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violetlilysunshine · 3 years

Text

Plenty of Times

Boyfriend Chris Evans x Female Reader

Requested - Anon: Hey! Is it all right to request for Chris Evans where reader comes in after a girls night and just dotes on him and loves on him and its sickeningly fluffy and he’s like what’s gotten into you? and reader breaks down because one of her friends vented that her husband is abusive and neglectful and she sees how important it is to have a good man in her life 🤍

WC: 1,619

Warnings: Pet names [bubba, babe, honey], talk of a bad relationship [neglectful husband - but not about Chris/reader], mention of phone sex [but it doesn’t happen here]

A/N: I’m so so so so sorry this took so long, I’m working on clearing out my inbox though!

IF YOUR NAME IS SCRATCHED OUT I CAN’T TAG YOU - I’VE STARTED REMOVING PEOPLE, SO IF IT’S NOT WORKING AND YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED SHOOT ME A MESSAGE AND WE’LL FIGURE IT OUT

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You haven't gone out with your friends in so long. You’re all busy with your own stuff - work and relationships, some with kids to care for. So, when the opportunity arises, Chris encourages you to take advantage of it.

The night was pretty simple, dinner, a couple of glasses of wine, and a few shared desserts before everyone was ready to head home. Most of your friends were not night owls like you by any standard, so when dinner wrapped up early, it was no surprise. At least that meant you got to go home to your man.

“Bubba?” you called as you walked through the front door.

“In here,” he answered.

You followed his voice to the living room, finding him lounging on the chaise sofa, Dodger soundly asleep next to him. Some movie played on the screen; you hadn’t paid attention to it long enough to know what it was.

You headed to the connected kitchen, dropping your keys and purse on the island, hanging your jacket on the back of one of the barstools, and slipping out of your boots before hurrying back to Chris.

He paused the movie when he heard you approach him from behind. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your hands splayed across his chest, as you pressed a long kiss to his temple.

He hummed at the contact, placing one hand over the top of both of yours, before turning his neck to meet your lips with his.

The kiss was sweet and simple, you could feel him smile against your lips as you lingered longer and longer into it.

He chuckled when you finally pulled away, a big smile etched across his face and a glimmer in his eyes.

You unraveled from his neck and stepped around the sofa. Dodger finally perked up when he heard you walking and you greeted him of course.

“Hey, bub,” you whispered, scratching Dodger’s head for a second before turning to Chris, “can we cuddle?” you asked quietly.

“Sure, babe, we can always cuddle,” he answered with a small smile, opening the blanket for you.

You slipped under, resting between his legs with your back on his chest. He wrapped the blanket and his arms around you, splaying his palms over your upper chest and rubbing gently, just as you had done to him. You ran your nails over his arm as light as a feather with one hand, the other rested on top of his clasped hands, tangling your fingers with one set of his as best you could in this position.

You tugged on his hand, pulling his arm further over your shoulder so you could place kisses on his bicep.

“How was girl’s night?” he asked, placing a light kiss to the top of your head.

“Fine,” you whispered, squeezing his hands for a second, “was nice to see everyone. They all seemed to need a good vent,” you ended with a breathy chuckle.

You felt his laugh rumble through your body, “don’t they always?” he asked, another kiss being placed on top of your head as he looped his legs around yours.

“Seems like,” you giggled, stroking his calf with your foot.

“Well I hope it was nice either way,” he said, “I’m glad you got to see them.”

“Mm, yeah, me too,” you answered quietly.

He slipped one hand from your grasp to grab the remote, causing a whine to leave your lips, disappearing into his skin as you had your lips placed on his bicep again.

He chuckled at the noise, “want me to start it over?” he nodded, making reference to the movie.

“No, it’s okay,” you whisper, pressing another lingering kiss to his arm.

“You sure? I’m not that far into it...”

“I’m sure, I won’t really be paying attention anyway.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Can’t focus with you wrapped around me,” you giggled.

“Mm, yeah, sorry not sorry,” he laughed, playing the movie again.

You giggled, bringing his hand up to your lips to give it a kiss.

He gave his other hand back to you and you entwined your fingers with it as well, giving both of his hands small squeezes every once in a while.

You placed random kisses on his arms, pulling his hands up every now and again to press kisses to them as well. You didn’t want to do it too often, so you wouldn’t annoy him, but you couldn’t help but give him a few.

You tilted your head to look up at him, his eyes focused on the movie before he looked down at you.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice sounding a little tired.

“Nothing,” you whispered, passing him a small smile.

“You’re lying,” he said, placing a kiss on your forehead, “what’s on your mind?”

You sighed deeply, “have I told you how much I love you?”

He reached over and paused the movie, quickly tangling his hand with yours again: “all the time,” he smiled.

“And how great you are?”

“Plenty of times,” he chuckled.

“And how thankful I am for you?”

“More than once,” he answered, a sense of questioning coming into his voice.

“And how kind and good you are to me?”

“Never in those words, but you deserve it more than anything,” he said, “where’s this coming from?”

“Jenn was really upset tonight,” you started.

“And that has to do with me, how?”

“She was talking about how rough her marriage is. And I know everyone says the first year is the hardest, but he doesn’t prioritize her, and never really has, and if I’m being honest I always thought she could do better; and she feels so disconnected from him and he’s so distant and she’s just not happy,” you rambled, tears pricking at your eyes, “and of course the whole time she was talking I felt so bad for her, but I couldn’t help thinking that I’m so lucky to have a guy like you and that made me feel even worse. Ya know? Like guilty because I was sitting there thinking ‘well at least I’m not in her shoes,’ and, god, you’re so good to me and I appreciate and love you so much. Don’t feel like I tell you that enough, but, you’re the best,” you finished, taking a deep breath.

“Honey,” Chris soothed, “you have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about, first off. It’s not your fault he treats her like crap, and all you can do is support her with whatever she chooses to do about it. She can leave, or they could go to therapy, or she might just ignore it all together, but the only thing you can and should do is listen to her vent and offer support, or sometimes advice if she asks for it.”

You smile, “I know, but it’s just a shitty situation. Like I wish she wasn’t going through it, because she’s great, and I wish he was as good to her as you are to me.”

“Well no one’s as good as me,” Chris joked, trying to lift your spirits.

You laughed lightly in response, turning over a little bit and scooting up so you could lay face to face with him.

“Second,” he continued, “I’m only giving you what you deserve. Wish I could do a lot more sometimes, if I’m honest,” he said almost under his breath as he wrapped his arms around your back.

“Chris, you do more than enough! I should be doing more for you!”

“Babe, you give me everything I could ever want,” he smiles, “you’re amazing. Wish I could do more, like I wish I wasn’t away from you so much. Don’t like leaving you, ever.”

“You’re the best,” you lean forward, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, “you do plenty for me even when you’re away.”

“Not nearly enough,” he says, “gotta come up with something new for us.”

“We’ve done plenty of new things while you’re away.”

“Yeah? You think?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hey, without you, I never would’ve tried phone sex,” you giggle, “love trying new things as long as it’s with you. Especially that thing...”

He lets out a breathy laugh at that, “I love you too,” he says, referring back to your ramble but also your willingness to try anything for and with him.

You giggle, this time pecking his lips, “I don’t deserve you,” you whisper against his mouth.

“No, you don’t,” he says shortly.

You pull away from him, not expecting that to come out of his mouth.

“You deserve better,” he smiles, a glimmer in his eye again.

“You’re so corny!” you laugh loudly, causing Dodger to grumble next to Chris.

“Sorry, bub,” you laugh at Dodge.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” Chris suggests.

“What about the movie?” you ask, tipping your head towards the TV.

“Eh, won’t be able to pay attention now anyway, and I’ve lost the flow,” he shrugs.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you whisper, stroking a few fingers across his cheekbone.

“‘S alright,” he whispers, “like you better anyway.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyelids heavy as they start to flutter closed for a kiss.

Chris closes the distance between the two of you, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, “I love you,” he whispers into your mouth.

“I love you too,” you whisper back.

Your lips seal in a gentle kiss, and he brings a hand up to rest on your cheek before pulling back: “you can always make it up to me anyway,” he says, a smile giving away his attempt at being serious.

You laugh at him, “alright, bubba, let’s get you to bed.”

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#chris evans #chris evans fluff #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x fem reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans oneshot #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans fanfic #cevans fluff #cevans #cevans x reader #cevans x female reader #violetlilysunshine #violetwrites

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editor-flower-shop · 2 years

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hello everyone!

in our time in the editing community, we have found ourselves looking for specific tutorials, resources or advice, that was just not there, or easily accessible. so we decided to create this blog!

this blog is for any editor, in any fandom, who wants help or advice. whether you are new to the hobby or you’ve been here for years, we hope we can offer you something on this blog.

the specifics of this blog will most likely be figured out over time, so, if any of you have suggestions, we’d be happy to hear them.

what we offer -

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#edit blog #fandom edit #editing advice

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yandere-ac · 4 years

Note

Thank you for doing Danganronpa! Could you do Taka where his S/O who he kidnapped tries to escape, but as they do it, they start to regret it and go back? Thank you!

Yandere Kiyotaka Ishimaru X Reader

A ghost. That is the most accurate way you could describe Taka after Mondos trial. A pale, lifeless shell of the stern yet upbeat person he was before. He refused to eat, could barely sleep, didn’t talk and he was always staring off in the distance with the same haunted look in his eyes. It wasn’t unexpected for him to be in shock, seeing your best friend die right before your own eyes would mess anybody up. But as his partner, you were very concerned for his health. When everyone first noticed Takas behaviour change, they sent you to try and snap him out if it. You had tried everything, from being gentle, to pleading to even shaking him. But nothing, he didn’t even look at you. He was just staring off, looking like he saw a ghost. Everyone told you to give up, but you refused to leave his side. You continued to stay by him, even if he wasn’t responding. At the end of the breakfast meeting, the breakfast meeting that he used to initiate, you had to pull him with you to explore the new floor. Your futile attempts at getting his attention was almost hard for the others to watch. "Look Taka! There’s a new floor! There’s an art studio! There’s so much to explore!" The desperation in your voice was painful, you kept a smile on your face, trying to be strong for him, but it was obvious that you were suffering. The time that Taka did speak, when you, him and Makoto were in the physics lab, was the thing that almost broke you. Monokuma had tricked him into believing that the air purifier was a time machine. He had made poor Taka believe he could go back and save Chihiro. You wanted to yell at him, scream at the cruel bear. But you didn’t want to get in trouble, if something happened to you, you didn’t know how Taka would react.

Days passed and every so often you would hear a loud and violent growl come from his stomach. His body was screaming, begging him to eat, but for some reason he was refusing. You had tried everything to get him to respond, but nothing was working. And you were starting to get worried that he might be starving himself. You had to get him to eat something, anything. You couldn’t loose him. Not now, not ever.

"Taka? Sweetie? Please, look at me." You asked your boyfriend, cupping his face in your hands and bringing his gaze towards yours. The look in his eyes where haunting, almost empty yet full of such horror. The thought of how he must feel. It made you want to cry, but you couldn’t, you had to stay strong for him. "Takabear? You haven’t eaten in a while, why don’t you let me make some food for you?" He didn’t respond, he only shook his head slightly and grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly. "...Taka...please, I’m begging you. Why aren’t you eating? I’ll cook you anything you want just- you need to eat!" You said, raising your voice in desperation. You couldn’t stand by and idly watch as your boyfriend was killing himself. All of a sudden you felt yourself being jerked forward. Two arms draping over you and embracing you. And then you heard it. A loud sob escaped Taka as he hugged you. You returned the hug, stroking his back while trying to comfort him. He had bursted. He told you everything, how he was feeling, what was happening, why he wasn’t eating. It turns out he was afraid that if he ate anything, it would’ve contained "Mondo butter" as Monokuma had called it. Once you heard this, it all made sense. You understood why he wasn’t eating. He feared that he would be eating his best friend. So he got to watch you while you made him food, making sure that you never used any butter while cooking. It wasn’t much, just a simple soup, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him. And then you two sat down and ate, him crying and venting to you while in between spoonfuls and you listening while consoling him. He had a lot on his mind and you wanted him to get it all out. You sat there for hours, just talking and feeling together. Every once in a while someone would enter the dining hall, see the scene before them and quickly leave. But you hardly noticed, all of your attention was on Taka. Neither of you realised how long you had been sitting there, so when the nighttime announcement rang through the room both of you were a bit shocked. You quickly made your way out of the dining hall, not wanting to be locked in. And once you got out you walked Taka to his dorm.

"I know it’s tough right now, but you have to keep going. For Chihiro, for Mondo. I’ll be with you the entire time alright? We’ll get through this, I promise." Placing a gentle peck on his lips you let go of his hands, only for him to grab them again. He looked deep in your eyes, his were full of sorrow and worry. Taka wasn’t a big fan of extreme pda. He would usually hold hands, hug and maybe kiss. So what he said next kinda shocked you. "Y/N? Would you stay the night with me?" His voice was quiet and very shaky. He looked to be on the verge of tears as he brought you closer to him. "I-I’d never do anything! I-it’s nothing like that! I just..." Takas volume went up slightly, trying to reassure you so that you didn’t get the wrong idea. You knew what he had meant when he asked you to stay. Taka has been very clear about wanting to wait, so you knew he didn’t mean it like that. A single tear went down the side of his cheek as he continued. "I don’t want to loose you too..." you could actually feel your heart break as he told you this. You brought your palm up to his face, gently wiping away the tear. "It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll sleep with you if that will make you feel better." And so, it was decided. Taka opened the door to his room and the two of you went inside.

His room was just as neat and clean as always, you had been in there a couple of times before. When you were hanging out, sometimes it’d be alone and other times Mondo would tag along. But usually, you would just sit and talk. You two had never shared a bed before, Taka would be way too flustered. You both changed into your pyjamas, you borrowing one of Takas spare shirts. You went under the covers next to him. At first you both laid on each side of the bed, but soon you started to scoot closer to each other and soon you were both entangled in each other’s arms. And as your eyes felt heavy, you started to hum. Hum a small tune that made Takas grasp on you loosen a little bit. And as he finally relaxed, you fell asleep.

This was how you two slept for the days. You would usually wake up, thinking you had woken up first only to find that Taka was already awake and was still holding you. If you tried to get up he would pull you down again, asking you to lie down for five more minutes. At first you thought it was a little cute, but it started to get a little inconvenient when he would refuse to let go of you. If you did manage to get him up, he would follow you around all day. Now this wasn’t a problem, you were just happy that he was getting better and was starting to respond to you. The problem wasn’t that he was clingy, the problem was just how possessive he was getting. If you ever tried to interact with anyone else, he would always put his arms around you. Even if you were mid conversation with someone. It was a little awkward when he was staring at the other person so intensely. Whenever you tried to talk to him about it he would tell you that he didn’t trust any of them. That he thought they might try to kill you. You knew this was because of Mondo and Chihiro, you felt bad for Taka, you really did. But it didn’t give him the right to treat everyone else like this. The tipping point was when you two were walking around, talking to each other, and Monokuma appeared out of nowhere. You still remembered how Taka grabbed you by the shoulder rather harshly, hastily pulling you to his body. Monokuma could barely say anything before Taka grabbed your arm and ran away with you. Taka had never liked Monokuma, but after the second trial, his dislike had turned into pure hatred. Just like when Makoto found out that Sayaka had died, Taka wanted to blame someone, anyone. Anyone except Mondo. And just like Makoto, he blamed Monokuma. He blamed Monokuma and the mastermind.

And yet, that had not been his worst actions. You remembered it clear as day. You and Taka were sitting in the cafeteria, eating while talking to each other. That’s when you heard a voice call out to you. "Yo Y/N! Taka! What’s happening?" As you turned around you saw Hiro walking into the room. He waved at the two of you and sent you a smile. You smiled back. Hiro and Sakura had been the only ones that had helped you with Taka. They were the only ones that seemed to care about Taka when he went quiet, and you couldn’t be more thankful for it. "Hi Hiro. Me and Taka was just eating lunch. Wanna join us?" Giving you a wide smile, Hiro sat down next to you. "Awesome!” He eyed your food, a plate of pancakes, for a second before looking at you. You let out a slight sigh and a giggle as you knew what he was thinking. Using the back of your hand, you pushed your plate towards the significantly taller male. “Sure, dig in.” Hiros smile widened as he ruffled your hair with one of his hands and used the other to pick up the fork. “Thanks dude! You’re a legend.” He said as he began eating the pancakes. Taka was the next person to speak, clearing his throat after being silent for a while. “Anyhow, Y/N, I was wondering if we could go swimming later. Just to calm down and hang out?” Taka asked you, but before you could answer you were interrupted. “That sound nice, mind if I join?” Hiro asked. Immediately as the questioned left his mouth Taka slowly turned to him, looking him dead in the eyes with a look that you couldn’t quite describe. “...yes. I mind.” The answer was short, straight to the point. But the sound of Takas voice being almost hostile to such a harmless question, it almost frightened you. The air became heavy as the three of you fell silent. You didn’t dare to speak, any and all light nature disappeared as you grew more and more uncomfortable. The tension felt like a thick coat of-

“Butter! That’s what these pancake needs! Something was missing and it was just driving me crazy.” Hiro was the first one to speak up as he stood up from his seat and went into the kitchen. “Honestly Y/N I don’t understand how you can have pancakes without butter.” He commented from the kitchen before coming back out with a package of butter with him. Your eyes widened as he approached. “Hiro wait-“ “don’t worry about it dude. It’s no big deal. You can make your pancakes however you want, I just prefer them this way.” He set down the butter on the table, right in front of Taka, Taka who was now frozen in his seat. Neither of you could move as Hiro stabbed the dairy with a butter knife. Finally Taka had enough as he stood up rather hastily and looked at Hiro with a death glare. “Do you think that you’re funny?” Hiro turned to him, looking utterly confused. “Huh? What’s the matter Taka?” “Hiro just- get out of here. I’ll explain later.” You tried to settle the situation before it got out of control. “What?! Did I do something wrong?! Why are you two acting so weird around but...ter...oh...oh no.” Finally, it seemed like it finally sunk in for Hiro what he had just done. “L-Listen man I’m so sorry, I completely forgot-“ “Forgot?! How could you just forget something like that!? Mondo died! HE DIED RIGHT BEFORE OUR EYES! AND YOU FORGOT?!” Taka shouted as tears started leaking from his eyes at the mention of his best friend. “DO YOU FIND MY MISERY HUMOROUS YASUHIRO!? TELL ME! DO YOU ENJOY SEEING ME SUFFER?!” This wasn’t your Taka. This was something much worse. This was a crack in the shell that Taka had been hiding behind all this time, a shell which he put up when he was with everyone else. But now he had cracked, and there was no stopping the raw emotion that was flooding out. But what Taka said next shocked both you and Hiro. “IS THAT WHY YOU’VE BEEN TRYING TO STEAL Y/N AWAY FROM ME!?” This question caught you off guard. “What?! I’ve not been- I would never- they’re not even-“ Hiro had tried to explain himself but then Taka did something that you would never had expected him to do in the next 1000 years. He tackled Hiro to the ground and was about to start punching him, luckily Hiro was able to grab his fists before they made contact with his face. You quickly rushed to his side and tried to pull Taka off of him. “Taka! What are you doing?! He’s not doing anything! Please Taka just look at me!” You managed to pry him off and grab each side of his face, forcing him to look at you. He stayed still, letting out heavy breaths and chocked sobs before collapsing onto you. But as Hiro stood up Taka lifted you off the ground and ran off. He ran off to his room, much to your protests.

