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caretaker-au · 4 years

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CHAPTER 10

Bright light spilled into Chara’s vision as the world manifested around them. Their body—heavy and fragile—struggled and dropped them to their knees.

As they fell forward Chara caught themselves with their hands. They stared out at their small, feeble fingers that were splayed on the lavender colored floor, each digit tipped with a dull, flat fingernail. Where were they? And what was that awful pounding sensation? They pulled a hand to their chest. That’s right. Their heart. No longer made from monster magic, Chara’s human flesh felt comparatively sluggish and dense. The body they were never supposed to return to. Chara crossed their arms and gripped themself tight. Fierce emotion flooded through their body: a touch of grief for their own death, relief for their survival, and most of all, rage.

“Asriel…” they breathed, their voice a shaking whisper, “How could you?”

After everything they had done, after all that they sacrificed for him, Asriel had betrayed them. Again. As he always had. It didn’t matter how hard Chara worked or how many timelines they chased, their wretched partner threw away everything they had to protect accursed humans. This time was the worst, however. Asriel’s betrayal ended in orchestrating a shared execution.

“You really hate me that much?” Chara’s voice was little more than a shaking growl. They wanted to scream, to declare that they wouldn’t allow it, that they would find someone else who would respect them and carry out their plan. But they didn’t believe it.

“Chara?”

A small voice broke through the fury. Chara looked up and saw them. A child hesitating in a stone doorway just ahead of them: Frisk.

The child’s expression relaxed into a smile, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Anger flashed across Chara’s face. They pulled themselves to their feet, wavering slightly. They staggered towards Frisk with heavy steps, increasing their speed into a run. Frisk’s eyes widened for a moment before they scowled. The child braced themself and held out their arms, “Chara, stop!”

The caretaker grabbed Frisk by the collar and wrenched them up against the doorframe. The kid’s teeth chattered as their skull thudded against the stone behind them.

“Why?!” Chara barked, hatred seeping from their every pore, “You took everything from us! Our lives, our future, the salvation of all monsters!” Frisk turned their head away, clenching their eyes tight as Chara berated them. “Nothing was stopping you from leaving. So why?” Chara demanded, “Why did you return? To mock me? To torment me?”

“No…” Frisk answered quietly, “To save you.”

Their answer didn’t make any sense. Chara stared back, unable to even articulate a response. Instead, they slammed Frisk against the wall again. “Liar!” Chara cried out, “You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth!” Frisk squirmed and pulled on Chara’s hands to no avail, “Escape isn’t worth anyone’s life. Not even yours, Chara!”

Chara’s fists clenched tighter around the slack of Frisk’s sweater. With a heave, they tossed the child to the side. Frisk splayed across the floor with a grunt.

“You are wrong,” Chara huffed, “And you… are a fool. Did you not learn the first time? I don’t care about your mercy.”

Frisk pulled themself to their feet. They straightened and returned Chara’s frenzied glare with a quiet gaze.

Chara continued, “I will not stop. This time I’ll take the souls, ignore you, and escape to the Surface. There, Asriel and I… we’ll…” Chara trailed off as Asriel’s face crossed their mind again. They sank to the floor, the air feeling heavier and heavier. “That traitor… he will never… he will never cooperate.”

The realization was like a knife twisting in their gut. Even with his betrayal, Asriel was always the most devoted. No one would be able to replace him. Despair crept into their heart as Chara realized they needed him more than Asriel needed them back. Chara had considered Frisk their greatest opponent, but it was Asriel who truly stood in their way.

Chara’s vision swam, so they turned their head away from Frisk, their hair falling in front of their face. Knowing the human was seeing them like this made their skin crawl, and they wished the ground would swallow them up. As Chara spoke, they held their breath to keep their voice from shaking. “Leave.”

Frisk hesitated, surely coming up with a response. Mockery? Pity? Chara wouldn’t bear it.

“Out of my sight! Now!” Chara shouted; their roar made the air tremble. Frisk didn’t wait to be told again. The sound of scuffling footsteps faded from earshot, and soon Chara was alone in the silence once more.

Finally, Chara let the tears fall from their eyes. They were disgusted with the way their breath hitched and sobbed no matter how much they tried to stifle it. Asriel did this to them. Asriel would have to pay.

Chara indulged in several minutes of sickening self pity before they finally wiped their face. Looking around, it took Chara a moment before they registered just where they were. They were deep within the Ruins, just outside the chamber Frisk had fallen into. But that didn’t make sense. From Chara’s experience, time could only be turned back to the most recently fixed point. Frisk should have been returned to just before their battle, perhaps in the jail. Instead, here they were, back to the moment they first met. Was Frisk not confined to the same limits of time travel?

Chara shook their head. They couldn't think about this now. Only one thing mattered: Asriel’s punishment. Drawing the will to stand, Chara pushed themselves upright to follow the child.

In one way or another, Frisk had made it past all the traps, through the house, and—presumably—out the exit. It was for the best; Chara couldn’t stand to cross paths with the child again. Inside the house, they paused to collect a large padlock they had stored in a table drawer. It was heavy and nearly the size of a text book with ornate designs engraved across it. The lock was imbued with abjuration magic, made specifically to lock the Ruins after Asriel was nearly killed by the human years ago. The lock would render any door unbreachable by human or monster, and Chara held the only key.

Chara carried the device with them into the basement, down the hall, and to the large exterior doors that lead to the snow draped forests beyond. The doors were slightly ajar, revealing a set of footprints that dotted the snow off into the distance.

Chara sighed, taking one last look at the snowy view, before pulling the doors shut. For decades, the lock had only been placed on the outside, removed only when Chara came through to patrol the ruins or escort monsters between Home and Snowdin. Today, for the first time, the doors would be locked from the inside with Chara within. They looped the padlock through the handles of the door, and when they snapped it into place, the doors shuddered and clamped together with a jolt. Chara traced a fingernail down the seam of the two doors. No one would be passing through without their permission.

Confronting Asriel directly was not an option. After all, any progress made with Asriel could be undone by Frisk. Not to mention they weren’t even sure what they could tell him. Asriel’s traitorous inclinations were buried deep into his core, waiting until Chara was at their most desperate to stab them in the back.

But there was one tactic that Frisk would be unable to interfere with. Silence. If Chara withdrew to the Ruins without a word, Asriel would surely blame himself for Chara’s sudden absence. Chara knew Asriel well: he’d beg for Chara’s return and apologize for things he didn’t do, all the while ignorant of his traitorous compulsions. Cruel, perhaps, but nothing was as cruel as what he had done in those erased timelines.

Chara checked their phone. They already had one message from Asriel inquiring as to when they’d return home. The caretaker marked it as read before slipping it back into their pocket.

---

As predicted, Asriel came to the door and stayed all night long. Knocking, calling, pleading-- Chara relished each pathetic attempt at reconciliation. He deserved to be confused, heartbroken, and alone, just as Chara was. Over the course of the day Chara received messages from Asgore, Toriel, and many other monsters. They all asked the same thing: Are you okay? Do you want to talk? We found this human named Frisk, do you know them? Even Muffet demanded an explanation. Chara would have to deal with her later.

Leaving everyone wondering and begging for answers was the only power Chara had left. Word was getting to the monsters in Home as well, evidenced by the additional messages piling up on their phone. Chara ignored them too. Eventually they would realize they were trapped on this side of the door as well, unwilling hostages in Chara’s scheme.

