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dameronology · 3 years

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one hell of a mandalorian {din djarin}

summary: actions speak louder than words - which is good for din djarin, because he's not very good at words. (this was a commission for an anon! i hope you enjoy).

warnings: language

enjoy!! if you're interested in commissions, you can find out more here :)

- jazz xx

Din Djarin was a man of few words.

That had become clear not long after you'd met.

It wasn't that he didn't like talking, or that he was rude - he'd just never had the need for it. The Mandalorian could spend days and days in hyperspace, on his own with nothing but a frozen bounty to keep him company. And they were hardly chatty, even before they were thrown away into the trawling depths of carbonite animation. There were a few select geniuses who tried to make conversation with him in a last-ditch attempt to appeal to his humanity and beg for mercy, but so far, they'd had a zero-for-zero success rate. It wasn't that he didn't have any humanity to appeal to it - because he did, and his weird, green surrogate kid was an absolute testament to that - but it just took a little bit for it to come out.

The beskar made him seem a little...robotic. Like a droid, which was ironic, because he wouldn't have gone near the things with a ten-foot-barge pole. Din had just become so used to people seeing his mask and his intimidating posture before him that having human traits, like feelings and thoughts and opinions, had never been any use. Having defining traits and a personality was all well and good, but nothing helped you through the galaxy quite like the ability to put the fear of God in people.

The Mandalorian was something, but Din Djarin was somebody. He was good; not necessarily pure and golden-hearted like a typical comic book hero, but he had a strong moral compass. Sometimes, it pointed in opposite directions, but he helped those who needed it and he paid his dues. That was probably a lot more than anyone in the galaxy could have said for themselves. In the fight of good and bad, in a world that existed entirely and black and white, there was nothing more grey than an honest man. Somebody who refused to pick a side held the power of both. For that, Din could have either been extremely smart, or extremely dumb.

Sometimes, he was extremely dumb. Made the wrong moves in combat, or got too cocky, however out of character it was for him. It was the losing fights that truly brought out the human side of Din, and it took a very, very specific eye to see it, sometimes to the point where even he missed it. It never went over your head, though.

You'd joined the crew on the Razor Crest as a mechanic - then you became a baby sitter, and his partner-in-crime, and the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend. His non-verbal nature meant that most of his emotional cues came in the physical form. It went over the heads of everybody else, but between your intuition, and the time spent in such a cramped space, it quickly became like a second language to you. Helmet tilts when he was confused, and little nods when he was pleased; tensed shoulders when the Mandalorian was nervous and balled fists when he was about to absolutely lose his shit.

Today was one of those days. Even though you were both in one piece and the baby was - by some absolute fucking miracle - asleep, it almost hadn't been that way. Nevarro had been quieter than usual, and Din had let his guard down; finally convinced himself to relax a tiny bit and ever-so-slightly loosen the stick that was firmly up his backside. His sudden lack of awareness for your surroundings had meant that someone managed to track the Crest, however briefly. The kid had barely noticed, and you weren't phased by what had been a simple, human mistake. Din, true to nature, was already beating himself up for it.

That was evidenced by his heavy footsteps, and the way he'd immediately retreated to the cockpit and slammed the door. Common sense would have entailed that he wanted to be left alone, but you'd long surpassed the point of any of that. Common sense didn't exist in a galaxy like this one. Doing the obvious thing was, nine times out of ten, usually the wrong way. Expecting the unexpected was the right way to go.

You'd paced outside the door for the better part of fifteen minutes - to go in, or to not go in, that was the question. You were torn between wanting to give Din space and wanting to be there for him; a cranky Din was often an unbearable one, but you cared deeply for him. Maybe a little too much, but that was a can of worms to open later.

"Din?" You gently called. Nothing. "I know you're brooding, or whatever it is you do under that helmet, but talking is good."

"I'm fine."

You sighed. "The scale goes great, good, bad, awful, world-ending and then fine."

"I've never heard that before in my life."

"Yeah, I just made it up on the spot." You murmured.

Resting your hand against the doorknob, you pondered for a moment. Did you want to risk it by going in? Making him mad when he was literally shutting you out? It was hard to know what to do with Din - it wasn't like he came with an answer key, or even a vague manual that could point you in the right direction. It was all just guess work.

"Is the helmet on?" You softly asked.

"Yeah."

You took that as a sign - with a deep breath, you gently opened the door and stepped inside the cockpit, shutting it quietly behind you. The tense atmosphere inside was almost enough to swallow you whole. The man practically radiated angst.

"Talk to me." You took a seat beside him.

"There's nothing to say."

"Bullshit." You murmured. "You might have a thousand inches of beskar hiding your face but your body language is a dead giveaway."

"I'm meant to protect you and the kid." He replied. It wasn't much, but it was better than silence. "It's my job to catch bad people and outrun them when I need."

"You did outrun them." You reminded him. "I'm safe. You're safe. The kid is safe. Does anything else matter?"

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place." Din said. "I was relaxed-"

"- you allowed to relax." You cut him off. "Despite your best efforts, you're a human being."

Reaching out, you gently placed your hand over Din's ungloved palm. He didn't resist or try to brush you away. His hands were soft and callous in equal measures, which felt like a fitting metaphor for him on the whole. You tangled your fingers in his and held on tightly, perhaps in a sad attempt to remind him that you were there.

But Din knew you were there - he could feel it constantly, and he thought about it just as much. Every day of his life prior to you had been filled with rigidity and angst, then you'd come waltzing in and for the first time in years, he'd untensed his muscles and stopped looking over his shoulder. Learnt to take a breath and enjoy the simple things in life, like Grogu laughing or you accidentally tripping over a tree branch. You'd become so important to him that the prospect of losing you was too much for him to even fathom. He'd come close today - too close - and it had been an eye-opener. The irony was that telling you why he was so fucking scared was more frightening than the entire thing itself.

"Don't be so hard on yourself." The gentle pull of your voice lulled him back to reality. "Please?"

His grip on your hand tightened. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." You breathily smiled. "You don't have to apologise."

"I never thought I'd have someone like you." Din admitted. "Coming so close to losing you was terrifying, even if it wasn't that close at all."

He'd never been so open about his feeling towards you before. Obviously, you knew that he viewed you in a way he didn't see anybody else, but that knowledge had been based entirely on physical cues and mere guesswork. You'd never expected him to vocalise the way he felt, or even acknowledge them. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, or even something you considered to be detrimental. The words came as a nice surprise.

"You mean a lot to me, Din." You said. He'd always loved the way his name sounded when you said it; nobody had used it for years, not since he'd lost his parents. It was something to vulnerable and personal. You were the only one he trusted with it.

"I do?"

You didn't mean to laugh at that - you really didn't, but it just came out. A low snort of disbelief; shock at his absolute inability to read the fucking room. Din was as intuitive as they came, with the ability to read criminals like a bedtime story he'd been rehearsing since he was a kid. Then it came to you, and he knew nothing. Absolutely nothing. To call him clueless would be the understatement of the century.

"Maker." You murmured. "Of course you do - more than anyone or anything."

"You're special to me." Din replied. "It scares me sometimes."

Din was straight forward with everything he said - it was just finding the courage to say it. He'd gone into battle with Imps and Republic Rangers alike; fought krayt dragons and droids and fellow Mandalorians and yet this entire thing shook him to his very core more than anything else.

You didn't know it, but you were perfectly holding his gaze. Staring right through it and looking right into his soul. He forgot he had one sometimes. It was probably a little dusty and covered in cobwebs, but it was there, and you were bringing it right out of him and back to reality.

Din used his grip on your hands to pull you a little closer - a moment later, he gently pressed the cold metal of his helmet to his forehead. It was the closest you'd ever been to him, even if it wasn't that close at all. You could hear his soft breathing through the modulator, the sensation acting as a stunning reminder that there was a person underneath there. There were times when you forgot, or felt a little disconnected from the idea entirely. You'd never felt the need to see his face, though - you hadn't a clue what he might look like, but at the same time, you had an image of him in your head. It was as clear as day; as bright as the suns on Tatooine and as persevering as the kid's insistence that he receive all your attention, all the time.

You knew what the action was; a Keldabe kiss. The Mandalorian had recounted its meaning to you not long after you'd met - he'd finally let his barriers down and let you plague him with questions about his culture and the creed, and you'd stumbled on the subject. Initially, you'd been entertained by the fact that it two such vastly different meanings. On one hand, it could be a headbutt. A beskar punch to knock the daylights out of anyone who particularly annoyed you. On the other hand, it was almost a romantic gesture; a way that Mandalorians could show their affection to one another without having to remove their armour.

Din had the latter meaning in mind, but also so much more. He was giving you a piece of his culture - including you in the very thing that defined him as a person.

"It won't happen again." The Mandalorian gently said. "I'll never let you get hurt again. I promise."

"I know." You softly smiled. Your eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the cool metal against your forehead. "For what it's worth, I have your back too."

He softly chuckled. "Thank you."

You gently pulled back, eyes meeting again (not that you could tell).

"Seriously!" You said. "I can be a bad-ass."

"You can be a lot of things." Din replied. "You're one hell of a girl."

"And you're one hell of a Mandalorian."

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem! reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian imagines #mandalorian fluff #din djarin fluff #star wars x reader #star wars characters #star wars x you #star wars imagines

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snackhobi · 4 years

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prompt: “Is that my shirt you’re wearing?”

thank you to my darling @yeojaa for sending this in and thank you to my darling @hobi-gif for beta reading it for me, you are both such lovely stars in the night sky of my life xoxo

pairing: seokjin x reader / word count: 1.9k / genre: fluff (sfw/general) / warnings: none!

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a hot roommate, must want to jump his bones.

Like. C’mon. Kim Seokjin is nothing if not easy on the eyes. It’s not enough that he has the body proportions of a god—broad shoulders, lovely thighs, everything in its place and perfectly in line with his height and his poise—he has a beautiful face, too. Those lips. That jaw. Those eyes. You don’t want to wax lyrical but it really is like God decided to take his time making Kim Seokjin and everyone else (like you) was just left with the dregs; the stuff that wasn’t good enough for Jin and was thrown aside.

The worst thing, though. The worst thing. The absolute worst thing about Kim Seokjin is that he is A Nice Person.

You’d barely known each other, only a month into your cohabitation when he’d come across you crying into a tub of ice cream in the kitchen, sobbing over the guy who’d finally grown bored of stringing you along with promises of eventually becoming your actual boyfriend and had just cut you off altogether after one final lay. You were utterly heartbroken and entirely mortified when you noticed Jin standing in the kitchen doorway as you clumsily tried to dig your spoon into the still-hard vanilla, but he’d just slid down onto the floor next to you with a spoon in one hand as the other came to rest on your shoulder. He’d listened to you snivel and sniffle, quietly eating the weirdly chemical-flavoured chocolate ice cream in the own-brand Neapolitan tub you favoured—your least favourite and the one you always left till last.

Once a guy’s seen you crying your eyes out on the kitchen floor in old pyjamas, and you’ve seen him eat five pots of super hot instant noodles on the trot and chase the whole thing down with an entire box of doughnuts, you sort of get to know each other as people—both things are revealing in different ways—and it’s hard for that to not lead to friendship.

You could have dealt with Jin if he was just hot. But he’s hot and nice and funny, utterly ridiculous; he doesn’t take himself seriously while also knowing how to rein himself in when necessary to not overwhelm people and basically you’ve been crushing on him in a major, major way for a while now.

And like. Seokjin is single, so technically you have a chance. But you also have absolutely no chance at all, because? Hello? Kim Seokjin? You? You? Kim Seokjin? He’s so far out of your league he may as well be in another galaxy. And he’s also probably the best roommate you’ve ever had (cleans up after himself, doesn’t microwave fish and stink up the place, likes the same TV shows as you so there are no arguments over the remote), so you’re not about to throw a wrench into the mix by doing something stupid like confessing that you like him.

“Right, I should be back around ten,” says Seokjin. He’s all dressed up for a noraebang night with his friends—well, not dressed up really, they’re just gonna get drunk while wailing songs at the top of their lungs in a small room so it’s not like he has to go all out, but Seokjin makes everything look good. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

Seokjin is nice and hot and funny and friendly. Honestly, he’s just a dreamboat of a roommate and a man, with great friends too. Normally you would have leaped at the chance to spend a night out with Seokjin and the other guys, but you’d spilled your drink on Yoongi last time and were still convinced that he was plotting your imminent demise. Even if Seokjin insists otherwise, you want to give Yoongi a wide berth for a little while longer in the hopes he’ll suddenly suffer a bout of amnesia and forget that you spilled a very boozy and sticky Oreo and Baileys cocktail(/glorified milkshake) on him and ruined his shoes.

“I’m good,” you say. “But make sure you don’t have any fun without me and you have to let everyone know that it’s because I’m not there.”

Jin laughs, a wet squeegee of a sound, and it goes straight to your heart. “I’ll pass on the message,” he promises, blowing you a tiny kiss as he goes.

(Ugh, he’s so cute. You hate him.) (No, you don’t.)

You seem to be setting a trend for yourself in the drink-spilling department, though. During an ad break you decide to get yourself a drink, and even though it’s just a Boys Over Flowers rerun that you’ve seen multiple times, you rush as you pour yourself a glass of orange juice—you don’t want to take too long and miss anything. Suffice to say you Fuck Up and end up with a shirt and trousers covered in juice and pulp and you miss a bunch of the episode as you clean it up, huffing dramatically to yourself the whole time, before scarpering towards your bedroom for some new clothes.

At least, that’s the plan. You pass by Seokjin’s open door and pause, taking in the sight of a few discarded bits of clothing on his bed and across the back of his chair, things he’d clearly decided weren’t worth wearing out tonight. The one that’s caught your eye is the vibrant pink shirt strewn over his duvet, one of your favourites, one you haven’t seen him wear in a while. It’s one of your favourites because he just looks so cosy in it—Jin ends up with a lot of oversized clothes so they can fit over his shoulders, but he practically swims in material when he wears this shirt, flapping the sleeves at you and then laughing at his own antics. He could wear it as a dress if he wanted to, probably.

… so could you, if you wanted to, probably.

… but you shouldn’t. Like, that’s weird. Jin is your roommate and even if he’s made it clear that he has an open door policy, going in through said open door to get a bit of his clothing is weird. Definitely creepy.

But… you’ve already kicked off your dirtied outfit and you’re just in your underwear so you can’t be blamed for being worried if you’re going to get cold, right? You’re just grabbing the closest bit of clothing, aren’t you?

… You’ll take it off before he gets back and put it in the laundry with everything else; he won’t notice. You’ll just take this awful awful secret to the grave and never tell anyone about your invasive actions.

Oh, man, the shirt smells so good. You share the same laundry detergent but Jin had clearly tried this on before discarding it, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air as you end up swamped in the shirt (/shirt dress), and you don’t regret this. Well, you do, but also you don’t. It’s like being wrapped up in Jin’s arms. Jin’s not shy about giving you hugs but there’s something altogether different about wearing someone’s clothes.

You end up curled up on the sofa as you watch more Boys Over Flowers, knees to your chest and revelling in how cosy and small Jin’s massive shirt makes you feel. You have to hitch the material up so that your hands peep out the ends of the sleeves. Sweater paws are cute on everyone, even yourself, and you giggle as you fumble for the remote so that you can check how many more episodes there are before it turns to something else. You can indulge yourself for a bit. As a treat.

“Unbelievable, I can’t believe Minji did that,” you mutter, so caught up in the drama of it all (as if you haven’t seen this episode four times) that you don’t hear the key turning in the lock, nor do you hear the footsteps that are heading towards you—what you do hear, however, is the sudden sound of Seokjin’s voice, freezing like a rabbit caught in headlights when you do.

“I forgot my wallet,” he says. “I—”

And that’s how he catches you, wide-eyed as you stare back at him, wishing that you could bury yourself between the sofa pillows so that he can’t see you. His keys are still in his hand and his mouth is open around an unfinished word as he takes the sight of you in, scrunched up against the armrest in some ridiculous attempt to shrink yourself small enough that he would have missed you.

He stares. You stare. You both stare. And then—

“Is that my shirt you’re wearing?”

“No!” A high-pitched shrill of an obvious lie. “No, uh, nope. Nuh-uh. Haha, oh, Jin, always such a jokester, you.”

You want the sofa to suddenly develop sentience and swallow you whole, just so you can be out of this situation. So you wouldn’t have to watch as a smile starts to spread over Jin’s face, the way there’s a little glint in his eyes, the way he opens his mouth and says—

“You know, you didn’t have to turn down noraebang just so you could wear my clothes. You just had to ask, I would have said yes.” He doesn’t seem creeped out, just amused, which is—well, it’s better, but, what? He’s laughing at you? You don’t know if that’s worse, somehow, actually.

“I didn’t! I spilled orange juice on my shirt and then I saw this shirt and you weren’t home—”

“Aha, so you admit it, it’s not your shirt,” Jin proclaims. He looks smug.

“Oh my God, I am full of regret,” you groan. “My life is a disaster. Can we pretend this never happened? I will pay you literal money. Please.”

At this, Jin’s eyes turn soft. “Do you really want that?”

“I—wuh? Do I really want us both to pretend you didn’t walk in on me wearing your shirt like some weird stalker or something? Absolutely. Yes. Let’s do that.”

“I wasn’t joking about letting you wear my clothes,” he says. There’s a note to his voice, something a little doughy, yielding and warm for you, and—you know what your gut is screaming at you, but— “I always thought you’d look cute in them, and I was right.”

You splutter. Jin thought you’d look cute—he’s been thinking about you wearing his clothes—the sort of thing that, you know, couples do. But this is Kim Seokjin you’re talking about. There’s no way he’s attracted to you in the way you’re attracted to him.

… but he is looking at you in a way that’s soft and tender, the same look you give him when you think he isn’t looking.

“Jin,” you say, slow. “Are you…”

“The most handsome man alive? Yes, I am.”

You make a face at his interruption and he laughs at your expression before going quiet, eyes so big and lovely and warm as he smiles at you, and you continue to speak. “Are you saying you want to, y’know. See me wearing more of your clothes? Or, uh... Less clothes in general?”

You can feel the blood rising in your cheeks as you say this, and you can see the red that starts to tinge the top of Jin’s ears, exquisite and wonderful. “I’m saying that I’m happy to give you what’s mine, including my clothes,” he says. “And my time. And love.”

You end up pulling the excess material of the shirt over your head as you turn into some sort of bright pink turtle, overwhelmed and in disbelief but so happy.

Judging from Jin’s laughter and the warmth of his hands reaching for yours in their too-long sleeves, he is, too.

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

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I Don’t Want to Be Alone Anymore

Fandom: Star Wars

Collection/Series: N/A

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader (Gender Neutral - No pronouns or identifiers used to my knowledge, if i’ve missed something let me know)

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst, feelings of low self-worth, loneliness, but there’s some fluff to it too.

Requested by anon: Hi!! Could I please request Poe Dameron x reader with the prompts “Have you ever kissed anyone before?” + “I want you to be proud of yourself. I want you to believe that you’re good enough because you are. You’re so amazing.” + “I just want to be swept off my feet…is that so bad? I’m fed up of being alone.” 😘 Please and thank you!!!

Summary: You’ve been feeling incredibly lonely as of late, missing something in your life that seems unattainable, out of your reach. When you can’t sleep Poe finds you sitting atop the Millennium Falcon and a heart to heart is had.

Notes: This was supposed to be a prompt, but honestly got quite large so I made it into more of a one-shot.

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You had been rather melancholic as of late. That was the best way to describe you. Melancholic, sad, down in the dumps, just not your usual bubbly happy self. You knew that the other’s had taken notice of it, everyone was constantly trying to make you laugh, tiptoeing around subjects that could make you sadder. Your patients noticed the change in your bedside manner as well trying to cheer you up even when they were the ones in pain. In truth you just...you were lonely.

You had so many friends and you could be on a resistance base full of people and still you felt lonely. Your whole life thus far had been overtaken by the resistance, by war, by fighting the good fight, so much so that you’d had no time for romance, for love and companionship. You were beginning to feel that yearning, that ache deep in your soul for something more. But, you doubted you were good enough for it, that you deserved it. Surely, if you’d been worthy someone would have come in and swept you off your feet by now? But, no one had and you were once again alone, alone and doubting your achievements, doubting your skills as a doctor, as a medic, as a key member of the resistance. You often wanted to kick yourself, it was all so trivial in comparison to the fight that was going on, compared to the First Order.

You’d been unable to sleep, the muggy air on Ajan Kloss, the sounds of skittering wildlife and the ache in your chest, that lonely sadness, all combined to force you out of your cot and into the night air. Tossing and turning had proved fruitless and so instead you found yourself a little perch atop the Millenium Falcon, knees pulled up to your chest, chin resting atop them.

Ajan Kloss was beautiful as planets go, with a vibrant jungle and active wildlife, it felt like the centre of the universe sometimes. Like the place where life originated. Lately, there had been talk about what everyone would do once the war with the First Order was over, what people were fighting for. Your answers always felt lacking. You had no lover you were fighting for, no future marriage or children that you were fighting to obtain...because you were alone. It never used to be a problem, you had started out in the resistance because you believed it was the right thing to do, you still do, but you wanted more from your life than that of a lonely rebel.

“Now what would you be doing out here on your lonesome, sweetheart? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” You look down to see Poe standing, wide stance, knuckles on his hips, beneath you. His hair is a mess of curls, clearly the result of lying in bed for any length of time and he’s stripped down to the bare essentials. A white undershirt, a pair of comfortable trousers, the chain with his mother’s ring that he always wears around his neck. He looks beautiful in the moonlight, always does, but especially in the moonlight.

“Couldn’t sleep, General…” Your normal teasing tone at his rank is missing and it makes Poe frown. You sound sad, you look sad. Your shoulders hunched in, your brows pulled together, lips turned down. You’ve been like this a lot lately, he’s missed your smile, the one that puts little creases around your mouth and crinkles your eyes. He’s missed your happiness.

“Mind if I join?” Your nod is all he needs to start climbing up the Falcon to sit beside you. He sits close enough that your arms are touching, hips pressed against one another as if he can give you some semblance of happiness from his own body. It is both a relief to your touch starved soul and a torture, a reminder that you don’t actually have this, not with him, not with anyone.

Poe isn’t your partner, your lover, your future husband. He is simply your General, your friend. No matter how handsome he is, how much you desire him, he doesn’t desire you and it stings. To your lonely mind it doesn’t matter that you’ve never said a word to him about your feelings, all that matters is that you’re alone, even with him sitting beside you. It’s hard to understand that he is there because he cares.

“So, what’s wrong? You’ve not been yourself lately…”

“I...Poe...I don’t…” You turn your head away from him, gazing off into the jungle, not wanting him to see the tears that have started to collect in your eyes. You don’t want this conversation because it’s embarrassing, embarrassing that you’re lonely, embarrassing that after all this time you’re still on your own.

“I would say we don’t have to talk about this, but sweetheart, we have to talk about this. You’re sad all the time, I just want to help.” A gentle hand at your cheek turns your face back towards his, fingers sliding down to cup the side of your neck, thumb grazing against the curve of your jaw. Poe tightens his grip at the tears collecting in your eyes, you look utterly hopeless in that moment and it tears at his heart.

“What’s wrong?”

“I...I’m so lonely, Poe…everyone has all these plans. How they’re going to go back home, get married, raise some kids. I just...I want that, but I know i’m not good enough. I’m so alone and it feels like that’s never going to change. I just want to be swept off my feet…is that so bad? I’m fed up of being alone. I’ve been alone my entire life and I...I just...I feel like i’m not good enough, like i’m going to be alone forever.” You had spent all your life alone, between being orphaned from a young age, working constantly to get your qualifications as a doctor and the resistance, there had never been anyone. You wanted someone, a companion, a kindred spirit, a soulmate. Someone you could curl up next to after a long day, someone you could make a family with, someone you could kiss and cuddle and love.

It seemed out of reach. Like something not meant for you, not made for you. Why would anyone choose you when there were so many better options out there, so many other people who could provide them with more.

There’s a silence that falls over the two of you, Poe’s thumb still stroking at your jaw as his heart breaks for you. He loves you, he’s known it since his capture by the First Order, but he’s never said a word, terrified of losing you from his life altogether. The thought that you believe you’re not good enough, that you’re not deserving of, worthy of being swept off of your feet, of love, hurts him. It cuts deep, a vibroblade straight to his heart. His lips part with a sad sigh, furrowing his brows as he frowns down at you.

“Sweetheart, you are so worthy of love. God, I want you to be proud of yourself. I want you to believe that you’re good enough because you are. You’re amazing. You’re everything.” He’s pulling you closer, your legs thrown over his so that he can drill into you just how wonderful you are. You’re so beautiful, so kind, so good. You’ve healed his many wounds, made him laugh when he wants to cry, taken such good care of everyone around you that the thought that you’re not worthy of love is laughable. You deserve every good thing in the world.

“Then why does no one want me? Why am I still alone?” There’s a tremble to your bottom lip, to your voice, a wetness that comes only from tears and it has Poe pressing his forehead to yours with closed eyes and deep sigh. That you think no one wants you...that you think he doesn’t want you hurts but it’s his fault, he knows he’s hidden his feelings well, kept them behind a guise of friendship and harmless flirtation.

“Because I’m the biggest coward in the galaxy.”