Cuddling, that’s what the two of you were doing. Well, it wasn’t really cuddling as much as it was Taka clinging onto your waist and pulling you close. You hadn’t left the room for a couple of hours, and your body was starting to feel stiff. As you shifted in Takas arms his grip only got tighter. "N...no. Don’t leave. Don’t go." He pleaded as he buried his head in your chest. "Taka. I’m hungry, please just let go. Nothings gonna happen to me. I’m not leaving you I just need to eat something." But your pleads fell on deaf ears as Taka just pulled you in closer. You were starting to get sick of this. “Kiyotaka Ishimaru, let go of me now. I have to eat.” You said, a little more sternly this time. Taka didn’t answer. That was when you had enough. You stared to pry him off of you with your arms and soon enough with your knee, all while Takas pleads got louder and louder. “No. No. No no no! Y/N don’t! Don’t! DON’T!” You finally pushed him off of you and as soon as you where free from his grip you bolted out of bed. “NO! Y/N!” He practically threw himself after you but you ran to the door. You probably could have handled this situation better, but you were here now, and you couldn’t turn back. You managed to get to the door and shot out into the hallway. Taka dropped to his knees at the door as he let out a scream of pain. And just as you got to the cafeteria you came to a halt. This didn’t feel right. Not even slightly. Taka was emotionally unstable right now, he had just lost two of his closest friends, and now he thought he lost you. You. The person that promised to help him through this. The person that promised to be there for him. He probably thought you hated him. You couldn’t do this. With a pit in your stomach you ran back to Takas dorm.

Taka was sitting by the door, on his knees crying. But as soon as he heard footsteps approaching he looked up. Through his blurry vision he could still make out the person before him. It was no doubt in his mind who it was. “Y/N!” He scampered to your tense form as he wrapped his arms over and around you. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Im sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He kept apologising to you as he shook and quivered. You let out a small sigh as you returned his embrace. “It’s okay. Can we please just go eat? I promise I won’t talk to anyone if that makes you feel better.” Taka felt his heart warm up as he heard this. You couldn’t see his expression since he was hugging you, but it was a love crazed and happy smile.

“Of course.”

————————

There we go! My man kiyotaka has gotten his own fic! I did change the prompt from Taka kidnapping the reader to just him holding them there with him. Since I don’t think anyone would willingly go back to their kidnapper (unless they got Stockholm syndrome). WELP! Next fic is either gonna be a Monokuma fic or it’s gonna be...something very different. Depends on which one I finish first

#yandere #danganronpa #yandere danganronpa #yandere danganronpa x reader #yandere kiyotaka ishimaru #kiyotaka ishimaru #x reader #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #tw yandere #cw yandere

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grace-likes-things · 4 years

Text

Beside Her

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

A/N: uhh it’s been a while. Here’s this! And here’s to me posting a random one-shot every two years lmaoooooo. Disclaimer: alternate reality where no one died/left after endgame.

Summary: A mission Peter’s off the job for, and which goes terribly wrong.

Warnings: blood, major character death, this one is v angsty folks.