No matter. The monsters deserved to be trapped. Every one of them was just like Asriel: eager to please and sentimental to a fault. Chara had devoted their entire life to serving them and in return they never offered to help collect the souls that would free them. In fact, Chara had to resort to time travel to push them in the right direction for just an ounce of support. They all deserve to rot in this dark, claustrophobic hell.

---

“So you just let a human walk on by?” Muffet inquired in a sing-song voice, “That doesn’t seem much like the great caretaker at all!”

The two of them were sitting in her parlor, each on a lavish chair. A full tea set complete with baked goods sat on a low table between them, though Chara knew better than to partake in it. Spider legs stuck out of the scones like coarse hairs, and they couldn’t even imagine what the tea had been steeped with.

“Yes. Well.” Chara said, looking down at their lap, “There is not much I can do about it now.”

“Oh yes, I imagine the sweet thing is the new royal favorite, aren’t they?” Muffet’s fanged smile turned up in a mocking grin, “The queen has always had a soft spot for filthy little strays. You know that better than anyone, right, dearie?”

Chara bit back a retort. With time no longer under their control, they had to be careful while inside of her lair. It had been a week since they sealed the Ruins, and Muffet was the only person they had spoken to since. The crime lord wasn’t their first choice of confidant, of course, but she had been insisting on meeting and they knew better than to reject her invitation.

“I suppose so,” they responded softly.

Muffet giggled to herself, then suddenly reached for the plate of cookies between them. It was only after she grabbed a couple treats that Chara realized they had flinched when she moved. They tried to relax but the attempt only made them more tense.

“So, is that why you locked the exit? Had a bit of a falling out with the in-laws?”

“Something like that.” Chara frowned, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh of course, a lady like me wouldn’t dream of indulging in distasteful gossip! Instead, I have a business proposition~”

Chara straightened. In their current circumstance, they didn’t have much in the way of influence or leverage.

“How can I be of service?” they asked.

“I want to relocate,” Muffet paused to bite into one of her cookies. It sounded... crunchy. “You see, the Ruins are awfully drafty, and the cold isn’t good for my constitution. I was thinking about moving in the next year or so, but now that you’ve so... graciously sealed us all in here, I predict the traffic in my shop will be slowing down considerably.”

“Understood.” Chara nodded, “I will make an exception for you and open the d—”

“I wasn’t finished, Chara.” Muffet said, her voice lowering. There was a tense pause before she smiled again, “I want a limousine~”

“A—A what?” Chara asked, incredulous.

“A heated limousine that will chauffer my employees and I all the way to Hotland,” she gestured to the spiders that skittered between the tea cups, “A necessary luxury to ensure we make it safely through the biting cold of Snowdin. Should be a simple task for a monarch, correct?”

“Of course. Leave it to me.” Chara smiled, “Is that all?”

“Not much for business, are you, Chara?” Muffet smirked, “This is where you negotiate the terms of the agreement~”

“No need. I am happy to do this as a gesture of goodwill.” Chara outstretched their hand—it wasn’t trembling anymore, thankfully—and Muffet gave it a dainty shake.

Once Chara was safely out of Muffet’s lair, they heaved a sigh of relief. Somehow they had managed to leave in one piece despite Muffet’s attempts to bait them. Now they just had to figure out how to serve her outrageous demands. Chara fished their phone out of their pocket, dismissed several dozen missed calls and text notifications, and opened their address book. They were going to need to call in some discreet favors.

---

One month had passed since they sealed the Ruins. It wasn’t easy, but Chara managed to arrange for Muffet’s departure without alerting the Dreemurrs. Eventually, the royals found out the Ruins door had been briefly opened which led to a fresh barrage of calls, messages, and knocking on the resealed door, all of which Chara ignored, of course.

Chara walked the streets of Home late at night, the crystals in the ceiling sparkling above. They could feel the eyes of the monsters on them, but after weeks of Chara ignoring and scowling in return, the monsters had given up on approaching them. Wordlessly, they did their weekly shopping at the local market. As a member of the royal family, Chara had never needed to pay for any necessities, and it seemed the benefits even extended here. It was only fair compensation, of course. After all, Chara was still serving the undeserving monsters by patrolling the Ruins every day for human threats.

---

“Ugh, really?” Chara muttered. They were nearly done with their patrol, having reached the large trap of spikes that was circled with a moat. Chara pushed down on the edge of the spike panel’s pressure plate with their foot, but the spikes failed to retract completely, the deadly points standing out by a few inches. It wasn’t a good sign: the springs inside were starting to give out. And if the springs snapped while Chara was standing above it…

Chara shuddered. They had witnessed that messy result and they didn’t care to experience it first hand. Typically, Chara would order replacement parts and perform maintenance themself, but the machinist that created the pieces was in New Home. Unsealing the door again was out of the question.

“Of course this would happen now,” Chara grumbled. They moved their foot off the plate and the spikes shot back into place. How many more compressions would it tolerate before it broke? Before Frisk came to the Underground, Chara could risk it and undo any unpleasant accidents, but if the past five months were any indication, Frisk was not nearly as eager to manipulate time. In fact, time had been rolled back only two times since Chara let the child go.

It was inconceivable. How could Frisk resist the urge to erase the inevitable little mistakes that ruined every day? Embarrassing moments, broken tea cups, scraped knees… all could be fixed in an instant with the right application of their power. To have such power and yet choose to carry the weight of their failures—it defied reason.

More importantly, if Chara suffered a tragic accident while isolated here, no one would come to their rescue… whether through time manipulation or otherwise.

“Unfortunate.” Chara said to themself with a resigned sigh, “I will have to dismantle them. All of them.” They turned around and headed back home. While they didn’t have access to their machinist anymore, they did have a few hand tools and plenty of time.

---

Eight months had passed since Chara had let Frisk go. As they walked the path of the now defanged Ruins, they revised and repeated their old plan over and over. If they could just get one more soul to replace Frisk, they would have the seven required to break the barrier and purify the Surface. The only thing missing, of course, was a willing monster to absorb them.

They reached the end of their patrol: the entrance to the Underground for lost, unlucky humans. The chamber was empty, as it had been every day since Frisk fell in. Chara walked into the center of the room and stared up into the vacant darkness looming above. One hundred years had passed on the Surface and only eight humans had fallen in that time. How long would it take for another to arrive? Ten years? Thirty? Without the help of their powers Chara could very well die before seeing the next human soul.

Chara turned to leave, but did a double take as they glimpsed a glimmer of gold on the ground. They kneeled and pushed the grass aside to reveal a small yellow bud, barely beginning to open.

“It cannot be…” Chara breathed, “A Golden Flower?”

Golden Flowers were common on the Surface, but had no presence in the Underground. Chara was so sure of this that they had incorporated them into their original plan over 20 years ago. By requesting to see the wild flowers on their deathbed, Chara could ensure Asriel would cross the barrier with their corpse in tow.

Or at least, that was what should have happened.

Chara clenched their teeth at the bitter memory. It was the first of many perfect plans ruined by Asriel’s cowardice. The caretaker grasped the plant and ripped it out of the ground by the root.