“What?” You’re confused, pulling away to search his face for some sort of meaning, hand gripping his wrist, unsure, confused. He’s never been so scared in his life, it seems crazy, to be scared of telling you something as simple as how much he loves you, when he’s literally been tortured, faced life or death. But, this is scarier, this is his whole world hinged on your rejection or acceptance, but he can’t live with you not knowing, thinking that no one loves you, wants you when he absolutely does.

“I’ve loved you since I escaped the First Order, hell, maybe I loved you before that. But, I’ve been...I was so scared of losing you as a friend that I never said anything. But, I love you, dank farrik, I love you and you’re wanted and you’re needed and that’s never been in question, sweetheart.” He wants to grab you and kiss you, show you how much feeling you inspire in him, but he knows this is a lot, he knows the chances of you never having even been kissed before are high and the thought of panicking you, pushing you, stops him.

“You...you love me? Poe…?”

“I love you and if...if you don’t feel the same that’s fine, but I can’t have you thinking that you’re not wanted because you absolutely are.” It feels like your chest might actually burst open, like your heart wants to jump from your body and into his.

He loves you. Poe Dameron, Resistance General, flyboy, extraordinary pilot, friend, loves you. He wants you, the one man you’d never hoped would, loves you. There are still tears collecting in your eyes, but they’re a different sort, the sort that comes from overwhelming happiness.

“I love you too” It’s sobbed out, you can’t really control the watering of your eyes or the way your voice shakes as you press your forehead back to his and cup his jaw in your hands. He’s patient though, just whispers how happy he is, how much he loves you too while you let the tears flow.

When the tears stop coming and you’re just smiling at him, nose brushing against his own, that’s when he asks. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?” He knows the answers, deep in his soul, but it’s your information to give, your piece of yourself to share and he makes sure to dip his eyes down to your lips and bit his own just to bring that flustered expression to your face, the one that makes you look just the tiniest bit startled and excited. You are wanted. He’s never going to let you think otherwise.

“No…” Your eyes drop down to follow the line his tongue paints across his plump bottom lip, swallow hard at the prospect that this man, this man who loves you, might want to kiss you. It is exciting and terrifying at the same time, the thought that you might be absolutely terrible at it, that you have no clue what you’re doing, but that you want to try anyway, with him.

“Well, that’s a damn crime, sweetheart.” One corner of his mouth quirks up forcing that dimple of his back into view and while his voice is confident and almost brash, Poe’s eyes are soft, crinkling at the corners. “Will you let me kiss you?”

“Please.” Your voice is needy and high, soft as a whisper as if you’re worried speaking too loud will make him disappear. He’s not sure he could move even if the First Order came raining down on Ajan Kloss. You’ve captured him without bindings, he doesn't want to move from your orbit.

With one hand he cups the back of your neck to pull you closer, the other encasing your cheek, brushing sweet little circles across the breadth of it. He’s slow as he moves you closer, gives you time to back out, in case you need to, in case this is too much too soon, but you don’t.

His lips are soft and careful at first, pressing against yours, closed mouthed and undemanding. His nose gently pressing against your cheek as he eases you into the sensation of another person’s lips against your own. The press of his body to yours has you gasping quietly, mouth parting and Poe takes this as an invitation, gently pressing his tongue into your mouth. It is strange at first, the sensations, but each ministration, each touch has you relaxing into him more, until your hands are tangled in the curls of his hair and you’re pressing as close to him as you can.

Poe lets out a deep groan when you tug at the strands and he pulls away from you to take a breath of air, not going far, only so far as to put his forehead back against your own. He’s pretty sure he could kiss you until he suffocated, he’s pretty sure that would be a good way to go out.

“Can I be your boyfriend?” His fingers are gentle at the back of your neck, massaging into tender spots as he stares into your eyes. It’s all so intense and yet so comfortable at the same time, it feels like you were always meant to kiss Poe, always meant to be with him, this entire time.

You let a little laugh at his question. The idea of you saying no after everything, after a confession of love from the both of you and the best first kiss you could have asked for, is laughable. But, still you give him an answer, cementing it as a fact.

“Yeah...yeah, I’d like that, Poe.”

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

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dirty-holy-things · 3 years

Text

The Space Between (your heart & mine)

Chapter 20 has been posted to Ao3, and below to Tumblr.

Catch up on chapters 1-19 on Ao3.

Notes: This fic is exclusively 18+ and explicit. This chapter includes references to, and descriptions of, abuse from a parent. It is no more extreme or explicit than any other chapters, but please exercise caution.

Words: 5.2k update, 98.1k total.

If you would like to be added to my taglist for updates on this project and / or others, please fill out this form!

You pushed yourself up from the bunk, feeling the woolen blanket scratching against you as your body shifted. Your legs wobbled unsteadily at your weight, having grown accustomed to the comfort of the bed; but you straightened your spine as you crossed the cabin of the ship to the man you loved, the man who was still avoiding your gaze. The floor was freezing cold against your bare feet, but the chill only made you more alert and aware of your body and the space around you. Each step felt progressively more confident than the last, until you were standing mere inches away from him. He continued to gaze above and away from you, not affording you the illusion of eye contact through the blackness of his visor, but you were undeterred. You loved him, and you had hurt him, and you wanted to make things right.

You extended your arms slowly, just as you had many nights ago, on your first night in the ship. You thought back to how you had once moved with such trepidation, such nervousness, wondering if he would allow you to show him kindness. He had chosen to let you hold him then, and you hoped that he would make that choice again; you hoped he would make that choice every day.

Your hands landed on his waist, and he didn’t retreat or push you away. You drew closer to him, your breaths staying focused and steady; and he allowed you to wrap your arms around him, moving underneath the beskar, as you needed to feel closer to him. You pulled his body into yours with a bit of force, and you could feel the exhale of his chest as he pressed into you. He didn’t pull away, just as he hadn’t pulled away that first night, and you were just as grateful now as you had been then.

"I think I could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, 'I exist.' In thousands of agonies - I exist. I'm tormented on the rack - but I exist! Though I sit alone in a pillar - I exist! I see the sun, and if I don't see the sun, I know it's there. And there's a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there." - Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

You blinked your eyes, and as they opened to the sights around you, you came to the realization that you were sitting on a beach; coarse sand shifting against your body, a whipping breeze moving through your hair, and navy blue waves crashing against the shores, setting off a cascade of ivory foam that exploded around you like fireworks. Yes, you were unmistakably by an ocean. You weren’t sure how you had gotten here — wherever here was — so you looked around for any clues that you could find.

You were in the same clothes you had been in on Nevarro. They were dirty — was that sand, or dust? What were those dark stains?

Dragging your palms through the coarse grey sands beneath you, you discovered there was nothing within your immediate grasp that would offer any clues; but you could feel stinging pinpricks across your body as the salty air blew against you. Looking around, your head swiveling, there was a sharp ache in your neck — but you pushed that pain away, needing focus on finding something that would give you some insight about where you were and what was happening.

Looking onwards, you saw that there were fearsome navy storm clouds rapidly approaching the shoreline you were seated at, and your eyes scanned the horizon nervously; you anxiously listened as the waves roared, almost like you had heard Din roar many times before.

Din.

Where was Din?

Your curiosity and worry was momentarily diminished as you felt something unexpected and wet fall against your warm cheek. Looking up, you understood that you were not crying, that the wetness on your face was not of your own doing. The roiling, dark clouds above you had now unleashed their freezing torrent, and the raindrops fell onto you with a steadily growing frequency that threatened to soak you through to the core within minutes.

You pushed yourself up from the sandy beach, brushing your stinging palm onto your pants to try and clean them off, before turning to try and find something in this unfamiliar landscape around you that may offer shelter. You had weathered many a storm, and knew of the aching cold that it would bring to those who were left exposed.

The landscape turned out to be not entirely unfamiliar — there were certainly many things out of place, but simultaneously recognizable in an irrefutable way. In the distance, through the fog of the rain, you could see what appeared to be your childhood home. The stone house was nothing spectacular or impressive, and it was quite small, but you would’ve recognized the pattern of those dark, moss-covered stones anywhere. You had spent many hours being forced to stare at the stone wall, after making the cat levitate, or talking to the pretty stranger woman in the marketplace who spoke a language that nobody else could understand. Somehow, you had come back to this place, to a home that was never really home.

As you shivered, the freezing rain running in rivulets down your body, you understood that you were being forced to make a choice. Sit here in the torrential downpour of rain, endure nature’s impersonal barrage; or seek shelter in the one place that had never truly been a shelter as it should have been.

You felt your heartbeat pick up speed with every fat raindrop that landed against you, their impact becoming steadily more and more forceful. Your thin jacket wasn’t holding up against the power of the storm, and with a shaking breath, you took a step towards the stone house. After all of these years, surely it was empty. Surely the inhabitants had changed, despite the resilience and timelessness of stone. This wasn’t really even your home planet — it was some amalgamation of memories and dreams from Eadu and Chandrila; it simply had to be.

The path to the house was a familiar one, although you knew that the home had never been close to an ocean — this absolutely must be some sort of dream, to bring together this combination of gorgeously torturous imagery — and as you drew closer towards the door with every step, you said a quiet prayer to whatever gods or Force that may accompany you, that the house from your memories would be empty. Your hand connected with the weathered and damp grey wood of the door, and you pushed your whole body weight against it, recalling how the door always stuck against the frame whenever it rained — which was often.

The door gave way as a particularly strong gust of wind blew against you, and you tumbled into an achingly familiar scene. The hearth across the room held a dying fire and red-black coals; the cots positioned around it were covered in the same green and grey blankets you had once wrapped yourself in; and the chest full of family valuables and heirlooms was tucked away in the corner, protecting the assorted quilts, books, and ceramic items that had been collected and protected throughout the years.

A sense of unease and comfort settled upon you simultaneously, almost as if the weight of a still-damp blanket had beed draped across your shoulders. Heavy, possibly well intentioned, and yet still unwanted.

It seemed to be blessedly empty, this memory of the house you had once known, and you were exceptionally grateful for that. The thought of a reunion with anyone from your past life, whether you were dreaming or awake, made your stomach clench in fear. Stepping through the entryway of the small house, you saw your father’s coat hanging by the door; it was weatherproof, as he worked endless hours on this rainy, desolate planet, and you were certain that if you were to pick it up it would still smell like him. Strong soap, a hint of tobacco, and an earthiness that could never be scrubbed out of the fibers, or the soul.

This isn’t real, you reminded yourself. This scene wasn’t really real, but the sensations felt as though they were, so you forced yourself to reach out for the jacket that would offer you warmth and protection from the storm. You felt tears prick your eyes as you shrugged the oversized coat onto your small frame; it was exactly as you had remembered it; and somehow it almost felt as though it were still warm. Retreating further into its protection and coverage, you stepped back out into the storm that was bettering the coast; your previous worlds of Eadu and Chandrila merging into one.

As you surveyed this unnatural scene, continually trying to rationalize and remind yourself it was a dream, you saw a familiar glint of silver — a glint of beskar. A scream tore itself from your throat as you bounced on your tiptoes, trying desperately to catch Din’s attention through the swirling debris that the powerful winds had whipped up. You could just barely see the thin line of the visor turn in your direction before your attention then turned to the small green toddler that was clambering across the sand dunes, the duo making their way towards you through the ceaseless rain.

You felt your heart leap at the sight of these two, the odd duo that you had come to love more than anything in this galaxy. You tried to run towards them, but as your muscles strained you felt as if there were an impossibly heavy weight cemented to you, holding you back from reconnecting with your true family. You fought harder and harder against the weights that held you down — and as your body fought back against this unseen power, you watched as Din and Grogu somehow begin to move even further away from you.

Arms reaching out desperately, you cried and clambered your way towards them, but for every step you took, you were dragged back threefold. Your muscles screamed in agony and exhaustion, your throat was raw from screaming their names — and yet they were still receding into the horizon, bodies eventually disappearing entirely behind the grey dunes and their grasses. This was a dream, but watching your family disappear could only be described as a nightmare.

And then out of nowhere, as you cried out for your companions, a wrinkled hand came swinging towards you at full force, landing across your face with a startlingly familiar impact that stung and smarted in a way that you hadn’t experienced in years. And yet, despite the respite from violence that Din had given you, you would’ve recognized those hateful hands anywhere.

You looked up into the aging face of your mother, hateful and wild, terror in her eyes — it held the same look that you had seen on the day you had run away; and your heart seized up in a paralyzing mix of fear and sadness, the same way it had the last time that you had seen her. All these years later, and you would still run from your mother. For all the growth, all the talents, all the forgiveness, all the skills you had developed — the instinct that had been beaten into you won out, and you felt adrenaline course through your bloodstream like gasoline to a fire, telling you to run like hell as you had once before.

As the fear and grief churned within you, the storm around you began to worsen as well. The crests of the waves grew taller, crashing with increasing ferocity; the stinging rain was now mixed with hail that threatened to break skin; and the winds that whipped around you threatened to knock you clear off of your feet.

“Well would you look at that,” your mother hissed, stepping away from you. “Ever the disaster, even now. All you bring is destruction!”

You shook your head, knowing this was a dream, knowing that what she said wasn’t true. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t right. You were only dreaming — you were really at home in the ship, wrapped securely in Din’s arms. This too will pass, you reminded yourself.

Though you knew it was only a dream, you wondered why did the sands and her words still sting, as the wind blew them into you? How could it still burn, knowing that no true pain was inflicted upon you?

Your mother looked towards the same horizon that Din and Grogu had disappeared behind, and you followed her gaze. “And of course, you’ve run off with whatever man gives you the slightest bit of attention — you clearly haven’t learned your lesson, stupid girl — wonder how long it’ll be before he has to start beating you like Orron did. Like I did.”

Her impossibly cruel and hateful words hit you with a breathtaking force, and you felt a concerningly familiar hatred and anger boiling within you, just as it had when you killed Bragant. Yes, you had killed Bragant — that truth could not be denied. You panicked at this sudden surge in emotions — you needed to control this, you needed to be in control, you didn’t want to lose yourself to that terrifying, encompassing darkness ever again —

And the very world around you began to violently shake as you fought back against the darkness, as you fought back against that thick, black, boiling hatred — you threw every ounce of yourself into pushing it away, wrenching your eyes shut in concentration, shutting out the painful image of your mother and her stinging, cruel hands. This evil, choking darkness felt as heavy and overwhelming as it had on Nevarro, but this time you fought it just as hard as you had fought for Din’s life on Bardotta. You were not going to let it win, you were not going to let it overtake you and drown out the humanity and love that you had so carefully cultivated. You could feel yourself screaming though the unyielding pressure and weight of the darkness, but as you clung to the smallest thread of light, you felt the vitriol and violence slowly begin to recede.

And then you saw Din and Grogu, reappearing on the storming horizon, fighting to cross over the shifting grey dunes to you.

They had fought to come back to you, despite the hurricane that you had created here.

Somewhere deep down inside, you had truly come to believe in their love and their dedication to you; and you had let go of the ideas of your mother, that you were nothing more than a source of pain and destruction. These two were living proof that you were capable of good things, that you were worthy of being loved, that you were capable of creating love and light, and growing something worth fighting for.

The thunder and crashing waves began to quiet, as the hint of a smile quirked your lips upwards. Your mother continued to stare in horror and disgust; you saw her mouth moving with hateful words, but you could no longer hear her voice. The torrential rain slowed around you, until it was barely a mist that settled across the landscape before you, and you felt the weight that had held you frozen in place slowly begin to lift. You stepped forward tentatively, your gaze moving past your still-screaming mother, to rest on the two that were now climbing down the last grey, rain-spattered dune.

You continued to step forward with rapidly growing confidence, until you were running at a breakneck pace, leaving your old cobblestone home behind — your heart was moving at lightspeed as you approached Din and Grogu, and as you came closer, you practically launched yourself into Din’s arms, colliding with the ice cold beskar with no regard for the bruises it would inadvertently press into your skin. As you wrapped your body around his, tears streaming down your face, the two of you somehow slipped — bodies tumbling, you landed on top of him in the sand, a laugh coming up from your chest to join the tears that had been brought to the surface.

You pressed your face into the cool beskar breastplate, your chest heaving with emotion; something was pressing into your arm, and you looked up to see that Grogu had climbed up onto the tangled pile of limbs, coming to rest between you, and he was making happy gurgling sounds that warmed your heart. This was your true family, these were the ones that you loved unconditionally, the ones that loved you back just the same.

The sound of the waves eventually disappeared, a silence settling around you; the winds slowly ceased to blow, and the sand that the three of you laid on disappeared beneath you, as the scene around you was wiped away and replaced with the scene of your true home — the Razor Crest.

***

You felt two strong and familiar hands on your shoulders, their grip insistent as they shook you from your sleep, as they shook off the dream that you had found yourself in just moments ago. Your eyes opened slowly, working to focus on the thin black visor that was in front of you — but something prevented you from focusing fully, and as you continued to blink you felt tears escaping from your eyes, rolling hotly down your cheeks. Your eyes flitted back and forth across the visor, as if you could see anything behind it, and you touched a shaking hand to your warm and swollen face that was covered with the dampness of tears. You must’ve been crying.

Din pulled you in close to him, sitting you up in the small bunk as your frame rested against his chest; he ran his hands through your hair, breathing deeply as he held onto you. “Are you alright? You were — you were crying, in your sleep. I couldn’t get you to wake up from it.” He sounded breathless, worried, nervous.

You nodded, your cheek brushing against the side of his freezing helmet as you worked to quiet the whimpering that was coming forth from you, and steady your shaking breaths. “It was just a dream,” you whispered, distantly recalling the storm that you had fought back against.

Din remained quiet as he continued to hold onto you; after all of the turmoil and upheaval of the past ... however many days, the two of you clung to each other even tighter, having experienced a taste of the devastation and terror that would accompany any separation.

Your breaths and heart rate slowed and became more steady; the ship was just as it had been before you and Din had fallen asleep against one another. You were safe, you were home. You pulled away from him slightly, wanting to reassure him that everything was alright. Your hand rose from your side to rest against the sharply angled beskar helmet. “I’m okay, Din, I promise. It was just a...”

Your voice faded off as you saw the utility jacket that dwarfed you. Your eyes widened in incredulity as you slowly extended your arms in front of you, seeing the sturdy weatherproof material move as your body moved within it.

“Just a dream,” you whispered, not wanting to scare Din, or have to try and explain something that you had no explanation for. You would address this new mystery at another time. You pushed this newfound mystery and worry to the side, focusing on the man in front of you who had remained by your side through all of the chaos.

Chaos, that could not remain unspoken. “Din,” you started, shifting to face him better. “I know what happened... with Bragant.”

His sigh crackled through the modulator as he moved to bring you back into his chest, but you resisted. The truth of this couldn’t be denied any longer, and you would have to confront this reality and assess how it would affect your future.

“Bragant was a bounty. He was a criminal. You won’t be in any... trouble, for what happened. Karga offered to... pay. If you want.”

You inhaled deeply, trying to wrap your mind around this information, trying to wrap your mind around everything that felt both insurmountable and invisible at the same time. “I hadn’t — hadn’t even thought about any legal consequences.”

“The Marshall assured me that you wouldn’t face any.”

You nodded, feeling grateful that this piece had been resolved before you even had time to worry about it. “It’s not only that, Din — when I was there, in that alley — he said things to me, awful things,” you paused, as you noticed your voice was shaking, and you fought back against the tears that rushed to your eyes and the heat that was rising in your throat. “When he said those things, I got... I got so angry. Angrier than I had ever been, angrier than I ever knew I could get. And I... I lost control.”

“You defended yourself against a violent criminal.” Din’s voice droned through the modulator. He was stating a fact, but this fact didn’t cover the whole truth of the matter. There was more to it than he wanted to acknowledge, but you had to.

“Din,” you spoke up, your voice holding an insistent edge that quieted the protests of the historically stubborn man. “Din, I killed someone. When I didn’t mean to. I lost control, back there, in that alley — I understand that killing may not seem significant to you, but it does to me, that was a lifethat I took —“

Din pulled away from you abruptly, a bit harshly. “You think that killing others doesn’t affect me? Is that what you really think of me?” His voice was louder than you had ever heard it before, and it cracked with strain and frustration; you could hear the hurt through the modulator. “Do you think that I enjoy it, like some sadistic bastard? Do you think that I don’t carry the weight of every single life I’ve ended?”

You cowed at his brazen display of pain and frustration, and an instinctual part of yourself pulled away from him, your legs and arms retracting inwards to protect yourself. You felt a hot wave of tears crashing into you, and you buried your head in the crook of your elbow, not wanting to upset him, not wanting to make this worse than it had to be.

“No, Din, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” You whispered, your voice breaking; you weren’t sure if he even heard you as your face was hidden from view, buried within your arms. You screwed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for whatever fury may follow.

It stayed silent for several moments, the tension and emotion rolling thickly off of the both of you; the air felt heavier, and each breath required more effort to draw the weighted air into your lungs. As you slowly came to the realization that nothing horrible was going to happen, came to the realization that Din was nothing like the ones who had come before, you lifted your head up from your arms to confront this emotional scene... but without violence. You had never experienced conflict without violence before; you didn’t know how to handle it, but you knew that you loved Din and trusted him.

He was now standing in the cabin rather than seated directly next to you; his body was facing yours, and yet his head was turned away. This was an intentional choice on his part; his body language spoke volumes, and he knew that every inch of positioning was intentional. And despite all of the beskar, despite all of the weapons, and despite all of the mental walls that he threw up against you — you could still feel how your careless words had cut him deeply. You had hurt Din, and you had to confront that. You had to acknowledge that, and work towards repairing this.

As you rested your head against the unyielding, cold steel of his breastplate, you pressed your hands even deeper into him, trying to convey all of your love and sorrow through touch alone; you hated that you hurt him, that you ever caused him a single moment of doubt. “Din, I’m so sorry,” you sighed. “I was — I wasn’t thinking, when I said what I said before. It was crass, and careless, and completely untrue. You’re a good man, Din Djarin. The best man I’ve ever known, and I’ve never even for a moment thought you were anything less than that.”

“Your measure for good men is concerning.”

You couldn’t tell through the warping of the modulator if he was being sarcastic, and making a joke; or if he was still smarting from your earlier words.

You pursed your lips, nodding against him. “You’re right. My gauge for a moral compass is a bit broken, a bit biased. But you have been the brightest spot in my life, the brightest star in my sky, and I want you to know that I think you are a better man than you give yourself credit for.”

You could sense a change in the beat of his heart, could hear it echoing against the beskar you were resting against. His posture shifted as his arms came to wrap themselves around you, drawing you into the familiar lines and curves of his body. You sighed in relief, melting into him, trusting that he had accepted your apology and forgiven you.

“I love you,” he whispered, so quietly that the modulator only barely altered the true sound of his voice. “I know that... what happened, was hard for you. You’re sweet, and kind, and that’s... one of the many things I love about you.” He was quiet for a moment as he pulled you in tighter, nearly lifting your now-freezing feet off of the ground. “I want to do whatever I can to help you.”

You nodded against him, a few tears escaping as you knew that you had his understanding and his support; and that was all you needed to trust that you would be able to navigate this uncharted territory together. You weren’t alone in this; you had Din and Grogu, and the three of you would find your way through this new challenge, as you had found your way through many before. You pulled away from his strong grasp, trying to gaze into the black and blank visor, needing at least some illusion of contact and connection. “I just... Din, I don’t know where to go from here. I’ve read books from at least 10 different planets, from 100 different cultures, and I haven’t got a single clue about how to manage this or what I can do to be better.”

Din stayed silent, as he often did, but you could feel the way that his fingers pressed more deeply into your body, imparting a sort of comfort that only he could give. You could feel his concentration as he contemplated what to say next; he had never been rash or rushed with his words, and it was one of the many things that you loved and appreciated about him.

“When I was traveling with Grogu, we crossed paths with a… Jedi. Ahsoka Tano.” Din paused, understanding the weight of the information that he was sharing with you. “She... said she couldn’t train Grogu, because he was too attached to me.”

Your lips quirked up in a smile, a small laugh coming from your chest. “She wouldn’t want anything to do with me, then.”

You heard Din chuckle quietly, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you as you knew he was not holding any grudges. “No, she wouldn’t train you either. But she told me that there is a planet, that has a... rock, that is important to the Force. Or to the Jedi. She said that by sitting on it, Grogu may be able to connect with other Jedi in the galaxy.”

An eyebrow raised up in suspicion at the story he shared. “Sitting on a rock will help us find another Jedi?”

Din shrugged, and you could imagine a clueless and befuddled look existed behind the beskar. “I don’t know. All of that magic — sorry, Force — stuff seems impossible to me. And yet I’ve seen it.” He gently tucked away the strands of hair that had fallen into your face, his hand coming to rest at your chin, lifting your gaze back to his anonymous one. “It seems too simple, just going to this rock — but it may be the best option we have.”

You nodded, resting your head in his large hand, enjoying the warmth of the contact. “I want to talk to Grogu first, though. I want to make sure this is something he wants too.”

Din nodded in understanding. “I’ll give you some space to clean up, and then we can meet Karga and the Marshall in town. They’ve been looking after the kid. We can talk about the bounty pay, and then set a course for Tython.”