Word Count: almost 6k

~~~~~~~

“So, am I alright to go with?”

“No way, Peter. Your sling may be off but your arm can't handle the kind of wear you put it through yet. Give it another day or so.”

Peter sighs, exasperated, “But the mission’s tonight!”

“Nuh, uh, Pete,” my dad cuts in across the room, “You’re staying here, doctor’s orders. I told you we’d check, and we did, and Helen says no.”

“Mr. Stark—!”

“Not me, Helen, you really gonna combat her decision?”

Dr. Cho gives Peter a stern look, having had experience with his impulsively-gained-injuries before. He turns away, ducking his eyes, knowing not to challenge her.

“Peter it’s fine,” I say, hand on his good shoulder, “You’ll join us on the next one.”

“If—“ my dad buts in, “he doesn't go shatter half the bones in his arm again. And don't go assuming you’ll be on the next one, Y/N, I'm hardly supportive of you coming with tonight as it is.”

I sigh, turning stubbornly towards him as he waltzes out of the room, “I've been training for over 3 years, dad I—“

“Nope. Still my kid, don't push your luck. We’re t-minus 1 hour out, so go get ready,” and with that, he turns the corner and leaves.

“Sorry Pete, better luck next time.” Helen picks up her clipboard and departs, leaving us alone in the room.

I turn to Peter, who’s looking rather defeated about the fact that he won't be allowed on the first mission in three months. I nudge his shoulder playfully, “Hey, think on the bright side, now you get to snoop around the lab uninterrupted for a couple hours.”

He gives me a halfhearted smile, “Yeah? I still wish I could be out there with you.”

His eyes change into an anxious look. I look at him, sympathetic, and grab his hand in mine.

Since the snap, the fight with Thanos, and almost losing my dad, Peter’s had this protective, premature-guilt complex concerning the people close to him. We got lucky not losing anyone, but I think seeing my dad recover from mourning us and the near-death experience I had in the battle, he’s not really comfortable being separated from us in a fight.

“I know. But it’s relatively minor, from what I’ve heard. I mean — minor enough to convince my dad to let me tag along, so.“

“Yeah, I know. I just hate not being there to have your back.”

I lean into his side, shoving him playfully, “You suggesting I can’t handle myself?”

“Absolutely not,” and I see I’ve forced a grin onto his face, “Just think, ya know, maybe your dad’s had a few too many juice pops lately, and I gotta be concerned — I mean, a gain in weight could throw off his balance in the suit—“

“Oh! Throwing my dad under the bus here, are we?” I laugh, “That’s funny, maybe I’ll mention it to him later.”

“Kidding! Don't tell your dad I said he’s fat — he's not.” He hangs onto my hand as I stand from the med-bay bed, “He’s a very fit man, you know, for his age.”

I laugh, “This just gets better and better! I’ll make sure to tell him you think he’s old too after I get ready.”

I move to walk away, but Peter stops me, tugging my hand gently.

“Hey, but seriously,” he murmurs, “be careful tonight. Come back in one piece for me. Okay?”

“Of course,” I say, and lean my forehead against his, “And you have a fantastically boring night, let your arm rest. Don't get into any trouble.”

He kisses me long and gentle, “I’ll try not to.”

——————

Tonight’s mission was a fairly routine one. One of the lingering branches of Hydra left, hiding in a bunker and planning nothing good. We’d all been briefed on the most recent information about their weapons and tactics, and the team had decided tonight was the time to shut the place down.

I examine the repulsors in the palms of my suit, sleeker like Peter’s, but armed similarly to my dad’s. There’s about 15 minutes before we fly out, so I tuck my braids beside my neck — getting my hair caught in the helmet seriously blows — and make my way up to the launch pad.

“Hey, offspring!” my dad plants his hand on my head and shakes it, “You still wanna come along on this one? Sure you don't wanna stay home? Absolutely? Because you know, you’re welcome to, in fact, DUM-E's been missing you down in the lab, i’m sure he’d appreciate your company—“

“Nuh uh, old man, I'm going with. You said so.”

“Oh, so I’m old now? You know, I did end up with an extra five years than you, so you can cut me a little slack.”

I laugh and walk onto the quinjet to meet the team, “Never.”

————————

“You all remember your assignments?” Steve asks, “Me and Sam, Tony and Wanda, Nat and Y/N.”

A chorus of yes’s and nods follow, as if this wasn’t the fourth time we’d answered that question.

The ride to the bunker is relatively boring, other than my dad pestering me with Stay with nat, and don't get distracted, and be careful, and don’t do anything I would do, and definitely don't do anything Peter would do. Nat and Wanda chuckle at my situation from across the quinjet, and it was getting pretty old by the time we landed a bit outside the target.

Once we’ve all gotten set with weapons and coms, we start out on the jog to the bunker. Upon arriving there, Nat and I are tasked with stealing a hard drive that contains targets and weapons data. From what we know, it’s in a room close to the center of the building, so we have a long way to go while trying to get noticed as little as possible.

My dad tells me to stay safe and call for him if needed before we part ways, and Nat and I are alone in a dark hall.

“Alright,” Nat whispers, “We move toward the center of the bunker, 4 floors down, we’ll use the vents if we have to. They might cause a scene somewhere else, but our job is to keep hidden, all the way in and out if we’re lucky.”

“And when are we ever lucky?” I murmur back with a smirk.

“Don’t jinx it, kid, let’s go.”

For the most part, the beginnings of the mission are easy. We used Friday’s heat signatures for a full week to map out the guards’ schedules, so we knew what halls to stick to and when. Making our way to the less-monitored maintenance stairwell, we walk in silence, keeping an ear out for updates over the coms. Just as we reach the bottom of the third flight of stairs, a pair of guards walks through the doors.

“Hello, boys,” Nat says and quickly turns to me, “I’ll take the tall one.”

With that, we spring to action.

The pair raise their weapons toward us, but Nat quickly disarms the man across from her while I blast the gun from the shorter man’s hand and drag him through the doorway before he can reach the alarm on the outside wall. Slamming him into the stair railings, he tries to get rid of me by throwing a headbutt my way, but my suit takes the brunt of the impact. Pulling my arm back and releasing his wrist, I aim a punch square at his face and hear a crack when it lands on his nose. After a disdainful grunt, he shoves me back and tries to kick my legs out from under me, but I quickly grab hold of his ankle and yank up. The man lands harshly on the floor, and one kick is all it takes to knock him out.

When I look up, Nat has already beat her opponent and is checking the outer hall for more guards. “It’s clear,” she says, and we both take the ankles of the two guards and drag them through the door into the nearest room, tying them up securely before jamming the door in place.

“I hope they enjoy a nice nap, let’s keep moving,” Natasha says, and we make our way back to the stairwell.

Finally on the fourth lower level, we hold ourselves with a bit more caution. This is where they guard more heavily, and we still have quite a ways to travel before we’re near the center of the building. With light steps, we make our way down the dimly lit halls, occasionally ducking through doorways and turning corners to avoid passing agents, guards and other workers. It seems as if most of the work they do happens down here, as we constantly see high-ranking members and people in lab coats muttering to one another as they roam the halls. I’m only able to catch a few words of any given conversation, and of the ones that were spoken in English, none of them sound pleasant.

Nat and I travel fairly uninterrupted for the next few halls before she stops me and says, “Alright, we’re close to the center now. The hard drive we need is going to be in a lab somewhere around here, so we’re checking rooms. If there are any heat signatures, we clear it together. If Friday doesn’t pick any up, we split and multitask.”

I raise my eyebrows, “Oh? Going against my dad’s orders, huh?”

She gives me a wry smile, “You seem to be able to handle yourself, and it’ll get us out of here faster,” she points at me, “Just don't make me regret it.”

I laugh, “I won’t.”

And with that, we start scanning the upcoming rooms.

The first room we check has a few Hydra agents inside, so we clear it together, check the computers for the right information and come up empty handed, breaking the doorknob and continuing on. We go about this for a while, knocking out the occupied rooms together, splitting up to clear empty rooms, checking for the right hard drive, and moving on. It’s tedious, but no alarms have been activated so far, and we make a good team.

Now very close to the center of the bunker, we come upon another few rooms free of heat signatures, so we once again divide and conquer. We have to be getting close now.

“I’ll take this one on the left, you’ve got the right?” I ask, walking carefully toward the door.

“Gotcha, call if you find anything.”

I open the large metal door and take a cautious step in, examining the room around me. There are no lights on, so I use a light on my suit to see my surroundings.

It’s strange, the room is large with high ceilings, but is pretty much empty. A few scraps of metal and packaging are strewn about the floor. Concrete floors and dark walls line the place. I take a few steps further in to double check that I haven’t missed anything, but all I see is one door on the opposite side. I turn back to exit when the entrance I came through slams shut in front of me. Alarmed, I run forward and try to open it, but the handle won't budge.

“Nat!” I whisper hushed through the coms, “The door shut behind me, can you get it from the outside?”

I hear her footsteps approach from the other side and the sound of her trying to open the door, “I can't get it, and the lock must be electric, there’s nothing to pick. How’d this close on you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t see it.”

I hear a new voice over the coms, “Wait, did you two get separated?” My dad’s voice resounds with a hint of anxiety, “What did we talk about, Y/N? I said to stay with—“

“I tried! Not my fault the door shut behind me.”

“Well you should’ve gone through the door with Nat in the first place!”

“Hey!” Natasha’s voice cuts in, “While I would love to listen to you two bicker, we’ve got a job to do. She’s fine, Tony, we’ll figure it out.”

“I could just blast the door handle—“

“No, Y/N, it’ll be too loud, we’ve gotten this far without being noticed.” I hear Nat huff through the door, “It’s in our best interest to keep it that way. Friday’s telling me there’s another door, leads out to a hall. I can go around and meet you there. It's further toward the center, so at least if you have to blast the thing down we’ll be closer to the target.”

“Sounds good, I’ll wait for you,” I say, and with that, Natasha stalks off through the halls.

I turn to make my way across the room, walking leisurely. This place really is unusually huge for a seemingly-unused underground room, about the size of a school gymnasium. I’m wondering if it may have been used for storage or training when I hear a noise to my left.

Turning swiftly with my guard now up, I see a male guard walk through a side door. Another entrance? How did I miss that? I ready my fists in a fighting stance and call through the coms, “Hey Nat? This room was occupied, I’ve got it handled for now but you might wanna make it here quick.”

Strangely, I get no response, but I don't have time to dwell on that fact because the man is charging toward me.

He’s a good fighter, and we both land some hard hits as we combat to occupy the room. I flip over him and blast him into the wall, but he recovers abnormally quickly and rises up again for more. I land another punch to his stomach once he’s in range, but he quickly grabs my wrist after and squeezes with inhuman strength, crushing the thin-design gauntlet on my hand. The metal cuts into my palm before tear what remains off and launch him over my shoulder onto the floor. I move to kick his side but he grabs my leg and throws me off balance, and my back hits the floor in a harsh slam. Groaning, I try to sit up as the guard grabs a metal pole off the floor — oh shit — and slams it onto my other palm, crushing my second gauntlet. Two hands now bare, aching, and unarmed, I continue to fight at a slight disadvantage. But I’ve trained for years, I can handle this.

It turns out maybe I couldn’t handle it.

The guard has to be one of Hydra’s human experiments, because he’s stronger than the average adult. I struggle to gain the upper hand for several minutes. He's had me pinned me to the ground, and just when I think his weight is lifting off me he brings down the pole on my side. Hard.

I groan and curl away. Even through the thin — and now damaged — metal of my suit, the blow took the air out of me. I press my palms to the cold floor to push myself up, but another blow strikes my back and I collapse forward. Finally, the man grabs a fistful of my hair and slams my head into the ground, and a ringing suddenly starts in my ears. Dizzy, head aching, and barely able to think, the next thing I register is being dragged across the room to the opposite wall by my wrists, which are then cuffed in front of me.

And strangely, the guard who put all that effort into beating me walks out of the room.

“Hey!” I shout, “What’s going on, asshole!? Come back here!” But he doesn’t return, and shuts that same side door behind him. I groan in frustration, head still pounding in pain, and try to reach the team again, “Anyone hear me? I’m still in this room, my gauntlets are broken and I'm cuffed, anyone around?” No response, “Hello?”

I’m starting to think Hydra somehow interrupted our signal when another noise distracts me from across the room.

The door opens once again, and this time five people exit. Four guards and…

Peter.

A chill surges down my spine.

They’re dragging Peter into the room.

“Peter?” I call out, panicked, “Hey! What are you doing with him?”

He’s dressed in plainclothes, so he didn’t come here as Spiderman. He doesn’t look like he’s in the best condition, slumped and hardly fighting the guards who are carrying him to the center of the room. My mind starts racing with all the things they could’ve done — what’s wrong with him? How could they have hurt him so badly he isn't able to fight back, especially with his strength? I need to get him away from them, but if these four guards are anywhere as strong as the last, I need a plan of attack. Or backup. Where is the team?

And how did they get to Peter? Peter Parker, not Spiderman, so not out on the streets — he was supposed to be in the lab tonight. Did they get into the compound? Is anyone else hurt? My mind keeps spiraling into more and more panicked thoughts, and then I hear him.

“Y/N?” He calls out, “Where are we?” His voice is raspy and slurred, and I think they must’ve given him something, some sort of drug. I’m about to call back to him when a guard lifts him up and punches him in the stomach.

“No!” I shout, raising up to my knees and then beginning to stand before one of the four guards points his gun at me. I stay there, kneeling before the scene, not knowing what to do to stop either of us from getting hurt. The three remaining guards begin to beat on him again, kicking and punching and Peter is too delirious to serve any resistance other than curling up and grasping weakly at the ankles of the men hurting him. I can hear his pained whimpers, and my heart squeezes in my chest, I feel tears building in my eyes.

“Stop! Stop hurting him, what do you want?!” I scream, wanting to get closer to him but still at a stand still with the fourth guard, “Come on, tell me what you want! You’re not getting anything by just beating him!”

The three guards pay me no regard, but the fourth, still pointing his gun at me, snickers as if I’ve said something funny.

Peter is still at their mercy, receiving hit after hit and a voice in my head tells me, they’re gonna kill him. You have to do something or they’ll kill him.

“What do you want? Come on, what is it?!”

And with a heavy accent, the man says, “To cause you misery.”

The chill returns, and I decide — despite my terrible odds — that I have to get them away from Peter.

I get my feet firmly under me.

I charge toward the guard with the gun, bracing myself.

And he does something I didn’t expect.

He turns the gun on Peter.

I hear three shots.

“NO!” I scream, my eyes go wide and I drop to my knees once again, facing Peter and crawling toward him, “No, no, no, no, no!”

The guards shuffle back into the shadows, laughing, seemingly done with their job, but all I can see is Peter.

I’m frozen for a second, staring, shaking, unable to process the scene before me. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, hands grasping at his chest where blood has begun to pour from three wounds. I race toward him and drop to the ground at his side, placing my cuffed hands firmly over the holes in his chest.

“Peter?” I say, my voice tight and choked, “Hey, hey listen to me, you’re gonna be okay. The rest of the team is here, my dad is here, he's gonna get us out, okay?” A few of my tears leak down onto my hands, running into the blood that now stains them.

“Y/N?” He mumbles, hardly able to speak.

“Yeah, it’s me, I'm so sorry,” I sniff and try to keep my throat from closing up, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop them but you’re gonna be fine, Peter, we’re gonna get help.”

His face is twisted in pain, and when he tries to speak next, only a cough comes out, and blood bubbles out over his lips.

I fail to hold back a sob and move my hands to his cheeks, “Shh,” I try to get out, but it comes out shaky, like a whimper, “Shh, don’t— don’t try to talk.”

His eyes look into mine, I can see the pain behind them as he lies there, struggling to breathe. I stroke his cheek, and only now come to notice the blood I’ve painted there. I sob again. I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, I don't know how to help him.

Can I?

Is it too late?

I cradle his head across my thighs, take one of his hands in mine and leave the other on his cheek, trying to provide some sort of comfort.

“I’m sorry, Peter, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” and I just keep saying it, breathing it out and heaving air back into my lungs between sobs. Tears are constantly tracking down my face now, and i’m doing all I can to subdue them while he’s still conscious, still looking at me.

My mantra of apologies keeps repeating, and my thumb keeps stroking along his cheek, and I don’t know how long I sit there, crying, mumbling, desperately hoping someone comes to help us before I notice him release a slow, defeated breath.

In, out.

“Peter?” I mumble. My blood freezes in my veins. My breath stills. I wait for his chest to rise again. I watch and pray for it to happen. Please, please, please.

It doesn’t move.

A long, whining sob erupts from deep in my chest as I drop my head and cry, and cry, and cry above him, “No, no, no, no. Please, no.”

I sob, loud and painful, unable to take a breath in anymore. I shut my eyes and don't look up because I can't look at his face — his eyes are still open his eyes are still open.

I’m never gonna see him again,

I’m never gonna hear his voice again,

I’m never gonna kiss him again.

The pain in my chest gets worse and I feel dizzy with the force of my sobs.

And then suddenly there are arms under mine, and I'm being dragged backwards.

Away from Peter.

“No, no, no, no, let me go! Let me go!” And what i’m saying is barely coherent between the sobs, “Let me stay with him, please, please!” But the arms hooked under me don't relent, no matter how hard I pry at them, no matter how hard I kick and scream. He’s getting farther and farther away from me, alone in that room, and I can't bear the thought of it.

“Please, let me go!”

And suddenly I hear my name, as if through a haze, but I can’t make out who’s saying it. I don't really care. I have to get back to him, I have to stay with him, I can’t leave him alone.

“Y/N— “

“Y/N it’s us! Come on!”

I pull and pull at the hands around me but I can’t remove them, I keep getting pulled backwards until—

I’m yanked through a doorway, and the room where Peter lies is dark and blank in front of me.

My hearing isn’t fuzzy anymore.

I gasp in surprise but the sobs haven’t stopped, and my father’s unmasked face appears in front of me.

“Y/N? Hey! You’re okay, we’re here!” His hands are on my face but I swat them away.

“No! Peter’s in there! We can't leave him! We have to take him home, we have to get him home—”

“Y/N— “

“Dad they shot him, I couldn’t help him, I couldn’t help him—“ my words dissolve again into cries of grief.

“Y/N he's not in there.”

I turn to him in confusion.

“He is!” I point my hand frantically toward the doorway, “In the middle of the room! They k— they killed him in there!”

“Y/N…” my dad speaks.

And it’s then that I notice my outstretched hand, pointing toward the door.

There’s no blood on it.

I start to shake harder.

“I- I saw it, I saw it happen I— “

And I notice the thin fog rolling out through the doorway, lazily dispersing along the floor.

I look up. I breathe heavy and shakily. The whole team is staring down at my red, tearstained face. Cap’s face is twisted into concern, Natasha looks sad and sympathetic. Hydra agents lie dead or out cold on the ground, alarms blaring, but no one takes any steps to exit. The raid is over…

And I can't see any blood on my hands.

“Y/N, it was a hallucinogen,” my dad says firm, but gently, “Whatever you saw in there wasn’t real.”

I stare at him, trying to make sense of this. It looked so real. It felt so real.

“But— but I saw it— I felt it, I could feel what they did—“

He gently breaks the cuffs from my wrists, “I know, I know kiddo, but it wasn’t real. They know how to get in your head.”

I shake my head in confusion, “But the cuffs? And my gauntlets are broken—?”

“Whoever did that was real.” Nat cut in, “They hurt you so you wouldn't fight the simulation and then the drugs were pumped into the room.”

I sit there on the floor in front of the Avengers. Disbelief, confusion, and grief all playing across my face.

“Check the room,” I demand.

My dad points a light into it, and Steve walks through, “No one here, see?”

My mind still races, it felt so real.

“Friday?” My dad speaks up, a gentle hand in my hair, “Where’s Peter now?”

“At the compound, sir, working on his suit in your lab.”

I sniff and mumble out, “Vitals?”

“All normal levels.”

I sigh, squeeze my eyes shut, and drop my head into my hands. A sob of leftover panic and relief fights its way out of my chest.

“C’mere,” My dad says, and pulls me closer to him, a soothing arm around my back.

“I need to see him,” I choke out, “I need to know he’s not— “

“I know, I know, we got the job done here, we’re going home.”

——————

I don't remember the walk back out of the compound. It’s all vague reassurances and worrying eyes. I think my dad buckled the straps around me once we got to the quinjet.

The flight back is somber, quiet, despite the fact that we succeeded. I feel the entire team’s eyes on me, but I don't look up. I’m too busy sitting curled on my seat, staring down at my hands.

There was so much blood. So much of his blood.

I spend the next few hours staring, not speaking, unable to stop the images from replaying in my head. My dad sits beside me, stroking my hair, muttering things I can’t hear.

I thought he was gone. All I can hear are the choked, wet sounds of the blood rising from his throat, all I can see is the stark image of dark red dripping down his pale cheek. Pain in his eyes. His chest refusing to move.

“Y/N,” I think it’s the fourth attempt someone makes to get my attention, and I look up to see my dad kneeling in front of me, “We’re almost back.”

“He’s at the landing pad?” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

My dad takes my hand and says, “Yeah, I had Friday call him up.”

The next thing I’m aware of is the quinjet touching down, and I unbuckle the straps and stand up. My dad rests a reassuring hand on my back, and when the ramp lowers, he walks me forward. He can tell I’m still doubtful. He can tell a part of me still believes what I saw back in that room.

But then we reach the ground and I see him.

Peter is standing back from the landing pad, accompanied by Pepper. He’s healthy, he’s standing on his own, he’s not bleeding, he’s not hurt, he hasn’t been shot, he’s okay.

He’s not dead.

I pick up the pace, walking out of reach of my dad, and once I’m close enough to see his eyes a sob fights its way up my throat and I throw my arms around his shoulders.

“Hey, shh, it’s alright,” his arms wrap firmly around my back, one hand landing in my hair and one stroking up and down my spine. His hair tickles my cheek, his shirt collar is bent out of shape — he never folds them right. He’s warm and strong and breathing and alive. I bury my face in his neck as another sob wracks through my body.

“What happened?” I hear him ask, confused, and his voice rumbles so low and soothing and I can feel it against my chest, hear it in his throat where my ear is pressed. I can’t stop my cries long enough to answer him but I realize the question wasn’t directed toward me.

“She’s not hurt,” my dad’s voice reassures him, “They messed with her head. She thought — she saw them hurt you—“

“I thought you were dead,” I croak out. My grip on him tightens and I let my hand trail to the curls at the base of his neck, let them twist around my fingers. My voice has risen an octave when I say, “You died, I saw you die.”

We sway for a moment, his hands still running down my back and through my hair, I don't think he knows what to say. I wouldn’t know, either.

We stay there for a minute, and the rest of the team has walked inside to give us some space, I assume.