Immediately, Chara felt a pang of regret. They stared down at the pathetic thing. Their favorite flower, somehow growing in this dark, sunless prison. When had it taken root? Did some seeds blow in from the Surface? Or were they brought in by a... passenger?

Chara shook their head. Regardless of how it was introduced to the Underground, it was now a part of the Ruins—their Ruins. It didn’t deserve to suffer for Asriel’s mistakes. Reflexively, Chara attempted to turn back time, but nothing happened.

With a sigh, they returned the flower to where it was and buried its roots back into the soil. The stem was bent and it wouldn’t stay upright, but weeds were resilient. With a little help, it might still make it.

---

Chara hesitated before their latest masterpiece, knife in hand. Resting on a serving plate was a beautiful, hand crafted chocolate ganache cake. Strawberries perched on top of the silky dark topping, and the intoxicating aroma filled the house. Somehow, even without their powers, it had turned out almost too perfect to eat.

Emphasis on "almost". Carefully, Chara slid the knife through the decadent construction and placed a slice on their plate. They paused to admire the moist cross section before sliding a fork through the end and taking a bite.

Absolute bliss.

"Not bad for a humble birthday cake," Chara said to themself. They were thirty-seven today. Chara looked across the dining table into the empty living room. The only sound was the fire crackling in the hearth, emitting heat for a one person abode. They wished this house wasn’t nearly identical to the one in New Home; the similarities made it too easy to imagine Toriel in her chair, Asgore in the kitchen, and Asriel leaning on the table with his elbows, big goofy grin on his face. The Dreemurrs loved birthdays, always spending weeks preparing for a large and lavish party.

This was the first birthday they had spent alone since they were thirteen. They had forgotten how miserable it could be.

Chara checked their phone. They had over one hundred notifications that had come in just today. They scrolled through to find the only contact that mattered: Asriel.

“Happy birthday, Chara!!” the message read, “Mom and Dad and I are thinking about you lots! We even got you a gift, so I hope we can give it to you one day! Wherever you are, take good care of yourself, okay?” A line of party and heart related emojis followed.

Chara read the message over and over. Asriel’s texts would always fill them with disgust and hatred, but not today. Instead Chara just felt… lonely. It was a pathetic, shameful feeling, but a true feeling nonetheless. Despite all the ways Asriel had disrespected them, Chara couldn’t hide from the fact that they missed him.

The caretaker allowed themself to vocalize a thought they had been pushing out of their mind for months. “Maybe…” Chara spoke, their soft voice breaking the quiet, “Maybe it is time to go home.”

They sighed, resigning themself. The eternal silent treatment was never a realistic plan, and while Asriel was the intended subject of the punishment, it was unpleasant to Chara, too. Scrolling up through his messages, Asriel had sent hundreds upon hundreds over the past year begging them to “just talk”. All had gone unanswered. The confusion and desperation in those messages were clear; he was perfectly primed for a reconciliation.

But Chara wanted more than reconciliation. More important than companionship was freedom. Freedom not just for undeserving monsters, but most importantly, freedom for themself.

“There is still a way,” Chara muttered to themself, “I simply… pushed Asriel too quickly. Asriel always responded better to a softer approach.” Chara stood, pacing.

“We will delay soul fusion until the end of my natural life. Nothing barbaric or tragic. My dying wish will be to live on within him. He cannot turn down my final request.”

Chara nodded, they could see it now. After a few decades, Chara would peacefully pass from their old, frail body into Asriel’s strong, youthful one, a benefit of his species’ long life span.

“Then we gather the rest of the souls. But not right away. Asriel will need some time to adjust to sharing a vessel with me. But he will with time. Perhaps even the child can be convinced to willingly donate their soul to the cause.” Even though Frisk wouldn’t be a child anymore, it was hard to imagine Frisk as anything but a meddling brat. Honestly, they’d probably still be a brat in thirty years.

“If not, that is... fine. The child can be suffered to live.” The decision was a reluctant one, but giving mercy to such an undeserving creature gave Chara a pleasant feeling of self-righteousness. After all, it didn’t really matter if Frisk lived or died. The important thing was purifying the Surface and breaking the barrier. One human would not make a difference.

“Yes. This will work.” A smile crept onto Chara’s face and their heart thrummed with excitement. They would return to Asriel, who would embrace them with utmost relief and joy. After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and Asriel had shown no signs of giving up on them.

Chara would enjoy a long life in the company of their loved ones until the day they would embrace their prophesied purpose as the Underground’s savior.

It would require patience, but their splendid utopia was once again within reach. They began planning their grand return.

chapter 10 // end

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#undertale #chara #the caretaker of the ruins #undertale spoilers #main comic #chapter 10 #story summary #amazing that chapter 1-9 took place in one day #but this chapter is a year long

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alderaani · 3 years

Text

still i find you there

summary: after Rako Hardeen, there are several things that need fixing.

written for @codywanweek and the day 1 prompt fix-it. I fully intended to have more days completed for this, but given that it’s *checks notes* day 5, it’s probably not going to happen. this is very angsty and perhaps a bit melodramatic, but the heart wants what it wants. also catch me forgetting obi-wan was wearing his vambraces when he ‘died’ and having to stretch to make it work for me. warnings for grief, percieved death and all that good stuff.

He’s alive.

It seems impossible. It feels entirely predictable. And yet...Cody can’t make himself believe it. He saw Obi-Wan die, the grainy security-holo footage of slick Coruscant rooftops showing little more than a bolt of red and a lone figure reeling, falling. No sound, no clear faces, and yet...He knew that red hair. He knew that posture, how it could startle like that if timed very, very well.

It had been the only thing that made it real.

It had been a terrible idea to look at the footage, just like Rex (and Fox, and Wolffe, and Boil) had told him, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d needed something to help him break out of the stupor, the long silences, the staring at the door like Obi-Wan was going to walk right through it. The war didn’t stop just because someone had died, and the GAR hadn’t cared about the cataclysmic shockwave it had sent through Cody’s life.

They’d sent the 212th packing to Mimban within a day of the assassination, and Cody had nearly gotten his head blown off after leaving his left flank wide open, expecting the snap-hiss of a lightsaber to cover him. Instead Wooley had been his salvation, yanking him back at the last second and roaring that he needed to get it together. It had been like walking in a dream.

Watching the holo had worked. It had convinced some deep, desperate part of himself that Obi-Wan really wasn’t coming back. That somehow he was going to have to carry on alone, or worse, with another Jedi, whose differences would grate at him like a knife paring into bone.

And in the end, it had all been a lie.

Cody takes a deep breath and leans his forehead against one of the blaster racks in the armoury, the durasteel sharp and cool on his skin. His knees shake and he grips the shelf edges until his fingers hurt, just standing there, just breathing.

His heart feels big and swollen in his chest, gluttoned with relief and anger, paired with a sharp, aching grief that now, more than ever, has nowhere to go. There’s no reason to harbour it; he should know better.

He just can’t help it.

He’d stood through the shuttle landing, through the torturous debrief, through strange, hairless Obi-Wan meeting his eyes and explaining earnestly that ‘if it hadn’t been classified of course he’d have said something…’ without so much as a twitch, but a great yawning chasm in his belly had opened and only kept getting wider the longer they kept making small talk about provisions, and reopening Obi-Wan’s quarters and a million other things that had happened since he’d - gone away. In the end he’d excused himself, planning to retrieve the personal effects he’d personally cleared out of Obi-Wan’s quarters because he’d needed to feel close to him, after, and there hadn’t been any other practical reason to go in there.