You reached up to squeeze his gloved hand gently before turning to retreat to the fresher, to try and wash away some of the stress and the pain of the past several days. Your head felt as though it was swimming, or spinning, or both, with all of the upheaval that you had experienced; and as you shrugged yourself out of the weathered, industrial jacket that had somehow made its way onto your frame, you felt even more disoriented. You gripped the edge of the steel sink tightly, taking deep and slow breaths until you felt steady enough on your feet to turn on the water of the shower. You shrugged out of the rest of your clothes, your muscles still aching with exhaustion.

The blistering hot water rolled down your skin, and you worked to clear your mind and return to the meditative state that Ixxith had once taught you. Your body went through the motions of cleaning, your mind going peacefully blank and quiet. You couldn’t solve any of your problems or overcome the complexities while in the shower; so you saved that stress for another, more appropriate time.

When you had finally scrubbed away the last of the grit and grime that clung to you, feeling like a new and whole person, you dressed yourself and met Din outside of the ship that you had been encapsulated and recovering in for days. The sunlight felt harsh on your skin, but you welcomed the sensation that you had gone so long without. Stretching your limbs out into the open air, you smiled confidently over at Din, hoping that the confidence and bravado that you projected would eventually sink in and become more real.

He placed his gloved hand onto the small of your back, and you could feel the pads of his fingers pressing into the vertebrae of your spine, holding you up and encouraging you forward, just as he had so many times before. It was a quiet kind of support, but the weighted silence and intentional touches spoke more than any texts or volumes could, and his love and confidence made you stronger and more empowered than any Force training could.

Whatever happened next, on Nevarro, on Tython, on any other far-fetched planet in this galaxy, you knew without a doubt that you would face it together. You would face it with the kind of love that could only have grown in the quiet places of the ship, in the cold of hyperspace, between those who had been denied love and yet held an extraordinary capacity for it.

Taglist: @knivesareout @tanzthompson @stageleftlauren @greatcircle79 @bdavishiddlesbatch

#din djarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic

23 notes · View notes

a-dorin · 4 years

Text

waiting | the eleventh doctor

word count: 1,760

warnings: jealousy, a slight hint of angst, smut (some hella smut)

a/n: i know this something totally out of left field, but i also adoreeeeee doctor who! it’s been one of my favorite series for a veryyyy long time (since i was in sixth grade!) nonetheless, i hope you all enjoy!

summary: your love departs from the tardis for a couple hours, leaving you to wonder what shenanigans he gotten himself into. however, once you realize what he was up to, hurt rises within you.

you were wide awake in your shared bed, awaiting for the return of your boyfriend. he was out on an errand, one that he claimed would not take long. he had left around nine o'clock, and it was midnight. you sighed, realizing that although he was a time lord, he lost track of time quite easily. it was possible that he had recognized an old friend or someone from his past, so it was highly likely he was catching up.

however, a cold feeling began to creep over you, brushing your skin. although the tardis always treated you with care, there were times the heat could not keep up with the vast expanse of the ship. you missed the feeling of his warm body next to yours, holding you safely until you slept. you got out of the bed, wrapping a blanket around yourself. you decided you wanted to wait by the main console until he returned. maybe then you could confront him about tonight. after all, he promised you a cozy night within the tardis.

the tardis made a humming noise when you strolled out into the open. she knew that you were supposed to be asleep. it was well beyond the hours you were normally awake. gently, you brushed your fingertips along all of the bells and whistles of the console.

"when do you think he'll be back?" you meant to ask the question in your thoughts but the words came tumbling out of your mouth.

there was only a slight hum in response. you sucked in a breath, feeling extremely frustrated. who was taking up all of his attention? what was taking so long?

suddenly you heard voices outside of the doors, you perked up, hoping it would be your doctor. yet, the voices continued, and you felt the need to eavesdrop. silently, you made your way towards the door, realizing that it was in fact, your beloved, and a woman. you bit your lip, pressing an ear up against the door to listen.

"all right, river, it was nice catching up with you. i hope you have a good night and travel safe."

your heart dropped at the mention of her name. river was a previous lover of the doctor. they had been together a while, yet things did not work out in the end. immediately, tears formed in the corner of your eyes. how could he?

you heard him approaching the door, so you quickly ran back over to the console, propping yourself up against it. he opened the door, quietly shutting it behind him. he was almost silent, as he probably thought you were already asleep. your hid behind the console, watching as he made his way towards your shared room.

"what took you so long?" the question echoed through the room.

he turned, startled, "hey love, why are you still up?"

"why are you back so late?" your eyes narrowed, and your tone was sharp.

"i was just catching up with somebody," he came over towards you, "you know the drill. i always run into someone i know. it's hard when you know every creature in the entire universe."

"i didn't know river was a creature," your voice was low.

his eyes widened, "(y/n), you know it's nothing like that."

"then why did you talk with her for so long?" you felt tears forming again, threatening to spill over your rosy cheeks. god you were so frustrated. not only did he stay out too long, he also was catching up with a woman who you weren't a fan of.

river song was beautiful, with bouncy blonde curls, stunning green eyes, and an authoritative aura that made everyone in the room melt under her. you felt like nothing compared to her beauty, as well as her intelligence. the woman was so smart she was constantly locked up in prison. you were extremely insecure when it came to the slight mention of her name, as her and the doctor had a very eventful past.

"we were talking about you," he murmured, his hand cupping your cheek, "she has found somebody new, and so have i. we are friends, love. i wanted to tell her all about you."

"sure," you mumbled, your eyes averting his hazel gaze.

"baby," his voice was soft, and you felt yourself soften at the nickname, "you know i adore you. you're the most special girl in all of time and space. i want to show you off to the entire galaxy."

"i just wanted you home earlier," you muttered, feeling some of the hurt dissolve.

"i know," he sighed, pressing his lips against your forehead, "i am truly sorry i was out for that long. i didn't mean to be. i had gotten my screwdriver repaired but then i saw river. we chatted for a bit, and i am sorry i didn't come back any sooner. believe me, all i thought about was you."

"can we just go to bed?" you asked, feeling better. you figured most of the anger was due to exhaustion, and you wanted nothing more to just be in the arms of your love.

"of course," he took your hand, intertwining your fingers together, "how long have you been up?"

"a while," your voice was quiet.

"since i went out?" he raised a brow.

"yes," you nodded.

he sighed quietly, not saying anything till you both were back to the room. you sat on the bed, feeling exhaustion overwhelm me. he took the blanket off your shoulders, laying it on the bed.

"hey baby," he kissed your cheek chastely, "how about i make it up to you?"

"how?" you inquired, feeling a slight pout form on your lips. you still felt a little upset about the whole situation, and you weren't sure if all of the cuddles in the world would fix it.

he pressed his lips against yours, his tongue entering your mouth. his hands began to unbutton your shirt, which was his. as you kissed, he laid you down on the bed, still in control. his hands began to squeeze your breasts, his mouth moving towards your neck. your hands moved towards his belt, but he had you stop.

"just wait, love," his lips brushed against your skin, "let me be in control."

his mouth began to suck on your skin, earning a moan. his right hand slipped into your lace underwear, rubbing your clit. you suppressed another moan as he began to suck on your breasts. he placed wet kisses down your stomach, sucking on your skin so that there would be marks in the morning.

slowly, he slipped the underwear off of you, casting it to the floor. he kissed the insides of your thighs, driving you crazy. you wanted nothing more for his mouth to be between your luscious legs.

"you know what love?" his voice rang out in the quiet room.

your eyes met his, and he smirked, "you're so wet for me and i have barely touched you. it's making me go crazy for you. i thought i had some control tonight but i think it's gone."

"what do you mean?" you asked, your cheeks hot.

"it means i'm about to fuck the shit out of you," his voice was low, full of lust.

he unbuckled his belt, quickly getting out of his slacks and boxers. you handed him a condom from the nightstand, and he rolled it onto his cock, which was already hard from the sight of you wet.

without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach, bringing your hips up. his cock slammed into you, your moans of pleasure bouncing off of the walls. one hand gripped your hip to keep you steady, while the other cupped your ass while he fucked you.

you couldn't hold in your moans as his cock hit your g-spot, almost sending you over the edge. your hands were gripping the sheets, your thighs trembling as he pounded into you.

"oh love," he gripped your hair, pulling it, "i know you're so close, but hold it in. can you do that for me?"

you nodded, suppressing a moan. god, he was never like this with you. usually the sex was slow, full of passion and love. this was full of lust, as well as a little more aggressive than usual. you didn't mind, as the doctor was extremely hot when he took complete control of you. it made you submit every time.

the doctor pulled out, trading his cock for his mouth. you let out a loud groan as his tongue swirled on your clit, his hands gripping your ass. you tried to keep your composure, but once he slipped a finger into you, you came undone. pure ecstasy washed over you, stars flooding your eyes for a moment. the doctor didn't stop licking you until you had nothing left.

"baby," he murmured, "i need you so bad."

you turned, facing him. his cock, condom now off, was throbbing, and you knew he was aching for you. without any hesitation, you took all of him in your mouth, wrapping a hand at the base of his cock. as you sucked his cock, your hand pumped at the base, and you could tell he was enjoying every second of it. his fingers were laced in your hair, pulling it back as you took in all of his cock.

"i'm going to cum," he groaned, his hand pressing his head against his hips.

you felt him cum in your mouth, the liquid going down your throat. tears formed in the corner of your eyes from the action. his fingers released themselves from your hair, and he went to grab a warm towel.

gently, he cleaned you up, as well as himself. once he was done, he slid on a pair of boxers, allowing you to grab one of his sweaters. you curled up in his arms, grateful for the warmth, along with his gentleness.

"are you okay now love?" his voice was soft, and he placed a loving kiss on your temple.

you nodded, curling up against him, "i'm not mad anymore."

he smiled, "good. i love you so much, (y/n). don't you dare ever forget that."

"i love you too," you bared a sleepy grin.

as you dozed off, you were very grateful to have such an amazing man in your life. not only was he a good boyfriend, but he was also very good at pleasing you. maybe tomorrow you would see if he could make "anything else" up to you.

#doctor who x reader #the eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x reader #doctor who #doctor who smut #eleventh doctor smut #eleventh doctor fluff

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years

Text

Fix Me (doctor/soulmate AU) {1}

Summary: She never liked the concept of soulmates, hoping to escape the ‘curse’, but Ethan had spent all his life searching for her. Will he be the one to fix her and show her soulmates are a blessing?

Warnings: angst, fluff, smuttish, swearing, drinking, death

Word count: 10.4k

A/N - heavily inspired by Grey’s anatomy, my own experiences and thoughts, but also by songs: Birdy - Not about angels, Bear’s den - Fortress, Matthew and the atlas - Out of the darkness, Harry Styles - Falling, Kodaline - Wherever you are.

I really hope you guys like it! Feedback is always wanted and appreciated, no matter how small or big it is!

Fix Me (doctor/soulmate AU) series Masterlist

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Koi no yokan (Japanese, noun) – premonition of love, a sense you will meet your soulmate, that the first time you meet someone you will fall in love.

Ethan hadn’t always felt her, a void growing inside him instead of love he saw around. Sure, not everyone finds their soulmate, some don’t even want to…at least not right away, but Ethan wasn’t one of them. Ethan craved the kind of love he saw bloom between his parents – the all-consuming, deep, passionate, do-anything-for-you kind of love. But he was left feeling alone for nearly a hundred years of his existence, beginning to fear an anomaly had occurred and he just didn’t qualify for a soulmate. Seeing his brother is without a soulmate made it selfishly easier as Ethan feared nothing as much as he feared loneliness, but at the end of the day, Ethan and Grayson would both be happy for the other if they found the one. Grayson did feel his soulmate. Grayson knew his other half was out there, yet he didn’t search for her at all. He wanted more time, more youth and more adventure. He was what Ethan considered an abuser of the connection, but he never pushed his brother to change his ways.

It was hard to navigate the world, this life, alone, much harder when you’re looking for your soulmate. Not growing a day over twenty is helpful, allowing you time to search the whole world if necessary, but people are wicked, using everything, even love, to their selfish desires. Most people don’t want to find their soulmate until they’re tired of living. Following your instincts should lead you to your other half, but these people do the opposite to essentially live forever if they please. However, when they meet the one, they’ll know by a single lock of silver hair that appears instantly, making sure the pair knows they found each other, giving them the luxury of growing old together and having children since it’s impossible to conceive with someone else. But it’s more than that – it’s a longing, an indescribable need to be with them, to feel complete, utterly happy even when they drive you crazy.

Ethan felt his instincts calling for him to go out that particular night, dragging him over to a bar he despised, but he didn’t fight the feeling. Since he felt he wasn’t alone twenty-four years ago, Ethan had followed every instinct he had to find her, him, them? But this feeling? This was koi no yokan – a sense that he is meant to meet someone he would surely fall in love with.

‘This must be her’, he thought as he showered and made sure to apply his perfume and cologne generously. The thought of smelling bad in the moment when he meets his soulmate made him grimace. If there’s anything he appreciated, it’s people with good hygiene and he wondered if she was a slob or immaculate like he is. If she were a slob, he already foresaw all the arguments they would have over the years, but he’d learn to love her flaw, just as he will love her. Even if it was something he would struggle with, Ethan appreciated flaws – they made people interesting.

While he was already moving toward the bar, a certain someone had been sitting alone, her blood turning to alcohol as she tried to drown out the noise. She was meant to celebrate, to be over the moon over the joyous news she received, but she couldn’t. In the past twenty-four years of her life, Y/N had seen more misery and pain than most people who evaded death and lived for centuries by running from their soulmate. She had been burned by life, her heart stomped on and she wasn’t in a mood to celebrate – not when she had no one to share her news with – not when she was all alone.

Not only did she never care much about her possible soulmate, but she was quite certain he didn’t want to find her either. She had seen the bad sides of what a soulmate kind of love brings, the bad and the ugly, and ever since, Y/N had hoped to avoid meeting the one. Sometimes, a soulmate kind of love means misery, toxicity and that scares her to death.

So, despite the indescribable butterflies in her stomach, Y/N downed a shot before deciding to slow down – she had all night to get drunk off her ass and find a guy to take her virginity. Most people who wanted to find their soulmate would wait, seeing sex with someone else as a betrayal and while she felt guilty even thinking about it, Y/N wanted to make sure her soulmate would walk away from her even if she stumbled upon them. She promised herself to go through with it only if she truly connects with someone, preferably a guy, and only if he makes an impression.

Little did she know that the next time she ordered a drink, her soulmate would pick up the tab.

Philophobia (from Greek "φιλέω-φιλώ" (love) and "φοβία" (phobia)) – fear of falling in love or emotional attachment

When she woke with an undeniable urge to pee, Y/N was annoyed to say the least. She turned to her side to see the handsome stranger she went home with that night, the man she deemed worthy of her virginity and the beginning of her new and improved life.

Unlike the romance movies, they didn’t wake up tangled in each other with gentle sunlight giving off warmth, a certain kind of feeling most don’t get when they have a one night stand.

No, this was real.

Y/N had woken up with her back to his, faintly feeling it rise with every breath taken, drawn to him - only now stealing a sneak peek of his crown tattoo that settled between his shoulder blades. It looked glorious on him, a true king in their bed and she didn’t mind going down on her knees for him either. He certainly earned it. The angel numbers just above had sparked her interest too, but she wasn’t quite as keen on talking once the clothes started disappearing the night before and she certainly didn’t want to stick around and have a chat now when she too needed to disappear. He seemed like a nice man, someone she might actually like and strangely enough, she truly did want to stay and see his gaze upon her once more as he did the previous night – almost as if he were mapping out her entire body to serve his memory.

His lips moved softly against hers and she hummed, relaxing into him as their torsos pressed together, his hands tight on Y/N’s waist and her back pressed against the wall behind them, his soft pants filling her ears. She didn’t know one night stands are supposed to be this gentle, this warm and comforting. It’s as if he could sense the fear running through her veins at the thought of losing her virginity and the soulmate she never wanted to have. It’s as if Grant knew she needed to take it slow and that’s why he’s holding back, caressing her with every touch instead of roughly squeezing her.

“This good”, he managed to murmur against her lips, barely holding onto the last thread of sanity he has left ever since she slammed her lips against his in the bar. And while she tasted like tequila and cheap wine, he savored the feeling.

“Perfect.” With that, Ethan pushed her back against the wall further. His hands trailing down to squeeze her thighs, the small growls he made as he nipped at the skin of her collar bone almost like a predatory warning that she’ll be claimed as his, and she didn’t mind it one bit. Not when her heart was driving her insane with the longing to hold this man closer and her body only yearned to be one with him.

The wall was pulled away from her back swiftly, his hands placed for support as he rushed toward his bedroom and she couldn’t help a small squeal from escaping her as he stumbled straight onto the bed and she was sat across his lap, legs on either side of his, her body instinctively grinding down. A rewarding moan welcomed her for listening to her instincts, repeating the torturous move as his eyes rolled back in pleasure.

“Oh, God! How are you so good at teasing me?!” Ethan exclaimed, watching her through his eyelashes, his eyes hooded until he saw her hook her fingers under her shirt, pulling it off in a single move before she quickly covered him with her body.

“Why so surprised? Not quite up to the task? Are you Grant?” As her lips found his neck, Ethan didn’t really care much about anything, flipping them over with a chuckle. Looking at her pouty expression only set him alight, allowing him to truly indulge in his craving for her flesh.

“We’ll see about that when days later you still feel me inside you, on top of you, all around you.”

It was so easy to get lost in the memory only hours old, but Y/N’s beautiful moment was cut short as she truly saw the reason why she needed to disappear, because that’s when she saw it - a streak of silver hair at the back of his head, previously hidden but clearly visible now. She couldn’t help the eye-roll as she laid on her back and turned her head away from him.

‘He has a soulmate’, she thought. ‘He has or had someone he loves, the one no one would compare to.’

She felt like just a fun, but forgettable night for him and while it dented her pride and dimmed the light she felt him wake within, Y/N reminded herself he was supposed to be just a one night stand anyway. He was never supposed to be hers. And no matter how badly she wanted to regret the previous night, she simply didn’t have it in her – not when a single look in his eyes had made her see galaxies.

But he was dangerous for her heart and staying any longer would be a mistake.

She sat up, careful not to make too much noise as the bed creaked lightly under her shifting weight. He didn’t even stir, not even a little. She felt grateful he was the kind to sleep like the dead, especially because she needed to both pee and get the hell out before he wakes up. He’s far too charming and she feared she might fall under his spell once more which would lead to a repeat of last night. It’s not the sex itself she fears, in fact, she’d love a repeat of that, but with sex come feelings and with feelings comes pain and she decided she had enough of pain to last her a lifetime…and that life might be really fucking long for her to just turn a blind eye to a future regret. She had seen what soulmate connections do to people and she swore never to suffer from the condition, even if she was doomed to walk the earth for however long it takes for her illness to return and ravage her body… Even if he would be a good distraction from her darkness.

So, she stands up, so slowly, so carefully she nearly chuckled in disbelief at her own stealthy movements, especially when she’s far from graceful.

She located her dress quickly, her shoes by the door, but her bra and panties? Those seemed to have vanished. Vaguely remembering how he ripped her black, lacy panties with his teeth, Y/N smirked before shaking her head. He can keep a small token, a reminder of her and the night they spent together.

Deciding to leave it all behind, she snuck to the bathroom and contemplated what she’d do if he woke up and asked her to stay. Sitting on the toilet of a man she didn’t even know by his first name, only the middle one, Y/N knew she needed to let this one go. But even with the constant reminder of what she had to do, she couldn’t understand why every part of her wanted to stay so badly. Grant had lived a lifetime and he clearly found the one, but she wasn’t her and that was something she found both relieving and yet oddly saddening.

At least she could leave peacefully, knowing he isn’t her one. And while her palms turned wet just at the thought of staying for breakfast, her heart was ready to jump out of her rib cage. Fully determined and with an empty bladder, she decided Grant wasn’t worthy of an unnecessary panic attack.

Not even looking at her reflection, Y/N sighed deeply and left the bathroom, walking on her tiptoes until she found herself outside his door looking ahead at the quiet street bathing in the just rising sun. The breeze had made her shiver, but that’s not why she felt cold. If she was being completely honest, the cold started when she left Grant alone in the bed. The cold began when she walked away from him, yet she found herself walking faster and further away, whispering to herself:

“Soulmates are for fools, anyway.”

Athazagoraphobia (n.) – the fear of being forgotten, ignored, or replaced.

As the coldness of the bed licked at Ethan’s skin, he couldn’t help but crack an eye open to see where his soulmate has gone. She had made the night unforgettable, but he planned on making the morning much better. He wanted to make her breakfast, something simple yet meaningful for years to come. He wanted to kiss up and down her arm before tucking his head in the crook of her neck, losing himself in the high pitched squeal giggle she’d likely make once he blows a raspberry into her soft skin. He wanted it all, the giggles, the kind gestures, gentle kisses, romantic whispers, dirty looks, and naughty smirks, but also the arguments, silence treatments, the glares, the death stares, pouting, apologizing, rough make-up sex, her virtues, and flaws – all of it. He wanted to know about every scar, every imperfection, every detail she thought he ignored or simply failed to notice.

But she wasn’t there.

Eyes wide open at the realization, Ethan sat up quickly, his heart in his throat as he looked around wildly, finding no trace of her or her clothes. In frustration, Ethan ripped the duvet from his body, tossing it to the ground as he let out a scream that died down almost immediately.

Ethan wanted to scream, to cry, to break things. He wanted to let out the pressure building up inside his chest, yet somewhere deeper than the human flesh - the immense pain deep inside his soul that had left him damaged, shattered like a glass window in the wake of her abandonment. His soulmate was supposed to be beside him as he wakes up. He was supposed to wake up first and have a chance to study her, to fully see all the little marks life left on her skin, the beauty in all she is. He had waited for so long, been patient even when most would have lost it, but he knew she was worth the wait. And when he finally has her…had her, he lost her.

Ethan wondered if she even saw the silver streak in her hair or his, and if she did, did she deem him unworthy of a soulmate? Did she hate him that much that she couldn’t even stay and tell him she doesn’t want him herself? Why would she dispose of him like trash after the night they had? After he poured all his love in every single touch of his lips against her skin. How was he supposed to live knowing what she feels like when she’s coming undone under him? When he knows the tender look in her eyes after he had finished and collapsed on top of her? When he felt the longing brushes of her fingertips at the back of his neck just as strongly as he felt her pull him closer to her when he was inside her?

Falling to his knees, Ethan had let his eyes fall back onto the mattress, watching the emptiness that settled instead of her. But then he saw it. Scrambling to his feet, he pulled himself up to the bed, right in the middle where he saw the mark - dry blood; a blood stain - a stark contrast to his white sheets.

He closed his eyes, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he swallowed thickly, praying it isn’t what he thinks.

‘Was she a virgin?’

“Fuck”, Ethan cursed under his breath, realizing he stole her virginity and while he was gentle, savoring each and every moment, he didn’t realize it in the heat of the moment. The initial feelings of fear she exhibited made much more sense now. And yes, he was happy he got to take her virginity instead of some asshole who wouldn’t give a shit about how she feels. But what if she wanted an asshole instead of him?

‘Did I hurt her?’

‘Does she hate me?’

‘Have I pushed her away?’

But out of all of those agonizing thoughts mixing with the memories from last night, Ethan mostly wondered how he’d find her again.

He didn’t really know if she had chosen him because she knew they were soulmates or because she didn’t and she didn’t even consider waiting to save her virginity until she meets him. He didn’t know if she was always meant to leave, if she was looking for a stranger or him. One thing he did know and it’s that he fucked up by not telling her they were meant to be the moment he saw her hair turn silver before his eyes. Sliding back onto the ground, clutching the sheet, Ethan chuckled dryly as his eyes found the torn up lace of her black panties and her bra only a few inches away.

At least he had something left of her, not just the ghost of what he lost.

Ethan knew from the moment he entered the bar that she was the one by the way his heart flipped inside his chest by the mere look at her hunched figure from the back. It didn’t take long for him to turn into a shaky mess, taking out his phone to take a photo of his head from all possible angles before he finally found what he looked for. It was a silver lock, hidden at the back of his head and once he realized he was right, he all but ran toward her.

Reminding himself to reel it in, he cleared his throat and spoke up.

“I’ll pay for the lady’s drink.” She turned to look at him with caution, not even hiding her wandering gaze as she looked him up and down. Kinking an eyebrow, she smirked, seemingly satisfied before she nodded at him in gratitude.

While she was busy checking him out, Ethan admired the way a lock of her hair had changed silver before his eyes – not quite as hidden as his, standing out as it was right at the midline where she parts her hair. It was all the confirmation he needed, his lips twitching before spreading into a wide smile, deciding to ease her into the soulmate talk. She seemed like she needed a shoulder to lean on, someone to be there for her, and he would be the one. Once he found her in the right mood, he’d tell her the undeniable fact. He’d tell her he had been searching for her his whole life, a hundred and twenty-four years to be exact, that he is the happiest when she tilts her head up to look at him with the curious glint in her lovely eyes.

“So? What could have possibly put a frown on such a beautiful face?” Ethan leaned on the bar, hoping to catch her gaze whenever she turned her head away from him, bolder with his approach since she accepted his drink and all but undressed him with her eyes.

“No, no, no. We’re not doing that.” She set her drink back on the bar, turning to Ethan before leaning her elbow on the bar, allowing her body to turn toward the hunk instead of away from him. Crossing her legs, she let a light smile soften her face as her eyes got lost in the hazel swirls of the stranger before her.