After a while, when my sobs have quelled and I'm just quietly sniffling against him, I feel his hand on my cheek, pulling me back.

“Hey,” He whispers gently, wiping his thumb under my eye to clear away the tears there, “Good thing that wasn’t me then, right? I’m right here. And I’ve got proof— I was talking Dr. Banner’s ear off in the lab the entire time, he can vouch for me,” I let out a watery giggle at his antics, “You wanna go inside? Get you warm, patch you up?”

“Yeah,” I sigh out, disentangling myself from him, but keeping an arm around his side as we walk into the building, “Sorry, I’d give you a hello kiss but I’m pretty sure there’s snot running down my face.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to the hair at my temple, “That’s okay, let’s get you cleaned up.”

——————

After a brief period of time, I’ve showered, changed into pajamas, and am now sitting at the bathroom sink where my dad is bandaging the shallow cuts on my hands from the broken gauntlets. We sit in relative silence, and there’s no doubt from the look on my dad’s face that I appear just about as shell shocked as I feel.

“Kiddo, you gonna be okay tonight?” He asks in a hushed voice.

I don't look him in the eye, instead watching him work on my hands as I mumble out, “Probably not.”

He huffs with a bit of amusement, “Well, thanks for the honesty, I guess.”

He finishes up on my left hand and raises my chin to look him in the eye. I don't know what to say, so I let him speak first.

“Seriously, Y/N, that was heavy, what you went through. Don’t be afraid to ask any one of us for help, okay?” He looks me pointedly in the eye, already doubting I’ll take him up on that. I am his daughter, after all.

“Yeah,” I whisper, “Got it.”

He stands with a sigh and puts the first aid kit back under my sink.

“Goodnight, come get me if you need me.” He presses a kiss to my head and leaves.

——————

Tony looks at the clock. 7a.m., three hours after they returned from the mission.

“Friday? Has Y/N gotten any sleep yet?”

“No, sir. She spent a few hours in the kitchen with Mister Parker, but it appears as if they are both headed to their respective rooms now.”

“Alright. Alert me if she needs help, Fri.”

“Will do, sir. Goodnight.”

——————

“Sir, it appears as if Y/N is in distress.”

Tony wakes up to the alert just forty minutes after he’d laid down to sleep. He's quickly alert and shuffling out of bed, down the hall to his eldest daughter’s room. Although, when he turns the corner he sees Peter already at the door.

The teen looks up at him, “Hey, Mr. Stark. I— Friday told me she needed help. I was just gonna check in.”

“Me too,” Tony sighs, “You go ahead, Pete. It’s you she needs to see right now. Goodnight.”

The man turns to leave, but stops short of turning the corner. He says, tired, but playfully, “Door open, Parker.”

“Gotcha, Mr. Stark,” And the boy walks in to comfort his daughter.

Several hours later, after Tony’s gotten his meager version of a full-night’s sleep, and after a night he’s sure has held several nightmares for his daughter, he walks back past her door to make sure she’s okay.

He smiles warmly at the scene. Wrapped in Peter’s Midtown sweatshirt, his daughter sleeps, restless but quiet, leaning an arm over the boy she loves. He holds her secure, both their legs strewn about the covers, and Tony can't help but notice Y/N’s hand. Resting softly at the side of Peter’s neck, fingers in the hair behind his ear, and her thumb rests just over the boy’s pulse point. Thrumming gently in sleep, reassuring her — even in her unconscious state — that what she saw was fake. Peter is alive and well, sleeping soundly right beside her.

—————

Alrighty that’s it! Let me know how you liked it and thanks for reading!

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grailfinders · 3 years

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Fate and Phantasms #134: Kiyohime (Lancer)

Our first summer is nearing its end, but we’re not finished quite yet. Today we’re building Kiyohime once more! Stalk a certain someone, and set ablaze anyone who’d dare come between you two!

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Watch out WATCH OUT! RKO OUTTA NOWHERE!

Race and Background

Like the other summer servants we’re not changing too much here. Kiyohime’s still a Dragonborn, though her exact color is up to you. If you’d prefer a flavor match, go red or gold. If you want an aesthetic match, go white. Regardless, you get +2 Strength and +1 Wisdom (thanks, Tasha), a Breath Weapon that deals damage based on your color, and Resistance to that damage as well. (Fire for red and gold, cold for white.) You can use this once per short rest, and its saving throw is 8 + your proficiency + your constitution modifier.

You’re also still an Urban Bounty Hunter. Your actual background is rather vague in-game, and this gives you perks for stalking people, giving you proficiency with Insight and Stealth.

Ability Scores

Kiyohime’s a bit of a paradox thanks to how DND groups things in their stats. On one hand, being a good stalker requires good perception, a.k.a., good Wisdom. On the other, she’s got a madness enhancement. Fortunately she’s a lancer now, so there’s less reason to dump that stat. Second is Strength. Your naginata technique could use some work, but you’re enthusiastic, and that’s what counts. After that is Dexterity, because you’re quick on your feet. Your Constitution isn’t amazing, but you’re normally a glass cannon anyway. Your Intelligence isn’t amazing but it’s summer so it’s not like anyone’s going to notice. Finally, dump Charisma. It turns out constantly being on fire makes you unpopular in the middle of a heat wave, who knew?

Class Levels

1. Ranger 1: We’ll get your swimsuit on soon, but first: stalking! First level rangers learn a Favored Enemy, giving you advantage on survival and intelligence checks against them, plus an extra language. Grab Human to better track down your master, and Aasimar to keep tabs on another member of the My Room Trio. I know you have a truce going, but it’s best to play it safe. You’re also Canny, doubling your proficiency with Survival checks for all occasions, not just your favored prey.

Speaking of, you get proficiency with Strength and Dex saves, as well as Athletics, Survival and Perception, all going towards our final goal of becoming the ultimate stalker.

2. Monk 1: Your stalking expertise makes you so observant that you don’t even need armor to protect yourself. Your Unarmored Defense gives you an AC based on your dexterity and wisdom. 14 still isn’t amazing, but we’ll work on it. You also get Martial Arts, making your monk attacks (unarmed attacks and all weapons monks are proficient with) deal at least 1d4 damage, and growing as you level in the class. You can also use dexterity instead of strength when attacking, but you’re a stronk (strong monk), so we won’t be doing that. Also, when you make a monk attack as an action, you can make an unarmed attack as a bonus action. Give it your all, and I’m sure Anchin will notice you!

3. Ranger 2: Second level rangers learn a fighting style, and Dueling will help you deal solid damage with your spear while leaving your hand open for spells, dealing +2 damage with one-handed weapons. Oh, right, you also get Spells this level, they use your Wisdom to cast.

Absorb Elements will help you add a little fire to your attacks right away if you went the white dragon route, and Hunter’s Mark deals extra damage once per turn on your target, and also helps you stalk them no matter who they are, giving advantage on perception and survival checks to find them.

4. Ranger 3: If we want to get serious about this stalking business, we’ve got to turn to the conclave literally named after it. As a Gloom Stalker, you are a Dread Ambusher, adding your wisdom to your initiative. You also start each combat with an extra 10′ of movement your first turn. Also for one turn only, you can make an extra weapon attack, if it hits you deal an extra 1d8 damage.

That’s not all! Your Umbral Sight helps your dumb dragonborn eyes see in the dark, with 60 feet of darkvision. You’re also invisible to other creatures with darkvision when in darkness. That room is cramped at night, it’s hard to find a hiding space.

Like any good ranger, you get Primeval Awareness, burning a spell slot to sense aberrations, celestials, dragons, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead within 1 mile of you. It’s not super in canon, but keeping tags on the competition isn’t a bad idea.

Finally, spells: Searing Smite is a longer burn, for when you really want your opponent to suffer. You also get Disguise Self as a conclave spell.

5. Ranger 4: Use this Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spells and better ambushes.

6. Ranger 5: Fifth level rangers get an Extra Attack each attack action, meaning you can now hit someone four times on your first turn: 2 from your normal attacks, 1 from dread ambusher, and 1 from martial arts. Nobody can say you’re not putting in effort.

You also learn second level spells this level! Locate Object is the closest thing to magical tracking we’re getting, but it’s fine. It’s not like Anchin would ever get rid of that bracelet you gave him, right? You also learn Rope Trick, allowing you to literally pop out of thin air when master shows up.

7. Monk 2: Your tracking’s solid, but we’re not that fast. Thankfully, the second level of monk fixes that with Unarmored Movement, giving you extra speed as you level up, as long as you don’t wear armor. You also get Ki Points equal to your monk level, which you can use to attack twice, dash, disengage, or dodge as a bonus action. They recharge each short rest.

8. Monk 3: You’re supposed to be Kiyohime, but we’ve been disturbingly short on fire so far. Let’s fix that. As a Four Elements monk, you become a Disciple of the Elements, giving you two elemental disciplines that you can spend ki points to activate. Elemental Attunement is free, using your action to perform small elemental effects like sensory effects, lighting candles, warming objects, and shaping elements. If you’re creative you can have fun with it, it’s basically prestidigitation. You also learn Sweeping Cinder Strike, spending 2 ki points to cast Burning Hands using your wisdom.

You can also Deflect Missiles as a reaction, reducing the pain arrows can cause you, and even letting you throw them back if you block all of it. Finally, your Ki-Fueled Attacks let you attack as a bonus action if you spend ki as your main action.

9. Monk 4: I’m allergic to odd numbers, so we’re using this ASI to become a Piercer. Your dexterity rounds out, and once per turn you can re-roll a die of piercing damage. You also deal an extra die of damage when making critical hits with piercing weapons. Turns out, you should use the pointy end. What will they think of next?

10. Monk 5: This extra attack doesn’t stack, but you do learn how to make Stunning Strikes, spending a ki point after attacking a foe to force them to make a constitution save or get stunned for a round. At least it’s not a complete dud.

11. Monk 6: Sixth level monks get Ki Empowered Strikes, making their unarmed attacks magical against resistances. You also learn a new elemental discipline: Clench of the North Wind lets you trap someone in a giant bell by casting Hold Person on them.

12. Ranger 6: Sixth level rangers get one more set of Favored Enemies: Grung finishes off the bedroom trio, but that still leaves you with another humanoid of your choice. You also become Roving, giving you an extra 5 feet of movement speed, as well as a climbing and swimming speed. Now there’s nowhere to run.

13. Monk 7: Evasion seems pretty common in these builds, huh? You probably know the drill by now: dex saves deal half damage on failures, 0 on successes. You also get Stillness of Mind, letting you end an effect that’s frightening or charming you as an action. You only have eyes for Master, after all.

14. Monk 8: Use this ASI to make your Strength even higher for better stabbings.

15. Monk 9: With your Unarmored Movement Improvement, you can now run up walls and over water. Okay, now there’s nowhere to run.

16. Monk 10: Our final level of monk gives you a Purity of Body that makes you immune to disease and poison. Your internal body temperature’s probably pretty high. Plus, you’re saving yourself for master, no germs allowed.

17. Ranger 7: Back in gloom stalker, your Iron Mind gives you proficiency in Wisdom saves. If someone tried to control your mind, that might stop you from killing protecting Anchin, how horrible!

You also learn Pass Without Trace, for advanced stalking techniques.

18. Ranger 8: Use your last ASI to max out your Wisdom for the best survival and perception checks. You’re also Fleet of Foot, letting you ignore nonmagical difficult terrain and plants, as well as giving you advantage on saves against magical plants. Crawling through tight spaces is no problem for you, you practically own the vents in Chaldea.

19. Ranger 9: Ninth level rangers get third level spells. Elemental Weapon lets you add a bit of firepower to your spear and make it magical, while Fear is just your general effect on people.

20. Ranger 10: Our final level makes you Tireless, giving you temporary hp as an action six times per long rest. You also remove levels of exhaustion on short rests now.

You can also Hide in Plain Sight, creating camouflage over a minute that adds +10 to your stealth checks as long as you don’t move from your position. Being a true stalker requires patience, and an intimate knowledge of your prey’s habits. Also, a lot of mud, surprisingly. Covering yourself is easy. Covering the rest of the hallway so you’re disguised? That’s the hard part.

Pros:

With doubled proficiency, a maxed out wisdom stat, and advantage, you make for a pretty good stalker. Track down the love of your life, and don’t take no for an answer!

Finding them is only half the game- the other half is mobility. You’ve got 55 feet of movement speed (65 on the first turn), and you can climb, swim, or just walk on water to reach your goals. Most people can’t outspeed you, and almost nothing can get out of your reach.

Speaking of first turns, you can make five attacks in that first turn of combat. Combine that with something like Elemental Weapon and your already prodigious spear skills and you can deal some serious damage before they even know what hit them.

Cons:

For a melee fighter your HP isn’t amazing, especially with your AC that only reaches 17 by the end of the build. Stay light on your feet, you’ll need it.

Semi-related, but a lot of your spells require concentration, meaning you can’t have them all up at once and you might waste a slot if you get sucker punched after casting.

Monks like bonus actions, Rangers like bonus actions, but you certainly don’t like bonus actions. Basically, you have way too much stuff to keep up with that all use your bonus actions to do so. It’s rare that “too many options” is a bad thing, but here we are.

#Fate and Phantasms #FGO #Kiyohime #D&D 5e #DND #Monk #Ranger

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hiscyarika · 4 years

Text

Kir’manir: Chapter Four

Cuyanir

vb. to survive

Word Count: 4.5k

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian must find a way to rescue the child and escape Moff Gideon.

Warning(s): Violence, Injury

A/N: Hey it’s been a while. Sorry about that. All of my inspiration for this series died for a while, but I was glad to be able to pick it up again at the news of the trailer that’s coming. This is a much shorter chapter than normal, partly because of my lack of motivation, but also because I felt that trying to put an entire episode into one chapter was a bit too much. So this chapter and the next will both cover the events of the last episode of season one. I really hope that you guys enjoy this, and here's to season two!

Masterlist

Tag Lists

Chapter One: Beroya, Chapter Two: Narudar, Chapter Three: Ruusaanyc

Gif by @bestintheparsec

As the Mandalorian looks into your eyes, he sees that they hold the same dread that tightens his chest. A silence falls over the cantina, and even the scores of troopers outside are deathly quiet. It’s an eerie feeling, and he knows that he needs to find a way out, a way back to the child before the worst can come to pass. He watches as you peek out the window, and he turns to do the same, finding countless blasters poised to fire. Shooting your way out isn’t an option, he knows. Not when the numbers are so blatantly in their favor.

“We have to find another way out,” you say, looking back to him. He can tell that, despite your worry, you’re doing your best to keep calm, schooling your breathing and focusing on the task at hand, even if it means stating the obvious next step. He nods in understanding, looking around the cantina for another exit route.

“There isn’t another way. We have to fight,” Greef says from where he stands behind another wall. But the Mandalorian cannot accept that certain death is the only option.

“What about the sewers?,” he suggests. His covert could be the key to getting out.

“The sewers?,” you ask incredulously.

“The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get down there, they can help us escape,” he explains, and while he doesn’t expect any argument, he still finds himself relieved that you’re immediately on board with the idea.

You nod. “Great. Now we just have to figure out how to get down there,” you say.

“Checking for access points,” he replies, pressing a button on his vambrace to activate the scanner on his visor. It beeps softly in his ears as he looks around the cantina, and he just hopes that there is a direct route. If the three of you have to leave the building, the chances of survival plummet.

“What the hell are they waiting for?,” he hears you muse softly. He’s vaguely aware of the quickened footsteps of troopers, but he pays it no mind for the moment, knowing that they’re not approaching the cantina. “Mando we gotta go,” you call, your volume rising with the urgency in your tone, “They’re setting up an E-Web.”

“It’s over,” Greef relents solemnly.

Still Mando doesn’t look outside, and finally the visor trills as it locates the access point to the sewers. “I found the sewer vent,” he says.

You don’t hesitate, following quickly after him as he makes a swift break for the vent. He pulls one of the heavy chairs away from the wall, grunting with the effort as he throws it to the side and out of the way. You do the same with the other, and he moves to help you as you haul it away from the vent. Barely taking a second to catch your breath, you both begin to pull at the grate. You even plant a foot against the wall for leverage, but it’s no use even with your combined strength.

“It’s assembled!,” Greef warns, “How long until that thing’s cleared?”

The Mandalorian stands again, letting out a huff of air. His mind is running at hyperspeed trying to figure out how to clear the way.

“Blow it,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“I’m out of charges,” he replies. He then moves to try and pull at the grate again, but he hears you pick up the heavy repeating blaster that you’d brought with you. Standing once more, he moves out of the way as you position yourself in front of the vent, firing at the metal grate in hopes of blasting straight through it. Once you’ve done some damage, you bring your foot down hard on the grate, but the effort is still fruitless.

Again, the man from the TIE fighter begins to speak. “Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation. I would prefer to avoid any further violence, and encourage a moment of consideration.” Interest piqued, the Mandalorian begins to move slowly back towards the window, but makes sure that he’s shielded by the wall in the event that the troopers open fire.

“Members of my escort have completed the assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster,” the man continues. But the Mandalorian feels his heart skip a beat as the strange man speaks your name. What shocks him is not that he knows your name. It’s hearing the name of the planet you were born on.

The same planet he was.

He’s not sure how to process this information. That your parents were lost to the same attack as his. But how could you both have suffered this way and ended up on such different paths? Surely the Mandalorians wouldn’t have taken him but left you behind. And then a thought crosses his mind.

Maybe you’re dar’manda.

But he has no time to think about it.

“Or perhaps, the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin, has heard the songs of the Siege of Mandalore, when gunships, outfitted with similar ordnance, laid waste to fields of Mandalorian recruits in The Night of a Thousand Tears,” the man outside says. At this, he steps forward, knowing that the threat has grown much more if this man knows his name. He ignores the way that your head whips around to face him, now that you know the information he had once refused to you. Very few people in the galaxy have ever had access to it, and he wracks his brain trying to figure out how this man could possibly have learned his name. The hairs on the back of his neck bristle and his body tenses. He lets out a heavy breath, suddenly far less confident than he had been about your escape and survival.

“I advise disgraced magistrate Greef Karga to search the wisdom of his years, and urge you to lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed in short order and your storied lives will come to an unceremonious end.” It’s now that Din allows himself to look at you, and he can see that you’re just as confused and on edge as he is. But there’s something between anger and determination swimming in your eyes. He knows that he can’t give up yet. There’s still the sewer vent, if only he could find a way to clear the grate.

“What do you propose?,” Greef calls to the man outside.

“Reasonable negotiation,” comes the simple answer, though Din surmises that it won’t be so straightforward.

Greef scoffs. “What assurance do you offer?”

“If you’re asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand,” the man grins maliciously at this, “The assurance I give is this: I will act in my own self interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire.”

“I say we hear him out,” Greef offers.

“You can’t be serious. We’ll be dead the minute we open the door,” you retort, an incredulous look on your face. You don’t even consider the suggestion.

But Greef is quick to counter. “We’re dead if we don’t. At least out there we’ve got a shot.”

Din watches you pick up your heavy blaster again, poised to try once more to blast the grate open. “We can’t trust him. We’re outgunned and outnumbered. It’s suicide.”

“What about you, Mando?,” Greef asks, clearly looking for someone to be the deciding vote.

“I know who he is. It’s Moff Gideon,” Din answers. It took him some time to put all of the pieces together, but he’s sure.

You go still and tense at the words. “No. Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes,” you say in disbelief, but he can see in your eyes that you know it to be true.

“It’s him. He knew my name,” Din tells you.

Greef is unconvinced. “So? What does that prove?”

Din turns to him then. “I haven’t heard that name spoken outside of the covert since I was a child,” he confesses, and he can see that the admission piques your interest.

“On Mandalore?,” Greef pries further.

“I was not born on Mandalore,” he explains, and he can’t help but turn to look at you instead, searching for any sign that you might know who he is now. That you remember him from your shared past. But he finds no hint of recognition in your eyes.

Greef carries on, still confused. “But you’re a Mandalorian,” he says, clearly having a fundamental misunderstand of what it means to be a Mandalorian.

“Mandalorian isn’t a race,” you reply, sure and confident in the statement.

“It’s a Creed,” he finishes.

And then he’s taken back. Back to the day that the battle droids and gunships destroyed his home. The screams mixed in with blaster fire and toppling buildings. He remembers his parents, running through the streets in hopes of finding shelter. He remembers calling for his father as he was placed in that cellar, the lonely darkness that followed his mother’s last goodbye, her last “I love you.” The explosion that took them both so soon after his own safety was ensured.

And then the doors opened, and his childish hope made him believe that somehow it might be his mother and father coming back from him. But instead he was met with the sight of a battle droid, blaster aimed and ready to end his innocent life without hesitation. It was one of the few times that Din can remember being truly terrified, but still he’d braced himself. So young and yet staring death in the face with more courage than anyone his age should have to muster.

But even after a blaster went off, there was no pain, and he’d watched as one of the Mandalorians took out the droid, silently offering his hand. Din had taken it, not knowing that doing so would change his life in a way that he never could have imagined. And even as he’d clutched onto that Mandalorian as he flew away, watching his home become smaller and smaller in view, nothing could have prepared him for the path his life would take him on with the tribe.

Din breaks himself from the onslaught of memories then. He has to focus on the task at hand. There’s no time to dwell on the past. “I was a Foundling. They raised me in the Fighting Corps. I was treated as one of their own. When I came of age I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB officer during the purge. That’s how I know it’s him,” he finishes explaining. He tries to shake away the anxiety swells in his chest, a frequent gift of these memories. There are still nights that he lies awake thinking about his parents, about the destruction that he’d witnessed at such a tender age. And the old screams mix with newer ones, creating nightmares that tear him from his sleep and leave him in a cold sweat.

“That’s how he knows who we all are,” you continue, and he studies you closely for a moment. But even as he searches his memories of the attack and growing up in the Fighting Corps, he can’t remember you. It’s odd. You’re not the kind of woman he’d forget. But there’s no time to discuss the past when danger lurks so closely in the future.