Except now he’s standing here, the relevant box at his feet, and he just can’t move.

Eventually the trembling in his legs slows, and he lifts his head from the shelf, turning instead to slide down it, using it for balance until he hits the floor. His knee thunks against the crate as he collapses, the scant things inside clinking against each other.

That had been one of the worst things; Obi-Wan always filled a room. His presence was a gentle, quiet, pervasive thing. Cody had held his small collection of two plants, a meditation mat, a few trinkets from planets visited and a lightsaber maintenance kit and felt nothing.

He swipes ruthlessly at his face with one hand, thumbing under his eyes to scrub away the moisture.

He needs to get moving. They’ll be looking for him soon.

Instead, his knee has dislodged the thin fabric covering the crate, and his eyes catch on the vambrace stacked on top, the straps frayed and snapped. Cody had helped paint this one and its pair, had shown Obi-Wan how to get the colours to take properly to the unwieldy plastoid.

He’d been the one to break it, too. Obi-Wan had just come out of the field medstation, bruised to shit but still smiling, and Cody had crowded him against a powered down holostation in the empty command tent and yanked at his clothes, just needing to feel his pulse under his skin, to feel the warmth of him safe and alive. It had been too much for the worn out armour to bear.

Two cycles later Obi-Wan had been on his way to Coruscant again, and there had been no time to fix them. It’s stupid, but Cody had taken one look at them on the little desk, in the space that had once been Obi-Wan’s room, and all he’d been able to think was that he hadn’t been properly protected. Cody had broken his armour. Cody had left him vulnerable.

Obi-Wan’d taken his spare set, of course, but he’s always complained that they chafe, and if there’s one thing Cody knows, it’s that if your armour isn’t right you aren’t fighting at your best.

He reaches for the broken piece now, thumbing the frayed synthleather and the chipped paint, yellow and red and faint scuffed up grey.

He knows now that it wouldn’t have made a difference to what happened, but he still heaves himself up to his feet after a moment and goes to the supply closet, pulls out a new strap, and sits back down again, committing to unpicking the stitching of the old before he can attach it.

He should’ve done this sooner.

He should’ve been more careful.

He should’ve been there.

He should’ve -

He could have -

He’s crying.

He’s crying, and he doesn’t realise it until the salt is heavy on his cheeks, until his neckline is wet, until his vision blurs so hard he can’t see. Cody makes a low, animal sound and curls over the vambrace, his fingers stilling against the threads.

His throat aches, his face is swollen, his body hot. He feels sick, and disoriented, overwhelmed in a way he can’t name.

“Cody?”

He flinches like he’s wounded, turning his face away from the door, like it will hide the evidence of his weakness. He knows he’s failed when Obi-Wan’s breath sucks in, so loud in the quiet.

“Cody?” His voice comes again, much closer this time. “Will you...will you look at me?”

Through the haze, Cody catches something that does make him turn. Obi-Wan sounds...hesitant, so uncharacteristically tentative that it cuts through the rest.

He wipes quickly at his face, smearing the mess, and gets his eyes just clear enough to find Obi-Wan’s face, so foreign and smooth but so dear for all that. His eyes are still the same, glacier-heart blue, and worried, right now, focused on his face.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan whispers at whatever he finds there, then reaches out, stutters halfway through, and drops his hand. His wrist is bare, and his robe sleeves flop backwards.

“I was trying to fix it,” Cody croaks, shifting to unveil the half-mended vambrace. “Before I brought it back. I broke it, and then you left without it and then you -”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to flinch back this time, while Cody greedily drinks him in, taking in the changes to his face, the way the lack of a beard makes his jaw look sharper, his features look younger. The stubbly fuzz of his hair is odd, true enough, but it’s still him.

“I - I never thought,” Obi-Wan says haltingly, and now Cody frowns, because it’s so unlike him to lose his words. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker away, then back, like he’s steeling himself. Almost like he’s afraid.

“I never imagined you’d feel responsible - Cody - I’m so sorry -”

He reaches out, his fingers loosely catching Cody’s wrist this time. Cody feels it, the warmth of his hand sharp and electric. Tears spring to his eyes all over again; it’s the first time they’ve touched since he walked Obi-Wan to the hangar and he kissed him goodbye behind a LAAT/i. He’s replayed it so many times since, thinking he’d never get another, but the memory does the reality no justice, failing to preserve the way heat floods under his skin.

Obi-Wan moves to take his hand back, and Cody traps it there, anchoring his fingers and dipping his head, just breathing through it.

“If I could have told you,” Obi-Wan continues. “I would have, I swear it, I -”

“I know,” Cody says instantly, because he does, he’d never doubt it. “I know you couldn’t.”

Their fingers curl more securely together, calluses and knuckles finding a home against their pair.

“I didn’t know if you’d be angry,” Obi-Wan says. Cody shakes his head before he even thinks about it.

“It was your duty. I just -,” he squeezes his eyes shut again, voice breaking. The deception had made him angry. He can admit that, but it was never directed between them. The war stops for no-one, after all. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”

“I promise, I always intend to stay,” Obi-Wan murmurs.

Cody’s smiling when he kisses him, so full his cheeks ache with it. It tastes of salt and bitter-sweet and just a hint of desperation, their hands clasped with the vambrace cradled between them.

Then Obi-Wan draws him in, tucking his head under his chin. Cody presses his wet skin to the hollow of neck, listens to his heartbeat, and weeps.

#codywanweek2021 #rako hardeen arc #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #alderwrites

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

FeralObi anon here. How do you come up with these so fast?? Are you an infinite number of ideas and worlds in human-shaped form? I love both of those ideas. The first one kills me tho, Obi gets his first kind touch in years from lil Anakin. Also you can have lil Anakin coming home one day with a skulking, snarling nonverbal murder puppy and saying brightly, "He followed me home, can I keep him?" Schmi thinks this is definitely worse than the time he brought a krayt dragon home.

ah! hello! yes this is the first idea of a feral obi-wan who meets anakin when he's still on tatooine. i will also still do the second idea because like. i liked them equally as much rip me

but i told myself these were going to both be very short snippets and instead this one is uh 2k so i'll post the second one tomorrow instead of tonight!

(ficlet where obi-wan is captured by pirates/unspecified forces at a young age and then tortured for a decade before he escapes to tatooine when anakin is like 6. obi-wan, after a decade of torture is....not alright in this fic though he's only here at the end) (2k)

Shmi had known that when she sent her little Anakin away to follow after the stern-faced, warm-eyed Jedi Master, that this would not be the last time she ever saw her boy. She couldn’t explain how she knew, just as she had not been able to explain how she became pregnant, but she knew beyond a doubt that one day, she would see her little boy back in her arms.

She just hadn’t known it would be so soon.

“He died, Master Jinn died,” Anakin mumbles into the front of her dress, unwilling to move his head far back enough from her hug that he could talk clearly. “On Naboo. And the stupid Jedi council refused to train me even after I was so amazing in the air. Mom, I destroyed a blockade! Entirely! And they wouldn’t--they didn’t--” his little face scrunches up and then he’s bawling into his hands.

A slave, a born slave, knows intrinsically the injustice of the galaxy. It is not often they know hope.