‘He has the most intense eyes, the kind that captivate a person, like dark hooks for a soul.’

“Doing what? Getting to know each other? Sharing our stories?” Ethan chuckled at her, almost desperate for her soft smile to turn brighter and wider, to see she’s just as happy to have him near as he is to have her. Ethan felt like a giddy child, wanting her attention only for himself and every bit she gave only awakened a need for more, immensely more.

“Exactly! I’m just a girl, no story.” She took the drink in her hand, slowly bringing the brim to her red lips before taking a small sip, never once breaking eye contact – his eyes had served like magnets, drawing her to him, keeping her glued to the gentle, yet intimidating flare they held. She’d call it magic if she believed in such a thing, but she felt an undeniable attraction toward this mysterious man, much more than she ever felt for anyone.

“And I’m supposed to be just some guy without a story too? Because I’m not. My story brought me here, to this bar on this particular night and seated me right next to you.” Ethan leaned closer, not too much in fear of scaring her, but enough to get his point across. He wanted to know her and while he appreciated her being careful with strangers, he needed her to trust him.

“How about this? If you’re so keen on it, you can tell me your middle name and maybe age? I want to know if you’re old like a vampire.” Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him chuckle, a perfect melody even if he sounded like he choked on his saliva for a moment there. But then he raised his eyebrow and his lips curled into a smirk, one that sent chills down her spine and she couldn’t deny how effortlessly sexy he is. Truly sexy, from the expressions of his face to the way he dressed, from the way he runs his hand through his hair to the way he smells. He felt like a trap meant to lure her in and she didn’t want to fight it. She knew he’d be taking her home that night – she had made her choice.

“Oh, I’m not nearly as old as the vampires, but I do have more than a few decades behind me…And it’s Grant. My middle name is Grant.”

She never gave him her name, Ethan realized and it made the whole situation that much worse. How can one find a single person in the city populated with millions of people?

“I found you once and I will find you again. I have to.”

Cingulomania - a strong desire to hold a person in your arms

People say time moves quickly, passing us by as if we’re all running through life and the trees are a blur we no longer see. Time might move quickly for them, but Ethan found himself on the other side of time where each tick of the clock is achingly slow, dragging on for eternity in his lonesome days. Ever since she left, he has been drowning, unable to breathe properly. His breaths are shallow and fast, draining his strength, never full and never satisfying. It’s as if he’s alive but he’s not living.

Ethan tried to find her, using every method he could. Hell, he even sent a plea to the FBI to find footage of surrounding cameras of places he passed with her on the way home, hoping to scan her face and use their database. He never heard back from them, naturally. But Ethan is desperate, has been for a while and he had to try even when he knew he’d fail. So many people spend hundreds of years looking for the one and he found her in his first century, yet he lost her all the same. And now he didn’t have the luxury of time to spend another hundred years looking for her. Not if he didn’t plan on dying alone.

To have had your soulmate in your arms and to have lost them? There are no words, no possible way to describe what that does to your soul. Ethan lived with a constant need to hold her again, to feel her heart beating in the darkness of his room, to listen to her soft breathing as he laid beside her. That need, that desire was driving him insane, especially when he woke up on this day, a year after she’s been gone. It was cingulomania at its best.

He was barely human at this point, drinking in his free time to numb the pain the best way he could or overworking himself to the point of passing out. He needed to keep his mind either busy or blank and all with the goal of never once letting his thoughts turn to her because even one more moment of her face before his eyes would have driven him insane.

Little did he know his soulmate was having her own crisis in the time they spent apart, from the very moment she realized she had found a soulmate.

When she saw her reflection for the first time since that morning she had left Grant in bed, Y/N had felt herself break. That silver lock of hair on her head felt like ice in her heart, the revelation tearing into her as she crumbled, falling to the floor. Her eyes shifted to the side and became glazed with a glossy layer of tears. As she blinked, they dripped from her eyelids and slid down her cheeks. She bit her lip tightly in an attempt to hide any sound that wanted to escape from her mouth.

“Damn it!”

She didn’t know if it was the handsome Grant she spent the night with or possibly some stranger she passed on the street or the taxi driver, hell, it could be anyone on the airplane she found herself on. But she didn’t know who her soulmate was nor if she was truly angry about that fact. Meeting her soulmate and not knowing it’s them is just supporting her theory that soulmates are nothing special. And while she felt her hips ache with every step she took back to her seat, she chuckled dryly.

“It can’t be him.” She told herself, convincing herself that the man she can still feel on her skin, inside her, around her, is the same man who had turned a lock of her hair silver. It would be cruel, to both Grant and her. But she wouldn’t put it past destiny. Besides, wouldn’t he have told her if he saw it happen? But what if he wanted to wait until after they had sex? What if he didn’t want to scare her away?

Leaning back, she let out a heavy sigh. Opening her eyes, she stared blankly through the window, aware she already left New York and chances for her to find him again were slim anyway. She wasn’t familiar enough with the city to retrace her steps and she wasn’t planning on going back. Not unless they were truly meant to be. And the worst thing is, he kept his promise – the ghost of his touch still lingered all over her.

“We’ll make a deal, okay?” She whispered under her breath, hoping whatever force invented soulmates is listening. “If he’s the one, I won’t fight it. But I won’t search for him either. If we’re meant to be, create a different serendipity moment and I’ll trust you.”

But when she looked around, Grant wasn’t there. He wasn’t there and she really fucking thought he’d magically appear as the answer destiny would have loved to rub her face in. And she wouldn’t mind if he did. If he somehow knew her flight information and just happened to be the one who was meant to sit in the empty seat beside her.

But he wasn’t and she never felt more alone in her life and that’s saying a lot considering what a pity party her life had been up to last night. But she was meant to be a lone wolf, that much is clear to her. All alone. She was all alone with half of her soul.

Serendipity - the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

“What’s with the scowl?” Grayson deadpanned, flicking Ethan’s shoulder. He was getting quite annoyed with his brother and his need to sulk. It was a sunny day, the beginning of their intern season and Grayson expected to deliver five babies till the end of his shift and that always put a smile on his face. The immature part of Grayson wanted to be a gynecologist because he thought he’d get more action, but it changed when he learned about ethics, yet what really got to him is when he delivered his first baby. That’s when Grayson truly fell in love with his job.

“I hate this. The worst part about being a doctor is teaching idiot interns and making sure they don’t kill someone.” Ethan sighed, placing his stethoscope around his neck, tucking the drum in his pocket, right behind his pens and I.D. badge – Dr. Ethan Dolan.

“Yeah? I love it! I get more fangirls and fanboys willing to bring me coffee and pick up the dry cleaning!” His brother’s enthusiasm always made Ethan smile, unable to keep the scowl going. It’s not just he who is suffering, it’s Grayson too. Now that Ethan had found the one, despite remaining single, he had started to age. Almost a year had passed and Ethan was no longer twenty. He would grow old and die and Grayson is worried he won’t be able to find his soulmate in time to grow old with his brother, the person Grayson saw as his original soulmate. After all the time he spent avoiding it, he wanted to find his own soulmate and grow older too. Sure, he could die from a disease even before Ethan does of old age, but he much preferred his death to be from an abundance of love.

“I might take a page out of your book. Time to have some fun?” Ethan wondered out loud, feeling a wave of serenity wash over him. The last time he truly felt like everything will be alright was a year ago and he was in bed with the only woman who had managed to ruin him. Her beauty may be unpreceded, but he needed to move on, now or never.

With a tap on Grayson’s shoulder, Ethan left to meet his new interns. They always come with glossy eyes and slight panic behind the excitement they exhibit. While it was fun at first, Ethan quickly realized most interns don’t make it through the process – some switch specialties, others quit medicine completely and some are asked to leave because they aren’t as good as they hoped they’d be. It’s usually one or two that make it to the finish line and there are always bets going around the attendee lounge on who it will be. The most annoying part was the fact most of the interns were actually male as surgery is considered a boy’s club and very few women choose surgery as their specialty. He expected a bunch of spoiled, entitled rich kids with trust funds or at the very least a few of those who like collecting degrees in their stolen immortality.

Glancing at his watch, Ethan took longer steps once he realized he’s nearly late and the chief likely gave his speech on what surgical interns are expected to do without him. Ethan liked giving that speech, scaring the crap out of them so he could size them up properly. That’s how he’d tell who makes it in the end and Ethan had never been wrong so far. The good ones have a healthy dose of fear but they’re mostly unmovable forces of nature.

Hands in the pockets of his lab coat, Ethan had strolled into the operating room the chief liked to use as show and tell for the eager interns, instantly attracting looks from all present. While the chief simply nodded, Ethan stepped beside him with a bored look on his face, especially when he realized he’s right about male predominance. And while he would have rather went to bed before his next patient, Ethan felt the kind of energy he hadn’t felt in a while. Wanting to ride it out, he looked at his interns carefully, finding only four out of five are present.

“Why are there only four of you?” He spoke up, interrupting the chief rudely enough for the older man to look back at him with a glare but Ethan didn’t pay him any attention. After all, he will be chief in a year or two. He watched the man grow old before his eyes, considering him a good friend. The glare was really more of a show for the interns, to make it clear who runs the hospital.

“I asked a question. There’s one missing.” Ethan smacked his lips as the clueless interns looked at each other nervously, already hating the fifth intern for making them all look bad. What one of them does reflects on the entire group and while they’re competitive amongst themselves, they usually present a united front in front of their attendees.

And just as Ethan wanted to rain hellfire on the trembling four, the missing link all but fell through the door and his world stopped spinning. Her hair is longer, pulled up in a messy ponytail, her mascara slightly smudged and her lips void of the red color he kissed off them the last time they saw each other.

She hung her head low, knowing everyone is looking at her as she buttons up her lab coat. Brushing her palms together, she took in a few shuddered breaths, needing air after all the running she had done. It took her way too long to realize the amount of sleep she was getting is suspicious and she checked her clock with the sole purpose of making the weird gut feeling that made her sick go away.

However, as Y/N looked up, she plastered the slightest of smiles on her face, half shrugging at her fellow interns who wanted to gauge her eyes out. Even more so after they saw how causal she appears to be about running late.

“Well, now that you’re all here, I’m sure doctor Dolan can take over.” Chief excused himself and that’s the first time she looked at him – truly looked at the tall man who had an unreadable, cold expression on his face, but she surely couldn’t mistake him for anyone else but Grant. His eyes held her captive ever since she dared to make eye contact, but they didn’t seem like the gentle swirls of hazel she fell for that night – they held a hardness, an anger, a need to make her life a living hell. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from muttering under her breath.

“Oh, shit.”

Ethan swallowed thickly, unsure if he wanted to push her against the closest wall and kiss her or if he wanted to scream at her for being so soulless that night, leaving him all alone with nothing but torn up lace panties and a bra to remember her by. It was cruel and he wanted to believe she didn’t do it on purpose, but he didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Breaking eye contact, Ethan cleared his throat before turning to the entire group instead of just the girl that confused him to no end. Three male and two female interns – a cocky ass, entitled brat, diploma collector, daddy’s spoiled little girl, and his soulmate, the girl who was late.

“I don’t have the time or will to learn your names today and it will likely take a miracle for me to ever learn them. That’s why”, pointing at the first intern by the door who had a cocky look on his face, “you will be doing scut. Ask the nurses what they need you for.” Turning to the other three before the cocky ass had a chance to complain about basically being the nurses’ bitch, Ethan pointed at them as well. “You’re on neuro, you’re on general and the fancy Littmann girl is on ortho.”

While the four of them just stared at Ethan who had failed to give any assignments to the only one who was late, Ethan decided to give a few rules of his own.

“I only have a few rules here: respect the nurses, BE ON TIME, call me only if your patient is dying and the patient better be alive when I get there. It’s pretty simple to remember. Now go!” He clapped his hands, scaring the four but neither moved.

“Sir, excuse me, but what will she do?” The cocky intern asked, unaware he’s only raising Ethan’s blood pressure. He wondered what she’d do too, but he had a much better idea than any punishment she could ever have. Especially as the silver streak in her hair taunted him. She flaunts her soulmate mark as if it means nothing and he would make sure to know if that’s truly the case.

“Miss fashionably late is with me.” Ethan declared, stepping closer to Y/N as the rest left. He leaned in, his head cocked to the side as she felt his cologne fill her nostrils, only making her chest rise faster as her breaths quickened. “Hope you brushed up on cardiothoracic surgery because we have a long double shift to get through.” Winking, Ethan jerked his head in the direction of the door, moving through them just a moment later, leaving Y/N dazed until his voice woke her up again.

“MOVE ALONG SLOWPOKE!”

Shaking her head, Y/N started speeding down the hall, trying not to stare at the silver lock at the back of his head. It’s easier to ignore it than actually face the meaning behind that lock and the last time she saw it. She couldn’t forget how her fingers moved through the same hair, likely dancing along the soulmate mark that may or may not bind her to Grant for the rest of her unfortunately short life. Some would say just because it’s short it doesn’t mean it can’t still be meaningless, but it also meant that all her plans were now gone.

How can she be a surgeon and also travel the world? How can she do all the crazy things she mapped out for herself during the most painful times in her life when she’s facing death AGAIN, even if this one is due to natural causes. She’s had enough encounters with death to last her a forever, but it seems she’s never going to get far in her race for life.

“You could slow down a bit, ya know?” She groaned, feeling the lack of air hitting her as she lets her mouth run wild. Ethan turned on his heel, his glare still very much present yet an odd, mystic hint of a smirk appeared as well once he took her disheveled looks into account.

“Not my fault you can’t keep up. A word to the wise, you better learn how to because surgery is ruthless, fast-paced and rightfully so. I’m all for equality but surgery is overrun by men who will belittle you every chance they get, so don’t give them that chance. Be quick, be precise and for the love of God, be careful when you run your mouth. I’m your boss, act like it.” Ethan’s explanation had resonated with her, nearly knocking the last of what’s caught of her breath out just by the way he looked at her, let alone with the deep tone he choose or the words he crafted. And while she understood it, aware of all he has said is the ugly truth, she also didn’t appreciate him being so cold with her.

She expected him to use the time alone to talk to her about that night, about the moment he realized she left…about the silver streak in their hair. But a different fear settled in – ‘What if he doesn’t remember me? What if I was right and he had the streak long before I came along? If he’s not the one, who is? And why the fuck do I want it to be him so badly?’

Swallowing her pride, she hardened her gaze and pressed her lips together as her thoughts settled and she found the courage to speak. She’s always been fierce, a true advocate for herself and she wasn’t about to fall to her knees because a guy she lost her virginity to is suddenly her boss who doesn’t seem to remember her or even like her one bit. In fact, if she had to bet on it, he quite possibly hates her.

“I’m very well aware of that, sir. I, however, plan on making my mark here by my actions and those actions will not be defined by what everyone else wants me to be. I will not let anyone make me feel inferior because of my sex nor will it make me cower in fear. What I do expect is for my boss to teach me how to swim, not just throw me in the ocean and expect me to tackle every wave on my own, but to guide me so I can be a proper doctor, a confident surgeon and hopefully a remarkable individual by the end of this program.” She wasn’t afraid to square up to him, proud of herself for speaking up and fighting for her own future. She was willing to talk to him about their past involvement, to even accept him as a soulmate, but if he wanted to pretend nothing happened, she’ll indulge him. But she refuses to let him tear her to pieces due to whatever ego complex he has. Surgeons are known to be incredibly arrogant and she hated that trait.

“And you will be.” Turning away from her, Ethan continued on as she walked after him, just a step behind even if it did make her legs and lungs burn. All the gym avoidance really humbled her today. Entering a patient room, the air of arrogance around Grant had disappeared and she all but rubbed her eyes to make sure it’s the same man she had argued in the hall a minute ago.

“How are you doing today Steven?” Grant smiled lightly, patting the patient on his shoulder as the old man chuckled. “Doing fine, doc. When you fix my ticker, I’ll be even better. Sue can’t wait for that trip we talked about.”

Y/N cocked an eyebrow in confusion, turning to the patient with a soft smile she practiced in front of a mirror because she’s the type to have a resting bitch face and she wanted to seem approachable to her patients.

“Excuse me, but Sue?” She wanted in on the conversation, to build trust, to be part of the team and have all the information, no matter how small and insignificant they seem. Patients are far less likely to lie to their doctor or sue their doctor if the doctor is friendly. They also have better outcomes and she wanted a better outcome for those she treats.

“She’s my wife and soulmate. Met her right before I turned twenty.” Steven’s eyes light up naturally with the mention of his loved one, the way most would melt at but it only brought up questions for Y/N.

“Before twenty? You never thought it was a bit early?” Her voice may have seemed even, but her heart wasn’t calm and her entire being felt on edge as she felt Grant’s eyes on her. She didn’t have to look at him to know, there was something about his gaze that both warmed her and scared her to no end. There was a fire of sorts burning in those devilish orbs and the intensity could drive anyone insane. She knew she’d never find it in other men, even if he wasn’t her soulmate.

“Early? Never! I was never much for those who abuse the connection and wander the earth like renegades. Their soulmate may die a thousand deaths by the time they decide to settle down and what does it all amount to? Growing old alone is a terrible fate, child. It’s never too early to find the other part of your soul. Until you do, you’ll never know what you’re missing and I think you know that too. I see the silver lock, you know? I’m not that old yet.” Pursing her lips, she stopped herself from saying something she might regret. The old man might be right, but she was far from ready to admit it to herself – that she would grow old alone and that as much as she feared being loved, she feared being unloved much more.

“It’s not real. Just a fashionable trend.” Y/N lied, pushing the streak behind her ear as she plastered a fake smile on her face to ease the patient who didn’t seem to believe her at all, but he wouldn’t push her.

“Give Steven a listen here and tell me what you hear.” Grant instructed her and she quickly pulled her stethoscope out of her pocket. It wasn’t a fancy Littmann stethoscope or a Spirit one most interns have, but a start-up stethoscope he had before he could make any money. It was likely a sign she comes from a poor family, if she had any family at all.

As she asked the man to take deep breaths, Ethan examined the way that silver lock had fallen back on her face. Her eyebrows knit together in focus, her teeth sinking in the bottom lip as she tries to hear every change. Then she moves from the lungs to the heart, asking Steven to hold his breath briefly, enough to hear the way his heart beats without the background breathing sounds that can interfere. But as she listens to his heart, she also listens to the carotid arteries on Steven’s neck and Ethan all but clapped in excitement because she clearly heard what he needed her to and is simply getting a confirmation before speaking.

“I hear a harsh crescendo-decrescendo systolic murmur at the right upper sternal border and it radiates to the carotid arteries, but also crackles in the lungs. It indicates an aortic stenosis with pulmonary congestion.” Y/N put her hands behind her back as she waited for Grant to speak, only to narrow her eyes at him when he does.

“Are you sure? Because I disagree.” Ethan barely contained a laugh as he watched her face turn bright red, hoping she doesn’t crack like many do when their attendees challenges them. It’s not something they do to embarrass their interns, but to teach them to trust themselves, building their confidence or tearing it down if they decide to back down.

“In that case you are in the wrong. I stand behind my examination.” Y/N lifted her chin proudly, defiantly. Such a small gesture, but enough for Ethan to want to place her chin between his thumb and index finger before he tilts her head upwards to meet his hungry lips.

“That’s impossible. Doctor Ethan is the best one in this clinic.” Steven defended, taking the exchange seriously, as if he forgot his diagnosis too.

‘Ethan? That’s his name?’ She wondered, blinking fast thus ending their staring contest inadvertedly.

“I was just testing my intern, Steve. No need to defend me, although I agree with you. I am the best!” Ethan chuckled, walking over to Y/N as if being in the same room with him wasn’t already driving her insane, as if his very existence wasn’t sucking all the air out of her lungs. Just a simple brush of his arm against her shoulder sparked electricity and she wanted nothing more than for him to either close the distance or to leave the room so she could fucking breathe.

“We’re doing a valve replacement in a few hours, so prep the patient and we’ll see how deep that confidence truly goes,” Ethan smirked, winking at her so casually as if it wasn’t effectively stopping her heart from beating normally, as if her face didn’t burn like he set a fire in her being.

With a curt nod, Ethan left her alone with Steven who couldn’t help but tease her.

“You sure he isn’t your soulmate?”

Scoffing, she glanced over her shoulder at the man in question, still visible through the glass window as he got himself a cup of coffee from the vending machine. He looked graceful doing that as well. It made her want to punch him in his handsome face.

“Not a chance.” She pressed her lips together, reluctantly taking her eyes off Grant…Ethan, and focusing her attention on the patient.

It didn’t take her long to prepare the patient with the help of a nurse and an anesthesiologist, making their way to the operating theatre where Grant was meant to be waiting for her…them.

“Why aren’t you scrubbing?” Ethan questioned, giving her a quick glance as she stared at the patient through the glass. He could tell she has something else on her mind, a worry of sorts he didn’t pick up on earlier but he did now and he wanted to know what it is that weighs on her soul.

“I didn’t meet Sue.” Y/N murmured, a frown etching itself on her face as a crease appeared between her eyebrows and her nose scrunched up ever so slightly with the gesture.

“They agreed she would say goodbye in the morning, but would come back once he’s in surgery. He didn’t want her to worry.” Ethan explained, continuing to scrub his forearms next. “Now, why aren’t you scrubbing? Not many interns get to come into the OR on their first day. Take the win and come see what you’ve signed up for.” Ethan finished, leaving Y/N to ponder.

The man she now knows only about twenty-four hours in total, including the night they spent together, has both made her angry and yet grateful, cheerful even as she realized she truly will have an experience the other interns would kill for. And while she can’t help but wonder if he’s doing it because he wants to reward her for getting the diagnosis right earlier or because he DOES remember her, she couldn’t let this chance pass her by.

And while the surgery was pretty routine and there were no hiccups, Ethan didn’t say much, only asked her a few things here and there to make sure she understands what is what and how to perform a valve replacement surgery. She didn’t do much, holding the retractor most of the time, but she smiled nonetheless because she got to HOLD THE RETRACTOR and the surgery was a success.

“Go and tell Sue everything went fine while I finish here and meet me in the ICU after. Your job for the rest of this shift will be to make sure he’s recovering well.” Ethan instructed and she nodded, taking off to the waiting room where only one older woman sat, the rest being far too young to be involved with Steven.

“Hello, mam’. I’m doctor Y/L/N and I was assigned to your husband’s case. I wanted to let you know the surgery went without any complications and they are moving him to the ICU as we speak. Once he’s able to take visitors, someone will come and get you.” Y/N barely finished before the woman threw herself at her, hugging her way too tightly for a frail old woman she seemed to be. And while Y/N stiffened at the contact, she kept a smile going even after Sue let her go, the woman not hiding her happy tears over the good news.

“Thank you so much. Steve always did say doctor Dolan is the best!”

Once she turned around, with a deep breath, Y/N wiped the smile off her face and headed back to the ICU. Sure, she got lost once on the way and a nurse was nice enough not to laugh at her for it, helping her find a way back, but once she came back, Y/N found Steven alone.

“Did doctor Dolan leave already?” Y/N questioned the nurse, her eyebrows furrowing. He did ask her to meet him, but why is he not there?

“He was paged to the ER.” The nurse shrugged, leaving Y/N alone with the patient who continued to sleep for the next eight hours. Sue was allowed to see him for a few minutes, but Y/N couldn’t risk anyone else finding out because the ICU is usually off-limits for visitations. Y/N made a conscious decision, even if it gets her in trouble. She wanted to give Sue a moment with her soulmate, even if Grant made her do scut for the remainder of her internship.

And as the day went by and night settled in, Y/N had no idea just how badly the situation would change. Within a few seconds all the monitors started beeping and the one that mattered, the line that signified a beating heart, it flattened.

Eyes wide, Y/N jumped from her seat and called the nurses for a crash cart to be delivered and for the attendee to be paged.

“Charge the paddles!” Y/N raised her voice, unaware how her calm exterior means nothing when her voice shows just how panicked she is.

“But the patient is in asystole.” One of the nurses spoke up, but Y/N didn’t want to give up.

“And we already pushed the adrenaline, now charge the damn paddles!” Y/N shouted and the nurses obeyed, aware the intern wouldn’t learn how futile her attempts are until she tries. They would let her try, at least. The paddles wouldn’t work on a patient flatlining, they all knew it.

But Y/N kept trying, for ten minutes straight, performing CPR once the nurses stopped helping. The feeling of guilt, of helplessness wouldn’t let her stop as sweat dripped from her. Hell, she was swimming in sweat. Her own breathing labored, her heart aching as she sang ‘Stayin alive’ in her head over and over to keep the rhythm of the chest compressions. She tried so hard, but the patient was gone. Everyone knew it, but no one did a damn thing to stop her. No one but Ethan.

“Hey, hey.” He whispered in her ear as his arms folded around her and pulled her into him, taking her off Steven.

“Time of death 1 am.” And as he called the time of death, he felt a strong push against his chest and Y/N stormed out, leaving him with a heavy heart. He had to go after her, to make sure she’s alright. So he did. Ethan ran after her, straight into the on-call room she rushed into, nearly slamming the door in his face.