“He says he needs us, which means the child got away safely. I was worried when the ugnaught didn’t respond, but if they’d captured the kid, we’d already be dead,” Din deduces, suddenly feeling a bit more relief. As long as the child is safe, then he can handle the rest. To Din, that’s the only thing that matters, even if protecting the little one costs him his own life. He knows that he has to keep the kid safe.

“Try them again,” you tell him, standing again and moving to the side of the window, your eyes carefully watching the troopers that now stand without Moff Gideon. Din rolls his eyes though, as Greef takes a shot of whatever glowing alcoholic drink sits in front of him, though he can’t say that the behavior surprises him.

He brings the comlink on his wrist closer to the helmet. “Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil?,” he tries, but still he’s met with the same silence from before. “Nothing,” he tells you.

You don’t turn away from the window. “They might have jammed the link,” you reply, a rising sense of urgency in your tone. The time to act is quickly approaching, and still there’s no clear path of escape.

But then there’s the sound of the child’s excited chittering on the other end of the link, and for a moment Din has hope that the ugnaught managed to get away safely with the ship.

“Kuiil has been terminated,” IG-11 informs him.

---

You feel your heart sink when you hear the droid’s words, and you find yourself mourning the sweet ugnaught that you’d barely known. For all his hard work and the strife he’d endured at the hands of the Empire, this was not the way that he deserved to die. But you’re grateful for him, because you know that the child would have already been lost without him.

“What did you do?,” you hear Mando snarl into the comlink, and while you understand his aversion to the bounty droid, now is not the time for such hostility. IG-11 is just as worthy of your gratitude as Kuiil now. He’s the only reason that Moff Gideon hasn’t taken the little one and killed the three of you yet. You’re able to look past your own wariness. The Mandalorian should too.

The droid comes onto the comlink again. “I am fulfilling my base function,” he says.

“Which is?,” Mando demands.

“To nurse and protect.”

You’re not sure what the droid plans to do now, but somehow you have faith that the baby will be protected. If that’s the only good thing that comes out of this failed mission, then you’re okay with that. Even if it means your own death. Anything to keep Moff Gideon from getting what he wants.

But then you hear blasts in the distance. You press yourself against the wall, giving yourself a better look at the perimeter without making yourself more vulnerable to the troops outside. As you look down the street, you’re able to see large plumes of smoke in the air. Whoever is causing the damage is coming closer. “Look!,” you call to the Mandalorian, watching as the troopers turn towards the new attacker.

You move away from the wall, able to get a better look at what’s going on. The attacker comes closer, and you’re finally able to see that it’s IG-11, riding a stolen speeder with the child. The droid jumps off of the speeder, letting it glide forward and crash into the unsuspecting troopers. You duck at the resulting explosion, but quickly stand again.

“Cover me!,” Mando calls to you, and you silently nod, grinning to yourself as you hop onto the bar. You sit on your knees, aiming out the window and opening fire on the troopers. The droid has given you a chance. You won’t waste it.

Your eyes never stop moving, your mind working in overdrive to determine where the worst of the threat is. But you’re always honed in on the two men and the droid, making sure that none of them are taking more fire than they can handle, and that the child isn’t harmed. Metallic clanging meets your ears, and your eyes move between the Mandalorian and IG-11. Cursing under your breath, you take aim at the troopers that have turned on the droid, and you feel your heart leap into your throat as he falls to his knees. You start to move off of the bartop, ready to rush out there and grab the child yourself if it becomes necessary.

But the stormtroopers start taking heavier fire, and you have to laugh triumphantly when you see that Mando has picked the E-Web cannon off of its mount, cutting their ranks down in just a short amount of time. It’s impressive, really, and you’re just glad that he’s so quick on his feet. You suppose it’s part of the reason why he’s gained such a reputation in the Guild; there’s hardly a situation that he can’t handle.

IG-11 slowly rises again, and a breath of relief is released from your lips, knowing that the kid is still safe. Not another second passes though, and you’re thrown to the ground by the force of a blast. Without looking you know that there are stormtroopers in the cantina. You peek up over the side of the bar, finding a death trooper among them. It’s nothing you can’t handle, but you’re cornered.

After the shock of the explosion has worn off, you stand, opening fire on the five troopers. You hit two of them before you duck down again to avoid their own blaster fire. It doesn’t take you long to dispatch the other three.

You turn to look out the window when you hear the sharp sound of the beskar taking a hit. Your heart drops to your stomach as you watch Mando face off with Moff Gideon. There’s nothing you can do as the Moff changes his aim, shooting at the crate of ammunition that sits just a few feet away from Mando. You drop your heavy blaster, opening your mouth to warn him, but the damage is done before you can scream.

The explosion blinds you for a few moments, but once the smoke has cleared enough for you to see outside again, you feel like you’re going to be sick. The Mandalorian lies on the ground, unmoving. You mutter frantically to yourself as you take the smaller blaster from your thigh holster, spewing cursing and prayers alike as you run to him. There’s no hesitation to your movements as you grab him by his front and haul him up.

Hooking your arms under his, you drag him with his back to your chest into the cantina. To your relief, IG-11 and Greef Karga follow soon after. “Stay with me, Mando. Come on,” you plead, taking him over to where the sewer grate is. You grunt with the effort, but eventually lay him down against one of the chairs you’d displaced earlier.

“This is our only path out. Can you clear it?,” you hear Greef ask the droid, and you’ve never been happier to see an IG unit than you are now. Now that you no longer need to worry about an escape route, you turn back to the Mandalorian, knowing that he’s the one that needs your full attention.

“Stay with me,” you tell him, looking him over to find any injuries that you might be able to treat. You just need to get him back on his feet long enough to get out. If he has such faith in his covert, then that’s good enough for you. You just have to get to them.

Mando’s chest heaves with labored breaths as he turns to look at you. “I’m not gonna make it. Go,” he orders.

You shake your head. “No. I’ll carry you out if I have to. We’re all getting out of here.” You keep your voice calm but firm, your hand coming to cradle the back of his neck, feeling for any head injuries that you might be able to find with the helmet still on. Your stomach twists into a knot as you bring your hand back. The wet warmth you’d felt was blood. But you can’t reach the wound without taking the helmet off.

“Leave me,” he pleads, gasping for breath. You feel panic rising in your chest.

You know he can’t, but you ask it of him anyway. “You have to let me take the helmet off,” you tell him, though you make no move to remove it yourself. You could never compromise him that way, not against his will.

At your words, he startles, grabbing onto your wrist despite the fact that you haven’t moved. But you understand the immediate need to stop you from doing anything. “No. You leave me,” he insists. Behind you, you can hear IG-11 working on removing the grate. You wish there was a way to speed up the process. “You make sure the child is safe. Here,” he gasps, using his free hand to pull something from around his neck. He then drops a necklace into the hand he’s holding onto. You don’t recognize the strange creature that the pendant is molded into. “When you get to the Mandalorian covert you show them that. You tell them it’s from Din...D-Djarin,” he instructs shakily. He has to take a moment to catch his breath. “You tell them the Foundling was in my protection...and they’ll help you.”

You close your fist around the necklace, shaking your head. You consider for just a second what it would mean to leave him behind. You’d be responsible for the child, and you have no idea what the Mandalorians will do if you bring them this necklace and speak his name. The idea of speaking his name for the first time after leaving him to die alone makes you feel sick.

“Not like this. I won’t let you die,” you tell him, and to your surprise, emotion wells up in your chest. Your voice breaks and you feel the beginnings of tears burning at your eyes. You can’t let him go that easily, not after everything that the two of you have been through trying to keep the child safe. And the idea of being left alone with a kid with powers you can’t even begin to understand: it’s terrifying.

You can’t do it.

“Let’s go. You’re coming with me,” you say, trying to lift his nearly dead-weight on your own.

“I’m not gonna make it and you know it.” It’s harsh, final. You don’t want to admit it, but he’s right.

Before you have a chance to react, flames come rushing through the door of the cantina. You instinctually throw yourself on top of Mando, shielding his body with yours. Sweat immediately beads across your skin as the intense heat of the flames hits your back. You lift your head when the attack ceases, and you’re only vaguely aware of the fact that the Mandalorian holds on tight to you as you look up towards the door.

When you see nothing, your gaze quickly shifts over to the IG unit, who still works on opening the path to the sewers. Your heart pounds in your chest as you try and figure out what the next move should be. You hate this, the way that you’ve allowed the situation to affect you so severely. In the midst of any other job, you would have found a solution by now.

Mando grunts in pain, trying to draw in a decent breath. “You protect the child. I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior’s death,” he says. The tears welling up in your eyes blur your vision then, though you can’t tell if they’re caused by panic or emotion at this point.

“I won’t leave you here,” you tell him, conviction dripping from every word.

“This is the Way,” he breathes. You know you can’t argue with him anymore.

Another wave of fire comes through the door, and you press yourself close to the Mandalorian, your forehead touching the spot on his helmet where his own forehead would be. A single tear manages to escape your eye.

When you look up again, you gasp at the sight of an incinerator stormtrooper. Your gaze flits between Mando, Greef, IG, and the child, and in just the couple of seconds that it takes, you realize that there is a very real chance that none of you will survive the next few moments. There’s not enough time to react. The trooper raises his flamethrower again.

As he releases the flames, you once again shield Mando, thinking that your death is imminent but at least in doing this he won’t be in the direct line of fire. You wait for the searing pain that you’re sure will result from being burned alive, but it never comes.

You lift your eyes, able to see the child pull himself to his feet, his arms raised as he looks to the wall of fire coming right for all of you. To your amazement, the fire never reaches the baby, and is instead held off by some invisible shield, one you know to be the strange powers he possesses. You sit up, trying to find your blaster. Maybe you’ll be able to dispatch the trooper yourself while the kid holds the flames at bay. But the little one, with just a motion of his hand, sends the fire right back at the stormtrooper, blasting him backwards and out of the cantina.

You don’t have words. You’re frozen in place, only broken from your state of shock when you hear the grate being kicked in. “Come on! It’s open, let’s go!,” Greef calls to you. You look at the child, finding him unconscious much in the same way that he was after he healed Karga’s wound.

“Go,” Mando implores you, struggling to breathe. “Go.”

You hesitate, looking to Greef and IG-11 for any kind of assistance. You still hate the idea of leaving the Mandalorian to die alone.

“We have to move. Now!,” Greef tells you.

“Go,” Mando tells you, one last time. He squeezes your forearm, which he is still holding onto from when you’d protected him, and though every fiber of your being screams against it, you rise from the floor, taking the child from the droid. He’s in the satchel again, sound asleep.

You hold the child close to you, placing the necklace that the Mandalorian had given you inside the satchel with the little one for safe keeping. “Escape and protect this child. I will stay with the Mandalorian,” IG says.

Reluctantly, you nod, holding the child in one arm and picking up your heavy blaster with your free hand. “Promise me you follow...with him,” you reply firmly.

“You have my word,” the droid replies.

You let out a soft breath, making your way over to the opening in the wall. There’s a moment of pause, and you take one last look at the Mandalorian, knowing full well that what the droids brings could be a body. You have no idea what means IG-11 has to treat Mando. “Goodbye,” you breathe, hardly audible.

And with that, you descend into the sewers, leaving the Mandalorian behind.

---

Permanent Tags: @bestintheparsec @hail-doodles @aerynwrites @murdermewithbooks @themandjalorian @longitud-de-onda @readsalot73 @lovingtheway @talesfromtheguild @mystical-934 @tiffdawg @lokiaddicted @adikaofmandalore @blue-space-porgs @forever-rogue @hansoulo @fleurdemiel145 @cable-kenobi @opheliaelysia @pedropascalito @creamysacrilege @bandofmarvels @paryl @phoenixhalliwell @agentmoonshine1 @randomness501 @starlight-starwrites @keeper0fthestars @stilllivindue2spite @hdlynn @theocatkov @coonflix @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @wickedfrsgrl @frietiemeloen @liadamerondjarin @pancakefancake @someplace-darker @dontjudgemedude @mistermiraclee @pynch-bug @kaetastic @chrisbostonevans @mrpascals @f0rever15elf @themandadlorian @din-damn-djarin @knittingqueen13 @oloreaa

Kir’manir Tags: @adlerorzel-blog @sinnamon-bunn @kristalhi @frantheseer @icanbringyouincold @canoodlincanary @heytheredemonsitsyourgirl @rzrcrst @roxypeanut @mrsparknuts @afootnoteinyourhappiness @deputytrash @altarsw @irreplaceable-ecstasy @luminarahan

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the child #baby yoda #star wars #reader insert #bounty hunter!reader

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we-stand-toether-in-space · 3 years

Text

LETS GET THIS STARTED!

Hello, we are the Space System!

This is our introduction/DNI/PI/Masterlist post!

(sorry it’s so long I have lost the ability to put a “read more” here, so it’s just gonna be unbearably long)

Because I need to make this clear apparently:

We are a traumagenic system. No, we won’t tell you what our trauma is. No, you wont get a list of our triggers. You are only getting that bit of information on us because It seems to be increasingly needed in the climate of Tumblr Systems.

Starting off with clear boundaries:

DNI (Do Not Interact) if:

You believe in the killing of any group of people (Kill All men, kill all __, “we should kill ___” it’s not accepted here and we wont answer your ask if you try to justify it.)

Want to talk about politics exclusively (it’s acceptable to ask about our stance on something once or so, just don’t expect an answer much different from “Idk what’s going on with that” or “I have no stance” cause that’s basically our stance on most things.)

SAYING THIS BEFORE THE NEXT DNI: we’re here for memes and friends, we don’t actually care that much for syscourse. We don’t agree with “Endogenic” people, but that’s not gonna stop us from reposting their memes cause memes are funny and it’s wayyyy too daunting to look through someone’s blog and the tags they post and it doesn’t make memes fun anymore for us. If you want something we reblogged off of our page cause you don’t agree with us, send us a DM and we’ll gladly take it down.

NO Endos, non-traumagenics, or Tulpamancers. for those of you actively following me and noticing that this has changed, I’ve learned new and better information and I’m sticking to this now. Unfollow if it makes you uncomfortable.

You’re a TERF (Trans-Exclusionist-Radical Feminist)

You’re a Heterophobe (A hate group of LGBTQ+ people who strive to legitimately make straight cis people KYS (I don’t know of another acronym for a group of people, so gonna stick with that one. They exist and if you come on here and vehemently deny that they do, we won’t respond. If you follow #mysterious to it’s first posting, you will see our reasoning.), Homophobe, Transphobe, etc.

Want to engage in Syscourse. We are new to the syscourse thing and are seeking out active sources for information on this topic. Don’t argue here, but if you feel you need to plead your case we will accept a DM explaining your side.

NOTICE: THIS DNI IS BEING CONSISTENTLY EDITED AND WILL CHANGE OVER THE COURSE OF THE NEXT FEW WEEKS. PLEASE DM US IF SOMETHING IS WRONG HERE OR CONTRADICTORY, WE NEED THAT INPUT.

PLEASE INTERACT (PI) IF:

You‘re a traumagenic system

You‘re a singlet (don’t have a system)

Have questions on our experiences as a system (we will try to answer as many of these as possible but it may be a little too personal and that’s okay, we’ll answer the ask with “sorry we can’t answer that” and maybe give another tidbit of something)

Want to submit a post/ask info-dumping about ANYTHING SFW. You want to info-dump? Go ahead there’s at least one person who’s interested in it or will be once they know more!

Have questions about anything SFW really! Even if we don’t know, we might Google it to find out!

Need to vent. Even if we can’t offer advice, we’ll certainly try to cheer you up!

MEET THE PEOPLE (Finally!):

Generic, AKA: A- He/him. Will talk about anything SFW. Anything. One of the ones who will take an Info-Dump and run with it for three years. (Sadly Generic has split and gone AWOL. Only reason this is kept up is cause his tag is EVERYWHERE on this blog)

Hosty- He/they, da host. Basically Generic but less aggressive and more giant squishmellow hooman. Feed it information, this is a threat *gerbil with knife photo*

Gold, AKA: F- She/Her. Will love you like a Mother. Need to vent? She’s there for you.

Bluejay- He/Him/They/Them- ???? (They don’t wanna tell you but he‘ll just pop up at some point.)

Kai- She/Her. Pffft do whatever you want with her she doesn’t care. mostly only here cause she holds Phault (and his little demon army (of our littles)) back from doing stupid shit

E- they/them. Fictive, very analytical. Wants friends but really doesn’t know how to talk to people, they’ll end up sounding distant and off. Not sure if they have emotions or not, but maybe they do? We don’t know very much about him really.

Phault- They/Them (but really any pronouns they literally don’t care. You’ll see we switch pronouns for Her a lot.) He’s more of a caring type. She’ll sit and pretend to make you beautiful candles and send you a google picture of the prettiest one they could find to cheer you up. One of overexitement and many words. Will take an Info-Dump and Go “TELL ME MORE!!” Even if you just summarized the whole Lord of the Rings saga. Will join a fandom. Tries to be a bean.

Mysterious- They/Them. No information, antisocial as hell, cusses a lot. only decided to create an alias cause nobody runs this blog correct.

PLEASE NOTE: this is not in any way, shape, or form, all of our alters. Not even close. So sometimes someone will want to spontaneously post or we’ll have a funny moment with someone who doesn’t have an internet alias. These situations will be handled in a way that the alter(s) want, and this may lead to this list changing.

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dreamsafterhours · 4 years

Text

no room for fantasies

⚠️ tw: mentions of blood, use of weapons, violence with a capital v, slightly suggestive themes, enemy mafia!jaemin should probably be illegal in and of itself

✌🏻 a/n: choreographing fight scenes in writing still isn’t easy but enjoy :D

7:21pm: enemy mafia!you tail your target, mafia!jaemin, through the crowd at the fundraiser event, your teammates urging you through your earpiece not to lose him. which isn’t going to be easy, considering how tall he is when he stands up straight, towering over most of the other guests clad in their best formalwear.

your own dress, the only one of its kind, screams opulence at every angle, embracing your figure just right. matching stilettos on your feet, you silently thank your supervising trainer back at base for making you prepare for combat in heels from early on in your training days. your dress, however—you aren’t sure they’re going to make it through the rest of the night. if you aren’t careful, it would expose the thigh holster holding your knife, and you figure you might have to cut it in order to be able to pull off efficient footwork and kicks, but that isn’t at the top of your priorities at that very moment.

jaemin weaves his way through the guests until he reaches the corridor leading to the restrooms. you slow your pace, with him in plain sight and in a slightly compromising location for you, should you be seen following him into the male restrooms.

you take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, and keep your eyes on jaemin’s figure over the rim of the glass as you bring it up to your lips. “is he just going to piss, or is there something of importance in the toilets?” you mutter into your earpiece as he lets himself in.

“don’t think so,” your teammate replies after referring to the blueprint of the building structure, “the vents in there are too small for him to fit through anyway. no, i think he’s just pissing.”

“right,” you say, “i’m going in.”

“roger that,” they reply, confirming that it was just him in there based on their monitoring of the CCTV footage.

your own mission being to subdue, question and tag him (if you can), you figure the toilets give the most privacy you’re going to get in that building anyway. you doubt most of the guests in that lobby knew that they were accompanied by members of the mafia, and one of yours and NCT’s at that.

you hand your glass to another waiter and approach the door with all the outward innocence you can muster, and luckily for you, there isn’t much visual indication of which restroom was for who on which to base your “mistake” on.

pushing the wooden door open, you step over the threshold, your free hand coming up to your earring to pretend to adjust it in the gold-framed mirrors—but what you weren’t quite expecting was for a looming figure to be waiting at the doorway.

your breath hitches as hands slam into your shoulders and shove you backwards, upper back forced against the cold tiles of the wall next to the door.

you find your eyes meeting those of jaemin’s narrowed ones, a smirk growing on his lips.

“d’you think i was blind to not notice you tailing me, sweetheart?” he tilts his head at you, “thought you wanted a word, so i took the courtesy of bringing you here.”

there’s no point acting innocent anymore, you decide, admitting the element of surprise had never been on your side. instead, you opt to bring your knee up into his crotch as hard as you can from your position and use the painful distraction to push against his forearms to free yourself, twisting your way out of his hold to grab your knife from your thigh holster.

he recovers quickly, turning around to face you, revealing his own knife that he draws from inside his suit jacket. “you’re bleeding, you know,” he says, gesturing to your head with the tip of his blade.

a sharp stinging you only notice then tells you that you must have torn your earring out of your earlobe with your reaction, and the warm blood dripping down your neck and onto your shoulder confirms your suspicions.

“you’ll be bleeding much more than this by the time i’m done with you,” eyes flashing with a promise, you slash at him, to which he dodges fairly easily. he retaliates with his own attack, and you barely make it out of the way. cursing your dress, you back up a little, bringing your blade to the fabric and tearing through it to your comfort.

“didn’t think i’d be getting dinner and a show tonight,” he marvels at your actions, “i’m getting more than i signed up for. trust me, though, i’m not complaining.”

“yeah, we’ll see about that,” you scoff. “feel free to express your discomfort whenever you need to. i won’t judge. wanna decide on a safe word while we’re at it?”

despite your back-and-forth banter, you’re wary of his build and skill. and rightfully so—facing off against a grown man with combat training and extensive experience in the field dealing with criminals, without extra weapons or the element of surprise proves difficult in itself—especially when he’s taller and presumably physically stronger than you by a mile. you also know that he isn’t underestimating you, either—so he isn’t going to go easy on you, no, certainly not. getting too close too soon could mean your defeat, but you know you’re faster and more agile than him.

now free of any obstruction from your dress, you launch a swift hook kick to his hand, the heel of your stiletto knocking his weapon out of his grip. his knife clatters onto the marble floor, and you sweep your foot out to send it further from his reach.

with only his hand-to-hand combat skills to defend himself, jaemin dodges another knife attack, grabbing your wrist at the next swing and twisting it enough for you to let go of it in shock at the pain shooting down your arm.