“Oh my boy,” she whispers, smoothing a hand over the top of his head. She has questions. She has so many questions about everything he’s just said and what those strangers have put her son through, but the most important thing is a question she cannot wait until he has cried himself out to ask. “Is your chip gone, Ani? Did they remove your transmitter?”

Because she had sent him away from her so that he could be free. And that had been her own twisted version of hope, that her son could know a life she never would again. If the Jedi masters had proven to be just like every other master in the world, she would find herself sobbing into her own hands.

“Yeah,” Anakin sniffles and wipes at his ruddy cheeks, pulling back a few steps. “They removed it and everything. And--”

He pauses and drops his satchel to the ground in front of her. “They gave me credits. To buy you. For my trouble.”

He spits out the last three words like they’re the most disgusting thing in the entire world. As if Shmi’s freedom isn’t laying at their feet, mere centimeters away.

“Republic credits are no good here,” she hears herself say faintly.

“Padme, the handmaiden you met, she talked to the queen about me I guess,” Anakin mumbles, kicking his feet. “And when the queen learned that the Jedi didn’t want me even after all that, Padme says the queen says I’ll always have a place on Naboo. Me and my family. And then she took the Jedi credits and gave me these instead. It should be enough, Mom.”

Shmi sits down on the floor. With shaking hands, she opens the bag and looks inside. Yes. Yes.

There’s more than enough.

There’s enough to buy her freedom and take her boy away from Mos Espa. There’s enough to take her boy away from Tatooine completely.

“I…” she says. “Ani, I…”

“Padme said she’d send a ship for us,” Ani reports as if their lives are not changing right in front of their eyes. “In two days ‘cause I told her it might take a little bit of time to get Ben to come with us. But we can’t leave without him.”

This is said fiercely and with his arms crossed tightly over his little chest.

Shmi stares at him.

“I’ve already left him once!” Anakin says, stomping his foot. “But that was okay, because I knew you would bring him food and water and stuff. But if we’re both gone, no one’s going to be there for him.”

Shmi bites at her lip. There’s a lot of things happening very quickly right now, and she doesn’t know how to process half of them.

Her son has come back, after only being gone for a week and a half.

He has apparently either endeared himself so much to the queen of Naboo that she was willing to give him the money necessary to buy his mother from slavery and also promise him sanctuary on her planet. He says he’s done this by single-handedly ending a blockade, which is something she just cannot even think about right now.

He has told this queen--queen--that he will gladly live on Naboo with his family. Yes. Alright.

His family seems to include his imaginary friend, Ben.

Anakin has been talking about Ben for years now, ever since he was six and a half years old and sent by Watto to retrieve any scraps he could from what looked to be a crashed pod in the Wastelands. She’d let him ramble on about the ghost of a friend, because she’d known it to be something all children go through and experience. She hadn’t thought Anakin a lonely child, not with the friends he made in Mos Espa, but she’d always known that Anakin had a wandering spirit, ill-suited for Tatooine. If he liked to imagine an older man from a strange world hiding in the caves of the Wastes, then she wasn’t going to say anything.

“You have been leaving him food, haven’t you, Mom?” Anakin asks, almost accusatory. “I told him to expect you and everything.”

No. Shmi has not been traveling to the edge of the Wastelands every day during her precious few hours of free time in order to leave food to be picked apart by womp rats and desert critters and not her boy’s imaginary friend.

“Ani,” she says cautiously, quietly, “we cannot...we won’t be able to bring Ben with us when we go.”

Anakin, predictably, does not react well. “Why not!” he yells, backing away from her even further and looking as if she is the enemy. “Padme’s fine with it!”

“Aren’t you a little old for imaginary friends?” Shmi asks desperately, feeling cold suddenly even though the heat of the mid-morning sun has not abated at all.

If anything, her son looks more offended. “He’s not imaginary! Saying...saying that he’s not coming with us...is...is a bunch of poodoo!”

“Anakin!” Shmi gasps.

“Come on,” her boy says forcefully, grabbing at her hand and tugging her towards the door. She gets on her feet reluctantly and has half a mind to pull back just because he needs to learn that this sort of behavior is not okay, war hero or not. “We’re going to buy you from Watto. And then we’re going to go visit Ben!”

---

Buying her freedom takes less time than Shmi Skywalker ever thought it would. It feels distant as well, as if it’s happening to someone else.

It doesn’t help that her Ani is impatient and surly by turn, spilling the coin out onto Watto’s counter and barely waiting for him to finish counting it before he’s looking at the price of renting a four-person speeder parked outside.

“You won’t survive out there on your own,” Watto sneers, even as he’s passing her the kill-switch of her own slave chip. “Days. It’ll be days until the Hutts find out there’s a newly freed slave with no connections out there in the open. Ripe for the pickin’.”

Watto doesn’t have to tell her any of this. She knows. Gods, does she know.

But Anakin seems so sure about possessing the favor of the Queen of Naboo, or at least her handmaiden, which might be close enough to the same thing. She thanks Watto--she thanks him and then doesn’t even know why--and meets Anakin outside.

He’s bouncing around the speeder, little hands clutching his satchel to his chest. “Good!” he says when he sees her, hopping onto the machine and putting the parcel between his feet. “I got Ben something called a fig on Naboo, but I don’t know how long it’ll take for it to go bad. Apparently they’re sweet.”

Shmi goes along with it. Shmi doesn’t know why she goes along with it, but she does. She can see this is important to her boy, and though she’d rather spend the afternoon and early evening saying goodbye to her friends, she will allow Ani to say goodbye to his imaginary friend. Maybe she’ll even talk to it. “Hi, hello, I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed the imaginary blue milk and delicacies I’ve left out for you this past week and half. Oh no, it was no bother. My son insisted.”

The ride is quick--Anakin has always been a driver to push the limits of any engine he comes across--and before she knows it, he’s dismounting on a piece of desert and rock that look exactly the same as the last four pieces of rocky terrain they’ve past.

“Ben!” Ani calls, satchel clutched firmly in his hands as he makes his way deeper into the crevices of the landscape. “Ben, it’s Ani! I’m really sorry that I left! Ben? Ben! I’m back now! Ani’s back!”

It’s actually...quite pathetic, to watch her boy speak so pleadingly to the cold stone faces of the rocks around them, but if this is what he needs to do to say goodbye to his life on Tatooine, Shmi won’t say a word.

“Ben--” Anakin draws in a breath to call again, but then there’s movement out of the corner of Shmi’s eyes, and something jumps from the rock down to land on her boy.

She screams and darts forward, but the thing on top of her son snarls at her in guttural warning.

“No, Ben,” Ani coos, stroking at the face that yes, is human, now that it’s not in unnaturally fast motion. “That’s my mom, Ben.”

Ben--Ben??--growls anyway, pinning the boy--her boy--beneath him with his legs and arms.

“She’s fine,” Ani murmurs gently, one hand reaching up to stoke over the beginnings of a beard on Obi-Wan’s face “Oh Ben, I’m sorry.”

The man on top of Shmi’s child finally looks away from her and at her boy, which is both better and worse.

“Ani,” Ben drawls out, as if the word--or perhaps forming the word--hurts him.

Anakin is happy. Shmi can tell he’s happy without even being able to see much of him. It’s like the very air vibrates with his joy. “Yes!” her son says. “Ani. Ben.” He taps the man’s chest. “Ben. Ani.”