Managing to get a foot in, Ethan walked in and locked the door behind him. He watched her back as it rose quickly and erratically, wanting nothing more but to hold her close and tell her it’s alright but his words are futile. She doesn’t even seem to like him, much less care about what he has to say. She doesn’t want his comfort and she doesn’t want him, or so he thought.

“You know there was nothing to do for Steven, right? He was in asystole from the start. It wasn’t your fault. He likely threw a clot.” Ethan tried anyway, for his own peace of mind. He had to try and comfort her, lessen the burden that comes with losing your first patient and especially on her first day.

But Y/N was upset, her entire body shaking even as she turned to face him with a wild look in her eyes that held pain, but no tears. She never did seem like a person that spends her tears easily.

“This is scary, okay? I’m no longer a student who gets to party and zone out whenever I want! This is real! I’m alone with a patient and I’m either the shield or the door to death and a simple mishap is the difference between the two. I feel like I fucked up.” She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, ruffling it into a sexy disaster Ethan wanted to commit to memory. But he had to reassure her.

“You’re not alone. Not when I’m here.” Stepping closer to her, Ethan swallowed thickly as she scoffed and he knew she had something more to say, to defy him in any way possible because she’s incredibly stubborn, looking for trouble everywhere.

“You weren’t there! I was alone!” She poked his chest with the tip of her index finger repeatedly, searching for someone to blame, anyone but herself.

“HE WAS FINE! He and Sue were supposed to go on a trip!” She shouted only to stop herself with a new realization. “Oh, God! Sue!” That’s when Ethan saw her eyes fill with tears. None of them had fallen, but her vision blurred as she thought about the poor woman who felt the moment her soulmate left this world. She felt deeply for her as she knew how painful that is, just how it affects people and the outcomes of that hurt. She saw it firsthand with her parents.

“Just breathe.” Ethan placed his hands on her face, cupping her cheeks as he leaned down to be at eye level with her. She was spiraling too quickly and he had to calm her down. They teach the students about everything life related – how it starts, how it runs its course and how it can be complicated by disease. Not many teach what happens when the patient dies.

“Breathe with me, okay?” He kept his voice steady, feeling her hands on his chest as she nodded, taking each breath in perfect synchronization with Grant, her heart slowing down.

Leading her to the bed, Ethan laid on his back, allowing her the freedom to choose if she wanted to keep sitting or lay down beside him. It took her a minute before she decided to tuck herself closer to him, her head resting on his chest as she stared blankly.

“This was the first death you had to deal with, but it won’t be the last if you choose to keep practicing medicine.” Ethan’s voice rumbled through his chest as he spoke, the vibrations soothing her mind more than she thought was possible.

“This wasn’t my first death. It’s more than that. It’s not even about the patients we lose. I mean, sure, that gets you because you were supposed to save them, but it’s not them. Once you’re gone, you’re gone, but what really gets me is the reaction of their loved ones. They’re the ones you failed the most. How am I supposed to tell Sue? After seeing how happy she was when I told her everything went fine?” Y/N’s voice cracked, startling Ethan who had only seen her strong in this day and this moment of weakness she decided to share with him meant more to him than anything in this world.

Placing an open hand on her back, he rubbed it gently in circles, needing the touch as much as she does. Although she’d never admit it.

“It’s always hard, but you learn to turn it off after a while. Some patients and their stories hit harder than others, but the key to getting over it is getting back up and healing someone to restore the balance.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, he whispered softly. “Sleep. I’ll be here.”

But her words truly made his heart ache. “I’m scared”, she whispered back, her fingers playing with the fabric of his scrubs, tugging at it.

“Of me?” The hand on her back stopped moving, his body turning rigid under her. She didn’t mean that, because for the first time in forever it felt quite the opposite.

“No, not you. It’s just… When you fall asleep, do you see the faces of all the people you didn’t save?” Her question carried significant weight and while he could have lied to her just to make her feel better, Ethan didn’t want them to start off on the wrong foot. It was time to build trust.

“Sometimes. But I swear I’ll be here with you. I won’t leave and if you need me, just nudge me, okay?” Ethan looked down at her, hoping she’d look up and meet his gaze because even if he did love the back of her head, those eyes of hers were much dearer to his heart. But she didn’t turn around, closing her eyes instead.

“Thank you, Grant.”

And while she fell asleep, for the next few hours all Ethan could do is smile as he stared at her lovingly. She did remember after all and he had every intention of proving their soulmate bond is real, even if it takes him the rest of his life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tags: @beinscorpio @peacedolantwins @heyits-claire @dolandolll @godlydolans @dolanstwintuesday @ethanhes @iwastornsincethestart @graydolan12

A/N - if anyone wants to be tagged, just reply to the fic :)

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan soulmate au #ethan dolan angst #ethan dolan fluff #ethan dolan smut #ethan dolan series #ethan dolan au #ethan dolan doctor au #grayson dolan #dolan twins

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orionsangel86 · 5 years

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15x04 Episode Review - What a Meta Rollercoaster THAT was!

Jensen Ackles directed this. Let that sink in before you read on. Because this means EVERYTHING.

Davy Perez said on Twitter that he had a lot of help with this episode from Bobo, Dabb, Meredith, Even from Jensen and Rob. Which seems pretty clear from me as I was blown away by what I consider a meta masterpiece.

There is a lot to unpack here so let me just jump straight in with my favourite part:

THE REDEEMED FANGIRL AND THE BRONLY GOD

In an episode directed by Jensen Ackles it both astonishes me and pleases me immensely that the strongest and most interesting plot didn’t involve the brothers. Every single scene with Becky and Chuck was a galaxy brain of meta and my head is still buzzing about it.

**Meta Essay under the cut**

Becky has changed. She has grown up, has gone to therapy, has channelled previously unhealthy behaviour into a stable and successful Etsy business. She is the model fangirl. No longer the source of this shows mockery. Becky shuddered when remembering what she did to Sam. Showing her regret and guilt over her former actions leading the way for this fanbase to forgive and redeem her. Formerly Becky was portrayed as a mockery of those in the fandom who irritated Kripke, now she has grown beyond that dark and hateful corner, has welcomed Castiel into her home as the character whose form appears most often on her shelves. Clearly Becky is a Cas stan now. I bet she ships Destiel in those domestic AU’s she writes on AO3. Only Cas stans and Destiel shippers proclaim “not enough Cas” when referring to the source material after all.

However even though the positive message of the reformed fangirl from obsessive incest fetishist into healthy Cas fan filled me with joy, it wasn’t my top take away moment from these scenes. The entire message of Chuck and Becky’s conversation makes me want to cry tears of joy. After all, it isn’t often your favourite show includes an avatar of yourself arguing with an avatar for the writers - or at least, the villainous arrogant writer who refuses to acknowledge you.

Becky likes the character drama. Chuck likes the monsters. Becky doesn’t care for the monsters. Chuck brings up the Leviathan (because of course Chuck would enjoy the season that first tried to “go back to the shows roots” and reduce the format back to just “Sam and Dean alone on the road”). Chuck tells her that fanfiction doesn’t count, but our strong willed fangirl avatar tells him “writings writing!” and damn right you are Becky. It counts.

Then Becky goes and blows my mind by speaking aloud in my favourite show the kind of things that I think and talk about every time this show brings out another generic MOTW episode:

“If I had to give one note, the jeopardy Chuck, its feeling a little thin. No stakes. It’s fun to hear the boys voices but a story is only as good as its villain and these villains are just not feeling very dangerous. Not to mention there’s no classic rock, no one even mentions Cas, the climax is a little stale. The boys tied up again while we get the villains monologue which frankly isn’t one of your best. A hint of originality wouldn’t… hurt.”

(x)

At this point I might as well be on the floor because holy shit Becky is me. When did the writers become so very aware of their fanbase? It’s taken them 15 years, but they are finally here. Chuck is fuming of course. How dare a fangirl criticise his work, so instead of taking her advice on board, he plays up. He gets mean.

Chuck’s perfect SPN ending is tragic and in some weird insanely meta way this feels like a message from the writers telling us that they hear us because Becky once again says what we have ALL been screaming on Twitter about a tragic ending:

“It’s awful. Horrible! It’s hopeless! You can’t do this to the fans! What you did to Dean? What you did to Sam?”

I keep thinking that the SPN writers have made Chuck into a parody of the GoT writers. Chuck is arrogant, egotistical, and completely incapable of taking criticism. He went to Becky hoping she would fluff up his ego, but she shot him down and unfortunately, he destroyed her for it.

The message here though is one of hope. Everything about Chuck is framed as negative, as villainous - this includes the tragic ending. Therefore if there is one thing I am practically certain of after this episode it’s that the actual finale will subvert Chuck’s vision. We will not be getting a tragic death ending to the show.

The other thing I can’t quite believe that the writers have done here, in an episode directed by Jensen is the shaaaade. I’m honestly feeling a little sorry for the bibro’s right now. Because the writers have been shading them HARD this season. Chuck has proven himself to be one of them. Imagine having the writers see you and the things you like about the show, and make you into the actual villain? I mean... ouch.

Reasons Chuck is a Bibro

He has tunnel vision on Sam and Dean (ignores Castiel completely)

He is all about the MOTW episodes. Doesn’t pay attention to depth of character

He clearly enjoyed season 7 MOTW brother only season

He believes a tragic brother only ending would be loved by the fans

He wants a dark tragic ending

When Becky recommends he write something else, he moans that he only likes Sam and Dean and only wants to write about them.

He is arrogant, egotistical and doesn’t listen to criticism.

(this is technically a crack intermission to an otherwise serious meta post but ADMIT IT there is truth to this crack!)

SAM AND DEAN - CHUCKS PUPPETS?

Whilst Becky faces Chuck and makes all our meta writer hearts pound with excitement, the other main story was a rather generic MOTW episode. But wasn’t that the whole point? What a genius twist on a MOTW this episode was. We all know the formula, so overdone now in the show that it has grown tiresome. Yet to have that tiresome format called out in the very episode that... includes... that...format... well, that’s gotta be one of the most meta things this show has ever done. I’m in awe.

Sam and Dean investigate the mysterious death of a cheerleader at Beaverdale high school (and even though I don’t watch Riverdale even I can see how this school is a blatant nod to that terrible show #sorrynotsorry). It starts off pretty boring and normal. Sam and Dean do their thing, they wear the suits and pretend to be feds. They suspect Veronica (again Riverdale fans are probably enjoying this) but realise that she can’t be their vamp. The boys seem quite lost as to who is responsible... until Chuck starts writing that is. Then suddenly a random car driving past the crime scene on CCTV is enough for them to enter someones house with a machete. It’s a sloppy MOTW storyline, but this seems intentional IMO. From the moment Sam and Dean are back in their lumberjack chic and storming the family home to accuse the father of being the vamp, something feels off - or it did to me anyway.

In fact, as this was all playing out right at the moment that Becky critiqued Chuck’s writing, it felt as if she was critiquing the very MOTW hunt that we were watching, at least from that point onwards.

Suddenly we are back in Chuck’s world and he’s made it dark and tragic.

The son in this nuclear family is Jack. unwillingly monstrous, innocent and guilty at the same time. The father, so desperate and self sacrificial for his child - heartbreakingly Castiel:

“You don’t have children do you, because if you did you would know that to see your child in pain, rips your heart out, and you’d know that you’d do anything. You’d die for them.”

The mother, wide eyed, armed and dangerous - Clearly Dean:

“Or kill for them.”

The son plays his part perfectly. Chuck be proud:

“I killed someone that I loved”

“I’m a monster”

Compare this to Jack in 14x20 saying to Dean as he stares down the barrel of the gun “You were right. I am the monster.”

But we as the audience know that this situation is wrong. There is no real monster here other than Chuck. The boy is a victim just as Jack was. The parents forced into desperate circumstances out of love. They may be the stereotypical white middle class American family made of privilege and self obsession, but what they do is still purely out of love. It is a situation they are forced into by Chuck, just as he forced the TFW family into the same situation at the end of last season, and we are made to look on in horror as what happened in the season 14 finale happens again, and yet Sam and Dean barely blink or question their actions. This is the strangest part of all.

Sam’s reaction is interesting, because he knows this is wrong. He knows they shouldn’t be killing this kid. He can see the mirror, the repeated story here. He can TELL that something isn’t right... but he doesn’t speak up, doesn’t protest, doesn’t stop it.

Dean doesn’t question a damn thing. He plays his part perfectly. It’s haunting. Chuck almost had his clutches in Dean before, but this time his hold is tight.

Look at how this was framed and tell me this whole thing isn’t Chuck’s doing?

In both scenes Sam looks on in horror knowing that it isn’t right. But this time no one protests, and Chuck get’s his horrific ending.

Chuck banishes Becky and her family, and arrogantly proclaims that he “can do anything, I’m a writer” and the next scene cuts to Sam and Dean in the car ready for the classic Bro Melodrama moment as to be expected of all standard MOTW, but this time, it feels like they are reading from a script - at least at first:

Dean: “Well that was an interesting one.”

Sam: “Yeah. What Henry did. We’d have done the same thing. For Jack, if we’d had the chance.”

Dean: “Yeah. Yeah we would. Look man I get it. I get it we have lost way way too much. And its hard enough to feel like just cashing up. I felt like that. After Chuck back at the crypt. But you know what brought me back, you did. You saying that what we do still matters.

That’s why I wanted to drag us out here, to work the case, to save lives. Ya know. Because it is, it’s a crap job. We do the ugly thing so people can live happy.”

Sam: “Lucky them.”

Dean: “Yeah lucky them.”

Sam: “But it doesn’t change a thing. Ya know you still do the job. We don’t do it for us. We do it for Jack, for mom, for Rowena. We owe it to everyone whose ever given a damn about us to keep putting one foot in front of the other. No matter what.

Hey man like you said, now that Chucks gone. We’re finally on our own. We are finally free to… move on. Ya know.”

Sam: “Yeah I dunno I dunno if I can move on. I can’t forget any of them. I still think about Jessica. I can’t just let that go.”

Dean: “No man that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Sam: “I know I know I’m sorry I know. What I’m saying is that I don’t feel free. What we’ve done, what we’ve lost, right now that is what I’m feeling and sometimes its, its like I can’t even breath. Maybe tomorrow, maybe ill feel better in the morning.”

Dean: “And what if you don’t?”

Sam: “I dunno.”

First of all, would they REALLY have done the same thing for Jack? Kidnapped and bled an innocent girl to feed him? Because I don’t think they would have. Then Dean goes into a monologue that we have heard over and over again and it feels like he is reading from a script. It’s like going through the motions. We are back in Chuck’s worlds. There is no freedom here. Even the lack of Cas mention which we can argue is because Dean is burying those feelings and in denial, even so it feels jarring in the episode where the lack of Cas mention was already called out directly by Becky, so it only further adds to how disjointed this whole scene is. Like this scene is pure wank fodder for Bibro Chuck. Quite frankly, it is. But this time it feels like the writers are aware of this and are doing it purposely to MAKE it feel off.

The one time the script seems to trip is when Dean mentions moving on - triggering Cas’s words from last week, which he struggles with, and then Sam protests and actually opens up to how he is really feeling. The brother’s are back in Chuck’s maze, and this time it seems like he has made it impossible to deviate from the path - but I do wonder if Sam is going to be harder to control because of the connection...

The final shot of the episode only seems to further confirm that the Winchesters are once again being manipulated by Chuck. They are his puppets again, and this time it may even be worse:

There is a huge sense of foreboding with this final shot. The shaking funko pops seemingly in fear of what Chuck plans to do. The two feathers behind them indicating their missing guardian angel (as Chuck continues to neglect Cas’s role in classic Bronly form) the tree indicating a garden? Heaven? and the grey paper with the Winchester tattoo potentially the gravestone that Chuck visualised?

Whatever Chuck has planned, it appears to have played out in some form in this episode. Whilst I don’t think that the boys have been completely robbed of their free will, it is safe to say that they are back to playing by Chuck’s script, but this time with the confidence of men who think they are free.

CASTIEL AS THE CATALYST FOR FREE WILL

For years now, I have been one of those annoying people irritating Cas fans by being irrationally happy when Cas isn’t in key episodes because I can see him so clearly in the negative space that his absence basically forms its own overshadowing presence instead.

When I have rambled on about negative space in the past, it is almost always connected to MOTW episodes following some big DeanCas drama, and on the surface level, people have moaned about how the Cas mention wasn’t enough, or Dean hasn’t acknowledged him or something like that.

Well, this episode is no exception. But this episode IS different in that this episode textually calls out the lack of Cas blatantly within it’s script. Which is just some next level self awareness from this show that I am amazed by.

The entire first three episodes of this season spiralled around this DeanCas tension and drama which us Destiel shipping meta writers could barely believe we were watching since it is practically unheard of for this show to set its emotional A plot around Dean and Cas rather than Sam and Dean. But that is what Dabb has done. When that tension came to its climax in 15x03′s final scene, it was well speculated that 15x04 would understate the DeanCas break up due to the episodes being filmed out of order and therefore Jensen not knowing exactly the impact of the break up when he filmed his scenes for this episode.

Well, we were certainly right that it was understated, with Dean basically burying his feelings in denial and work and food and drink. Until Chuck started writing and therefore took control back of the script, Dean was eating or drinking in practically every single scene. As he is well known for using food and alcohol has coping mechanisms when spiralling into a dark mindset. Other than these key clues, Dean doesn’t mention Cas once. So we can speculate that he hasn’t told Sam what happened, and probably made up some excuse about Cas leaving so that Sam wasn’t concerned. Though no doubt we will find out the extent of what Sam knows fairly soon.

On a surface level, DeanCas shippers and Cas fans have a right to be somewhat upset by this lack of acknowledgement of Cas, even though it is perfectly in character for Dean to bury his feelings in denial and distractions. But beneath the surface this meta masterpiece of an episode was so full to bursting with Cas it left me very happy. Lets go through the key Cas positive areas:

1. The AU world vision of Sam’s that opens the episode is dark and depressing and indicates a world in which Sam's demon blood obsession got the better of him, which was a season 4 story arc (which we all remember as Cas’s introductory season), and yet Benny appears as Dean’s right hand man, a season 8 story arc founded in Purgatory (which we all relate heavily to Cas). Castiel is mysteriously absent from this vision though, even though the two key story lines here in the OG world heavily revolved around Cas. The question has to be asked, in fact the entire vision demands we ask it, just as Becky points out later: Where is Cas? This AU world is sure to appear later in the show, and I have a feeling Castiel’s absence will be explained.

2. Becky’s house - The crew clearly had a lot of fun filling this set with fan made merchandise (and what a wonderful way to reward your fanbase by including their creations in the show itself?). As a Cas girl my eagle eyes were mainly looking for any Cas merch and I was not disappointed. In fact there wasn’t a single scene in Becky’s house where a Cas figure of some kind wasn’t in frame. Whether that was Jensen’s decision or not, it makes me very happy. I talk here about the specific arrangement of Cas merch paired up with Dean merch which blatantly proves Becky is a Destiel shipper). In fact, Cas looms in the background in every scene until Cas sits down at the end to write his tragic ending when the camera pans to the Winchester funko pops bobbing like puppets. Cas is jarringly absent from that scene which only further indicates that he has been overlooked and is therefore still free of Chuck’s manipulations.

3. “No one even mentions Cas” - Obviously this was the line that pulls everything else together. For this to be said in an episode in which the very complaint actually occurs is a whole other level of self awareness and by including it the writer is of course reminding the audience to question this very thing. Like with the first scene, like with every moment that Sam and Dean are on screen together stubbornly not mentioning Cas or the extremely dramatic emotional break up scene at the end of the last episode, this line links everything together and forces the audience to keep Cas at the forefront of their mind.

4. The Bro Melodrama scene - As I mentioned above, this whole scene feels like the brothers are reading from a script and going through the motions but particularly Dean, whose stubborn refusal to mention Cas when he says “ We do it for Jack, for mom, for Rowena. We owe it to everyone whose ever given a damn about us to keep putting one foot in front of the other. No matter what.” it feels so intentional that they have left him out here. Thanks to that one line from Becky, the lack of Cas mention is impossible to ignore. He is so present in the negative space that its like a brick to the face. There is no way that there isn’t an agenda here regarding Castiel.

5. Castiel as the self sacrificing father - The second most glaringly obvious mirror in the episode after the son that mirrors Jack, the father of the vampire boy was far too ready to be killed by the Winchesters if it meant saving his sons life. Neither Sam nor Dean ever willingly offered themselves up for Jack, but we as the audience know all too well that Cas did in one of the most heartbreakingly emotional moments of Season 14. In an episode where the Winchesters stubbornly refuse to mention Cas (though Dean’s drinking on the job and overeager consumption of meaty food are a good indicator of his repressed feelings), Cas forces his presence on them anyway. It is a clear indicator of how close and important Cas is to the story that it is impossible for the boys to ever really forget about him, and I suspect that this will start to eat at Dean very soon.

6. Chuck overlooks the most powerful player - What ties in everything I have mentioned above already about Cas in the negative space, is Chuck. Because the whole point of this episode is that whilst he argues with Becky - the avatar for an inclusive healthy fandom that clearly adores Castiel and surrounds themselves in his image - we are left watching a stale and relatively boring MOTW episode where the Winchesters really do act like nothing more than shallow two dimensional bronly versions of themselves - because that’s what Chuck forces them to be. Chuck, who sits down and types with his Sam and Dean puppets metaphorically shaking with fear as they are condemned to live under his pen once again. It isn’t an accident that in a house surrounded with Cas merch no matter where you look, the one time his image isn’t in frame is that all important last shot - an indication that whilst Sam and Dean may now be under Chuck’s control, Castiel is not. Therefore Castiel’s importance in freeing the boys from Chuck’s villainous tragic ending becomes elevated. This episode symbolically makes Castiel the catalyst for true free will - after all, Castiel himself finally took control of his life and his mental health last week when he chose to walk away. In an episode where his presence in the negative space couldn’t be more obvious - he is the metaphorical elephant in the room - I can’t help but wonder just what role he has to play in Chuck’s vision, because right now it seems Chuck has simply forgot about him. A terribly foolish thing to do given everything Castiel has proven to be capable of.

OVERALL

As a quick summary, I’ll say I loved this episode and everything about it. Even the puppet bronly Winchesters because they were so clearly framed as being wrong. It’s such a hopeful episode, that indicates a hopeful non tragic inclusive TFW ending at least. Chuck is the villain and he will be beaten in the end. Dean and Cas will reunite and it will be the kind of scene that will rip all our hearts out in its emotional investment. Jensen Ackles directed an episode that threw major shade at the Bronly fandom corners, that celebrated TFW inclusivity through the reformed healthy successful fangirl Becky. That villainised the dark tragic brother only ending. This was a thoroughly validating and satisfying episode for me as a meta writer to watch. It has elevated my hope for the rest of the season, and following the incredibly emotional Destiel break up scene that held the focus of the last episode, I can’t stop myself from feeling joy just knowing that right now, everything that I watch this show for, all the things I adore about it, are the same things the writers of this show enjoy and are making the focal points for the series.

This isn’t a show for people that only care about seasons 1-3. This isn’t a show for people who hate Cas. This isn’t a show for people who fetishise the dark, depressing tragic game of thrones style brother ending. This is a show for people like me. Who actually enjoy it and celebrate it and can’t wait to see what happens next.

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goodwriterwithbadhabits · 4 years

Text

Love Songs

As requested by @dyingforkpop I hope you enjoy!

(Also this is super poetic cause I was listening to Spoken Word when I started writing it.)

Master List

The glow emitted by the strands of Christmas lights is dim, giving you only enough light to see, but accompanied by the neon Rose hanging behind his black couch, and the piercing gaze of his computer, your world is illuminated perfectly. This studio is not your world, you are only its welcome guest, but the boy sitting beside you, he is another story entirely.

Kim Woosung was beautiful, even in this low lighting. He invited you here, to his world, to teach you its ways, to bring you closer, to understand his love of music, but you find yourself too busy memorizing his features at this moment to listen. His face is a maze of shadows, harsh angles thrown against his tanned skin from the myriad of light sources surrounding you both. His lips, no the way they move to form the words your brain is too preoccupied to understand, have you utterly entranced. Even his hair, which had become a tornado of gravity-defying locks from all the times he had run his fingers through them, was mesmerizing. He was too captivating, how could one person be so beautiful, and handsome, and intelligent and funny, while still being so genuine and kind, while somehow also being dense as a brick wall.

Couldn’t he just kiss you already?

“Kim Woosung, I am going to be honest with you, I haven’t been listening.” Your confession is given with a sigh, and your body listing away from him in the swivel chair.

“I know, I started talking about an apple pie I had in California like five minutes ago.” You spin back to face him, shock blatant on your face, and the studio fills with the peals of your laughter mere seconds later.

“I’m sorry, I really did want to learn from you.” Your apology is accompanied by the softest smile you can muster and met with one of his own as he shakes his head.

“It’s fine, I was boring myself, it's no wonder you zoned out.”

“You weren’t boring me, I promise.” You assure him. His grin expands, eyebrow rising slightly, and you have to clench your fist tightly to stop yourself from lunging forward and kissing the look off his face.

“So what has you so distracted then?”

“Your stupidly handsome face.” His face flushes at your bold words, and you offer them with a teasing tone to perhaps make them more palatable.

“Why do you always flirt with me?” He whines, hiding his face in his hands.