he probably should have caught your arm on your first swing at him—he realises this just as he sees you calculating your next move at lightning speed.

turning to face your back to him, you grip his hand still holding onto your wrist and push your hip into his as hard as you can, bending over so his weight rolls over your shoulder and onto the floor, his arm still caught in your grasp.

he groans from the rough landing, winded and struggling to take in a breath. despite his apparent pain, he chuckles at you standing over him as you blow stray locks of hair out of your face.

“the rumours were right, sweetie,” he manages, “you do have moves. you should show me more of them some time.”

unconvinced by his instinctive attempts to make your mission personal, you hover one of your stiletto heels just over his throat, only close enough for his adam’s apple to graze the tip if he swallowed.

“call me a genie instead of sweetie, ‘cause i’m about to make your death wish come true.”

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dessarious · 4 years

Text

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt67

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

“How many times?” Ladybug could see the strain on Viperion’s face and guilt ate at her. This was a big part of why she’d stopped using him unless absolutely necessary. The mental toll it had to take on him to see them all injured or dead and be the only one to remember was a heavy burden and she didn’t like that it fell to Luka of all people. He gave her a reassuring smile.

“Twelve so far, but I think we’re close. He’s only got so many tricks and we’re weeding them out quickly.” For all he sounded positive and upbeat she could still hear a rawness under the words. Anyone else would miss it, though given the way Damian was side eyeing him, he heard it too. Given the way the snake holder was looking at Discorde she could guess which of the four of them had taken the brunt of the damage.

“Your plan is obviously not working. We should retreat and come up with something better now that we have more data.” She managed to keep from rolling her eyes at Damian, but only barely. Leaving now was one of the worst things they could do.

“We have data about the here and now but that will be worse than useless if we leave now Raphael.” He frowned at the name but she just grinned at him. He’d point blank refused to pick a name so she’d gone with the surliest of the turtles she knew. He didn’t understand the reference and that just made it funnier. “If we stop learning new things and still can’t find a way to defeat him then, and only then, will we leave. The man is too desperate for us to give him time to act without terrible consequences.” He didn��t look happy but he did stay silent. They didn’t have much time to plan before they had to go back in. Luka’s timer currently gave them about half an hour for each attempt and they couldn’t afford to waste too much time arguing.

Damian’s transformation was interesting to say the least. His suit was a dark forest green with overlapping armored plates. His shield was larger than Carapace’s had been and had far more utility. The top was more squared off and the rim could detach into two boomerangs allowing him to fight in a ranged capacity while still defending. The rest of the shield could also be split down the middle so he could block attacks from two different directions at once as well as use them to ram enemies. She wasn’t surprised that his transformation was so much more combat oriented than Wayzz normally did.

“Red Robin, plan sea green with rooftop access.” Viperion went straight into reporting mode and she heard Tim muttering while trying to pull up one of his many contingencies.

“Are you sure? If I don’t that you won’t be able to see.” Given that He was the one that had to give Luka the name it was a less than intelligent question, but he answered anyway.

“Discorde will be able to and that’s the most important thing to begin with.We’ll go in through that hatch and drop on him. Discorde, you need to Cataclysm his cane immediately and then tell Red Robin to turn on low lighting so the rest of us can help.” Ladybug shared a frown with Damian.

“Why is the cane so important?” Viperion actually shuddered before responding.

“It houses a sword that can pierce our suits and your cure won’t fix the damage if he’s still wielding his Miraculous. I don’t know why.” She heard Discorde suck in a breath but all she felt was tired and sad.

“Nooroo’s been used improperly for too long, his will is starting to yield to Gabriel’s. If he gives up entirely there’s not telling how powerful Gabriel will become. The cane is the only weapon you’re aware of?” He just nodded and she knew that there hadn’t been time for her to give him a more detailed plan. “Okay, so Discorde goes in and disarms him and we drop in once there’s enough light that we won’t trip over each other. Raphael will put up a shield around the three of us and Gabriel with Viperion on the other side so that we have better odds taking him down.”

She could tell no one was happy with the plan. Viperion understood the necessity of keeping him out of danger, but he hated watching from the sidelines and she knew it. Damian and his brother couldn’t stand the uncertainty of it all. Discorde was close to just Cataclysming Gabriel to put an end to things, or maybe come up with something like what she did to Superman. The second might become necessary if they didn’t end this soon. Actually…

“Discorde, do you think you can come up with something for Gabriel like you did Superman? Something that will make him too weak physically to actually fight us.” She frowned and cocked her head as though listening to something.

“I can try but I’m not sure if it will work the same on another holder. Plagg gave me specific instructions on what to do for the Super Pain but I can try.” Ladybug hummed in thought before turning to Viperion.

“We’ll go in full force this time but if things go south and you have to reset again tell us to have Discorde try from inside the vent before we go after him next time.” He gave a single nod before leading them to the roof access for the vent. She took a calming breath before pulling off the cover. Time for lucky number thirteen.

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

Ko-Fi

Tag List

@noirdots @valeks-princess @chocolatecatstheron @krispydefendorpolice @bee-wrecker @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @northernbluetongue @paradoxal-occurance @scrumptiouslyelegantchaosqueen @sonif50 @thequestionablyhuman @persephonebutkore @elspethshadow @geekydragonyt @mmwolf1605 @da-tasuky @mjisntme @bluerosette23 @anjuschiffer @littleredrobinhoodlum @tazanna-blythe @resignedcatservant @schrodingers25 @seraphichana @persephonescat @punstoppablechatnoir @magicalfirebird @crazylittlemunchkin @corabeth11 @cyborgcandy @casual-darkness @shamefullove @miraculous-simmer7 @tamoni112 @cat181818meow @littleblue5mcdork @allthebooksandcrannies @enchanted-nerd @disneyfoxuniverse @fallinginthe-void @mandy984 @goggles-mcgee @fontegagrilledcheese @dorkus-minimus @theatreandcomicfreak @zerotosiki @ayuchan07 @mindfulmagics @urbanpineapplefarmer @winter-gardenflower @mooshoon @my-name-is-michell @melicmusicmagic @7-sage-7 @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @alicesangelofmusic @caffeinetheory @nataladriana9 @multplelifes @wanderingreader1019 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mvaree @redscarlet95 @storyteller-d @howabouticallyou @ginamarie1512 @kurogaya913 @tbehartoo @maddrag @two-faced-biatch @senyahgirl @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @iloontjeboontje @kakashixobito @welcometopradasa @amirahevens @amlesi @miraculousbelladonna @virgil-is-a-cutie @18-fandoms-unite-08 @cupcakeandkisses @angelofmusickaterinapetrova @book-r-the-best @dur55 @moonlightstar64 @fertileleaf @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @thecaptainthunder @danielslilangel @novicevoice @nyaabinch @interobanginyourmom @welcometopradasa @charlietheepic7 @im-here-for-the-content @maya-custodios-dionach @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @starwindmaden @tired-butterfly @rogueptoridactyl @emeraldpuffguide @suzen23smith @yuulxd @animegirlweeb @alovelyocean @kris-pines04 @semaalcocer-blog @cadencehood @jardimazul @shethecat @silent-storms-posts @simplysslytherin @tog84 @thesunanditsangel @dast218 @tall-and-angry @the-alice-of-hearts @captainmac6 @theyellowfeverexperience @chrismarium @alessialeone6997 @heaven428 @tinyterror333 @smolplantmum @lilyellowink @naoryllis @katiegardneriscoolerthanyou @magewriter @doodledeerest @athena452 @peachedpocky @tired-butterfly @risingmoonyue @lunammoon @mylife-demonstrates-murphys-law @bobothyross @silvergold-swirl @loysydark @heaven428 @peachedpocky @hauntedwintersweets @awesome-starfish-and-tacos @silvergold-swirl @rosesgonerogue @castielsofficialtoothbrush @myazael @aestheticnpoetic @creator-josie @sturchling @snowstar1016 @myblacknightworld @kittycatwowmeow @midnightkaito @chylou34 @hufflejournals @indecisive-mess-named-me @uwuteamleader @sassakitty @jessigurl-design @demigodgirl20031 @freshbark @soup-served-chilling @elmokingkong @unknownvsworld @thatonegaybitchfromschool @tis-i-beanbandit @damianette-is-life @peachesbackup @nobodyw8s4evr @the-fusionist

#maribat #marinette dupen chang #Damian Wayne #bffmaridami

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famouslastwordsinmexico · 4 years

Text

Suggested for You

You think to yourself, I shouldn’t have looked that up online.

You’re now staring at a bunch of banner ads that frame your email inbox. Each one is attempting to entice you to purchase succulents from flower shops near and far, small and conglomerated. The bright, animated images boast to you about how their store’s succulents will set you on the path to self-care while reconnecting you with nature. You know these ads are suggested to you and tailored specifically for you based on your search history, but, really, you just wanted to know how to spell “succulent”.

To be fair, you probably shouldn’t be looking up non-work related curiosities while actually at work, but it’s been a slow morning. And yet, right as you excuse yourself for the trivial indiscretion, you’re called into your manager’s office. You lock your computer and worriedly head over to where they wait for you. Upon entering the room you see that there is someone else here for this impromptu meeting. Or, rather, someone has video-called in, their face on your manager’s monitor, which has been turned to meet yours.

“A representative from HR will be joining us remotely,” your manager informs you. They then sit on the front edge of their desk, not behind it, in a manner you suspect all managers unironically believe comes off as cool and relaxed.

“Huh. Is something wrong?” You cautiously take your seat, looking between them and the digital HR rep.

“Oh, no, not at all. It’s just a small request.” They fold their hands in front of them. “That presentation you’re working on for Friday; I wanted to ask if you would give it over to Robert.”

“Robert? Why? I thought it was supposed to be my project.” You worked hard on that presentation, and even harder on that project. It was something that was going to get you noticed by the higher-ups, a first step towards bigger things.

“It is. Or, it was. It…” They stop themselves, physically appear to reset, and adopt a concerned face. “We’re simply worried it might be putting too much stress on you.” They lean in. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright with you?”

“Uh… I’m doing fine?” You’re progressively less certain about what’s happening.

“You sure? You can be honest with us.” They lean back. “We’ve heard you’ve been depressed.”

The shock of this gives you mental whiplash.

“‘Depressed’?” you echo. “Why would you think that?”

“Well,” they begin, affecting the concerned yet distant tone in which only senior managers are capable of speaking, “it’s come to our attention that you’ve been sharing some pretty troubling sentiments.”

“I only really talk about work-related stuff with people, honestly.”

“No, I’m referring to the stuff you share online.”

Dumbfounded, you blink.

“You see,” your manager explains, “we recently employed a service that keeps us up to date with our employees.” They seem mildly pleased with themself over their technological ability. They speak to you but look at the HR rep on screen. “Of course, it’s only because we care for the well-being of everyone here in the office. And their software told us that you’ve been feeling quite down lately. They even highlighted some examples; is it not true that you recently posted about how nothing really matters?”

You don’t recall using those words for anything. As you confusedly shrug, they pull out their phone and hand you it, showing the post in question.

“Wait, what?” you ask. “Those are song lyrics. To a very popular song! I shared them for a ‘Throwback Thursday’.”

“Hmm, no,” they say, taking their phone back. “I’m still seeing a cry for help. Like, what about this one: ‘All I want is to sleep and pizza and do nothing and sleep’? That sounds pretty depressed.”

“That was one of those online things where people let auto-complete write a post for them.”

“Sure, then how do you explain this post, where you describe how you wish the food truck across the street would ‘run you over’ if you ‘tipped extra’ for your burrito before you got back in from lunch?”

“That’s a really old post I made when I was at my old job. The one I left for this job! I made that joke to vent. Other people liked it.” Specifically two people: a friend, and the food truck’s company (which you presume auto-likes any mention of their brand).

Your manager sighs as they shake their head.

“Come on, now, you don’t have to hide. You can be honest.” They lean in again. “This is sophisticated software; it wouldn’t lie. Its algorithm combed through your life and crunched the numbers. You are depressed. And, if you’re feeling depressed, we want to make sure the company isn’t placing any undue stress on you. Wouldn’t want you turning around and saying we’re unfair, or that we torment you with public speaking, huh?” No one laughs at their non-joke. The HR rep briefly writes something on their notepad. “Right. Well, when we ask you to hand the presentation off to Robert, it’s not just because we want it to turn out well, it’s because we want you to be well, too.”

“You’re punishing me because of memes?” you ask, unsure of how much incredulity you can show without further risking your job.

“Oh, no, of course not,” they reply, “we would never!” At this point your manager doesn’t even try to hide that they’re assuring the HR rep more than they’re talking to you. “This company does not punish depression. In fact,” they add, turning back to you, “why don’t you take the rest of the day off? We’ll mark it down as a sick day, a day for ‘personal care’, even.” They nod to themself, satisfied. “I’ll mark it down in your time sheet right now.”

They pull out their phone and begin typing, finished with this meeting. You want to tell them not to do that, since you only have a limited number of sick days, but feel there’d be no use arguing. You stand up, at a loss for words. As you slowly turn to leave you find the HR rep is pointing towards the printer in the room. It prints off something you deduce they sent remotely. It appears to be a pamphlet. The person in the monitor motions for you to pick it up, their face set in the textbook definition of a polite smile. The pamphlet is titled Dealing with Depression.

Your smartwatch pings as you grab the pamphlet and the screen displays an ad for succulents. You turn the watch off.

You don’t feel like going home right away. You instead head to a nearby cafe and order the kind of sugary latte you know isn’t worth the high price and higher calorie count, but you could use the comfort. There are no real baristas here, only machines that charge you extra to print a picture of yourself onto the latte foam. You pay the extra amount. You then sign on to the free wifi, checking off the terms and conditions you didn’t read, and take a picture of your cup to share online. Not five minutes of browsing later you get a call from your mom. You plug in your headset and answer.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

“Yeah, how do you mean?” You wonder why everyone’s asking you that today.

“Because you’re not at work!” You realize now that the picture you just posted is location-tagged. “And I know what kind of drinks you like when you’re feeling sad; I’m your mother, after all.” You should’ve never accepted her friend request.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… I’m alright. Working from home today, but I figured I’d grab a coffee. That’s all, I promise.”

You don’t think she believes you but her silence tells you she won’t push if you don’t want to tell her the truth. You instead get a notification on your phone that your mom has sent you a “poke”, a feature that only moms still remember exists. She breaks the silence first.

“Well, okay then,” she offers, “if you say so. Anyways, there was something else I wanted to ask you about.” Her tone gets conspiratorial for her next question. “Are you and Jamie dating?”

“What?!” You nearly choke on your latte. “No! Why do you think that?”

“Your aunts told me,” she answers plainly. “And, apparently, some of their friends told them first. They’re still not used to, you know, those kinds of relationships.” As progressive as your mom can be, her age and upbringing still show from time to time.

“I don’t even know my aunts’ friends, why would they think I’m dating Jamie?”

“They saw your picture online.”

You rub your eye, annoyed.

“What picture, mom?”

“Well,” she starts, and if phones still had cords you could imagine your mom twirling hers now, wrapping her finger as she shares the gossip, “you see, one of your aunts’ friends was online and saw you as a suggested friend.” You never understood what algorithms determined those suggestions. “She was curious, so she went in and browsed your page. There it was, a photo of the two of you, looking pretty close and cozy.”

You check your account on your phone. There’s no way someone randomly looking you up online could’ve seen that photo. Although, how many times did the site tell you they were updating their privacy policy and you opted to skip the details of what that meant?

“Mom, didn’t you see that picture yourself before? That was just Jamie and me playing around. You know we’re just friends.”

“Yes, I thought it was nothing. But, those friends of your aunts talk a lot, and they do seem very convinced. I looked at the picture again and it got me thinking.” Her tone gets conspiratorial again. “Are you dating Jamie? I’d have nothing against it. Your father, though…” You block the headset mic to hide your exasperated sigh, and then interrupt before she can finish the thought.

“We’re not close, mom, not like that. My aunts and their friends are making up stories.” You wonder how scrutinized any future pictures you post will be. Maybe you should restrict how much of your profile your mom can access. You’ll have to figure out the new privacy settings first.

“Yes, fine, you’re right. I’m simply saying they sounded convinced, is all.” You can almost picture her busying herself with some chores at home to prove that she’s over it. And yet she adds, “I will say, though, that if you were with Jamie, I’d be very supportive. Jamie’s lovely, and would be lucky to have you.”

You hide another exasperated sigh and change the topic. When she’s had her fill of catching up, your mom says goodbye and you hang up.

You sit in the cafe, your mouth contorted in contemplation save for when you sip from your cup. You thought you were good at keeping your personal and online lives separate, but thanks to dubious algorithms and out-of-touch inquirers, your agency at work has been diminished and your sexuality is being questioned by people who’d be less than understanding. Even if you restrict who gets access to your information, what little slips through the cracks is still interpreted without context. Is that what the internet is now? For people to be data-mined so other people can make assumptions? Who wanted it that way?

Your phone sets off with another notification, informing you that a local indoor plant store has followed you online. They specialize in succulents.

You almost laugh out loud at the insanity of it. Of course; this hunt for data is mostly the hunt for ad revenue. While it’s a marvel how fervently someone on the other side of the screen wants to believe they understand you, advertisers are the ones who set the system up. And even they can’t seem to get it right!

The fever of frustration breaks, giving way to a fever of defiance. Why leave room to be misinterpreted? You decide to live your online life unabashedly and unafraid to share all. Will someone be tracking your moves? You don’t care, but if they are you hope they can keep up.

You grab your phone and browse with fury and determination. You share news articles and let your political leanings lay bare as you never had before. You hit “publish” on every dumb joke and inane thought you had previously hid shamefully as drafts. You post all of the pictures in your phone, and when you’re done with those you take a couple more. You follow musicians, actors, and influencers alike, so that no one would have to guess what your tastes are. You join in as many forum conversations as you can, and only stop when a person you’re arguing with, who has an anime-girl profile picture, threatens to dox you. You log off.

When you finally get home you’re bleary eyed from unblinking browsing and shaky from the excess of caffeine. You want nothing more than to decompress. As you turn on your TV to search for something to stream and zone out to, you call out to your virtual assistant device and say, “Play something soothing.”

Though your command was vague, as the speakers turn on they start playing exactly what you only now realize you had in mind. You love this band, even if you hadn’t thought of them in a while. Your phone goes off with a notification that this band has a concert coming up soon. As if on instinct triggered by serendipity, you click the notification to buy tickets.

While browsing various streaming services on your TV you come across several documentaries that you’ve heard confirm a lot of opinions you’ve had on the state of things. While you’d love to be proven correct, you’re more in the mood for something light. You wonder if they have this one funny movie that’s a reboot of a movie that’s based on a book. Before you can remember the title you see it listed. You hit play.

Ultimately, modern movie watching entails being on your phone, so you scroll through whatever new content was uploaded on your commute home. While you idly browse, you find another tailored ad, this time for a t-shirt boldly claiming that people born the same month as you are kind yet shouldn’t be messed with, each line in a different garish font.

“Ha,” you laugh to yourself, “what a stupid ad.” Even after all the data you gave them, advertisers are no better than your manager or your aunts, thinking they know you and what’s best for you.

Suddenly the page you’re on refreshes. What loads first is the ad, this time for a different shirt that’s admittedly more your style. The tagline reads, “Your life, your look.” Unsettled by the coincidence and feeling like you’ve found yourself in a conversation with your phone you didn’t know you were having, you try to click on a different link. More content loads just at that moment, though, shifting the layout of the page and leading you to click on the ad instead. Surprised, you fumble with your phone to close what’s popped up, but as your panicked fingers slip your phone decides you mean to go through with the order. You adjust your hold on your phone but somehow manage to set off a biometric scan that confirms the purchase.

As if queued by your consumerist momentum, an ad interrupts the movie you’re watching (since when did this streaming service have ads?). The volume seems to increase on its own as the TV blares at you.

“You don’t necessarily feel you age, so why look your age? Our skin cream can miraculously take 5 years off your face, letting your inner youth shine through.” The ad shows a model before and after using the cream. It makes a specific point of telling you the model’s age, which is your age.

You search frantically for the remote to turn the volume down. No matter what angle you point the remote at it, the TV refuses to recognize your button pushing. You get up and simply turn off the TV manually. This gives your virtual assistant device space to chime in with a separate ad.

“Tired of the long commute to your workplace? Find more free time while moving into one of the fastest growing neighbourhoods that’s perfect for you.” The voice emanating from your speakers describes listings in a building that you recognize is half a block away from your office. You run to unplug the device.

One by one more “smart” appliances in your home, devices that you now question their need for internet connectivity, begin to play or display ads that were made to appeal to you exactly.

“Our energy efficient windows fit your green lifestyle!” your thermostat boasts, citing a climate change article you just read.

“Let us deliver the groceries you need for the recipes you love!” your fridge demands, listing off your actual favourite recipes.

“Bzzt!” vibrates your electric toothbrush, calling you to look at its charger’s digital screen and see an ad for a dental clinic, featuring a close up of a mouth you’re weirdly certain is actually yours.

As your apartment comes alive with the sounds of aggressive advertising, you’re terrified. You step out onto the balcony. You think to yourself, and only to yourself, that you need to get away.

A delivery drone floats up from under your balcony and stops right at your eye level. It’s been outfitted with a display monitor. It plays a video.

“Looking for a vacation?” it asks. “Why not fly out to Pasadena, California? You can visit the Cactus & Succulent Society of America’s annual show and sale!”

#creative writing #prose #short story #technology #social media