The man buries his head into Anakin’s hair, hands rubbing up and down his sides and his arms and his face.

Shmi needs to say something, wants to say something about this strange man touching boy like he owns him, but the memory of his growl and the flash of his golden eyes stops her from stepping forward.

“Anakin, get away from him,” she hisses instead of stepping forward and tearing the stranger off of her son. She has the distinct feeling Anakin wouldn’t let Ben go anywhere, not with the way his little hands are holding so tight to the man’s shoulders. The man’s shoulders that are covered with one of her old tunics that Anakin had told her became unsalvageable after its last wash.

“No,” Anakin says, tightening his hold on his...friend. “He says you didn’t give him food the entire time I was gone! He’s hungry.”

Shmi thinks there’s a very good possibility that this Ben is going to eat her, but she knows not to say anything of the sort. Not when it’s two against one.

“He hasn’t said anything!” She cries instead.

Anakin huffs at this and pats at the feral’s head. “Maybe not to you, but he talks to me.”

Shmi stares at him and wonders if there’s something she’s supposed to be doing or saying here. The man won’t allow her to tear him off her child, she knows that automatically. But she can’t--she doesn’t know--

“Anakin,” she tries, desperately.

But Anakin doesn’t even look at her, too busy petting over the man, who has at least allowed him to sit up. “Hey, I’m sorry, I thought she would,” he tells him in an undertone. “I really thought she would, but I’m back now. I’m not going anywhere without you again--”

He extends his hand and Ben presses his cheek against it with enough force that it pushes him back slightly.

“You’re coming to Naboo with us, Ben,” Anakin promises, clutching at the ends of the man’s long hair. “Or I’m not going at all.”

To Shmi, it sounds like a threat.

The way her son’s eyes flash an unfamiliar golden color makes her feel cold as a Tatooine night. She shivers, but no one notices.

#asks #feral!obi-wan #cw: torture aftermath #its really quite vague tbh #i wanted to use shmi as a narrator because i never really have before #but that means nothing but shmi's perspective gets shared #i mean obviously #but its defo outside perspective here #but this was fun #im not gonna tag it as obikin because anakin here is nine #but yeah i see them living on naboo and healing together from their traumas #and being the most important person to each other #and eventually when anakin is like 25 maybe even older #they kiss #but that's the story i didnt write lmao

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Legally Yours - Ch. 07

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester tops the list of hottest entrepreneurs 2020 and yet, there’s still something he wants but can’t have because, in order to get that, he would have to settle down and get married. She agrees too quickly because she wants to secure a more comfortable life for her and her daughter. Will she be able to help Dean get what he wants without losing herself in the fake story they spin up to deceive his father and the world?

Chapter Warnings: A little nerves, a little fluff, a little angst at the dinner

WC: 4225

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Y/N’s mouth opens and closes in quick succession.

She keeps on shaking her head, “I’m sorry, I think I must have not heard right,” She starts to chuckle but it’s not a good chuckle, it comes out more drily, like she tries to override her confusion with it, and Dean cocks an eyebrow, thinks she’s adorable how she keeps shaking her head. “I thought you said that if this should blow up because of me that I’d have to marry you,”

“That’s exactly what I said,” His voice is steady because he really means it.

“Oh no,” She shakes her head again, continues to look at him puzzled, “You can’t be serious,”

“I’m dead serious,”

“Dean, you don’t even know what you’re saying,” She looks around the hallway, looks up at the ceiling, as if she’s trying to spot a damn camera.

“Hey, Y/N, look at me,” Dean waits until her gaze is back on him and then he stares her down, “Sweetheart, do I look like I’m joking?”

She narrows her eyes as she looks at him, and Dean notices that she tries to see in his eyes if he’s joking. He can tell that she’s trying to read something. Fucking anything. But she can’t. They never can. Maybe she’ll get it, she never will. He’s hard to read, is not really an open book. He doesn’t think there’s anyone out there in this world who can read him and that’s because Dean wants it that way. He has built up his business persona, has shaped himself to be unreadable, unpredictable even. It works to his advantage.

Her eyes go back to their usual size, but there’s a frown between her eyebrows, “Give me one good reason why you would want that?”

Dean reaches out his hand, grazes her cheek with his knuckles before he moves his thumb up, rubs gently in between her eyebrows with it to ease the frown.

“I think,” He starts to say and pauses to clear his throat, using the time to think his words thoroughly. His thumb leaves her again, pulls his hand back and sticks it back into his pants pockets. He only realizes it now that he’s been touching her. Has been touching her more than he probably should. In private. After he composes himself, he starts to speak again, “The most important reason is, that eventually, I will have to get married anyway. I should keep up our arrangement, it just seems easier.”

It’s not bad for him, who’s a businessman, to want to stick to a deal that’s already going on when both parties benefit from it, right? Right. But somehow there’s a feeling in his gut that tells him that what he just said was wrong.

The frowns back and she looks at him like she doubts him and there’s something he can detect in her eyes that he can’t quite put his finger on. Was it disappointment?

He quickly tries to save the mood.

“But don’t worry,” Dean chuckles and looks down at her, pulling his chin to his chest. It’s most definitely not his best angle, most definitely he doesn’t look like the hottest entrepreneur 2020 like this. But hey, she’s stuck with him now and he’s stuck with her. Time to get accustomed to the side that’s not always rainbows and cupcakes, and somehow it works because the frown’s gone. “It’ll only happen if you lose,”

Y/N snorts. She’s trying her best to keep her cool he guesses, and she crosses her arms over her chest. It prompts her tits to be squished and they almost spill out of because of the wide cleavage. Dean knows he shouldn’t but it’s almost impossible. So, he does what every man would be doing, he risks a glance, hopes she doesn’t notice.

But she does. Because he knows by the way the corner of her lips curve up that she must have noticed him staring. And it’s like she’s taunting him because she presses her arms together some more as she starts to grin. It’s all cocky and fuck, he’d never thought he’d see a cocky smile on a girl that matches his.

“Fine, just don’t come crying when you have to fork over a new apartment, loverboy,” She ends up smiling satisfactorily, it’s almost too cute.

Dean chuckles again, “That only happens when I lose, sweetheart,” And then he leans closer, brushes his lips against the shell of her ear to whisper to her. It could be his imagination, but she’s shivering. From up close he can smell her perfume, and he absolutely loves the scent on her. Dean keeps his voice low when he speaks, “And I never lose, baby,”

Standing back, Dean holds out a hand out for her to shake. Y/N does, with a narrowing of her eyes, grips his hand just a little tighter to tell him silently, that’s she’s not a loser as well.

He likes that. Likes how she absolutely is down to compete.

“Got yourself a deal there,” Dean nods and instead of letting go of her hand, he holds it tighter, keeps it in his as he pulls her along the hallway and into the dining room.

As he pulls a chair out for her to sit on, the doorbell rings. Dean should have known, his dad’s never late.

“Dean,” She whispers.

“What?”

“Why is there so much silverware?”

He laughs. Full on.

She elbows him in the ribs because the footsteps of his father and the maid are coming closer.

“Seriously, which ones do I choose?” Y/N hisses.

