade and his Megan. That made Drew, in turn, important to Oz. He rose to his feet and fetched the cream, setting the small container on the table. "The condos do look impressive. I'm considering acquiring one or two as investment or family properties. You know, for those who would prefer not to live in a building as conspicuous as the Tower." He commented conversationally. His hand settled on the table, glancing at Megan, before turning his attention to Drew. "And will you be remaining in your current practice? Or transitioning closer to your new residence?"

Megan looked towards Oz in surprise as he mentioned buying some of the condos. He'd never mentioned those plans before and she was trying to listen and pay more attention but her medication was making her drowsy and her eyes were growing heavy. She laid her head on her hand as she finished off her pastry and thoughts of the condo swirled in her brain but she couldn't quite seem to get them to settle on the question she knew was in her thoughts. Her hand rose to cover a yawn as she reached for her coffee.

Drew sipped at his coffee and nodded along as Oz spoke. It was odd, and perhaps even a bit jarring, to have a civil conversation with this man that didn't have some sort of ulterior motive--at least not on his part. "It would be lovely to have some family as neighbors," he commented, "should you choose to go the family property route." He glanced at Megan as well, noting how tired she seemed to be getting. "I plan on keeping my practice where it is, my Lord. I've thought about expanding in the past, but at this point, I would rather focus my efforts on my new Dominant and our future together. Perhaps in the future, a second location nearer the condo would be beneficial, but I'm quite content at the moment." He looked at Megan again. "Perhaps it would be a good idea if you took a nap, Megan," he said, his voice a mix of kind advice and lingering frustration.

Oz nodded in agreement. "Go rest my beauty. We'll talk more about things once you have made your decisions." He then selected his own pastry and began to eat. "That seems sensible. Do you think you will be pursuing children? I have always thought Cade would make an excellent father."

Megan finished off the last bit of her pastry as she heard Oz agree with Drew. Whether she wanted to argue or not she couldn't keep her eyes open much longer so stood up with a nod. "I'll see you soon then Drew," she said with just a hint of lingering bitterness about what had been decided without her agreement. Leaving them to their conversation she headed back to bed, a quick glance over her shoulder just before they were out of sight to marvel momentarily at the fact Oz and Drew were sitting in her home together and talking amicably.

Drew gave Megan a nod. "I'll see you soon. Get some rest," he said before turning his attention completely back to Oz. "We both want children, my Lord, though the specifics of how and when are rather up in the air at this point in time," he explained before taking a pastry for himself, finding one with a bit of chocolate on it. "I completely agree, though: Master Cade will be a phenomenal father. I can't imagine raising a family with anyone else." He smiled and took a small bite of his pastry. "What about yourself, my Lord? Have you and Megan discussed children?"

Oz nodded appreciatively, enjoying the calm interaction with a male that he usually sparked against. "He has a big heart." Oz agreed. "Ah yes, we discussed and we will not be having them." This was a somewhat scandalous decision but since Oz enjoyed being a little scandalous, this did not trouble him. And so he and Drew passed a nice breakfast hour before the man took himself off, task accomplished of addressing Megan's inability to take her own illness as seriously as she ought to do so. Now Oz had to ride out the storm ahead from his other planned infringements. Megan wouldn't like it. He was aware this could cost him his claim and her regard. But he was willing to take that risk.

#ftf:oz #oz #ftf:drew #drew #chatzy #repercussions #chatzy:repercussions #tw:medical

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tb5-heavenward · 7 years

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talented amateurs (continued)

well. you know these things are hard to leave alone. I don’t know how far this is gonna go, so as with all things of its nature, the bit that isn’t standalone is gonna live on tumblr.

talented amateurs is here, and it’s secretly-a-first-chapter is informally titled champagne and bordeaux.

2 - sheets and blankets

It's half past two in the morning, and there's someone else in his bed.

Although, from a technical standpoint, it's not technically his bed, and probably (technically), it actually belongs to the someone else who's invaded it. Creighton-Ward Manor is her legacy, after all. Reasonably, at least from a legal standpoint, Penelope's probably entitled to be wherever the hell she wants.

Whether or not her rights as the heir apparent to the estate in question extend to poking him---insistently---in the ribs with the point of a manicured finger is not a question he knows the answer to.

But then, John's never been great when it comes to the whole concept of archaic feudal law and how much of it still applies to the modern English gentry.

He makes the mistake of opening one eye, and finds Penelope curled up on the other side of the bed, a bare handsbreadth from his face, her blue eyes big and bright and anxious in the moonlight through the bedroom window.