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darklydeliciousdesires · 4 years

Text

Reflecting Light - Chapter Twenty Five.

Tag list - @breakmeaswitchson @madbaddic7ed @ruelf-emedam@brexfrix @ xxphoenixflyerxx @geekyweed @holyhumorliteraturelight @jinaaaannnnn @alliyjane @notso-fetch @zoe-rachel-crisp @glowien @tranquility-or-chaos @bucky-did-nothing-wrong @shileen91 @boiled-onionrings@helloitsmeaime203 @cheritzie @hm-fck @mary-ann84 @skylarmorgan1899 @alwayshave-faith @alliyjane @shyen18@shadesofarrogance @justjulie1105 @soulmatelove96@agniavateira @stormnightsong @xmother-mortemx @gamingaquarius @pansexualpancakeslife @ jesseswartzwelder @elixasays @ayamenimthiriel @winchwm @romanoffs-heart @sasusakubae @jennfisher @somethinginthewayiam @snowbellexx @ohjules @debonaire-princess @notyourtypicalrose @hell1129-blog @living-in-the-darkness @romantic-freya @agniavateira @speakerforthedead0-blog @radaofrivia @hcfavoritegal @justaboringadult @serenitybloodmoon @thethirstyarchive @somethinginthewayiam @omgkatinka @sweetybuzz25 @saintvirgo @littlefreya @bloodyinspiredfuck @sofiebstar @summersong69 @michellemybelles-world @ladyreapermc @always-singhal

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Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

“So, what did they say?” Sy asked as Naz came out to find him in the back yard, barbecuing brisket for their dinner. She’d just been chatting via Skype to her mom and dad, finally letting them know the news.

“They didn’t expect it to happen quite so quickly, but were thrilled, and you didn’t mention you’d asked my dad’s permission first! I said I’d call later on too with you there as well when you’re not barbecue fiddling, so they can talk to you as well,” she replied, touched that he’d been so proper. It had meant everything to her father, to have his daughter’s new boyfriend ask him for her hand in marriage.

“Of course I did. I have a lot of respect for your dad, he’s a great guy. I miss them, you know. It’s crazy because I only met them one time, but they’re fantastic people. And yeah, that’d be great! I look forward to it now I’ve got the damn vent on this thing sorted out and I’m not about to blow up the backyard,” he told her, Naz glowing to hear such words about her precious family.

To have her family so pleased for them made the fact they hadn’t heard from his mom yet slightly more bearable. It was their last night in Texas, their flight to Virginia leaving at lunchtime the following day, where Sy would stay with Naz for a month before he had to decide on his plan going forward, career wise.

“They said they can’t wait to see you again. They mentioned that they might come out for Christmas, Maryam and Amira too. We’ll see nearer the time, though,” she commented, wrapping her arms around him as he closed the barbecue again, the smell of well-seasoned meat drifting through the air heavily.

“Yeah, that sounds great. It’d be even better if we could get the entire family together, providing my mother has pulled her head out of her ass by then,” he sighed, Naz hoisting herself up to sit on the solid oak barbecue table, stroking his arms and pulling him into a kiss. She knew how angry it had left him, the whole situation with his mom.

She still hated that she’d been the one to come between them, but also it made her heart soar, how he took her side and absolutely refused to budge an inch toward his mother until they received the apology he was adamant they were owed.

“Give her time, she’ll get in touch when she finally sees that she hasn’t handled this correctly,” she reassured him with, not knowing whether such would happen or not, but wanting to provide something to stop him frowning quite so heavily. When those words didn’t work, she chose a different track.

“How long until the food is ready?” She asked.

“About fifteen minutes. Why?” He got his answer when she let her dress straps slide down, revealing she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath.

“Mmmm, that’s more than enough time to get exactly what I’m craving right now.” She murmured, kissing his neck as one of her hands slid down to grasp his dick through his pants, moaning faintly, her tongue flickering over where his pulse quickened.

She kissed him hungrily, noting that he tasted like bourbon as he enveloped her in his arms, groaning into her mouth when she squeezed him again, lying her back on the table and greedily sucking her nipples, his fingers impatiently pushing into her underwear.

Her pussy throbbed with want, his fingers invading her as he bit her nipple, Naz gasping as his teeth crushed the small, dark bud, sucking it with a groan before his mouth was back on hers, his fingers exploring her deeply.

She sat up again, Sy attempting to push her down once more, a move prevented as she hung onto his shirt and gently bit the side of his neck, the buttons coming undone in her fingers before she wrestled with his belt, freeing his hardened cock.

He inhaled sharply as her thumb began to glide across the tip, smearing pre-cum around, his fingers curling within her as a gritted groan left his mouth, her nails grazing over his scalp as her skilled hand squeezed him with the kind of finesse that left him breathless, her thumb still sliding back and forth.

“Fuck me.” She breathed, kissing him again as he dragged her to the very edge of the table, pushing his jeans and boxers down his legs before sliding into her urgently, gratifying her demand in an instant, hooking one of her legs over the bend in his arm as he filled her completely.

He began to bury himself within her keenly, his thick, pulsing cock trawling her walls, Naz jutting her hips forward against him as she clutched the edge of the table, his slow, deep thrusts putting air between the surface and her as she wrapped her other arm around his neck, nails flexing beneath his shirt.

Soft mewls left her mouth as each thrust pushed a breath from her lungs, consumed as ever by the sheer size and power of him. A guttural string of curses left his mouth as he nibbled her neck, big hands pawing at her thighs, his other arm hooking under the leg around him eventually, mirroring the other, Naz hanging onto him as he began to thrust more wildly within her.

He coaxed uncontained moans from her the harder and faster he moved, splitting her around him as her cunt flowed and opened for him like a flower, all dew gilded petals, so soft and pretty in contrast to him; hard, manly and unyielding as he fucked her voraciously.

Climactic fury swelled and broke free over them both, their session too frenzied and hurried to withstand a chance of lasting any longer than it did. It achieved what Naz aimed for though, which was to have her husband smile at her as he caught his breath.

He knew she wanted to take his mind off everything, knowing of course he wasn’t in the best mental headspace where his mother was concerned. Even though her efforts didn’t go unnoticed, helping him with tasks in the back yard, playfully wetting him with the hosepipe which lead to him chasing and drenching her with it and helping him work on his trucks in the early evening before dinner, he still couldn’t quite forget it all.

It bothered him to have something nagging at the back of his mind. Sy was nothing if not an extremely pragmatic man. He rarely worried or let things make him anxious, he had enough that could keep him awake at night as it was, memories of war which haunted him. He hoped that leaving for Virginia might help him not lie there awake while Naz slept soundly next to him.

He hated it, feeling so happy with life but having that dark shadow hanging over him. The only thing that really made the situation any better was hearing from his other family members over how much they loved his new wife, his dad especially. Also, there was the reaction he received from his regiment after he and Naz met up with them a few nights prior to their departure.

Quite a few of the guys already knew something was doing on between them, Private Greg Watson bravely commenting ‘You don’t bang nearly as quietly as you think you do, sir’ to him, Sy laughing much to the young soldier’s relief. Calvin was thrilled for him too, the only dampener in his best friend’s opinion being that he didn’t get to throw him a bachelor party.

Overall, he felt a lot better about everything upon leaving Texas, although of course the quarrel with his mother still niggled at him. Instead, he attempted to focus on all that was good, like spending more time with his lovely new wife and meeting her friends for the first time.

“So who’s who?” Sy asked after they’d arrived at Naz’s apartment and got settled, unpacking, relaxing and ordering in from an Italian restaurant Naz favoured.

“That blonde there is Leanne, that one there is Leah and the redhead is Kate,” she replied, pointing out here three closest friends in the picture he held. “They’re absolutely dying to meet you, too.”

“Let’s hope they react better to the fact we got married than my mom did,” he sniffed, putting the picture down.

“Hey, come on,” she began softly, pulling his head down to her level and kissing the frown lines crinkling his forehead. “She’s one person. A very important one, this much is true, but still, just one person. Everyone else has reacted incredibly well. I suppose what I’m saying is that it could be a lot worse. It could be us against the world.”

“I guess you’re right. I’m just damn pissed off, still. Anyway, how do you feel about it all now? You’re the person she insulted, after all,” he replied, wrapping her in a hug.

“I’d prefer she didn’t feel the way she did and at least give me a chance, but I can’t force the woman to like me if she doesn’t want to. Time might change her mind, but whatever her opinion, I’m not going anywhere. I love you, habibi,” she told him, stroking his face and kissing him.

“I love you too, baby doll.” He was still a little quiet at times between then and Saturday, the day he was meeting who she referred to as her chosen family, her best girlfriends, but by the day itself he seemed to have pulled himself out of his funk a little.

Naz went to meet them for coffee and lunch early in the afternoon, arranging to meet Sy a little later on since the Dallas Cowboys were playing and he wanted to find a suitable dive bar to go and watch it in. He located one that was screening the match and happily left his wife to go and have some girl time.

“Y’all only be wanting to chatter about me anyway, as you ladies do, so I might as well make myself scarce while you tell them all about my junk,” he told her outside of the bar he was about to enter, Naz laughing loudly.

“Have a great time, message me when you’re done and I’ll send you the address of the bar we’ll be in.” She received a big kiss before heading off, getting an Uber to meet her girlfriends at a restaurant ten minutes across town.

“Nazzie!” Leanne screamed, making all the other diners turn and stare as she raced out of her seat, Leah and Kate following, all three screaming as they saw Naz enter and piling on to hug her happily. They hugged in a group before she gave them all individual cuddles, happy tears shed at being reunited again before they all sat down and ordered drinks.

“So, where’s the big dude you told us you were bringing home with you?” Leanne asked expectantly, Naz deciding to just drop the bombshell.

“Oh, my husband is watching the football. He’ll be along later after the game,” she replied, all three taking a second before suddenly, eyes widened, mouths dropped and hands began to flap excitedly.

“Your what?” Leanne shouted.

“You got married?” Leah added.

“When? Oh my god!” Kate finished with, Naz only able to give the briefest of explanations before she was set upon by three squealing women, demanding to see her ring, all gushing when she showed them the picture the registrar had taken and generally, being just as happy and excited as she was. As far as welcomes home went, theirs was truly wonderful.

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nekojitachan · 4 years

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I just read armies for the third time and every time I reread is just as fuckin amazing as the last time... Also I saw an ask once mentioning a collection about Aaron visiting Andrew in London, just wondering if you have any plans of posting again? I'm just so weak for my minyard boys. Hope you're good! Love your writing please never leave us ❤️

Ah... I went looking for the link to the story but I’ve been unable to find it yet (I know I would have used something to tag it, but that’s not working). I do have it saved, but not the link (on a side note, I found a twinyard prompt that I’ve forgotten about). So here it is again (until I either add it to Armies properly or do an Armies side stories post on AO3):

*******

Abram smiled at Ashley as he leaned gingerly against the top of one of her monitors with his chin resting on top of his folded arms. “So, I sent you the file last night, and let me tell you, it was rather difficult reining in Andrew while I corrected the few grammar mistakes – he wanted to make a couple comments on the paper.” That had surprised Abram, his husband’s interest on the topic, but Kimberly had picked an interesting book for once.

Ashley laughed as she leaned back in her chair and toyed with her long, dark brown braid. “I appreciate your efforts since I can only imagine what he’d have put in there.” She shuddered a little which made Abram smile in shared horror. “She’s doing better?”

“Yes, I imagine soon enough you’ll have to come up with something else when I ask for a favor.” Ashley smiled at that, a mixture of pride for her younger sister and delight in thinking up a new ‘price’ for Abram when he needed certain things done; he didn’t mind because Ashley was a minor miracle worker and usually asked for small, easily to do things in return such as proofing her sister’s uni papers or bringing back certain items from their travels.

“I’m sure I’m up to the challenge,” Ashley said as she tapped away on her keyboard. “As is, I’ve just sent you my part of our latest bargain. The email contains all the information you need in regards to the reservations I made for your dinners and a private appointment at Barts Pathology Museum.” She gave him a pleased smile as she once again toyed with her braid. “Anything else?”

“Don’t let the place descend into chaos while we’re away, yes?” Abram asked as he stood up and gave her a jaunty salute.

“I’ll do my best!” Ashley called out as he walked away, voice bright with laughter. Maddy and Rita (who was back in the office while she did some research before her next mission) wished him a nice ‘holiday’ as he left the office to meet up with his husband.

Andrew was standing out in the hallway with Lloyd and Kathryn Ambrose, one of the higher-ups who handled the EMEA region. Despite Lloyd’s occasional grumbling about the woman (he tended to grumble about anyone ranked above him), Abram never had a problem with Kathryn, who always treated him and Andrew with polite respect. “Hello, Abram,” she greeted him.

“Hello, Kathryn. Everything all right?”

“Yes, I was just talking to Lloyd and Andrew about how there’s a potential situation in Hungary. I know you’re about to go on holiday, but I just wanted to give you a head’s up that we may need to send the two of you there once you’re back.”

Lloyd nodded as he motioned to Andrew and then Abram. “Bit of a special request, but some people feel that you two could help out the agents already there.”

It wasn’t as if they could say ‘no’ when it was their jobs; Abram shared a look with Andrew who gave a slight nod after a moment. In a way, it might be better for them since someone else would be taking the lead on the mission and they would be providing support, would be more in the background. Though it meant that they’d have to do a bit of research before they left even though they were supposed to be on break.

“Send us all of the necessary information,” Abram said as he went to stand next to his husband.

“Though we’ll need an extra day or two to prepare,” Andrew argued as he stared down Lloyd.

“Of course. I’ll have Maddy put together the intel and send it to you by tomorrow.” Lloyd knew better than to fight with Andrew by then, especially with Kathryn right there (and when she appeared pleased by their agreement). That dealt with, they said their ‘goodbyes’ and left.

It wasn’t as if Andrew’s brother and sister-in-law would want to see them the entire time they were in London – they were visiting for a medical conference, after all, so they should have plenty of time to go over the material. If anything, the extra day or two they’d won from Lloyd would be spent by themselves to ‘recover’ from the visit.

Abram had the suspicion that they would need the days to recover, considering how Andrew was already on edge from the approaching visit, which was why he’d done everything he could to ensure that Aaron and Katelyn had an enjoyable (and busy) time once they arrived. He’d enlisted Ashley’s help on the matter, since he didn’t want the family too involved with Andrew’s brother ‘just in case’.

The Minyards were due to arrive the next day, and were staying at some hotel in central London where the conference was being held (along with a couple of ‘minders’ from the family), but had agreed to meet up with Andrew and Abram during their free time. Nicky and Erik would come to visit in a couple days for a mini-reunion, so there were dinners arranged and Abram had planned for an excursion or two for the couple to enjoy (by themselves).

Things between the brothers had improved since the wedding in South Carolina last year, had been tense phone calls at first before the two had moved on (somewhat) from the past, but Aaron and Andrew spending time together like this was a big step that Abram wasn’t certain that they were ready for just yet. Still, it was what it was, and in a few days Aaron would return to the States and soon after that Andrew would have an excuse to vent any disappointment by killing someone (more than likely).

“What idiocy are you contemplating now?” Andrew asked as he drove them home.

“Hmm, just that you’ll probably have to wait a week or so to commit therapeutic homicide, hon,” Abram confessed, and laughed when his husband heaved a weary sigh.

“Should have had the damn judge say ‘until insanity do you part’, could have gotten out of this marriage ages ago,” Andrew grumbled even as he held out his hand for Abram to entwine their fingers together.

“You like my mental instability,” Abram insisted as he smiled. “Keeps things interesting.”

Andrew did the sighing thing again but didn’t disagree.

Stuart and Davis were in the townhouse when they arrived, which drew a displeased frown from Andrew when he caught sight of Abram’s uncle standing in the kitchen with a purring King in his arms. Davis grinned while he held up his hands in a placating manner. “Just dropping off a few things and checking in on the kids.”

Abram patted his husband on the back before he went to hug his uncle, mindful of King who was handed over when they stepped apart. “You look tired, is everything all right?” Jamie had told him that Stuart was traveling a lot lately when they’d last talked; Abram had checked a few documents for the family to ensure that everything was on the up and up in the contracts.

“Too much drinking with Camillo last night,” Stuart complained. “Looking forward to being home for a bit.” He gave Abram an exhausted smile as he scratched King’s chin. “I know you’re busy the next few days, but if you’ve some time, call me and we’ll have some tea, yeah?”

Abram nodded in agreement. “That’s doable.” They should be able to meet up while Aaron and Katelyn were busy with the conference.

“Good. There’s some chocolates and jenever for you, and Ravi will show up with the cars when you need one, just call.” Stuart waved to Andrew as he left, and Davis bent over to give a meowing Sir a stroke along the back on the way out.

“Couldn’t he have brought some damn whisky?” Andrew complained as he headed straight to the boxes of chocolates out on the island while Abram shook his head and set King down on the floor.

“Your life’s so hard,” Abram remarked as he picked up the bottles of gin-like liquor and stored them away in the cabinet (he had a feeling he’d need them soon enough). “So, we eating in tonight or going out?”

“In, since we’ll be going out the next few nights,” Andrew said between bites of sweets.

That decided, Abram checked the fridge and cabinets before he settled on a spicy chicken and rice dish to make later, and worked on a few more documents for Jamie in-between calls with his cousin and Nicky while Andrew read a book. They went out to sit by the fish pond for a little while before he started on dinner, a mug of tea in his hands and a glass of whisky in Andrew’s, an enjoyable half an hour where Andrew made his usual threats over the poor fish and Abram slumped down enough to rest his head against his husband’s broad shoulder, content to sit there next to him and enjoy the peace and quiet.

Then he was given a shove to the knee and told to go cook something that wouldn’t poison the both of them.

Abram bit back a smile as he called his husband a prat for the umpteenth time, affection a warm tingle in his chest.

Andrew sat at the island and texted with Nicky while he made their dinner, and had a glass of wine waiting for him once it was done (and stole the damn naan once Abram sat down). It was nights like these which Abram treasured the most during all the years they’d been together, when they ‘bickered’ during dinner then curled up together in the living room (since it was late spring it wasn’t too warm yet for a fire) to watch a few episodes of a baking show they both enjoyed (easy to follow with their schedule) then head upstairs after a few hours.

They were tired, but not too tired. Looks were exchanged and clothes were shed before they sprawled out on opposite ends of the bed, where Abram spent a moment enjoying the sight of Andrew’s stocky yet muscular body (save for the slightest pouch of fat on his belly which he adored) before he gasped as his husband stroked his half-tumescent cock then leaned in to nuzzle it and-

He much enjoyed it when Andrew performed oral sex, but he also much enjoyed it when he could reduce Andrew to a shuddering mess with his mouth and hands, so it was the best of both worlds when they both blew each other. It didn’t take long until they both were shivering messes sprawled out on the bed, and then the bastard dragged him off to the shower to wash off before they tucked in beneath the blankets for a restful night’s sleep.

Mostly.

Andrew was up first, which was a rare occasion; Abram resisted the temptation to follow his husband out of the bed but decided to give him a bit of peace (half an hour) before he got up as well. He found Andrew working out and only put in a mile or two on the treadmill before he went to wash off then began work on a batch of chocolate chip and hazelnut hotcakes. It was right as he finished the last one that Andrew joined him, fresh from his own shower.

“I guess you won’t be fish bait just yet, babe,” the prat remarked as he rested his chin on Abram’s left shoulder and wrapped his right arm around Abram’s waist.

“If it wouldn’t be so traumatic to the cats and Nicky, I’d file for divorce,” Abram teased as he added the last hotcake to the huge stack next to the stove.

Andrew clicked his tongue before he snatched up the plate. “You’ve never had it so good and you know it.”

Yes, Abram did indeed ‘know it’, but there was no need to say it, was there? “Did you hit your head with a weight or what?” he asked instead, and rolled his eyes when Andrew made a rude gesture his way. “I’ve merely decided to wait for you to die from clogged arteries or diabetes instead, it’s much easier than dealing with solicitors and the such, hon.”

“What was that?” Andrew waited until he was seated at the island and his precious carbs set down to reach for his phone. “I’m making note of this so when we’re either divorced or you mysteriously disappear one day, there’s no problem with me taking custody of the cats and Bren – yet another cruel comment bordering on abuse.” He made a show of typing on his phone before he set it down then got up to fetch the whipped cream and syrup for his hotcakes. “How I suffer for this relationship.”

“Yeah, yeah, be sure to tell Nicky – oh, wait, I’ll do it for you.” Abram grinned when Andrew’s shoulders hunched upward at that remark. “I’m sure he’ll be ever so helpful with recommendations on how to save our marriage.”

Andrew gave him a long, level look for several seconds (which was impressive, considering the stack of hotcakes before him) before he spoke. “He’ll torment you just as much as me, you know.”

Ah, a flaw in an otherwise perfect plan. “Uhm… I’ll be off with Stuart?”

“You think the pest won’t rat you out to the family?”

Dammit, there was that – Stuart had actually calmed down on the whole ‘Andrew is bad’ front and all. “He’ll still be worse with you,” Abram argued as he set about making some scrambled eggs for himself.

“Right. Idiot.” Still, Andrew appeared smug as he finally cut into his stack of sugary carbs, so Abram felt pleased as he prepared his own breakfast. Once it was done, he sat down and rolled his eyes at how most of the hotcakes were already gone.

Andrew checked his phone while they ate and reported that Maddy had sent the intel for the Hungary mission, which they’d start parsing through later. Abram had just enough time to wash the dishes and go change before they left for the airport in the Aston Martin sedan which Navi had dropped off for them to use to pick up Aaron and Katelyn since neither of the sports cars in the garage would handle four people and luggage. Since Andrew didn’t trust anyone but the two of them or Bren (who made sure the cars didn’t sit idle too long) driving the sports cars, they didn’t want to have them out of the garage for the few days that Aaron and Katelyn were in town, so Ravi would drop off and pick up the sedans whenever Andrew needed one to drive his brother around town rather than let them sit in the driveway overnight.