“Cause I like you, and you haven’t told me to stop.” His brown eyes shine when they peek from between his fingers, and for a moment you worry that perhaps you’ve gone too far. “I will if you want me to, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to be around you if I can’t flirt with you.”

“You don’t have to stop.” His mumbles barely reach your ears, but you can’t stop yourself from teasing him anyway. Just wanting to draw it out, hear him say it again, as though it was a confession and not simply a kind gesture.

“I’m sorry, say that again?”

“You don’t have to stop.” He’s barely louder, and you wonder how many more times he will say it before you’re satisfied.

“Still so quiet, I can’t hear you.” His back straightens this time, and again, you worry you have gone too far, but his words that erupt from his lips have you speechless instead.

“I said you don’t have to stop.” His eyes, the darkness illuminated by the lights enveloping you, bore into yours, stopping your heart for a brief instant as you figure your next move.

“Oh?” It becomes a challenge to discover what is too much to tell him, “So you don’t mind if I tell you I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. That you’re hotter than any boyfriend I’ve ever had. That your voice melts my heart and my panties.”

“Oh my god, stop.” His laughter brings a smile to your face, even as the shade of red staining his cheeks deepens. As he smiles at you, you realize, this is the perfect time, to be honest, and tell him what your heart really needs him to know.

“That I’ve been in love with you since I met you four years ago.” You watch his eyes as you speak, abandoning the teasing tones you had carefully hidden behind as you instead blurt your feelings into the room. “That every time you cry I feel my own heart breaking. That loving you has been the only thing that gets me out of bed some days.” Every word lifts pressure from your chest, letting you breathe properly for the first time in what feels like forever. His face remains unreadable, and you fear you’ve been wrong in saying anything. “And I’m sorry to lay this all on you, I’m just really tired of holding it in.” The final words have only hung in the air for a few seconds, but your entire body is gripped with fear. As though struck by lightning, you jump from your seat, hands already gripping your coat as you run from his rejection.

You didn’t even make it three steps from your chair before the creak of his resounded in the room and his warm hand was snaked around your wrist, begging you to stay without saying a word.

“Four years, three months, and 6 days.” You turn back at his words, finding his eyes searching your face. “That’s how long we’ve known each other.” He tugs you toward him, pulling your jacket from your clenched fingers to lace his own into them. “All this time I thought you were joking.” His gaze shifts down, watching his own thumb as he tries to soothe your strained hand. “But I’ve been hoping this whole time that you meant it, or that you’d hear the songs and know they were about you.” Your heartbeat echoes in your own ears, and you’re sure he can hear it. You must be hallucinating, it was the only way this was happening. “What I’m trying to say is,” He finally drags his eyes back up to your own, the galaxy itself trapped within them. “I’ve been in love with you since the moment I heard you speak, I knew you were the only person I could ever spend my life with, I knew I needed you in my life, in whatever way I could get.”

Your hands shake as you pull them from his grip, the tremors subsiding as you bring them up to cup his cheeks, the skin warm under your palms.

“Can I kiss you?” Your voice is barely audible in the silent room, and for a split second, you wonder how far your delusion will go.

When his lips press to yours, you’re finally sure this is real. In all the fantasies you had imagined, you were never sure what his lips felt like, but as you kiss back, you’re sure this is what heaven feels like. Your bodies move on their own, your hands moving down to the sides of his neck, and his wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. One kiss becomes two, and then three, and time fades into a haze until you’re finally having to pull away to breathe.

“Go out with me? On a real date.” You haven’t moved from each other’s grip, heaving chests still pressed against one another and heads only the distance from one another it takes to allow the eyes to focus.

“Of course.”

“Does that mean you’ll stay here?” His smile is mirrored on your lips, voice only a whisper. “At least for a little while?”

“You still have to teach me how to write music.” You remind him, “Or just play me your songs.”

“I can do that, and know I know how to get your attention.” Your question is answered before you can ask, as he presses his lips to yours again, and you realize, there is a love song hanging in his silent studio.

#kim woosung imagines #kim woosung imagine #kim woosung #sammy imagines #sammy imagine #the rose #the rose imagines #the rose imagine #black roses

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professordrarry · 4 years

Text

A Cat Person, Reformed

part 1: part 2: part 3

Draco didn’t hear from Pansy for three days. Other people may have worried about this, agonised, even. Not Draco. Draco Malfoy was not one to agonise over a boy, nor was he worried about his friend. If she wasn’t calling him, it was just because she was busy. Or finding his number. Or...something.

So what if he didn’t manage more than a few hours of sleep both those nights? Work was stressful, he had a lot on his mind. And yes, fine, he was avoiding the park. But that didn’t mean anything, necessarily. The park was busy and noisy and Draco just found it easier to walk Barkley down by the high street or through the gardens.

By the middle of the next week, Draco started leaving his mobile at home; not for any particular reason, and certainly not because Joseph had finally told him he was going to need to keep it in a desk drawer because he was falling behind in the filing. This meant that when he went home for lunch and found the blasted thing flashing, Draco’s heart didn’t have time to drop to the floor and his stomach didn’t flop unpleasantly. Not at all.

“Draco,” Pansy’s voice whined at him. “How dare you send me on a wild goose chase to find your former obsessive crush and then not even answer my call. So bloody inconsiderate. Anyway, I, er, ran into that Granger girl at her office. Shut up. I didn’t go there on purpose, I had called Luna first. It’s just that….wait, no, never mind. You don’t get to know why. She wouldn’t give me his number, but she did inform me — after some convincing, mind, you owe me big time — that he walks that park every day on his way home from the school where he teaches. Around four. If you make me regret this or become the lovesick fuck-wad you were in school, I swear to god I will just knock you out and move you to the coast to detox. Don’t call me again tonight. I have..erm, plans.”

“Bloody hypocrite,” Draco said, looking down at Barkley who was yipping at his feet and spinning in a circle to go out. “Tells me not to get obsessed, but you fucking know she’s going out with Granger tonight, isn’t she? Alright, alright. Calm down. You’re coming back to the office with me this afternoon. I have a bespectacled git to intercept on the way home.”

*. *. *

The rain truly started in earnest at a quarter to four. Harry was extremely tempted to take a taxi home instead of walking, but there was a niggling insistence in his mind that he just...check. So, he pulled his hood tight, threw an umbrella up as he headed out the door, and trudged his way to the park.

He was rewarded for his perseverance.

“Malfoy!” He called as he approached the sopping bench where Malfoy and Barkley sat beneath a large, purple umbrella.

His trousers must be soaked, cold and extremely uncomfortable. Harry gave himself a stern talking to take his mind off of Malfoy’s trousers and held up a pathetic half wave that he instantly regretted. He really was such a git. Trying to cover his embarrassment, he moved toward the bench slightly faster.

“Why on earth are you out here? Britain has remembered to be in Britain. Had you not noticed?”

Malfoy stood slowly, prompting the dog to follow him begrudgingly. “Best part of owning a dog in England,” he said, his tone gentle and teasing. “Look how quiet the park is!”

Harry laughed a surprised laugh, and Malfoy smiled widely.

“Come on,” he declared. “I know a place nearby that has a very lax policy on dogs inside. We can get out of the rain.”

“We can?” Harry asked. He knew, and he knew that Malfoy knew, that he’d only walked today in the hopes of running into this man again. But still, he was surprised.

Malfoy turned back, an awkward half-turn that screamed of his hesitation and uncertainty. “Yes,” he said finally, surveying Harry for a moment longer. “We can."

They walked in companionable silence, Barkley happily trotting between the two umbrellas, getting interminably wet. Harry couldn’t be certain, but it appeared that the sturdy dog was grinning up at them, looking back and forth between them and then pulling them along faster. They marched up to a small cafe with an awning that eerily matched Malfoy’s umbrella.

“Luna?” he called as he opened the door.

“Draco! Oh, and Barkley! What a wonderful afternoon.”

A silver-haired woman in a long kaftan that had the entire galaxy printed across its wings embarrassed Malfoy warmly.

“Luna!” Harry said, shocked to see his old school chum here in London. He’d thought she was off travelling the world.

“Harry!” she exclaimed. “Goodness.”

“Luna, can we sit inside with him?” Malfoy asked.

“Of course! I’ll bring you some scones and tea and then get out of your way. You both look like you might be sick. Are you feeling quite alright?”

The men looked at each other, and then away just as quickly. Luna was right. They looked pale and embarrassed, terrified for reasons they both knew and did not understand. They sat in a corner booth, Barkley settling down on Harry’s side without being prompted. Malfoy looked quite put-out, but nonetheless offered him a towel he pulled from a wide pocket in his coat. Harry dried off the dog, scratching him behind the ears as they waited for tea.

For a few moments, after Luna disappeared back into the back, they sat awkwardly. Finally, Harry cleared his throat and put his hands on the warm cup in front of him.

“Malfoy...Draco,” he started.

“What?”

“Why are we here?”

“We’re having tea.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well...why are we here, Harry?”

Harry closed his eyes for a second and charged bravely into the conversation he’d wanted to have when he’d grabbed Malfoy’s dog that day in the park.

“I have three questions for you.”

At the slight, dignified nod that Draco gave him, telling him to go on, Harry wanted to scream. Instead, he made himself stay calm. He inhaled deeply. Closed his eyes a moment.

“Number one,” he said. “Why did you ask Pansy for my number? Yes. Hermione told me. Also, she’s very interested in why Pansy then showed up at her Ministry event last night, but I feel like that’s a conversation for another day.”

Draco cocked his head at him. He did not respond.

“Number two, how on earth does a person who is so clearly a cat person end up with such a glorious dog?”

“I mean, he sort of found me, to be honest, and—”

“And third,” Harry interrupted, “is there a reason you pretended not to know me in the park?”

“Harry—”

“Are we going to keep pretending that the kiss from the first year of uni didn't happen? Because we both know it did. And we both know your friends know about it.”

“That was technically four questions,” Draco replied quietly.

“Draco,” Harry whined.

“I know, I know. That’s why we’re here, Harry. That’s your first answer. I was...I was such a mess in first year, Potter. I barely remembered that day until I saw you in the park. Until Barkley…”

“Go on,” Harry muttered, a hard tone in his voice that he hadn’t intended.

“I was serious, Harry. He doesn’t like people. He stays away from...literally everyone. But he didn’t stay away from you.”

“Unlike his owner.”

“Okay, so we’re doing this?” Draco interjected gruffly. “Do you really want to go there? Really? Want to discuss how much your friends fought against you and I doing anything more than that kiss? How much they hated me in school? Pansy and...and Theo.”

“Theo is not a part of this.”

“Still. Why did you come to the park today? You had to know I was coming.”

“Yeah. I did.”

The sat and stared at each other across the table. Neither moved a muscle, neither dared enter the space between them, the years of unspoken history, the attraction they’d ignored, and then dealt with, and then ignored again. Finally, Barkley—likely confused by the silence and the disappearance of his scratches—sat up with his paws on the table and gave a loud and irritated bark. Both Harry and Draco looked at him in surprise. And then, both laughed.

“So. Want to go on a date, then?” Harry announced, glancing back at Draco. “Your dog seems to think it’s a good idea.”

Draco took a sharp breath. “Want to just call this date one? I mean, we’ve already gotten the whole inappropriate public snogging out of the way.”

“Not forever, I hope,” Harry said brazenly. He laughed when Draco blushed. “Oh goodness, Barkley. This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

“Forgot how much I hate you,” Draco whispered fondly, his cheeks getting a little brighter as he watched Harry smoosh his face into the face of his very picky dog.

“You’ll learn to love me,” Harry sang in a ridiculous voice. “Won’t he Barkley.”

“I might, but the cats are going to eat you alive.”

#drarry #draco is a cat person #part three

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xmarveled · 5 years

Text

I Missed You Too

Sequel to I Love You Too

Pairing: Thor! x Reader

Summary: 5 years ago, Thor had realized that he loved you, but you were gone before he could tell you. Now, Thor doesn’t think he is worthy of you. But you show him that he is and forever will be, your Thor.

Warning: Angst, Mention of Suicide, Insecure Thor, a tiny pinch of Dark!Thor.

A/N: This is the sequel to I Love You Too, but it can also be read as a stand-alone. If you want to request an Avenger x Reader, send me an ask or PM me! ^^

It’s been five years. Five years since that horrible day in the bloody clearing into the forests of Wakanda. Five years since half of the universe just poofed. Five years since Thor lost the love of his life.

The first year, Thor traveled through the galaxy, searching for something, anything that could reverse the snap. He refused to accept that you were gone, than you were gone because of him.

The second year, Thor went on a rampage, killing Thanos’ minions one by one. At night, he’d lie in the dark, the blood he hadn’t bothered to wash off still on his hands, and he thought of you.

The third year, Thor drowned himself in alcohol, drinking until he forgot the pain. But even in the darkest moments of the blackouts, he didn’t forget you.

The forth year, Thor returned to New Asgard, not to be king, but to hide what he had become from the rest of the world. He could barely look at the people who were supposed to be his people. They were here because of his failure. The whole world was.

The fifth year, the God of Thunder had become unrecognizable. His exterior had changed, but it was what was in his heart that concerned his friends. Thor had become a ghost, a shell of the person he was before. He had lost the most important thing in the world to him. You.

And so when Bruce came to him with the almost laughable idea of time traveling, the only reason Thor agreed was because of you. Because he’d give anything, just to see your smile again.

For Thor, the pain of the last five years was more than he had experienced during his entire immortal existence. So much that he had even considered just ending it. Ending him. Because who was he without you? The only thing that had held him back was the sound of your gentle voice, telling him that you will come back for him.

Five years. Five years without you.

For you, the five years felt more like five minutes and as you and the others awoke in that same clearing in Wakanda, you had no idea of the pain that Thor had gone through.

All of you fought as you never had before. Fighting as a team, as the family you were.

Every single Avenger on that battlefield fought for someone they loved. Tony fought for Pepper and Morgan and Peter. The family that he had never dreamed he would have. Steve fought for Bucky and Sam and for his past that could one day be his future. And Thor... Thor fought for you.

All of a sudden, the same feeling of complete and utter silence that had rippled through the world five years ago was felt again. Thor looked around and paused when ash scattered to reveal a familiar figure.

As Stormbreaker dropped from his shaking hands, Thor managed to breath out a single word. Your name. And even though you were too far away to hear him, you still turned, as if there was a string attaching the two of you together.

And when you lifted your eyes to meet his, the world stopped. Everything around you, the sound of the soldiers cheering in victory, the joyous cries of families and friends reuiniting, just stopped.

There was only you and him and nothing else in the world.

Pure joy filled your hearts and you took a step forwards, wanting to be closer to him.

However, that step was like a bucket of ice water for Thor. Suddenly, every horrible and shameful thing he did during the last 5 years came flooding back to him. Every soldier he killed in your name, every girl he had fucked while pretending it was you, every shattered beer bottle on the floor of his little hut in New Asgard, the broken glass mirroring his own heart.

Thor clutched at his protruding stomach, mistaking the look in your widened eyes for one of disgust. His cheeks burned with shame and he averted his eyes, unable to watch if you turned away. So he turned away first, walking, almost running away, stumbling on the pieces of rubble and glass littered on the ground.

Walking away from the love of his life. Because he couldn’t bear for you to see what he has become.

The joy in your heart turned into confusion as you watched him run away. Run away from you.

“Thor!” You called out, tripping over your exhausted feet as you tried to run after him. “Thor!”

He paused, and your words died in your throat as he turned around. Tears were cascading down his cheeks, dripping into his braided beard and he tried to roughly wipe them away. But he still wouldn’t look at you.

“Thor, what-”

Before you could ask, Thor gripped Stormbreaker tightly to his chest, and you watched as he mouthed “I’m sorry.”

And than he was gone, leaving you alone in a field of shattered glass.

For the ensuing weeks, Thor avoided you like plague, hidden away in his little hut at the edge of the world. When he had to be in the same room with you, he stayed in the furtherest corner, only talking to Bruce and Rocket.

It hurt. It hurt so bad. To have the one person who you love the most refuse to even acknowledge your existence. To refuse to even look at you. And everytime he moved away, everytime he flinched as you tried to address him, your heart broke a little more.

Unbeknownst to you, every time you looked away, the only thing Thor looked at was you. The pain and sadness he saw in your eyes, in the way you were hunched over on the tables tore down what your return had fixed in his broken heart. It killed him, that he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t kiss you, couldn’t love you like he wanted so badly to. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to you, in fear of your rejection, so he watched you from the shadows. Still, it didn’t hurt any less.

Your meeting had finished late, and you had missed the last bus back home. Rejecting Happy’s offer to drive you back, you decided to walk, wanting to enjoy a brief moment of peace and quiet that you haven’t had in months. Halfway back, you felt something wet drip onto your messy, unbrushed hair. You looked up as a flash of electricity lit up the sky, swearing under your breath as you made for the ramshackle little bus stop at the end of the street,

Just as you slid in, the heavens opened and the rain came pouring down. Sitting down on the bench who looked as if it could barely could itself up, you looked up through the glass roof at the sky. There was something beautiful about the way lightning lits up the clouds. There was something beautiful in the way the raindrops glistened as they fell. Their beauty reminded you of a certain God.

You were in the middle of the city, surrounded by people, but yet you had never felt so alone. The man who was like your father and your best friend was gone, and the one person who you had left... you had lost him too. Drops of water that wasn’t rain dripped down your cheeks as you finally let everything go.

The rain was coming down even harder than before and you shivered as thunder boomed, hugging yourself to try to stay warm. Your teeth started clattering and your fingertips started shaking as you felt yourself slowly turn to ice. It was so so cold.

All of a sudden, you felt warmth enveloping you. You looked up and you were greeted with the same blue eyes you had fallen in love with on another rainy April day. Except this time, they were filled with five years worth of unshed tears.

Thor wrapped his still-warm jacket around you and wordlessly, reached up to brush away a stray tear on your cheek.

“You shouldn’t be out here Y/N.” He said, trying to ignore how good it felt to be this close to you, to touch you. “It’s not safe, and-”

“Why?”

Thor paused. “Why what?”

“Why won’t you let me in anymore?”

Thor shut his eyes, not wanting you too see the flood of emotion going through him.

“Y/N-”

“That day-” Your voice trembled, but you had to get the words out. You had to know. “That day in the clearing, five years ago, when I- when I went away, you told me you love me. Why dont you love me anymore?”

“I still love you.” Thor said, voice echoing through the small box. “Gods- I love you so much, you have no idea-”

“Than why?” You said, almost shouting as you stood up. “Why do you leave the room everytime I come in? Why do you flinch everytime I try to talk to you? Why won’t you even look at me?”

“Because I’m afraid.” Yelled Thor.

“Of what?” You whispered.

“Of you seeing what I have become.” Said Thor. “Of you turning away from me.”

“Thor... Why would I turn away?” You asked.

“Why wouldn’t you turn away?” Thor laughed bitterly. “Have you seen what I’ve become? I’m not worthy for the name Odinson, and I’m definitely not worthy for you.”

To his surprise, instead of flinching away, you move forward. Placing one hand on his cheek and the other on his stomach, you tilted his face, forcing him to look at you.

“Why aren’t you worthy for me?” You demanded. “Because of you’re a little bigger than the Thor I remember? Because you smell of beer and day old pizza instead of sweat and metal?

Thor averted his eyes as shame filled him again. He didn’t want to see the disgust that was surely in your eyes.

“Because I don’t care.”

Thor’s head snapped up and he looked at you with something like hope beginning to shine in his eyes.

“I don’t care whether you’re fat or thin. Whether you’re strong or weak. Because you’re my Thor, for rich or for poor, in sickness and in health, you will always be my shoulder to cry on. My rock in the storm. My best friend. My Thor.” You say, fire in your eyes as you looked at the man whose heart you held in your scarred hands.

Thor didn’t know what to say, so he kissed you.

And it was everything you had dreamed it would be.

And later, when you were both snuggled together on your coach, in front of a roaring fire, you asked.

“Hey Thor?”

“Yes my love?” He asked, gazing down on you with adoration written across his face.

“I love you too.”

Okay, that didn’t really end up the way i wanted it to. Not the best since it was really rushed. Hope you guys still liked.💜

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megasaurusssss · 4 years

Text

Dr Pershing | Chapter 2

Words: 4718

Summary: Din Djarin finds him in the sewers. Starving. Beaten. On the brink of death. Pershing is just trying to figure out why the Mandalorian bothered with him at all.

♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬

He was...

Well. Din didn't know how to describe him.

Jumpy, anxious, weak. But intelligent, and witty. When he was thinking he furrowed at his lower lip. When he was confused his eyebrows drew in. When he was afraid his eyes would widen and his lip would quiver. When he saw the child it's like all of his worries visibly melted away.

When he slept, he was peaceful, but awake, he was anything but.

Restless. Radiating with energy. Needing to do something at all times because if he didn't, he would collapse into his own thoughts.

Din had met many people like him. And yet, he was still incredibly unique. There was something there, something was developing between them. But he had no idea what it was. How long have they known each other? Barely a few days. Sure they met about a month ago before everything went to shit but it was in brief passing and, at the time, the doctor hadn't really caught his eye.

The child cooed in his lap, and he sighed. "I know. I just wanted to get out. Staying in that place makes me sick."

He'd developed a habit of talking to the child, even though he wasn't even sure he was being understood. The child would only coo in response, but he supposed that was good enough.

He cooed again, though, and this time it had a different tone, as if to say, 'I want to go back.'

"We will go back. I promise. There's something I want to do first."

The doctor - Pershing, wasn't it? - had this certain aura about him. He never spoke his mind, but there always seemed to be something racing in that head of his. Din tried to read him, figure out what he was really thinking, but he couldn't.

The doctor was kind, and sorrowful, and depressed. He worried about everything. But he was quick-witted and could hold a conversation for as long as he wanted. When he spoke, Din found it impossible to look away. His hands flapped wildly like he was passionate about every word and, he probably was.

He'd never forget how Pershing's expression fell, or how the heart rate on the monitor picked up speed when Din talked about the pain the Empire had caused. And how the words on the tip of his seemed to tongue leave him, and all he could say was that he was sorry. He was sorry. He was so so sorry.

Pershing would apologise relentlessly for working for the Imps, but Din would still tell him it was okay - but he didn't know why, and that frustrated him.

Of course it wasn't okay. None of it was okay. Pershing was imperial, he would always be imperial. So why was Din even bothering? Because of pity? Sympathy?

He found him in the sewers, starving. Beaten. Bloody. On the brink of death. He should've just left him, so why didn't he? Why did he take one look and decide to help? Why did he ignore Cara when she told him to leave the doctor alone? Why couldn't he just listen to other people for once?

There was something about him. Something about this doctor that he couldn't put into words.

He was good with the child, and the child liked him, too. Even though he had every reason not to. Surely if something was wrong, the child would feel it?

Pershing recoiled when Din got too close. He would flinch away, something would flash in his eyes, like he was afraid of being touched. Every time Din caught a glimpse of it his blood would boil. No one deserves that.

But he had no reason to care about that. He never worried about his bounties, never felt sympathy for their sob story, so why should he care about some imp?

I don't know.

Maybe it was because the child cried when he saw the broken body slumped against the wall. That could be his excuse.

The hyperspace came to an abrupt halt. Silversisi faded into view as the Razor Crest grew closer. The child looked up at him apprehensively.

"I know. We won't be here for long. I just want to pick up some things."

The Razor Crest landed not-so-gracefully on Silversisi's surface, just outside the library. He really needed to get the ship fixed. Properly.

"You coming too?" He cast a glance at the child. He took the blank stare as an affirmative. "Okay then."

He picked up the child in his arms, so he wouldn't have to walk, and waited for him to get comfortable before setting off.

He'd been at the Library of Silversisi once before, but it was for a bounty, so he didn't have time to actually stop and read. Especially considering how pissy the security was getting with the scene being caused.

He reached the front door, pushing it open with one hand. It was heavy and large, but he managed to squeeze through. The door slammed behind him, causing an echo throughout the halls of the library.

"Oi!"

Ah.

"I hope you're not here to cause more of a mess, Djarin." The zabrak stood tall over him, arms crossed over his chest. He would have been intimidating, but the round glasses perched on his nose and the tight-fitted vest didn't necessarily do him any favours.

"Just here for some books, Tudua." Din titled his head. "This time."

"Any funny business and you're out, clear?"

"Crystal." He adjusted his grip on the child, who made an unintelligible noise. Tudua's eyes passed over it briefly.

"What's that?" he asked in a monotone voice. He eyed it suspiciously for a moment.

"My son."

"A foundling?"

Din stared up at him for a moment.

Tudua had been a Mandalorian, and their paths had crossed on multiple occasions when they were younger. Mere years after Tudua swore to the creed, however, he abandoned it to chase after a human he'd fallen deeply in love with.

That relationship hadn't worked out, though; the woman cheated on him with a twi'lek man then died in childbirth, so he was being forced to raise a half-twi'lek son that he hadn't wanted in the first place. Now he spent most of his days in the Library of Silversisi as an honourary librarian.

"Yes, a foundling."

"I've seen that species before."

Din took a mental step back. He stared a moment before clearing his throat. "What is it?"

Tudua only shrugged. "Don't know." Before Din could ask him to please elaborate, the zabrak was walking away with his hands in his pockets, whistling some unknown tune.

Fat load of good that was.

Din sighed, before placing the child onto the cool wooden flooring. "Come on. Let's go find what we're looking for."