"John?" she whispers, urgent and then, unnecessarily, "Are you awake?"

"No," he grumbles, an immediately obvious lie, even as he groans and pulls the blankets over his head. "G'way."

She prods him in the ribs again and then draws a single shaky breath, to express several discrete concepts as a single word, "John-I-got-drunk-at-a-party-and-I-made-out-with-your-brother-in-a-back-stairwell-and-now-I-can't-sleep-and-I-don’t-know-what-to-do."

The tail end of this is an anxious whimper, and that's enough to tweak at John's conscience, even as he starts to drop back off---easier to do than usual, after a long day of travel and merriment and liquor and gravity. He's had a bare and grossly insufficient two hours of sleep, even if he'd managed to turn in a little earlier than the rest of his brothers. And now, for some reason, he's got a bed full of Penelope, whining---or whinging, seeing as it's England---at him. It's possible that the only way to solve this problem is to actually acknowledge her, and---even at half-past two in the morning, still a little fuzzy from all the merriment and the liquor and the gravity---John can still think his way through to the quickest path from problem to resolution. He's a little sullen as he pulls the blankets back down, but nevertheless he rubs at his eyes, and wearily asks, "Which one?"

Penelope sighs in a dramatic and tremulous fashion. "The corridor leading into the east wing off the back of the ballroom."

The silence that follows is painfully unironic.

And so John's not particularly apologetic as he reaches out to pat the top of Penelope's head and then informs her, "I'm going back to sleep."

This is received with a dismayed cry of protest and she seizes hold of his wrist plaintively. "John, please!"

"Okay, okay." It's playing absolute hell with hardwired instincts, the notes of genuine helplessness and distress in her tone, and the way she clasps his wrist with a sort of desperate urgency. She's pushed herself up to kneel on the mattress beside him, desperately entreating him for---well, something. He's not exactly sure what she wants. But whatever it is, whether he likes it or not, John's awake now. He's groggy and still partway drunk and grumpy---but awake. And apparently back on-call. And the first step in any disaster situation is to get himself an accurate sit rep. "Okay. What happened?"

Penelope gives another disconsolate sigh. "Your brother kissed me."

A quick inventory of the roster weighed against what he knows about his brothers, their ages, and their personal preferences suggests only two major possibilities, and Scott's got John and the bottle of cognac they probably shouldn't have split between them for an alibi.

"Gordon kissed you," he hazards, just to make absolutely sure.

Penelope nods, blue eyes wide and guileless in the dark. Her gown for the evening had been a confection of soft purple lace and airy tulle, but she's since changed into a long camisole with a dressing gown to match, and these are both rendered in shimmering ivory satin. It only adds to the illusion of Penelope as a delicate and innocent English Rose, but John's known her far too long to believe that this is anything but an act.

If "English Rose" can be considered a technical classification, then in Penelope's case it extends exclusively to the fairness her complexion, and no further. John's known Penelope to throw arms' dealers through plate glass windows and to vault chain link fences in pursuit of cyberterrorists. Penelope routinely outfoxes the foxiest of the criminal underworld, and does so in more than one sense of the word. Penelope is no more a shrinking violet than she is a ditzy socialite, even if sometimes she'll play the latter, and sometimes---as relates to the inopportune exchange of selfies and assignations in what could apparently have been any number of back stairways---John's not entirely sure that the ditziness is entirely an act. Even so, it's incredibly rare for Penelope to act the damsel. Something isn't adding up.

"Okay," he says again. "Why are you in my bed about it?"

"Your. Brother. Kissed. Me."

John rubs at his eyes again and wonders if this is possibly some sort of lucid nightmare. He doesn't drink often. He resolves to drink much less in future. "Yeah, I got that part. Look, is the implication meant to be that this was something not entirely consensual? Clearly you've had a couple drinks? Penelope, if you're telling me I need to go thrash my little brother for impulsively sucking on your face, then: A---I'll do it, but I'll need to put pants on; and B---pretty sure you could've handled that one yourself."

Penelope huddles miserably in her nightgown and shakes her head. "No," she protests, but weakly. "No, it was---we were both---I mean, I did kiss him first. I started it. That was me."

This is really about as far as it gets from John's general area of expertise. So he reverts to the basics.

"This was a bad thing?" he guesses, basing the assumption on Penelope's general air of distress and the fact that she's huddling miserably in her nightgown on the opposite side of his bed.

"It was lovely," she answers, mournful.

Oh, well, obviously.