Abram waited until they were past the worst of the traffic to speak up. “Aaron’s into general practice and Katelyn’s pediatrics?” He hadn’t paid much attention when Andrew spoke about his brother, other than to note that they were getting along (finally).

“Yes.” Andrew tapped his fingers against the steering wheel then sighed. “They both work at the Medical University of South Carolina in Charleston. Guess it balances out us a bit, right?” He glanced aside at Abram with a slight quirk to the corner of his mouth. “We kill people, they heal them.”

“We don’t kill everyone,” Abram argued. “There’s some missions where people live.” He smiled when Andrew snorted in dissent. “Whatever.”

“Whatever indeed.” Andrew’s eyes narrowed at the hatchback driving much too slow in front of them. “I’m about to kill someone right now.”

Someone was probably going to get multiple vehicle violations in the mail within the next few days, Abram suspected, but for once the threat wasn’t directed toward himself so he merely settled a little lower in the comfortable leather seat and used his phone to check the traffic ahead.

They reached Heathrow shortly after Aaron texted to say that he and Katelyn had cleared Customs and retrieved their luggage, and so drove to Arrivals to pick them up. For some reason the two had declared that they didn’t have to go into the airport to greet them, so Andrew drove the sedan to the general arrival area where the two should be waiting and found them by spotting Aaron’s familiar visage.

The couple appeared surprised by the Aston Martin as it pulled up to the curb and when both Andrew and Abram exited the vehicle, with Katelyn breaking into a grin while Aaron shook his head. “It’s so good to see you!” the young woman exclaimed as she made an abortive motion as if to give Andrew a hug then thought better of it. “Thank you so much for coming to pick us up.”

“Ah, yeah, you didn’t have to do that,” Aaron said in a much more subdued manner; he was dressed in worn jeans and a MUSC long-sleeved t-shirt, while Katelyn wore leggings and a brightly colored PSU sweatshirt. “We could have taken a cab or something.”

“But the hotel room won’t be ready for a few hours,” Abram said while Andrew grabbed the luggage to put into the car’s boot. “I thought that’s why-“

“Ignore him,” Katelyn insisted as she nudged her husband in the side. “He’s grumpy because of the long flight.” She gave Abram a grateful smile while Aaron huffed and went to help his brother with the luggage. “We appreciate everything you’re doing for us.”

“Uhm, it’s nothing, really.” Abram motioned toward the car and fumbled for the door handle so he could open it for her. “Let’s get going.”

“Okay.”

Katelyn smiled as he closed the door once she was inside, yet Aaron gave Abram a displeased look over the hood of the car before he slid inside. Abram frowned over the reaction then shrugged as he returned to his seat up front.

“This your car?” Aaron asked once they drove away from the airport. “Seems a bit too normal for you, a bit proper and all.”

Abram bit into his bottom lip to hold back a chuckle as Andrew revved the 560 horse power engine to easily bypass the traffic as they merged onto the highway. “It’s not bad for a loaner, but I much prefer the Vantage S Roadster or the Maclaren 720S. They’re not meant for four people,” Andrew stated in a bored tone, “unless you want to ride on the roof.” He gave a look at his brother through the rear-view mirror. “That an option?”

His brother was quiet for several seconds before he made a disgusted noise. “Like rubbing it in that you’ve got money now, don’t you?”

“Aaron,” Katelyn protested in a quiet, unhappy voice.

“I wasn’t the one to bring it up,” Andrew pointed out as his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

That seemed to deflate Aaron’s bad attitude as he slumped back in the seat and was quiet for the rest of the drive to the townhouse. After about ten minutes, Abram spoke out in Chinese. “Perhaps we can be assigned to Hungary a little early.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Andrew replied, but there was the slightest bit of humor in his deep voice and his grip relaxed.

It looked as if Aaron wanted to say something when they reached the townhouse, but Katelyn managed to step on his foot before she walked away from the car. “It’s lovely,” she said in a bright manner as they entered the building.

“Ah, thank you.” Abram was a little unnerved by how cheerful she was about everything, despite being used to Nicky’s exuberant nature; why was she with a dour person like Aaron? “Would you like something to drink? Tea or coffee?”

“Tea?” Aaron muttered as he glanced around. “Can he be any more British?” That seemed to be directed at Andrew.

Katelyn’s smile appeared a little strained at the comment, and then Sir came trotting along, probably attracted to the sound of their voices. “Aw, would look at… him?” she asked as she glanced at Abram, who nodded. “Aw, such a pretty boy,” she cooed as she bent down to pet Sir, who began to purr at the attention. “And coffee, if it’s not too much trouble. We’re trying to stay awake until tonight, we heard it’s best for jet-lag.”

Abram made a quick escape to the kitchen and left it to Andrew to show his family around the first floor of the townhouse. He heard Katelyn’s excited voice as the coffee brewed, and the three returned as he poured the hot beverage in four mugs; it didn’t come as a surprise when Andrew headed straight for the cabinet which contained the whisky.

“The place really is lovely,” Katelyn exclaimed as she leaned against the island as she looked around at everything. “I especially like the backyard. We keep talking about getting a townhouse one day, but we’re so busy with work right now that an apartment is easier to maintain.”

“It won’t be anything like this,” Aaron muttered, but he gave Andrew a slight, grateful smile when whisky was added to his mug. “We’re saving up enough money that we’ll get something nice for Charleston.”

“Just another year or two!” Katelyn gave a slight laugh as she leaned against her husband with an arm wrapped around his waist. “And by that point, we should be able to enjoy the new home! You know what they say about residents and long hours.”

Aaron grimaced at that. “I didn’t think anything could make me feel as tired as Day’s obnoxious practices when we reached the semi-finals, but a twenty-hour shift will do it.”

Abram perked up a little at the mention of Exy, at least until his husband gave him a ‘gentle’ kick in the right ankle. “So lots of long days, huh?” he asked as he got up to fetch a tin of biscuits to go along with the coffee, which he made sure to set close to Andrew. “I’m sure you have stories to tell, yes?”

He might not know how to deal with ‘normal’ people like Aaron and Katelyn after being raised by criminals and murderers, but he knew how to get people talking, especially after going to work for Lloyd. Especially after seeing the flashes of envy in Aaron’s eyes (an emotion so unfamiliar in Andrew’s) since picking the couple up from the airport.

It didn’t take much prodding for the two (especially Aaron) to reminisce about stories during their years as interns and residents, about the patients they’d treated while on the long training shifts and their fellow students. For a while it appeared that Aaron tried to disturb them by recounting the most gruesome stories that he could, but gave up when neither Abram nor Andrew were bothered (that and it seemed as if Katelyn did some kicking of her own).

If only Aaron had a clue what his brother had been up to the last few years, but all he’d been told was that Abram’s family was in ‘shipping and trading’ and that the two of them currently worked for the government.

Abram noticed that Andrew avoided looking at Katelyn directly when she talked, his gaze often cast at the mug held behind his hands, and figured that his husband still had some issues in regards to Aaron’s relationship. He also noticed that Aaron focused his attention on his brother rather than look at him, especially once it was clear that Abram wasn’t the ‘squeamish’ sort.

Andrew wasn’t the only one with his issues, it seemed.

Katelyn was in the middle of talking about some child who’d eaten too much raw pizza dough when her phone chimed. “Oh,” she said when she read the message. “We can check in now.”

Andrew stood up while Abram gathered the mugs. “It won’t take long to get to the hotel,” Andrew said as he walked away (probably for a cigarette before the drive into the city), and Aaron excused himself for a moment, which left Abram and Katelyn alone in the kitchen. He went to put the mugs in the dishwasher and was surprised when Katelyn came over with the tin of biscuits.

“Uhm, we really appreciate all of this,” she said in a quiet voice. “I know you don’t have to drive us around or have dinner with us and stuff, that it probably would have been enough for Andrew and Aaron to just meet up for coffee or something.” She gave Abram a wry smile when he held up one of the mugs. “He might not show it, but it means a lot to Aaron that Andrew’s willing to spend so much time with him after everything, and he’s… he’s trying, honest.”

Abram was beginning to see why Aaron had fought his brother so much (according to Nicky) for this woman, with her cheerful disposition, intelligence and obvious love for the man. “Well, he is a Minyard,” Abram said once the dishes were put away. “I know what to expect.”

She giggled a little and nodded. “Yes, and while they’re wonderful men, they’re stubborn as well. Very stubborn.”

“Ah….” Abram made a show of holding up his hands and shaking his head in a clear sign of not wanting to incriminate himself (at least, not when there was a chance of Andrew walking in at any moment).

Katelyn giggled some more and gave him a sympathetic look. “Right, not trying to get you in trouble, but I understand. I can’t always say that we’ve gotten along,” she rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner at that, “but I’m happy that Andrew found someone.”

“Thank you.” Figuring it was best to change the subject before his husband returned, Abram motioned to the young woman’s purse. “So, there’s a couple of dinners we arranged and a friend of ours lined up a tour we think you and Aaron might enjoy, but do you want or need to do any shopping while you’re in town? Anything to take back home?” There’d been times when some friends of Nicky’s had come for a visit and needed souvenirs and the such. “I’ve a good friend who works at Harrods who can be of assistance.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Katelyn beamed at the offer and went on about a shopping list she’d been given by her coworkers and her mother, as well as a couple items she’d hoped to find before she left; both Andrew and Aaron rolled their eyes as she talked while Abram sent a text to Liliya to arrange an afternoon when the two could meet up – maybe even have Nicky join in since he’d probably enjoy the excursion and got along well with Liliya.

Tension seemed to leave Andrew’s shoulders once the couple was dropped off at their hotel, and it was a quiet ride back to the townhouse. Abram made them some spiked tea and tugged Andrew out to sit by the pond, content to be alone with his husband once again. “That wasn’t too bad, was it? Katelyn seems nice.”

For once, he didn’t think the frown directed at the pond had anything to do with Andrew’s ‘dislike’ with the fish. “She’s still annoying as ever,” Andrew proclaimed before drinking his tea.

“Really?” Abram sighed as he leaned against Andrew. “How long are you going to hold this grudge? I mean, it’s just been… what, almost ten years? Something like that?” Couldn’t he just accept the poor woman already?

“Forgiven Ally for Calais yet?” Andrew asked as he stole Abram’s tea, the bastard.

“Never mind,” Abram sighed as he slumped down on the bench. “It’s going to be a few awkward dinners, how wonderful. At least I’m not driving.” He had a feeling that there would be at least a bottle or two of wine consumed at dinner.

“I put up with your insane family all the time, you can put up with Aaron and the cheerleader tramp for a few nights,” Andrew told him in that ‘agree with me or else’ tone that always made Abram want to grit his teeth.

“I don’t mind the cheerleader ‘tramp’, I just have to put up with some weird, twisted copy of you.” Abram scoffed as he thought about Aaron. “Does he really think he’s getting anywhere with those feeble scowls and insults? After I’ve lived with you this long?”

There was a slight twitch to Andrew’s full lips before he finished Abram’s tea. “It is rather amusing to see him try, isn’t it?”

“Prat,” Abram said as he rested his head on Andrew’s shoulder. “Why do I bother with you?”

“Someone has to remind you to feed the damn fish, babe.”

“More like make sure you don’t try to fry them up one day, hon.” Abram hummed in happiness as his husband tugged on a lock of his hair then closed his eyes so he could enjoy Andrew’s presence and the sound of falling water. It was quiet for at least a few minutes before Andrew tugged on his hair again, harder that time. “Ow, what?”

“Come on, it looks like it’s going to rain and I’m not about to have you get soaked then pass out on me during a mission again.”

“One time,” Abram moaned as he stood up. “One fucking time. Are you ever going to let that go, either?” he asked, even though he suspected he knew the answer already.

“No,” Andrew said in a succinct manner as he gave him a slight push toward the townhouse. “Idiot.”

Abram wondered if he could get Katelyn alone during her visit and commiserate over living with a Minyard (former Minyard, in his case, he supposed) for a good hour or two, perhaps see if she had any advice which may come in handy (other than ‘render him unconscious for a bit of peace and quiet’).

*******

#nekojitachanfics #armies fic #andreil #aftg au #neil as abram #neil josten #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #aaron/katelyn #Anonymous

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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Sixteen

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

December 31st, 1999

Emile was excited. It was the final minutes before midnight, before an entire new millennium started. Not many people would get to say they lived through that and remembered it, one day.

As the minutes turned into seconds, Emile and his family watched the ball get ready to drop in Times Square on TV. He couldn’t imagine what sorts of things would happen not only in the new year, but in the whole of the two-thousands. He knew he was going off to college in the fall of two thousand-and that was a weird thought, not have nineteen in front of the number-but there was so much he didn’t know about the future. And while that scared him a little, he was also incredibly excited.

When the ball dropped and his whole family cheered, Emile grinned. He couldn’t imagine what he’d be doing next year today, but he hoped it was something great.

December 31st, 2000

Emile drove into the complex’s parking lot with a smile on his face. He had told Remy that he would be coming back the second of January, but he had been planning to surprise Remy by coming home a little early. His parents had understood and let him go on the condition that he call them the morning of the first. The rest of his family griped a little but still let him go with minimal fuss.

Getting out of his car and grabbing his things from the backseat, he climbed the stairs to their apartment and knocked on the door. He could hear footsteps, and then the light by the peephole dimmed, and the door was opened by a very confused Remy. “Emile? You weren’t supposed to be back for another two days!”

“Yeah, well, I thought I’d surprise you, seeing as how it was your birthday and all. Didn’t want you to spend it alone,” Emile said, walking in and putting his stuff down in his room. He walked back out and noticed the TV along with the VHS player. “I was wondering if that was gonna be here or not.”

“Yeah, well, no point in buying you cartoons you can’t watch,” Remy said with a shrug. “I really like the jacket you got me.”

Emile’s eyebrows shot up. “You went to the shelter?”

“Wound up there after a bit of a walk,” Remy said with a shrug. “Helped with the lunch rush. Gave me something to do, and let me stop thinking about other things. Now, back to the original question: why are you here?”

“Like I told you, it’s your birthday, I didn’t want you to be on your own on your birthday, that’s just no fun!” Emile exclaimed.

“So you...drove two hours just to make sure I wouldn’t be alone?” Remy asked, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Yep!” Emile chirped. “Anything you want to do to celebrate? We could eat out for dinner tonight, I have a little spare cash.”

“No, no, hold up,” Remy said, holding up a hand to stop Emile from continuing to talk. “You. Drove two full hours this morning just so I wouldn’t be alone all day?”

“Technically it was more like two and a half. Traffic was killer,” Emile said with a shrug. “Why, is that a big deal?”

“Is it a big deal?” Remy repeated dumbly. “You’re giving up time with your family to be with me!”

“Yeah, I know,” Emile said. “I made the decision, Rem.”

“But...why? You don’t exactly get to see your family often,” Remy said.

“Yeah, and your birthday only happens once a year,” Emile said. “I wanted to make sure you had a happy nineteen.”

“...Am I really that important to you? That you’d give up more time with your parents just to celebrate my birthday?” Remy asked, his voice soft and small.

“Of course, Remy,” Emile said. “Of course you’re that important, you’re my best friend, and there’s no one I’d rather spend New Year’s Eve with.”

Remy walked over and hugged Emile tight. Slowly, Emile brought his hands up to hug Remy back. Hugs from Remy were special things, not to be taken lightly and rarely given out. But he always put his all into them. Squeezing tight, but not so tight that Emile couldn’t breathe. Sometimes he’d rest his head on Emile’s shoulder, and sometimes he’d whisper something he wanted to say to Emile, but was too scared to say aloud. “I love you,” Remy whispered. “I don’t know how else to say that. Not in a, ‘I’d date you’ way, you know? More in a...‘you’re my best friend and if anything happened to you I’d be devastated’ sort of way.”

Emile smiled and a chuckle slipped out. “I love you too, Remy.”

Remy held Emile tighter and Emile savored the sensation until Remy’s grip went lax, and they parted. Emile smiled softly at Remy, who was swiping the tears out of his eyes. “So, my question still stands: do you want to do anything for your birthday?”

Remy shrugged. “I guess dinner would be nice, yeah.”

“Then we’ll have dinner,” Emile said with a smile. “Anything you want to do until then? Do you have to work?”

“No, I don’t have to work, I’m not on Starbucks’ schedule today and the local shop is closed,” Remy said softly.

“Okay, that gives us the afternoon to do whatever you want,” Emile said.

Remy’s head dropped towards the ground, and Emile could tell he was choking back more tears when he asked, “Emile, I know you don’t want to be my therapist...but can I vent for a second?”

“Of course,” Emile said, putting a hand on Remy’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Toby...” Remy made a choked sound. “Toby doesn’t have our address. He doesn’t have my phone number. And I...I don’t have his. His ex-girlfriend apparently stalked him and he had to change it, and I obviously was not welcome back home at Christmas, so I couldn’t talk to him about that then...he’s gone, Emile. I lost all contact with him. I wanted to at least call and tell him Merry Christmas, but I didn’t get to, and I know that he doesn’t know where I am, but I was still hoping that somehow...somehow, he’d find out, and he’d be able to...to wish me a happy...birthday...but...” Remy was outright crying now, albeit trying to muffle the sounds. “But he can’t. And...and I don’t know what I’m going to do, Emile. We were never the closest brothers in the world, but he cared about me, he was my best friend, and...and I miss him...”

“Aw, Rem...” Emile bit his lip. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

Remy nodded and Emile hugged him fiercely. “This is not your fault,” Emile said with certainty. “And it hurts, and I know that the pain you’re going through must be overwhelming. It really, really sucks. But you know what? I’m sure that Toby is out there, somewhere, wishing you a Happy Birthday anyway. Even if he can’t call, and he can’t write. He knows it’s your birthday, and I bet he’s trying to psychically send good vibes your way.” Remy laughed at that, and Emile smiled. “You’ll be okay, Rem. It’ll hurt, but you’ll get through it. You’re impossibly strong.”

Remy nodded into Emile’s shoulder, and Emile just sighed into Remy’s. “You can hug me as long as you need, I really don’t mind,” he said softly.

They stayed like that for a long while, Emile hugging Remy as Remy quietly cried. He was mourning a loss, and Emile understood that. Remy would need time. And occasionally, this might resurface and he might get hurt again. But Emile swore that he would be there to help Remy as much as he could. After all, isn’t that what best friends did? They helped each other when they were hurt, they let each other cry, they shared secrets and ambitions and plans for the future. And while this may have changed Remy’s plans, Emile was certain that Remy could get through it.

When Remy finally whimpered out a, “I feel better now,” Emile let his hands drop and took a step back. Remy wiped at his eyes and heaved a sigh, but he seemed a lot more level. “Thanks, Emile,” Remy murmured. “I didn’t expect this to have as much of an impact on me as it did, but...”

“Hey, you’re allowed to feel what you feel, and however much you feel that is a valid feeling,” Emile said. “You’re gonna be okay, but it’s all right if you’re not okay right this minute.”

“You sure?” Remy asked uncertainly. “It’s really okay to...not be okay?”

“Yeah,” Emile said. “It takes a while to feel okay sometimes. That’s normal.”

Remy sniffled and nodded. “Okay then. If it’s...if you don’t mind, I’m gonna...uh, take a nap, I think. Just sleep some of the exhaustion off.”

“Yeah, knock yourself out,” Emile said with a smile.

Remy groaned. “That was terrible, Emile,” he grumbled, heading to his room.

Emile just laughed. “I’ll be watching She-Ra if you need me.”

Remy grunted and closed the door to his bedroom, and Emile grabbed his VHS tapes, putting one of them in the player and bouncing excitedly as it began to play the opening.

When two episodes had gone by, and Emile had seen neither hide nor hair from Remy, he knocked on Remy’s door. “Rem? You up?” He waited a minute, then knocked again. “Remy, can I come in?”

There was shuffling, and then the door opened an inch, Remy rubbing his eyes on the other side. “I was sleeping,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, it’s been an hour,” Emile said. “Your sleep schedule is already getting messed up by me letting you sleep that long.”

Remy grumbled again. “Want to sleep more.”

“Well, you can’t do that, but if you want, I have some novels I got at Christmas, you could go through those and figure out what you like?” Emile offered.

Remy grunted but left his room, which Emile counted as a win. He picked up the novels he had placed in his own bedroom and brought them out for Remy to inspect. “You can have your first choice, just don’t spoil anything for me.”

Picking a random book from Emile’s hands, Remy slumped to the floor and started to read. Emile rolled his eyes fondly and grabbed his own book to read, musing that they needed to invest in at the very least two chairs in terms of furniture.

They must have read for several hours, because when Emile came back to the world around them after finishing the novel, the sun was setting. Remy was still engrossed in the book he had picked out, and Emile lightly nudged Remy’s foot with his own. Remy quirked an eyebrow in silent question, glancing up from the book in his hands.

“Want to go get dinner now?” Emile asked. “Sun’s setting.”

“It’s winter, the sun sets at four in the afternoon.” A beat. “Sure, why not.”

“We don’t have to eat it right away,” Emile pointed out as they got ready. “We could get take-out.”

“Nah, if we’re gonna eat out we may as well actually eat out, as in, at the restaurant, you know?” Remy said.

“Okay,” Emile said. “Anywhere in particular you’d want to eat? Considering that lots of places would be closed on New Year’s Eve.”

Remy shrugged. “I know places that aren’t bars but have bars will be open,” he offered.

“What sort of places like that are there around here?” Emile asked.

Remy shrugged. “I’m not sure. We could always just drive around and look? I’ll help you with gas money in return for that.”

Emile hesitated. He didn’t want to just drive around for no apparent reason, but if Remy would pay for gas money... “Okay, fine, we can figure out a place to go by driving around,” Emile said, grabbing his car keys.

Remy hummed and paused. “Actually...”

“Actually?” Emile asked.

“I mean, we know the shelter’s going to be open, right? And the food there is edible, and the workers get to eat after they’ve helped with dinner,” Remy said.

“Are you suggesting that you want to volunteer at the shelter on your birthday, when you could be doing absolutely anything else?” Emile asked in surprise.

“It’ll give me a distraction,” Remy said. “Better than most things would. And I’d still get to talk to you, and we’d get to eat, and I’d feel a little accomplished for doing something today.” He paused. “Is that weird?”

“No, no, it’s not weird,” Emile rushed to assure him. “It didn’t seem like something you’d want to do on your birthday, but if you want to do that we can walk to the shelter and help out.”

“Cool,” Remy said. “I was wondering what it might be like to help alongside you, instead of when you’re not around, and this solves that mystery quicker, too.”

“Yeah,” Emile agreed. Inwardly, he felt a swell of affection for Remy. He was starting to learn how to care about other people, outside his circle. Even if it wasn’t often, even if it was about him and his questions, he was learning. And Emile was incredibly proud of him for that.

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

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