His father is already in the room and comes closer, so Dean leans over to her, whispers into her ear, “Work your way from the outside in. They are placed in the order of use. It’s not hard,”

“‘K,”

She nods, but the frowns still there so Dean reaches under the table, lays his hand on her thigh, squeezes reassuringly and she wants to stand up and greet his dad, but Dean holds her down, thumb drawing circles on her skin, “Stay,”

They aren’t formal. His father usually sits down to eat because that’s what he came here for. It’s not a fucking social party. There are no eyes on them and John Winchester doesn’t go out of his way to impress anyone when the press is not around.

And as Dean predicted, his father sits down before he even greets them.

“Y/N, Dean,” There’s a courtesy nod.

Dean and his dad hold small talk and it isn’t two minutes later that the maid brings in their first course.

While she was getting dressed, the chef sent the maid around to ask her if there’s something she doesn’t like or if there’s something she is allergic to and Y/N guesses that they are pretty happy that she could literally eat anything. She grew up not having too much food around so food in general gets her excited and she loves to try new things.

When the maid sets their entrees in front of them, Dean’s hand leaves her thigh, and she doesn't even notice that he’s been touching her the whole time. Is it weird that it felt natural to her? Somehow, she has the feeling that it doesn’t seem that he noticed it either because Dean just pulls his hand from her thigh and starts to dig into his food like it’s no big deal.

Maybe it isn’t. Maybe, she thinks, he really enjoys touching her to feel close to her and that’s a good start, right? At least he doesn’t look as troubled as he usually is around her.

It’s chicken truffles terrine on a salad bouquet and god, the terrine melts on her tongue and there’s an explosion of tastes going on in her mouth.

She hums her approval after the first bite, which prompts Mr. Winchester Sr. to smirk at her.

The conversation is kept light during the first course, maybe Dean nor his father wanting to spoil their appetite. And she keeps herself mum, too afraid she would start to bubble nonsense because she’s still so damn nervous.

“Sauntéed Dover with Almond and Soy-Lime emulsion,” The maid said as she brought out the main course and honestly, Y/N doesn’t understand any of it but hell, if it’s as good as the entrée, they should keep bridging them out.

Before she could dig her fork into the glorious fish, though, John Winchester clears his throat to speak.

“So, Y/N, I heard you are working in our company?”

Her heart starts to race and there’s that sweaty hand again.

She pulls herself together and looks at Mr. Winchester Sr. tries to meet his eyes because she doesn’t want to seem like she’s incapable of answering a damn simple question.

“Sir, yes. In fact, I met Dean there,”

The fact that she held his eye contact works, because John nods, before he takes the fork and digs into his meal. The relief she feels when John doesn’t ask more questions is vast.

She takes a bite of the fish herself and it falls apart as soon as the fork touches it. Her mouth starts to water before she pushes the forkful of fish into her mouth and she isn’t disappointed because god, that explosion of taste is back and the fish melts on her tongue.

Humming out loud, she closes her eyes, savoring the fish and the taste of the soy-lime sauce.

Dean chuckles next to her when he hears it, and his hand is back on her thigh, squeezing it in what she hopes is approval.

When she opens her eyes, she sees John watching them, but there’s a smirk on the older man’s lips.

“It’s good to see a woman with an appetite,” He says.

“I’m sorry,” Her face feels flush, “I just get very excited about good food,”

Dean’s hand squeezes her thigh again, as if he wants to say that it’s okay.

His father is watching them, though. She realizes as she looks back to the old man and he still hasn’t budged. That’s when she knows that he’s watching if they are real.

Y/N leans closer to Dean, lets her hand trail up his muscled back, her fingers threading through the short hair at the nape of his neck and the color in Dean’s cheek rises up. His ears are tinted pink. She clearly affects him. She just doesn’t know if it’s good or bad.

Before she can move closer, Dean almost winds himself out of her grip, and his hand that’s on her thigh goes behind him, plukes her hand away from his neck to hold it in his palm.

“Are you okay?” She whispers, doesn’t want to be too loud, even though his father has seen everything already. Clearly, he’s not okay, but she just doesn’t know what it is. Does her touching him hurt him so much? Why do they keep doing it then?

Dean catches himself, places a kiss on the back of her hand before he moves closer to kiss her cheek. He stops short, to whisper in her ear, “No, I think I’m in trouble,”

His lips lingering close to her ear, sending shivers down her spine. What does he mean he’s in trouble? How? What?

Before she can wrap her head around what Dean just said, John clears his throat to speak.

“Y/N, what do you think about my son’s prenup?”

If John thinks he caught her by surprise, he really did.

“Uh,” She starts to say, stammers as her mouth tries to form words. Of course, Dean Winchester would have a prenup. Sam mentioned that Carmen was ready to sign that thing. It’s not a secret that wealthy men have prenups, right?

“He hadn’t shown you the prenup yet, did he?” John’s lips are crooked into a cocky grin.

And it’s then that Dean turns to her and lays his hand back on her thigh, “I didn’t show it to you because we won’t have a prenup,” His voice is soft, gentle while his eyes are on her, as if he wants to make sure that she hears him.

“You what?” Mr. Winchester Sr. asks loudly.

Dean’s eyes leave hers as he tilts his head back to meet his dad’s gaze. “I won’t have a prenup with her, Dad,” His voice is louder this time, firm, as if he is putting his foot down.

“Dean, I—,”

“—No, I know exactly what you want to say. Fact is, it’s my marriage, and my life. You have no say in this. I trust Y/N. We don’t need it and that’s my final word.” He’s even louder, getting all worked up and it’s her turn to lay her hand on his thigh to calm him down.

He flinches at her touch, just a little, but she notices it nonetheless. And she gets a bit discouraged. Why does he bother holding a speech with not getting a prenup when he flinches at her touches? She doesn’t fucking get it.

John Winchester stands up abruptly and buttons up his suit jacket, “Well, it was nice, but I have another dinner meeting to attend,” He says as he nods to Dean and her, “Dean, I’ll see you at the event, and Y/N, it was nice meeting the woman who manages to enchant my son enough for him not being able to think straight.”

The man walks over to the door, stalls and looks back, “I will get Sam to talk some sense into you, and I hope next time I see you, you’ll have changed your mind.” He says, completely ignoring her presence.

“Wow,” She huffs out as soon as the apartment door shuts close.

“Yeah,” Dean snorts, “That’s my father for you.”

She wonders if she should bring up the prenup, but decides against it. It’s not like they’re going to get married anyway, right? Surely, Dean’s legal team will be able to find a solution before they have to go that far and she certainly will not lose the bet they have running.

Returning to her meal, she forks the fish into her mouth, groans loudly this time because the old grumpy Mr. Winchester is gone and Dean sets his fork to the side and braces his elbow on the table. He turns his body a little, tilts his head and lays it on the hand of the arm that’s on the table as he continues to watch her eat with a grin on his face.

“You really like the fish, huh?”

“God,” She exclaims, “The food here is excellent,”

“I’ll pass your compliment to the chef,”

“I hope me gaining weight is not in the contract because I think there’s a big chance it will happen if I get fed delicious meals,” Y/N smiles at him with her mouth around the fork.

“It isn’t,” Dean replies and it seems like he really enjoys her enthusiasm.

He hasn’t touched his food, but he’s waiting patiently for her to finish hers. As soon as she does, he gets up and holds out a hand for her to take, “C’mon, we’re taking the dessert in my study.”