John amends his assessment. "This was a good thing."

"I don't know! It was---oh. I just---John, I think he's in love with me. And I---I don't know---I didn't expect..." Penelope takes a shaky deep breath. "What if I hurt him?"

John was not aware that this was a hazard of kissing, as a matter of course, and he winces a little at the mental imagery. "Uh. Well. I don't know about that, but I feel like I can reassure you about Gordon's---um---general...uh...durability? I guess? He's pretty tough. I don't think you could've done anything to him in a back stairway that would've done him any, uh, any lasting harm." He pauses, corrects, "I mean, not if you weren't actively trying to."

Penelope swats him on the arm. "Not like that. I mean...I mean what if this isn't what he wants it to be? What if I'm not? What if I've taken the most terrible advantage? I wasn't thinking about it, he was just there and we were just talking and then it just happened and---oh. Oh, I don't know. If I broke his heart, I don't think I could bear it."

This is either a problem of perspective or a problem of scale, and John isn't certain which. This is really, absolutely not his area of expertise. "...is that...I mean, do you think that's likely?"

"I don't want it to be."

"Well, it sounds like that's a start, anyway." John hesitates a moment and tries to come up with something genuine, useful, and likely to make Penelope get the hell out of his bed. "Look, you know this isn't really my area. But I guess---just as general advice goes, I'll tell you what I tell anyone in an unfamiliar situation: don't be hasty, think carefully, and try not to do anything stupid. You'd be shocked how often people actually need to be told not to do anything stupid. Not," he adds hastily, before Penelope can catch up with the sentiment, "that I think you'd do anything stupid. Honestly, Pen, I think the fact that your biggest fear is that you might hurt him is the best indication that you probably won't."

She's listened intently to this instruction, and seems at least a little relieved to be given a clear directive. "Do you really think so?"

"I really do," John tells her solemnly, and hopes that he's been sufficiently convincing. It's very late. He yawns pointedly.

"He's just dreadfully sweet, your brother."

"When he wants to be."

"I do like him quite a lot."

"I'm told he's fairly likeable."

"And he's very handsome."

"This family has reasonably good genes."

"And he's a fantastically good kisser."

"I really don't need to know about that."

"I would very much like to go kiss him some more. Do you suppose he's still awake?"

John pauses. This, actually, sounds like it goes against exactly the advice he's just given---but it would probably get her out of his bed. He wrangles with the answer for only a moment, before he settles on the careful statement, "I think if he's had as much to drink as you have, he's probably off sleeping somewhere equally as ridiculous as in my damn bed."

"So you think I should go find him?"

Categorically not, but---"I think you should get out of my bed, so I can go back to sleep."

"I suppose I should, shouldn't I?" The mattress jostles as Penelope clambers off it, but she doesn't quite leave. In the moonlight through the bedroom window, in her long white dressing gown, she looks almost ghostly. John's already settling back down, nestling beneath the blankets. "You've been very helpful," she whispers, finally taking the hint.

"Just doing my job."

"Thank you very much."

"Mmhm."

“Good night, John.”

By the time the bedroom door opens and closes softly again, John's already halfway back to sleep. He wonders only briefly if he'll even remember this conversation in the morning. Privately, it's possible he hopes not.

#pen and ink #Gordon Tracy #Lady Penelope #thunderbirds are go #TAG fanfic #talented amateurs

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hey-i-wrote-a-story · 7 years

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Chapter 36 A Moment’s Respite

With the crisis past, at least for the time being, Scott took the moment’s respite to approach his fellow werewolf. The lanky young man was busying himself seeing to the welfare of others; helping some people to their feet, seeing to it that those who couldn’t rise were tended to. He stopped what he was doing when he saw Scott approaching, and walked over to greet him.

“You did some pretty nice work there”, the tall boy smiled.

“Right back at ya.”

The young man extended a hand. “Jolman Shanty.”

Scott took his hand and shook it. He had a firm grip. It was clear to Scott that it was due to a combination of his oversized hand and having wolf strength behind it. He wasn’t squeezing hard to show off. Scott offered him a smile, then an introduction.

“I’m—“

“Scott McCall”, Jolman finished for him. “Yeah, I know.”

Scott’s brow furrowed. Did he know this kid? He had no recollection of them meeting before. But then, Beacon Hills High played every team in the league throughout the season. “Have we…played against each other before? Because I don’t remem—“

“Nope. New to the district and to the sport. I used to be all about basketball, but everybody here is gaga for lacrosse, so I figured if I wanted to get my sports fix in, I’d better grab a stick and join ‘em. I’m trying out next season.”