It wasn't difficult to locate the section he'd been wanting. Most libraries were filled to the brim on science, it being the very core of how the galaxy operated. He skimmed through the books, tilting his head slightly to read the titles etched on the sides.

He'd always liked physical books, made of paper and everything. Electronic ones were convenient but there was something about turning the delicate pages of old books or blowing the dust off their covers.

He picked out a small selection of things that caught his eye. With a small stack about the size of the child, he marched up to the receptionist desk, where Tudua was flipping through a book on parenting of all things.

"How's your son?" he asked as he plopped down the books. They made a loud bang, but Tudua didn't jump or even look up from his book.

"The same." Without even looking, Tudua picked up each book one by one and scanned them with incredible accuracy. Before long, the entire selection was accounted for. "If you don't get these back to me within a month I'll hire someone from that bounty guild of yours to personally hunt you down."

"You'll have to wait in line." He would have winked, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because it wouldn't be seen through the visor - even if Tudua was actually paying attention.

"And how about your son?"

Tudua finally looked up from the book, just to peer down at the child. There was a faint hint of a smile, but perhaps he was imagining things.

"I don't know the first thing about being a father. But he's fine."

Tudua chuckled bitterly. "You and me both. Receipt?"

"No."

"Didn't take you for the science type."

"They're not for me, they're for..." a friend? An acquaintance? An enemy? "...someone else."

"Mm." Tudua gave him a receipt anyway. "One month, Djarin."

"Don't worry." He tucked the stack under his arm and picked up the child with the other. "I'll return them even if I die. Then I'll haunt you forever as a ghost."

"God, please don't. I'd kill myself."

"Ghost buddies."

"Just fuck off, Djarin."

As aggressive as their banter was, and Tudua's irritating insistence of using his real name, they were friends. Or at least, Din liked to think that they were. Tudua was hostile by nature, especially after the cheating and subsequential death of the love of his life - but he was the only person Din felt he could actually trust with important information. He might've been an angry bitter bastard, but he was loyal and kind at heart.

Soon enough they returned to the Razor Crest and set off onto their journey back to Obroa-skai. As the ship launched into hyperspace Din leaned back into the pilot's seat with an exasperated sigh.

The journey back felt twice as long as the journey from, and he wasn't sure why. It was almost like he was nervous - even though he'd no reason to be.

He merely wanted to grab some books for the doctor so he wouldn't get bored. But the more he thought about it the more he wondered if it was a good idea. Especially after leaving in such an abrupt manner.

The child looked up at him with those wide eyes, like he knew something was off.

"I'm fine," Din reassured him. And he was. Just... confused. Doctor Pershing confused him.

The overwhelming concern that enveloped him when he looked at Pershing's timid structure confused him. The rage that filled him when Pershing flinched away from the slightest of touches or winced at the smallest of movements confused him. The strange feeling developing in his chest confused him.

It made him feel young, which was saying a fucking lot. It made him feel sad yet also happy. It was like a blaster shot him in the heart with affection. Hurt like a bitch but he welcomed it.

He willed it to go away. But it persisted. The strange feeling.

He would ignore it, then. But that was so hard. He had never had difficulties getting someone out of his mind before - except for the child, but the child was his child, so that was understandable.

The doctor was an imperial scientist.

And yet, he had this strange ethereal effect.

Slowly, Obroa-skai faded back into view, and Din was pulled out of his thoughts. He couldn't be like this around the doctor.

The razor crest landed with a groan on the lush green grass just outside the hospital's doors. He grabbed the books in one hand before descending down the ramp, where he was met with one of the ugnaught employees.

"We didn't think you were coming back," he spoke with a thick accent. "We haven't been able to calm door Peri down for hours."

"Peri?"

The ugnaught quickened his steps to keep up with Din's long stride. "Young Mr Pershing, of course. He-"

Din suddenly stopped.

Had Pershing - or Peri, he supposed - thought he was leaving for good? He never intended for it to seem that way. Should he have told him what he was doing?

The ugnaught slammed into his legs with an oof. The child giggled.

"He's okay?" Din turned to stare down at the ugnaught, who was rubbing his nose.

"Well, he's fine now, sir. I can't say the same for our staff."

"What happened?"

"Threw a fit. Or that's what Doctor Avry said. I prefer to call it a psychological mishap. Less offensive."

Din turned back around and continued walking, readjusting his grip on the books. "I take it Doctor Avry isn't well respected."

"Oh, she's respected. But she's Arkanian."

That explained it.

The ugnaught held the door open for him and he stepped inside with a grateful nod. The child followed soon after. He made a beeline for Pershing's room, but a human nurse stepped in front him with her arms outstretched.

"He's asleep right now," she said softly, "you'll have to wait."

"I'm the one who brought him here." Din straightened his back. "I've been staying with him while he sleeps."

The nurse seemed to consider this. Her eyes darted to the child waddling up behind Din before she sighed and relented. "If you wake him up..."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He gently pushed the door open, catching it just as it began to creak. All of the lights were off, but he could see the faint outline of Pershing sleeping on his side, curled up into a ball.

As silently as he could manage he placed the books on the bedside table. The child pawed at his leg. "Come here," he whispered, picking the child up to hold him in both of his hands. "I know you don't like it, but you have to be quiet."

Maybe the child did understand words after all, because he didn't make a single noise in the next two hours.

Unfortunately, that meant he was restless. And... truthfully, Din was restless too. He hated staying in the same spot. He'd always been on the move, switching from job to job to job - it was his lifestyle. But he wanted to be there when Pershing woke up, to explain that he wouldn't just... abandon him.

Even though he couldn't understand why that was. If it were anyone else he would have dropped them off at the hospital and left.

Why was this man any different? This imp? Someone who'd slaved their life away for an empire that only inspired hatred and war. How could such a man be so kind and thoughtful? And why - why - did Din want to help him so much?

Why couldn't he identify the feeling in his chest? Why couldn't he tear his eyes away? Why did he focus on the details, like how Pershing would fidget with loose strings? Or how he'd wrung his hands together when he was anxious?

He hated it, he hated all of it. So why wasn't he making an effort to stop?

Another hour went by, and though he'd tried to doze off, the child was too agitated. He wanted to get out and move, stretch his legs... there was a garden, but going meant leaving Pershing alone. Which he was averse to.

At that moment though, the light flickered on, and the twi'lek nurse entered into the room.

"Oh," said the nurse. "I didn't realise you were..."

"Should I leave?"

The nurse cast an awkward glance over to Pershing, who was beginning to stir from the sudden light. "No, I was just going to replace his drip."

Din had noticed it was running low. It only made sense. But even so, when the twi'lek got close, he felt the sudden urge to shove him away, to keep him at bay.

He clenched his fists. He's doing his job. He's helping. Why are you acting like this? He still remembered the way Pershing flushed when the twi'lek got too close. He remembered wanting to reach over and slap him. Don't you know what he's been through? What are you doing? You're too close. Stay away from him.

But why? Why did he feel so strongly about it?

It was stupid. It wasn't like - it wasn't like he ever went through what Pershing did. It wasn't like he had any particular reason to feel so angry about it. Yes, it was terrible, he wouldn't wish it upon his worst enemy, but...

And then there was another conflicting emotion that he just couldn't understand. Jealousy. At least he could identify it but - but it made no sense. What reason would he have to be jealous?

There wasn't one. It was irrational. Clearly he just needed to clear his head. The fuss of the last month was catching up to him, that's all it was.

Din lifted the child onto the floor and stood from his seat. "Let's go stretch your legs, little womprat." He held the door open for the child to pass through, closing it behind him just as Pershing began to open his eyes.

♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬

The garden was peaceful. It reminded Din of Sorgen, just without the neon-blue krill, and the large knee-deep ponds. The flowers' scent was so powerful it wafted up through his helmet, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. This had been exactly what he needed.

The child was enticed with the flowers, and probably the smell, and seemed to sift through them like he was looking for something possibly frog-shaped. For the sake of the garden, Din hoped there weren't any.

He sat down on one of the benches. The garden was small and narrow, but large enough for a couple of children to run around in - which was probably the idea. He almost wished he could take off the helmet for a while, bathe in the sunlight and the pleasant breeze - then quickly shook that notion away.

Not even the child had seen him without his helmet. Technically it was allowed, the child was his son now, a foundling. But...

He would think on it later.

His moment of alone time was disturbed by the doors abruptly sliding open. Immediately, he jumped up from his seat and his hand shot to where his blaster rested, but it was only an old espirion man being wheeled out by a nurse.

"A Mandalorian!" the old man exclaimed in a croaky voice. His back was hunched and he was riddled with old age, but still bore a large smile on his face. "I have never seen one before!"

I'll never get used to that, Din thought as the old man wheeled himself over. The nurse stood in the corner with her hands behind her back.

"Hello, young man." The espirion held out a shaky hand. Din shook it as lightly as he could, but then the old man's grip became suddenly very tight. "It is an honour to meet a Mandalorian in the flesh."

"The honour is mine." He hoped his discomfort didn't show through his modulated voice. If the old man noticed, he didn't say anything.

"And who is this little one?"

The child was now waddling over with a small assortment of flowers and leaves clutched in his hand. It cooed.

"My son."

"Does he have a name?" The old man reached over to pat the child on the head.

"I'm... yet to give him one."

It hadn't been something he'd put much thought into. He admitted, though, it was getting repetitive, calling it "the child" or "the baby" or "my son" or "ad'ika"... though that one was usually only in private.

The old man hummed, before leaning back into his chair with a satisfied sigh. "He is adopted."

"Yes."

"I have seen one like him before."

Din turned his head slightly so he was facing the man. "You know his species?"

"The species? Goodness, no, Master Yoda was one of very few and I only ever saw him from afar so I never had the opportunity to ask..."

Din's eyes widened under the helmet. " 'Master Yoda' ?"

"Oh, yes... let me tell you something about him..."

Din never got to find out what he was, though, because just then the nurse strolled over to interrupt. "You should come back inside," she spoke with a thick accent.

"But I was just telling this young man about-"

"You can tell him later, you have to have your medicine, okay, Druan?"

She shot an apologetic glance back towards Din as she wheeled Druan away, as though the old man was being at all bothersome. That could have been vital information! Din would have to find the man before he left.

Not too soon later, the nurse re-entered the garden, but without Druan in toe. "I am sorry about that," she sighed as she patted down her dress. "He is... his mind has gone. He thinks there are people who can lift things with their mind and it is a mess."

An order of sorcerers called Jedi. The Armourer's words rang in his ears. As if on cue the child tugged at his leg plate, holding out his hands as a universal expression for "up".

Druan knew about the sorcerers. Better yet, he knew about someone who could be related to the child. Was this Master Yoda also one of those 'Jedi'? How is it that no one knows about them? How had such a powerful race become merely myth and legend?

He placed the child on his lap, who shifted a bit, before finding a spot that was comfortable. "What does he say about them?" Din asked. The nurse sighed like she'd heard about it one too many times.

"That they are all dead. And yet he claims to have met them. It makes no sense." She cast a glance around at the garden before sighing once more. "I must go. But it was a pleasure meeting you."

Pleasure. "Yeah."

Even though this new information was incredible news, something in Din's heart stung. He wasn't ready to give up the child. Especially not to an enemy race. Not so soon. Preferably not ever, but... this is The Way.

Mandalorian culture consisted of two very important things: armour and children. The foundlings were the future. Protect the children at all costs - whatever it takes - even if it took the lives of elders. Deep down he knew that giving the child to these sorcerers was the right thing to do, but that didn't ease the hurt.

The child was his son. The Armourer said as much. They were a clan of two, and Din bore the signet to prove it. How could he possibly give his son away?

Besides, what if the child didn't want to go with these sorcerers? Or what if the sorcerers rejected him? What if Din accidentally stirred up an age-old war, thus dooming the Mandalorians to extinction?

Or perhaps he was just being paranoid. That's what Cara would have told him, with a slap on the back.

Who was to say the Jedi even existed anymore, anyway. Clearly they haven't been seen or even heard of for decades upon decades - since no one seemed to know who they were, or those that do know of them are regarded as one who believes in myths and legends.

Then again, the Mandalorians were becoming somewhat of a myth themselves. At least, that was before they revealed themselves on Nevarro...

The thought lingered in his mind.

The sight had made him sick, and thinking about it now only did the same. Those discarded helmets. Blood staining the floors. The thought that his entire clan might've been killed. His family. Even as they lowly regarded him, he would still find himself with a soft spot for them. Even Paz.

Paz wouldn't hesitate to call him a hu'tuun. Or aruetyc. Even if he hadn't technically done anything wrong.

He would then proceed to save Din from the Guild, thus revealing the covert, and getting himself fucking killed. That was his helmet.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the child began waving and cooing at someone by the doorway.

"I-I thought you left," came a familiar, soft voice.

Pershing.

He was still dressed in the hospital gown, but it was tucked into a pair of grey pants. It was an odd sight to behold, especially within the serene confines of the garden. Yet, somehow, the loose shirt paired with the tight pants wasn't off-putting.

"I did. But then I came back. Did you like the books?"

"Um." Pershing stared at his hands with the intent of a thousand fiery suns. If Din didn't know any better he'd say the doctor was angry, but he was probably just thinking really hard. "Yes, they're... you got them for me?"

The doctor finally looked up, and they locked eyes. A strange feeling shot through Din's chest. "Yes. I thought you might want something to read while you're stuck here. I do have to return them eventually, though, so make sure you don't let your science side take over and scribble notes on every page."

Shockingly, Pershing actually cracked a nervous smile, which... made Din happy, even if the smile was gone as quick as it came. "I'll make sure they're as pristine as the day they left the library. Where did you...?"

"Silversisi."

"But! But that's... at least a two-hour journey from here, even with the fastest hyper-space! You travelled for four hours and then-some just to get me some books? I-I'm sure I would have managed, really..."

It made no sense. It baffled Din, how the doctor would shy away from people who were trying to be nice. It was as if he believed he didn't deserve it.

...then again, he was Imperial.

Din decided to change the subject. "I heard from one of the staff that you had a... psychological breakdown."

Pershing flushed a fierce shade of crimson red. Any eye-contact that they had was immediately broken as the doctor averted his wide eyes to the ground. "I see."

The silence that followed was stifling. Din hadn't intended to embarrass the man. Fuck if he knew how emotions worked... sometimes Din wished he wasn't so emotionally stunted. "I just wanted to ask if you're alright."

He couldn't see the doctor's facial expression, but he could hear the sharp intake of breath and a shaky sigh. "Fine. I'm fine. Um, who's the one who told you that?"

An odd question. "One of the ugnaughts. I didn't catch his name. Why?"

"Nothing. It's fine. I'm fine."

It was very obviously not fine. But Din had at least picked up something regarding manners in his many years: it's not polite to pry. "Why were you so upset?" That, of course, didn't mean he knew how to keep his mouth shut, though. He already knew the answer, of course, but he still felt perhaps it would be better to hear it from the source...

"There wasn't a reason."

The reply was as immediate as a bullet and as sharp as a dagger. There was something in Pershing's tone that made him want to retreat, but being Mandalorian, surrendering wasn't exactly his forte. "There must be one."

"Why?" Pershing snapped. Their eyes met again. The doctor's face was still flushed, but his expression was angry and piercing. "Why does there have to be a reason? I was- I was just upset, okay? I don't remember it. And it's none of your business, you... you can't just pry like that. I don't like it, so don't."

I don't like it. It was the type of phrase a child victim of bullying would say to the perpetrator, and it would never work, because that was the point of bullying. To make them miserable.

But Din hadn't wanted Pershing to get upset. He definitely didn't want the child to make a sad noise, either; or frown up at him, like he just disappointed the entire galaxy. And honestly, he felt like he had.

And it's not like he could just apologise. Or... or well, he could, really, and he should, but he couldn't even remember the last time he so much as muttered those two forsaken words and he feared it would come out as awkward and forced, but- oh, it was too late, anyway.

In the time he took to think about his reply, Pershing had turned on his heel and left without Din even noticing.

Damn you, Djarin. Learn to fucking speak.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanart #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #dr pershing #baby yoda #baby yoda fanfiction #dr pershing/din djarin #din djarin #dyn jarren #doctor pershing #fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin slash #gay #lgbt

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notapaladin · 4 years

Text

now i don’t take pleasure in a man’s pain

hi....did you know....regicide can actually be SO romantic and is a great way to confess your feelings to your crush? now you do! i had a fucking galaxy-brain idea based around the fact that uh...historically, we do not KNOW how tizoc died, but most historians blame his brother ahuizotl. me looking at the obsblood universe: It's Free Real Estate.

you do NOT know how hard it was to resist titling this “is this talk of love or regicide?”

on ao3

It had been so easy to make it look like an accident. Acatl thought he should probably be concerned about that—after all, if he could exploit this smallest crack in the Revered Speaker’s magical protections others surely could as well, and that would be a risk for Teomitl—but such feelings had fallen by the wayside long ago. Even if he hadn’t despised Tizoc-tzin beyond words for his own personal reasons (that peasant’s daughter burned in his heart like a coal), there was simply no other path left but this. Tizoc’s crimes had piled up like stones, and someone had to bury him under their weight before they broke the Empire’s back. There was only as much justice as he could make.

(One: the clergy of Tlaloc.)

(Two: the ghosts.)

(Three: the Great Temple, cracked open like a ribcage with—with things pouring out of it—)

The Empire wouldn’t hold. Not with a Revered Speaker barely able to channel a glimmer of Huitzilpochtli’s light, a man so callow and craven he was unable to even meet his god face-to-face and beg for his favor. Not with their enemies baying for blood, not with the stars still glinting in the sky at dawn. The boundaries slipped a little further every day, and when the Great Temple’s latest construction had begun to fill with blood and starlight Acatl had known what he had to do to keep them steady.

It was a small spell, a tiny drop of poison. Something barely noticeable. Something that greater and more powerful men, used to magic that lit up the sky, would never think to look for.

(Something that would grant Teomitl the crown he deserved.)

Tizoc’s long-overdue death was approaching fast—a matter of days, the healers said—and Acatl was free to make concerned noises at the right times, to pat Mihmatini’s shoulder when he saw her after another long shift of trying to halt the Revered Speaker’s slow decline (to feel a little bad about how much work it was making for her, but not much), to stand in front of Quenami and Acamapichtli with his face like stone. Yes, of course it was a shame. No, he couldn’t help, there was certainly nothing Mictlantecuhtli could do except hasten the Emperor’s end—oh, Acamapichtli’s spells weren’t having an effect either? How terribly unfortunate.

(Acamapichtli didn’t smile. He didn’t meet his eyes. But in the set of his jaw and the incline of his head, Acatl read Thank you.)

It would be soon. Acatl knew he’d feel it when it happened, and so he didn’t worry himself overmuch with keeping track. So long as he showed a placid face to the world, there was nothing to fear. An unworthy Revered Speaker would be dead and gone, and a far better one would take his place. He knew deep in his bones that Teomitl would be glorious, the radiance of Huitzilpochtli’s favor pulsing under his skin like a bright heartbeat. Time had polished his arrogance into calm authority and honed his edges like a Tarascan bronze knife; when he ascended the throne, the sun would shine brighter than it had even for his grandfather Itzcoatl. The Turquoise-and-Gold Crown would fit perfectly on his head, and Acatl would kneel with his heart full of joy.

(Full of—other emotions, too, which he would not name in daylight. Teomitl didn’t need to be burdened with that knowledge.)

And yet, for all that, the sound of his footsteps hurrying up the temple steps was the same as it had always been. Acatl took a breath and set his reed pen aside; he’d been noting down the names and clans of those lost to Tizoc’s latest folly, a mismanaged attempt at expanding the Great Temple that had come perilously close to cracking a set of very important wards. He could come back to it after he saw what Teomitl wanted. Maybe he misses me, breathed a hopeful part of his mind—it had been a few days since they’d had time to talk—but he quashed that line of thought before it could do any serious damage. He and his former student were friends, nothing else. Friends. If the merest touch settled on his skin like a brand, if he dreamed of something more, that was his own problem.

“Acatl-tzin.”

The entrance curtain shifted, less forcefully than it usually did, and Teomitl stood in the doorway. Backlit, he gleamed with the signs of his rank; his red cloak and loincloth shone like blood, his armbands like the sun, and he’d pulled his hair into a noble’s topknot with a headdress of quetzal feathers. It struck Acatl to the core. For a long moment all he could do was stare, but then he registered Teomitl’s serious expression and recalled himself. He hadn’t been Acatl-tzin in private for ages, unless matters were very important indeed. I should have known this wouldn’t be a social call. “What’s the matter?”

Teomitl let the curtain fall behind him. As he stepped inside, Acatl reflected that it really was a small room. “I…” His gaze flickered to the floor, briefly, and a muscle worked in his jaw as he met Acatl’s eyes again. “I have a question I hope you’d answer for me. Truthfully.”

Acatl swallowed. Something in his chest tightened nearly to the point of pain. Memories—a clasped hand, the heavy heat of a feverish body in his arms, the brush of fingers at a shared meal—zipped through his mind like thrown daggers. For years he’d barely even dared to look at Teomitl for too long, lest his thoughts show on his face. True, Teomitl was smart and observant, but he’d been careful. He forced words out past the hard knot of fear in his throat. “I’ll not lie to you, Teomitl. You know that.”

Teomitl took another step forward. The room was really too small. He made a motion as though to reach for Acatl before visibly drawing himself back, straightening his spine. “I do. But...you understand why I have to ask.”

Acatl held his ground. “I do.” I love you. I love you, and you’ll scorn me for it.

There was a long, slow breath and another flicker of averted eyes before Teomitl looked him in the face again. “Are you doing...all this...for the sake of the Fifth World?”

He had to make himself breathe. “I’m...not sure what you mean.”

Teomitl gestured, an angry, stabbing motion. “Tizoc.”

Oh. He was still breathing. His heart was still beating. But it was all feeling very, very far away. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands hard enough to draw blood; the pain grounded him enough to speak, though the words felt like they were being torn from his lungs. Don’t. Teomitl, please. “I.” Through supreme effort of will, he managed to keep his gaze focused in the general area of Teomitl’s face. “I don’t believe I ought to answer that. Why do you think I’m involved?”

“Oh, come on! You think I don’t know what even a trace of your magic feels like?!” It came out in an impatient huff. “You’ve taught me too well for that, Acatl-tzin. Quenami even asked me if I was doing it, and had the nerve to remind me that I wouldn’t gain the Southern Hummingbird’s favor that way, as though I’m not well aware of it! But of course, you wouldn’t have to worry about that. I only want to know—is this for the Fifth World, or not?”

He couldn’t speak. I promised never to lie to you. I promised you that. But for this… He could picture Teomitl’s reaction to the truth all too easily—the shock, the avoidance, the way their easy camaraderie would dissolve like mist.

Teomitl’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of his cloak by his shoulder; Acatl was too stunned to react as he stepped into his personal space, eyes dark and furious. “Is it, Acatl?!”

He closed his eyes, hating himself for it. Teomitl deserved Mihmatini, who spat in the face of fear; Acatl was too weak even to look at him while he held out his heart to be torn to shreds. My parents were right, after all. I’m a coward. But Teomitl had asked for the truth, and so he would give it to him. “Not—not only for the Fifth World, but for you.”

Silence descended, punctuated only by Teomitl’s harsh breathing and Acatl’s shaky ones. He felt more than heard his heart beat a frenetic tattoo in his chest.

He opened his mouth again—he knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop himself. Anything was better than this deadly void, and in any case Teomitl was between him and the nearest escape route. “He is a cruel, paranoid coward, and not fit to be Emperor. But you—you are. I know you; you’re brave and intelligent and your heart is so wide when you—when you love, and you’d lead the Empire to greatness. I’d—I would be so proud to serve you in any way you’d have me. I know it doesn’t excuse—“

“Acatl.”

Teomitl’s voice cracked halfway through his name, sounding more than a little desperate; he opened his eyes, and therefore he had a moment to brace himself as Teomitl breathed, “Shut up,” and pulled him into a hard, messy kiss.

The world stopped. There was Teomitl’s mouth on his—hot and wet and definitely with more teeth than Acatl had really imagined would be involved in kissing—and the faint shimmer of Huitzilpochtli’s magic that always accompanied him felt like sunlight on Acatl’s skin. Sunlight through the water, green as jade, some dizzy part of him thought with half a memory of Chalchiuhtlicue, but then Teomitl slid his tongue into his mouth and he forgot how to think entirely. If Teomitl hadn’t still had a deathgrip on his cloak, he might have reeled.

(He hadn’t dreamed about that.)

And then, very suddenly, Teomitl wrenched himself away. His mouth was very red, the working part of Acatl’s brain noted, and his eyes were wide as a deer’s. “I—I’m so sorry. Acatl-tzin, I wasn’t thinking…”

He should probably say something (Gods, I love you), or move (pull him into his arms, never let him go), but he couldn’t make himself do either one. He lived in a new world, one where Teomitl had just kissed him, and it needed some time to settle on its foundations. Teomitl. Life returned to his fingers first, twitching at his sides—then his arms, and he managed to lift a disbelieving hand and trace his own lips, marveling at the way they still tingled, the way he could still feel the impression of that mouth against his own—

Only to realize that Teomitl was stiffly drawing himself up and turning away, turning to leave. Acatl’s voice came back to him in a rush. “Wait!”