Scott managed a weak smile, but went on with his question. “Then how do you know who I am?”

Jolman gave a quick laugh, which was oddly high pitched for his appearance. “Seriously? You’re Scott McCall, for God’s sake.” He looked around to see that no one was within earshot. No one was. “You’re an Alpha. You’re like, the Alpha. Trust me, word gets around.” Scott was taken aback. He was not comfortable with this level of notoriety. It was bad enough with a small out-of-town fan club led by a clairvoyant, but having another local know his business was, literally, too close to home. Jolman picked up on Scott’s unease and said, “Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m gonna say anything to anyone who isn’t, y’know, like us. I’m not eager to get outed, so I’m guessing you feel the same way.”

“More lately than ever”, Scott agreed. “Thanks.”

Jolman gave a polite nod and turned away to go back to helping his injured classmates and the other recovering victims. As far as he was concerned, the meeting was over. They had exchanged introductions and quick reassurances, and that was that. He’d taken only a few steps when he turned around to face Scott, even while walking backwards, continuing on his way. “So you and your pack gonna take care of all this?”

“All of what? These people? I think we should probably leave that to the paramedics and the sheriff. We’re not trained to—“

“No, no”, Jolman interrupted. “All this”, and he gestured broadly with his arms, indicating the chaos around him, and also glancing up at the sky, from where the monster had descended. “You gonna do your hero thing? Go after this killer beastie and kick its ass for the safety of your hometown and its defenseless inhabitants?”

Jolman was doing his best to sound glib, trying to make light of a terrifying situation. Scott’s enhanced senses picked up on the tall boy’s quickening heartbeat and somewhat shallow breathing. He was still frightened, no matter how much his brave front worked to conceal it.

“What makes you think that we--?”

“Please. Like I said, word gets around. You’re sort of becoming a legend around here, from what I understand. All o’ you guys are. So you gonna stop it? That…thing, whatever it was?”

“We’re going to try.”

That satisfied Jolman for the moment. He turned away from Scott again to focus on how he could help those around him. “Whatever you’re gonna do”, he said over his shoulder, “Do it quick.”

High above, concealed within a blanket of clouds, the monster watched the scene down below. It had seen how quickly and completely it had taken control of the crowd of human prey and how, just as quickly, the High Alpha had undone its work. The monster snorted, exhaling a thick puff or orange smoke, then arched it back as it soared higher into the night sky, deeper into the thick clouds. It was not happy.

Scott surveyed the scene around him to check if anyone was not yet being tended to. There was a lot of crying and confusion. Plenty of “What the hell happened?”s and “How did I get over here?”s and a whole lot of “Are you okay?”s. But by now paramedics were seeing to everyone in turn, the firefighters were dousing the patches of fires around the grounds, and putting out the bonfire, just in case. Stiles’ dad and Deputy Parrish were assessing injuries and main sure that those in the worst shape were treated first. A few more deputies were now on the scene, taking statements and generally making themselves useful as best they could. Scott looked across the field and spotted Stiles standing by the volunteer brigade truck. He was holding a small boy in his arms. Scott made his way over to him.

Stiles was speaking quiet assurances to the little boy who did not want to let go of him. Scott saw the state of the frightened boy and began to reach out to him.

“Is he alright? Does he need--?”

Stiles gently brushed Scott’s hand away, knowing that his friend was prepared to use his powers to take away any of the boy’s pain. “No, he’s okay”, Stiles told him. “He’s just pretty shaken, that’s all.” Then to the kid, “You were pretty brave during all that, weren’t you, buddy?”

“Heck no!”, the boy said. “I was scared!”

“Well, you can be scared and still be brave”, Scott told him.

The boy looked astonished. “No way. You can??” “Sure you can.”

The boy considered it. “Then maybe I was brave. But I don’t know ‘cause I was too busy being scared!”

“What do you say we go find your mom, huh little guy?”, Stiles suggested. The boy nodded vigorously. Yes, please.

It didn’t take long to locate a frantic woman racing around asking about her son. When she came into view, the junior mascot jumped down from Stiles’ arms as if he suddenly realized he was 9 whole years old and despite his small size would look wimpy if his mom saw him being carted around by a high schooler. He called her over and she practically flew to him, throwing her arms around him.

“Oh thank God! Thank God! I was looking everywhere for you. I was trying to find the Bartholomew costume, but I couldn’t see it and I thought I’d lost you!”

“Um, Bartholomew’s pretty much a goner”, Stiles said. She looked at him curiously. “His junior mascot suit caught fire.”

“Oh no!”, She gasped. “Are you okay??”

“This guy totally saved my life!”, the boy said, pointing at Stiles. “I guess something happened with the bonfire, ‘cause I can barely see out of it anyway and all of a sudden I’m like on fire!” His fear was fading rapidly as he recounted his adventure. “Then this guy gets the head off me and pulls me out. The thing went up like FWOOSH!”

“Polyester burns pretty easily”, Stiles commented.

The grateful mother looked at Stiles, and as she caught her breath, asked, “What happened here tonight?”

Stiles found himself answering very professionally. “We’re not sure yet. But the sheriff’s department is looking into it. I suspect we’ll have answers soon.” The woman was impressed by his answer. He added, “My pop’s the sheriff.” She nodded, understanding where he got it from.

“Thank-you so much”, she said.

Stiles saw in her eyes how heartfelt her thank-you was, and he nodded graciously. “Sure. Just look after the little guy. And you might want to get yourselves checked out just in case. For possible smoke inhalation, for shock.”

She smiled and left with her son, refusing to let go of his hand. This he didn’t mind so much. Moms freaking out about their kids nearly catching on fire was a situation that permitted public hand-holding. “It’s like the sparks were trying to eat me!”, the boy explained. They were both more collected now, but they kept a quick pace making their exit.

“Look at you, all authoritative”, Scott said, smiling.

“Shut up.”

Nearby, a radio crackled a communication between medical teams and firefighters. The two young men who had been feeling pretty good about their actions during the crisis listened intently as a report came listing five casualties. Two died from smoke inhalation, two more from severe burns, the last by heart attack. Then the list of injuries began, starting with an elderly woman who had been trampled. Stiles was about to suggest they get out of the way of the emergency workers, if only to put distance between them and the radio. Then Scott tilted his head.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah. Dude, I’m standing right next to you.”

“Not that”, Scott said, gesturing toward the radio. He took a step forward, paused for moment, listening for something, then pointed toward the parking lot. “That.”

Sheriff Stilinski stood on the edge of the parking lot, gesturing for Scott to join him. “Scott, I need your help”, the sheriff repeated. He spoke in his normal tone of voice, which he knew Scott would be able to hear if he caught his attention.

Stiles looked at his friend askance. “Oh sure. I heard that. How could I miss it?”

“Sorry.”

Once at the sheriff’s side, the boys saw what he called for. “He’s beyond medical help, as far as I can see. But I thought maybe you…”

Sprawled on the blacktop was a homeless man, dressed in several layers of worn clothing. He was no one special. Quiet and often amiable, he kept to himself and regularly made his rounds around the outskirts of Beacon Hills, keeping out of trouble and occasionally accepting the kindness of strangers. From time to time, he would venture into town when lured by festivities and celebrations; small touring carnivals, county fairs, 4th of July parades and the like. He’d watch from the sidelines and enjoy the spectacle vicariously through those in attendance. He had been drawn in by the warmth of the bonfire and the jubilation of its participants. This was one time when he should have stuck to the outskirts of town. His tattered coats were being consumed by the few remaining energy spores. To most people he was no one, but to Scott McCall, he was a person in need of help.

“Maybe I can”, Scott told the sheriff. Scott knelt down and took the man’s hand. It was rough and dirty, with ragged nails. Scott didn’t care. He held tight and tried to draw out the man’s pain. “If you can hear me, hang on. I’m trying to help you.”

The man looked up at Scott, although it was clear that the movement caused him considerable pain.

“What’s your name, sir? I’m Scott.”

The man’s mouth almost formed a smile. It had been a very long time since anyone had called him “sir”. His mouth moved a bit more, but his voice was gone.

“Well, you can tell me when you have your strength back.” Scott gripped the man’s hand tighter, taking care not to apply too much pressure. Why wasn’t it working?

Stiles and his father could already see what Scott could not. The man was too far gone. Now that the last of the spores had fizzled out and faded away, it was clear that his injuries were too severe. The sheriff immediately regretted having called Scott over. The clothing was being disintegrated off his back and his flesh was starting to crack and flay. Had he been younger, or healthier, he might have pulled through. But he was too old and too ill to put up any fight against what was happening to him.

“Come on, sir”, Scott pleaded. “You can do this! Just hold on a little bit longer. I promise you, I’ll—there. There it is!”