“So you can reject me kindly, is that it?” Teomitl’s voice shook, fists clenching as he fixed his gaze on the wall. Acatl watched as he flushed a deep red. “Scold me about how I shouldn’t have done that, how you have your vows and I have a loving wife and I’m breaking her heart? I’m not, you know. Your sister’s too smart and too relentless for that—she’s been telling me for years I should do something about it.” He snorted bitterly, shaking his head. “Well, I did something about it, and now I get to tell her how badly I’ve misjudged.”

He was walking away. Acatl couldn’t let him; there would never be another chance for him to say this. Shakily, he took what felt like his first breath in a thousand years. “No. That’s—that’s not it at all!”

Teomitl turned in the doorway, one hand at the curtain, and stared at him. The expression on his face shifted slowly from stubborn self-hatred to a sort of wary hope. “...What is it, then?”

He’d always been bad with words. People took what he said poorly, or just ignored him when he said something they disliked. So, in this instance, he decided not to rely on them. Duality, let me not be making a mistake, he prayed. His palms still stung where his nails had cut them, and he dedicated the pain of it to the gods.

(He’d never prayed or sacrificed to Xochipilli in his life. He resolved to start immediately.)

Carefully, he stepped forward. Just as carefully, he reached out and took Teomitl’s unresisting hand in both of his own. It was easiest to meet his eyes if he didn’t look away, and thus he saw them widen at the first touch. It made his heart flip over in his chest; he had to pause for a moment, drawing in another breath, to drink in the sight of Teomitl slowly softening and turning towards him. Oh, I love you. Let me show you.

He’d never kissed anyone in his life, but they were nearly of a height (Teomitl had gotten slightly taller than him since they’d met, which he probably shouldn’t have found appealing—but it had brought some rather interesting thoughts in the night) and so it was easy to lean in, tilt his head a bit so they didn’t bump noses, and brush his lips softly against Teomitl’s own. He kept it light and chaste, but it still sent shockwaves through him. This is what it’s like to kiss Teomitl. This is his mouth, this the shape of his lips and the line of his nose. This is what it feels like when he melts against me.

Because Teomitl was melting, gently tugging his hand free of Acatl’s to slide both arms around him and hold him like something precious and fragile. Fingers tangled lightly in the ends of his hair, weaving through the strands, and it sent a shiver through him. Acatl had had some vague idea of keeping the kiss brief—a way to make certain Teomitl knew of his feelings, nothing more—but Teomitl seemed inclined to linger over it. This one was soft and delicate and as unlike the previous attempt as it was possible to be, but the magic limning Teomitl’s skin still warmed him down to his bones. Helpless, all he could do was hold him close; it seemed the most natural thing in the world to cradle the base of his skull in one hand, burying his fingers in thick, soft hair. Teomitl sighed against his mouth, and he hummed in response.

When they finally parted, Teomitl’s voice was soft with wonder. “All this, for me?”

He thought of Tizoc slowly dying, his bones flaking to ash in the funeral pyre. He thought of his own hands red with the blood of an emperor. He thought of Teomitl crowned in turquoise and gold, with jade and precious feathers at his feet.

(For the first time, he allowed himself a place in the dream. In any way you’d have me, he’d blurted out, and meant it.)

“Always.”

Teomitl kissed him again. It was more careful and yet more passionate than the first time, with the sharp pressure of teeth turned to a simmering promise that lit his blood on fire. And this time, with Acatl knowing it was coming, he could adjust accordingly. His lips parted easily for Teomitl’s tongue, and he surprised himself with the soft, hungry sound that rose up from his throat. A shock ran up his spine when Teomitl’s grip tightened on his hair, and he realized in a rush that he wanted more, wanted to see how strong Teomitl really was.

Teomitl nipped lightly at his lower lip—oh, he liked that too—and pulled away, eyes dark and heated. “...Acatl.” His voice was rough around the edges. “You’ve no idea how much I want you, but...I won’t ask you to break your vows for me.”

My what? It took him a shamefully long time to realize what Teomitl was talking about; when it struck him, he had to smile even as a rush of embarrassed heat pulsed through his veins. “Teomitl.” Feeling suddenly bold, he settled his hands at Teomitl’s hips, pulling him closer. Like this, there was no possible way of hiding his desire. “If I planned to keep my vow of chastity, I would not be doing this.” Looking back, it had probably been a lost cause since the first time Teomitl had smiled at him, but when he’d begun to wake hard and trembling with lust he’d known that if Teomitl were to ask...well.

(He’d sworn his obedience to Tizoc, and look how well he was keeping to that. What was one more oath shattered on the ground so that he could dance amidst the shards?)

Teomitl surged forward to meet him, pressing their bodies together. Their cloaks were no obstacle at all; he could feel the heat of his skin through them, and when the fabric shifted, the bare skin on his own felt like Tlaloc’s lightning in his veins. He made a desperate noise that might have been pleading for a kiss, but Teomitl ignored him and lowered his head to mouth at his throat instead and his knees almost buckled. He was achingly hard already; when Teomitl dug his nails into his shoulderblades, he had to bite his lip to stifle a cry. Anyone could come in. It wasn’t safe here. He kept thinking that—they wouldn’t have much time, it wasn’t safe—but then Teomitl’s teeth scraped lightly over the juncture of neck and collarbone and his ability to think anything flew out the window.

Then he lifted his head—not by much, Acatl could still feel his breath on his skin—and murmured, “Gods, Acatl, can I…?“

It was enough to jar his brain into functioning again. “Not here,” he breathed. “Go change out of all that—“ he wouldn’t mind Teomitl keeping it on, actually, but all the gold and quetzal feathers were the farthest thing from discreet, “—and meet me at home. I’ll—I’ll be waiting for you.”

Teomitl took a shuddering breath and stepped away, passing a hand over his hair. “Gods. Gods. Alright.” The edge of his smile was shy, but radiant as the dawn of the Fifth Sun. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

This time, when he left, Acatl didn’t stop him. He knew they’d see each other again soon.

(Later—much, much later, when they were sweaty and sticky and spent—Teomitl twined a lock of Acatl’s hair through his fingers and grinned wickedly as he asked, “So, how are you dealing with Tizoc, anyway?” Acatl, smiling in return, told him.)

(Teomitl all but tackled him back onto the mat.)

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #paladin writes stuff

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high5nerd · 4 years

Text

Healer

This is one of my firsts on archiveofourown.org after a long writers block! I can’t recall if this one was a commission, but it’s a Cavity ship!

This wasn’t the first time he found himself surrounded by death once he closed his eyes. Or did he just open them? Everything felt cold, and in some parts of his body, it felt like seething fire. Liquid fire. What’s on his hands?

A dark hand raised to his face, centimeters from his nose. It was sluiced in red. Crimson red. His own red. God, the pain...Stars Above, it hurt so much.

Above him, he saw nothing but a burning sky, swathed in an aura of dusky purple and the bloody rose of the sunset beyond. Just barely, he could make out the slivers of the two moons above him, a sign of hope that he was holding onto by strings of fate. How was he even still alive? The battle should have finished him, he knew when he rode into it with his battalion that the odds weren’t in their favor. The dream pirates have swallowed the entire constellation, there was no chance that he would lead his troops to victory against them.

Then again, one must always obey the orders of the king and queen of comets.

His teeth felt brittle as he grimaced against the throbbing that took over his brain. Alright, now he was feeling pain. Sitting up proved difficult, but he fought against the white hot agony to look around him. He had to know if there were other survivors. Anyone to give him hope that they won, for when he was struck off his horse, he fell unconscious and hadn’t been aware of the outcome as the battle raged on. Even the banner men with their flagged staffs would be enough proof of hope that they will return home victorious, that the galaxy was once saved from further pestilence of the dream pirates.

Nobody rose with him. He felt his mouth drop and a gust of air flood his lungs, ripping his raw throat. He wished he felt the hot tears spring in his eyes, but he only felt the dried blood against his cheeks harden as he winced more at the growing pain in his stomach.

His vision cleared more once the blurriness passed along with his migraine subsiding to a dull throbbing. Now he could look out to the sea of lifeless beings with more clarity. Some looked peaceful, helped by those who escaped or defeated the foe and had enough sympathy for the fallen to shut their eyes and say a prayer to the stars above. Others died in the midst of pain, their eyes open, barren, and white. Their mouths open mid yell of pain, filling with more red and staining their teeth like oil paint on pearl.

No...No. I failed. My men. My friends...I failed them. His mind spiraled as he looked around him, his hope quickly becoming demolished.

What have I done.

What have you done? You killed them. You killed them all.

They trusted you, and you got them all killed.

You monster.

Pitch.

Pitch!

“Pitch!”

That was a voice, not a memory. His eyes snapped open, and through the haze of the remaining nightmare, he saw a flutter of color and then magenta eyes filled with worry hover above him like an angel sent from the creator to take pity on him. But his heart still raced, his mind still transported in the realm of the nightmare that was once a fresh wound and a memory. He couldn’t help but act on instinct, the man of battle still fresh in his breath.

Toothiana yelped and took in a breath of air as she was grabbed from the air and flipped onto her back, with his hand around her throat as he sat on her abdomen, a look of bloodthirsty mourning on his face.

“Pitch, it’s just me. Please...it’s okay.”

Tooth. Toothiana. What is she doing here?

The look of revenge swiftly fled from his face, and a new look of horror spread across his face as he quickly retracted from her as if singed. She sat up, looking at him with a new expression he would like to label as pity, but something in his shrunken heart told him it wasn’t that at all. A new voice that didn’t hurt him, that didn’t continuously open old wounds over and over as punishment.

She’s empathetic. She knows you’re in pain.

Pathetic. Get her out of here.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped lowly, not looking at her as he dressed himself. He felt a twinge of shame for climbing onto her like that in just his briefs.

He was met with silence for a moment before he heard the bed linens shuffle. A flutter of wings, and then a soft landing and a gentle hand on his back. He flinched. He’d rather feel angry nails against his spine than something so comforting. You don’t deserve it.

“An old proverb that a lot of the humans say is, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. We’re worried about you.” she said, her voice like satin. No hint of lying detected.

He scoffed and glared at her, “Who the hell is ‘we’?” he turned back and flared his robe out for a final act of inner torment before turning to the majestic fairy. He felt that stirring come back again at seeing that little pout she was making right at that moment, then grew angry at himself for feeling it. Ever since a few months ago…

She sighed, looking to the towering pillar across from them. “Fine. I am. You know I’m soft like that.”

He grunted, fixing his robe more but refused to fasten it, trying to not look at her and drink in her fae-like aura, “Not completely. A year ago you proved that by a nasty punch. Five months ago you proved against that once more. I still have scratches on my back from-”

“Anyway,” Tooth’s voice dripped with warning.

Ooh, he loved teasing her. As much as he hated himself for feeling an attraction for someone like her, or even anyone at all, he had to take mirth out of riling her up. It usually leads to good and distracting outcomes. He made no effort to hide his smirk, a look that once irritated Toothiana enough to fluff her feathers.

“I didn’t just come here to...wake you from your troubles.”

“Business, I take it.” he muttered, striding out of the room. He didn’t care if she followed. She usually never does. He wanted to milk out what he could from her visit as much as he can. He hated it when she left, and he hated that he felt that way at being alone now.

“Although the Guardians have recollected all the teeth you’ve stolen, there’s one you haven’t yet returned. I have a slot missing in Russia, you know. I would have suspected of North using it for gifting inspiration from their memories but he has no idea where-”

Pitch swirled his fingers, the sand dancing around his digits until out formed the canister of teeth, glittering in the filtered light that barely made it down to the depths they walked in. He heard Tooth huff in irritation, and a smirk once more graced his fine features.

Took her long enough to notice.

Anything to keep her here longer.

“Out of all the times to be immature,” she leapt into the air to grab it, but he was quicker. His hand retracted from over his shoulder to his other hand and out far away from her reach. Toothiana found herself draped over his shoulder, giving him a perfect view of her curves from a slight turn of his chin.

He grinned, “This oddly feels familiar.”

“Grrh!”

The canister flew up, twirled, and disappeared in nightmare sand just as she reached to his other hand, a look of irritated determination on her face. He smiled, closing his eyes in modesty as he felt the slight ruffle of baby feathers from her upper chest against the tip of his nose. She always smelled of spring water, roses and mint. Such a good mix of smells for a tiny, pretty little thing.

She froze, realizing her position.

“Again, familiar. Is this becoming a habit, my dear?” he teased.

She leaned back and glared at him. That goddamn mouth of his. She didn’t know if she was thinking that in annoyance or slight attraction at seeing his smirk and his golden, heated eyes looking up at her with mirth and a crackling fire she wanted to spill her own flames onto. A prickling heat sensation came over her cheeks when she realized she was staring at his mouth for too long, remembering the darker things his mouth can do that wasn’t just talking and taunting.

Growling, she grabbed his face and pulled him towards her, mashing her mouth with his. She felt him stiffen before reluctantly melting into it. It both surprised them that Tooth was the one who acted first and Pitch was all talk and actually reserved once Tooth makes the first move.

Then again, it doesn’t take him long enough to react as animalistic as her either.

Kids these days call this fuckmates, you know.

Shut up.

The canister reappeared and fell, and because the king of nightmares was too...preoccupied with trying to win at the war Tooth started, she caught it with dexterity, and pulled away with a triumphant look on her face.

His own expression soured. “Good for you. You can leave now.”

He tried pulling away, but was surprised by the gentle tug of resistance from her, and looked at her with expectancy as she gently fluttered to stand on the cold ground. She gently smiled at him, touching his face with affection.

Wait. Affection? What is this? What is she doing?

“I was thinking of staying a while, if you don’t mind.” she offered, clearly hinting at what he hoped for for months.

Well, shit. Now we’re really fucked.

He grunted and gruffly looked away from her as if in annoyance, but she caught the darkening on his cheeks enough to gloat about it with a prideful smile.

“I suppose you could….if you’ve got the time,” he looked back at her, ready to test the waters, “I thought you and I strictly made this thing between us an...informality?”

She smiled, cradling the tooth canister to her chest as she guided him back to the room they left a few moments ago.

“I’m ready to make it formal, no matter what others think.”

The calmness that washed over him, the promising smile on her face made all nightmares from previous nights wash away. He felt a genuine but small smile creep against his mouth, and it caused her to brighten.

She knew of the nightmare that constantly plagued him. It didn’t take Toothiana long to dig it out of him over time, but for once, the cruel voices that plagued him through it were finally silenced, if anything for the fleeting moments that she was there for him, and with him. She was his healer, and he was her glimmer of hope. Perhaps now he’d awaken from a dream where he rises among a battlement of victorious souls, along with a feeling of completion now that she’s finally made herself known to him.

Yes, he can endure this. Just for her. And even, for him as well.

#toothiana #rotg fandom #rotg fanfiction #rotg fanfic #fanfiction #fanfics #rise of the guardians #rise of the guardian fanfics #pitch black #pitch black x tooth fairy #pitch black x tooth #pitch black x toothiana #rotg cavity #cavity #tooth fairy

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vaguely-concerned · 4 years

Text

Mass Effect Initiation thoughts

In short: this book is actually really good, N.K. Jemisin is, as we all know, an excellent writer! It’s the story of how Cora met Alec Ryder and joined the Initiative, and it has SO much good good SAM content and I am full of emotions.

- poor cora is so continually out of her depth, I want to give her a hug. the points made about her in the main game are true though -- she is not ready for leadership yet. (and that’s fine! she does much better with something or someone to belong to and that is so Valid. she’s an honorable Loyal Knight!!! one of the sexiest things to be, as we all know)

I think I’ll actually like her a lot more on this new playthrough now -- she must have been quite hard to write compellingly in the game because at the end of the day she’s really very straightforward and honest and loyal, it’s quite hard to uh ‘hide’ things in her character

- alec ryder deadass installed an unspeakably illegal (and did I mention experimental?) AI in cora’s head with no informed consent whatsoever. d A D

(when cora is like ‘are you actually going to another galaxy because they don’t have laws to stop you from committing fully to your craziness in public’ and alec is like *...maybe so meme* fadsfhkj he does literally say ‘this is why I’m going to another galaxy’ out loud at a later point of the book)

- this book is giving me the good good SAM content ;________; I love SAM so much, the scene where cora thinks she’s dying and SAM talks to her? when cora asks SAM if he’s okay being connected to her because if he’s sentient that matters to her (cora is a Good)? SAM explicitly having inherited alec ryder’s sense of humour and sarcasm and alec a) doesn’t know how it happened, b) distantly thinks he should probably track that process down and turn it off (and never does) and c) regrets all his life choices when his robot kid mercilessly snarks at him and questions his life choices? please bioware give me an me:a sequel with more of this stuff I’ll eat it up with a spoon

- body diverse asari! HUGE BUFF ASARI! Short stocky beautiful matriarch asari with one krogan and one turian trophy husband fast asleep in her bed in the background of a vidcall fkdjshfkjsdlhfkjsdah god I love mass effect with my entire heart

- OLD LADY INFORMATION BROKER VOLUS WORKING OUT OF ILLIUM!!!! this is not a drill what the fUCK this is the coolest shit

- fasdklhfsjkdalfhsdjk okay in Alec Ryder POV: “I don’t think [Cora] likes me very much.” Which probably meant she had good judgement. AFLSKJDHGJSDKF ALEC

he has a weird flip-flopping sense of self -- he is uncompromisingly (one might even say... astoundingly arrogantly) secure in his own intellectual superiority and that most other people are idiots not to be trusted and that he needs to do things himself because others would mess it up, and yet there’s this clear seam of self loathing around basically everything else about himself too. (You know who he reminds me of, in a more military and less visibly anxious way? Rodney McKay. Alec Ryder is like a slightly unfortunate outcome for a McShep lovechild. I think we just figured out why I have sort of a soft spot for him even though he’s a certifiable dick lol)

- this book really makes it hit home that cora grew up incredibly isolated and dirt poor. I’ve seen some people say her backstory is all sunshine and daisies compared to kaidan and especially jack’s, but honestly her background is complicated and fucked up enough that I’m just like ‘shit baby :(’ all the time

- well I have successfully solved the puzzle about whether alec ryder is an idealist or not; he absolutely is. a grouchy, bad-tempered one with no people skills, but an idealist nonetheless. alec ryder is in fact a storm of 150000 emotions in a trenchcoat, barely held in check by a thin fragile outer shell of iron lol, SAM was absolutely right to say that he was mostly governed by his feelings. (and I mean if anyone would know it’d be SAM I guess). I found some of it sort of sweet actually: he reflects in passing that one of the biggest reliefs of no longer being in the alliance is that he’ll never have to risk other people’s lives again. he fundamentally wants to build something good to help people live and be happy instead of destroying things. (he also is quite bad at predicting how other people could corrupt and use his innovations precisely to be destructive b/c he doesn’t think that’s the ~*logical*~ thing to do, so... y’know haha, maybe it’s good he went to another galaxy, the milky way could not contain his chaos)

also he thinks a lot about his wife, even though she’s been dead for years at this point. o u c h (she truly does seem to have been a tether for him in so many ways though -- like a tie to the real world/normalcy/possibly sanity, and that’s a bit how he still evokes her)

additionally: alec ryder did fistfight at the very least one dude in the line of bureaucratic duty, and perhaps more, enough for SAM to have a list of warning signs ready and at hand jdfsklfhasdjf. he did, very much, throw a dude through a table. (at least it’s implied said dude was an asshole) I LOVE that alec’s SAM is the snarkiest iteration we’ve seen and that he’s perfectly willing to call the old man out on his bullshit (alec stresses that SAM is supposed to do what he says at the end of the day, but his SAM is also less subservient and more willing to argue and discuss things than any other we get to see -- and this is of course the SAM Ryder inherits, but I don’t think SAM is as confident in being able to read the PC correctly until a bit further into the game and the twin is of course a different person who’ll respond to different things so he’s not quite as... blunt? I guess? in confronting them about things. (the whole concept is just! so! interesting!!) anyway I feel like all of this says something about alec’s parenting style, for better or for worse haha. he sort of tries to be authoritarian but his children (well canonically at least Sara, she references having yelled at him a lot over the years) aren’t afraid to fight back or scared of the consequences of disagreeing, so I get the distinct feeling his temper never flared violently like that with his family at all, I think he’s more prone to just pulling away in disapproval.)

- I enjoy how casually diverse this book is -- Jemisin has done such a good job making sure especially the human characters are from different backgrounds and places, as they would be lore-wise in the Mass Effect universe, though the games often skew unfortunately white. (andromeda much less so than the trilogy, though)

- my heart. is so so soft for the fact that a huge reason for cora to join the initiative is how much she bonds with SAM-E. and I am so sad for her because she just wants someone or something who’ll stay, something that won’t disappear on her without closure like her parents; she’s so insecure and scared under her competence (and WHY THE FUCK WOULDN’T SHE BE holy shit her parents just. weren’t there one day after she left home so she wouldn’t accidentally crush their ship with her untrained biotics and kill them all). and she chooses alec and his dream. and then alec goes and FUCKING DIES at the first opportunity Y____________Y alternate universe alec please drink your victor sullivan juice and survive, all these dumb children need you

- I am so surprised about how much fond respect alec seems to have for cora and how quickly he developed it. I suppose he has a harder time with his own children because it’s closer to home? he is a complicated man lol, this last part of the book where he shows her the ark and everything is weirdly sweet. again I think he has the potential to be a good dad somewhere in there and that just makes it so much worse that he wasn’t. (also he staunchly considers himself still a married man. god help me)

they’ve both grown to honestly love their sams T________T fml. (well alec has sort of bound up all of himself, the things he loves and their future in SAM, so it’s a bit more complicated but my point still stands) alec advocating for a consensual synthesis is very heartfelt and convincing; you really want to believe him.

cora seen through someone else’s eyes is also SO AMAZING!!! after this whole book in her head and she feels so flailing and uncertain and adrift and other people naturally view her completely differently. I especially like alec picking up on her not talking a lot. (I think this is why she responds so well to SAM, who’ll be there always and can be in her head. I wish this part of cora was more evident in the game, the fact that she has this sibling-like connection to SAM seems very important. sequel where both SAM and Ryder grow closer to becoming her actual family? please? I keep begging for ME:A2 into an empty aching void haha)

- alec ‘I don’t have time to die’ ryder still talking about everyone else being idiots as he’s slowly catching fire while saving SAM fhdjfhsdlfhasdhlfsjd he is an asshole but it is hard not to stan

- nO SAM-E D:D:D: oh well at least he’s still alive within SAM, in a way?

- hey. hey you know what’s fun. alec tries to use his last words and last thoughts to ask cora to tell the kids about ellen being alive this time too. haha. ha. fuck

he consistently goes out thinking of his family despite all his bullshit and I’m not okay

- CORA IS A PERFECT BODYGUARD/SECOND IN COMMAND AND I’M EMOTIONAL

- alec is. surprisingly afraid to hurt people emotionally? he keeps putting off telling cora the bad news about SAM-E, to SAM’s stated disapproval lol (I must repeat again: I love SAM so so much). this supports my thesis that in his personal life he’s avoidant rather than confrontational/aggressive. (professionally... again, he did very much throw a man through a table)

- man I hope we some day get SAM being this comfortably close and sarcastic with Ryder too. thinking about SAM-E and the small differences between him and uh SAM ‘prime’ it really must have been a huge thing for him too to become someone else, especially after the last person died like that. and he kind of has no choice but to experience that loss and death intimately. (now that I think about it that’s. fucked up, man. he literally felt alec go like it happened to himself.)

If I were to summarize the differences between the SAMs we have seen, cora’s SAM-E seems younger, more exuberant, shyer and more -- what’s a non-shitty word for needy haha? it’s very firmly established that cora longs to feel needed, so this makes perfect sense. alec’s SAM is blunter, snarkier and more prone to questioning things, and hilariously is sort of alec’s emotional intelligence. (probably serves a similar role to what ellen used to, actually. ow) scott/sara’s SAM feels more worried/focused -- which also makes sense; he’s just experienced losing his person/pathfinder, in a real way he’s also recently orphaned and must be Extremely aware that he now has an enormous responsibility, not only what he was built for but for what remains of alec’s family. ...poor SAM

(come to think of it I guess one vibe I get from in-game SAM is a little bit of ’harried and anxious yet loving and responsible uncle’ hahaha)

- so at this point alec knew cora could never be pathfinder after him, and he never told her. *accumulation of asshole points continues, though I suspect this might have come from a place of not wanting to hurt her again (b/c he’s the only one who has a right to know these important things amirite)* but I’m also strangely touched that the reason he’s hesitant to involve his children in the whole thing isn’t that he doesn’t have faith in them, it’s that he doesn’t want to burden their lives with something so heavy, a burden he created. can you just imagine... if this man had managed to take the time to explain himself, his motivations and his feelings to his children just once. just one fUCKING time. am I laughing am I crying I honestly don’t know

- this book makes me ache all over for the potential of Andromeda. and I don’t think it’s too late to salvage it either. I know a sequel probably won’t happen, at least not any time soon, but... *sits by rainy window like a wife wistfully wondering if her husband will return from sea*

#mass effect #mass effect andromeda #meta #man I wish they could have gotten *this* cora across more in the game - it's recognizably the same person but she's shown better here #and also yes I am just a one person 'bring alec ryder back and give us some closure' cheerleading squad right now lol

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