Scott looked down to see the black tendrils spreading up his forearm like fingers of ebony frost. His healing power was working. But as soon as it had started, it stopped. The black lines on his skin faded to gray, then to nothing. The man was dying. And he was not dying peacefully.

The homeless man was dying from the inside out. The eldritch orange fire had already penetrated his skin and was ravaging his body, devouring organs one by one. Scott saw the man’s body begin to collapse.

“No! Stay with me! I can do this!��

Scott called upon all his healing power and another trace of veiny black shot up his arm. But it then turned orange and began to glow, emanating a terrible heat. Scott had to let go. It was too painful to maintain contact. That was when the homeless man was consumed. His clothing, flesh, and bones were dissolving into a hideous orange mass right before their eyes. Scott reached out for the man’s hand again, but it dissolved in his grasp.

“No…!”, Scott cried.

And the man was gone. As his skull turned orange, liquefied, and collapsed in on itself, his gaze was still on Scott. The last thing to go was his eyes. In them was an expression not of anguish but of gratitude. Scott had rushed to his rescue and treated him as if he were a real person. His last thought was that someone sought to give him aid. The last sight he saw was a young man who clearly cared trying to comfort him. The rescue had not come in time. The man was not saved. But he died knowing that at least someone had tried.

The three teenagers sat in Freddie’s truck outside the McCall house. They sat in silence, listening to the radio. It did not have the best reception in the world, but the broadcast they were hearing came in clear enough. It was a news report covering the disaster at the lacrosse field. The voice of a well-spoken woman detailed what they knew so far, providing an account of the panic, the fire, the injuries, and the unfortunate deaths. In the middle of the usual canned prattle about thoughts and prayers for the victims’ families, the reporter spied the sheriff and asked for his take on the events. Normally one to eschew any public comments or sound bites, this time he had one prepared. After a quick consult with Parrish earlier, they had arrived at a plausible explanation.

“I want to stress first and foremost that as yet nothing has been proven conclusively”, the sheriff’s voice came over the old radio. “But as near as we can tell, some type of homemade accelerant was added to the bonfire, possibly to either extend the duration of the fire or for some kind of visual effect such as giving the flames different colors. We suspect that the chemical used mixed with the kerosene already present to create a highly toxic gas. The results were seizures, heightened anxiety, and intense hallucinations. In an excited crowd, it didn’t take long for that to go very wrong.”

The reporter pressed him. “How do you explain that so many victims claim to have seen the same hallucination? There was talk of a dragon, of all things.”

The sheriff didn’t miss a beat. “Again, we don’t know anything for certain yet. But one theory is that the toxins released from the fire could affect perception and suggestibility. If one person screamed loud enough about seeing a monster, many others would pick up on it.” He then added quickly, “We also have reason to believe there was no malice aforethought. It’s most likely that it was just a well-intentioned kid full of school spirit and lacking in knowledge of chemistry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to see to getting these people cared for.”

“An evening of celebration turned into a night of horrors—“, the reporter continued.

“Turn it off”, Kaitlyn said.

Freddie twisted the knob and the cab was silent again. They couldn’t bear to hear anymore.

“It does sound like a believable explanation”, Aadesh offered after a bit.

“But we know what really happened”, Freddie said. “And we know why.”

Kaitlyn buried her face in her hands. “I’m not sure how much longer I can do this.”

“Do you think they’ll find a way to stop it?”, Freddie pondered. “Besides, I mean, you know. That other option.”

“And do they really need us here for that?”, Aadesh asked.

It was the question they’d all been waiting to hear. It had simply been a matter of who was going to say it. All three friends were stunned by the terror that they’d unleashed. They sat wracked with grief and incredible guilt. Did they really need to stick around and potentially make things worse?

“Highway’s only fifteen minutes that way”, Freddie said, pointing out the darkened window.

That sounded so good. Making a run for it. Leaving behind what they’d done, knowing that the problem was in the best hands possible to solve it. But in doing so, they’d be abandoning the heroes they wanted so desperately to be.

Kaitlyn spoke up. “No. We can’t.” the boys turned to look at her. “This whole thing is our fault. The least we can do is see it through to the end.” The boys looked at each other then back to Kaitlyn. They nodded, and she nodded back. They weren’t the juvenile delinquents they once were. They’d already decided that. As Aadesh and Kaitlyn ventured back up the walk to the McCall’s house and Freddie drove back to the Stilinski’s, they told themselves that it was time to grow up and face the consequences of their actions. They would even do their best to help, despite that not having gone so well in the past.

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