“In your study?”

“Yeah,” Dean grins as he leads her out, “I would have suggested having taken it on the terrace, but it’s too chilly and you’re barely wearing anything. The next best view in this penthouse is from the study window.”

He leads her inside and he’s not really wrong. Now that it’s dark out, the city below them is lit up by a million lights.

“Is that why it’s your study? Because you spend your nights here often and you wanted a good view?”

Dean hasn’t turned on the light in the room, but there’s enough light coming in from the window that she can see his cheek turning pink, “Maybe,” He shrugs.

Thinking that it’s probably something he doesn’t want to talk about, she makes her way to the couch right by the window, takes off her shoes and curls her legs on the sofa.

The maid comes in to bring them the dessert and a refill of her wine glass. It’s a really good wine, she can’t lie. It makes her feel woozy in the best kind of way and she can’t stop wanting more, even if her head’s already swimming a little.

Y/N looks back to see Dean pouring himself a couple of fingers of whiskey before he takes off his suit jacket. He didn’t bother wearing a tie to the dinner. He opens up another button, and it makes him look more relaxed. He sets his glass on to the tray and balances the items over to set it down on the little table next to the couch.

He hands her the plate with what she assumes is something chocolatey.

Digging her silver spoon into it, she takes a bite, hums and groans as the flavor hits her taste buds. It’s dark chocolate, which normally she doesn’t really like that much, but it’s spiked with something she can’t put her finger on but it’s fucking delicious.

“Oh my god,” She moans, “It’s so good,”

“I can tell,” He chuckles as he watches her eat.

“Wait,” She pauses her devouring and raises her eyebrows at him. Dean’s only been holding his tumbler and a glance over to the tray, she can see that there isn’t any dessert on it for him, “You’re not having dessert?”

“Nah,” He says, “I’m not much of a dessert guy,”

“What?”

“Yeah,” He exhales, “I’m not much of a fancy dishes kinda guy anyway, but it’s hard if you grew up like that,”

“So, you’re telling me that you’d rather eat something simple than those magnificent dishes your chef creates?”

“Yep,”

“You’re weird,”

“I know,” He chuckles, “But I’m glad you enjoy it. I’m sure the chef is delighted to have someone to cook for either,”

Y/N takes another spoonful, moaning and closing her eyes again and Dean shifts next to her. When she opens her eyes back up, he’s watching her with a smile on his face.

“Seriously, you’ve got to try this!” She digs into the mousse again and scoops up enough to hold it over to Dean.

“Oh, no, I—,” He starts to say.

“Please? For me? You’ve got taste it,”

And she’s kind of pestering him, the spoon already brushing at his lips.

“Come on,” She nudges the spoon to his lips, “I can’t be the only one to enjoy this tonight,”

Dean rolls his eyes and sighs, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing along his lips, “Fine,”

He opens his mouth and she pushes the spoon in. Dean's lips seal around the small silverware, and she pulls it out while his eyes are on hers.

She feels flush, feels hot all of a sudden. It might have been more intimate than she thought it would be.

“And?” She asks and Dean nods his head.

“It’s good,”

“It’s good?” She frowns, “It’s fucking amazing!”

He smiles.

After she devoured her dessert they stayed on the sofa and she emptied her glass of wine. And it’s not like she had planned it, but the wine makes her limbs feel heavy and her head light, and somehow, she ends up closer to Dean, laying her head on his shoulder.

He lets her.

“You know, you did good tonight,” Dean says. She can feel his voice vibrating from his body.

“Why thank you,” Y/N chuckles, “I’ll take that,”

“You should,”

He nudges his shoulder up, making her lift her head and Dean takes the opportunity to drape his arm over the back of the couch so that it’ll be more comfortable for her. She doesn’t hesitate to curl herself into his side. She’s overly clingy when she drinks and she hopes he doesn’t mind.

While she looks out of the window, the lights blend into each other.

“You know, I was wondering,” She starts to say and she doesn’t even know why she says it. It must be the wine speaking, “Have you ever had sex against the window in the dark?”

She can feel his body stiffen significantly. Dean inhales before he lets out an exhale with a chuckle, “How many glasses of wine did you have?”

“Eh, not much,”

“It seems to me like you’re a little tipsy,”

“Ugh, I am not,”

That’s a lie. She’s definitely tipsy. Maybe bordering on being drunk. She’s such a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, it’s a little embarrassing.

“Right,” He’s still chuckling, “Thank you, by the way,”

Ah, he’s trying to steer the conversation away from the sex. She’s a little disappointed but well, if he doesn’t want to talk about something that’s fine. So, instead of pestering him, she asks, “Thank you for what?”

“For playing it so well. I really believed you liked me.”

“Dean,” She pauses to look up at him, “I do like you.”

“Yeah?”

Y/N lays her head back on his chest, “Yeah, you’re not a bad man, Dean. You certainly went out of your way to make it comfortable for my little family.”

“It’s the least I could have done considering you guys are giving up your life to help me out,”

“That counts as something in my book. And you know what?”

“What?”

She chuckles, “You’re funny,”

“I am?”

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re even trying to be but you are. The way you’re always grumpy, it’s kind of funny, to be honest,”

“Hey,” He protests, but he’s chuckling himself.

“I like spending time with you,”

“That’s good because I like spending time with you, too,” He says and his hand comes down from the edge of the couch to stroke along her arm.

They stay like that for a while, both of them staring out the window wordlessly. She enjoys the silence with him, and she desperately tries not to think about him pressing her against the window and fucking her to the backdrop of the city lights. Nope. Totally not on her mind.

It’s when she feels her eyelids getting heavy that she pushes herself away from Dean and maybe she just imagines it, but there’s a subtle whine that comes out of this throat. He catches himself pretty quickly, though.

“I’m going to bed,” Y/N says and stands up, feels his eyes on her when she rights her dress, “Unless you need me to be your fake fiancée longer,”

Dean smiles as he shakes his head, “No, I’m alright. Have a good night, Y/N. Sam will send you your schedule over,”

“‘K,” She nods, “Good night, Dean,”

Before she goes into her room, she checks in on Liv, sees the girl sleeping soundly. With a smile, she closes the door to her daughter’s room and makes her way to her own.

There, she strips off her dress and gets herself ready for bed.

While she lays in bed, though, she can’t help but think about her weird day. If she’d tell Donna, the woman would think that she’s having a fever dream.

Oh god, Donna.

Y/N grabs at her phone on the nightstand, looks at it for the first time after she has ditched it to go to dinner with Dean’s dad.

There have been missed calls and texts from Donna, asking her when she’d be back or if she has been fired already because Y/N didn’t return.

Quickly she types in a message, maybe Donna’s asleep already anyway.

Y/N: You won’t believe what happened

Donna: OH THANK GOD YOU’RE ALIVE

Y/N: Shouldn’t you be sleeping?

Donna: I was worried out of my mind

Y/N: What happened after I made my way to the top floor?

Donna: Oh god, you should have seen Raphael. He had to pack his things right away, but he was screaming and thrashing around, refusing to leave so they had to bring in security and had him thrown out of the building.

Y/N: Wow

Wow, indeed. Dean really fired him. On the fucking spot.

Donna: The big boss believed you, right?

She has to chuckle as she types in her next reply.

Y/N: Well, he has to because I’m his fiancée. He proposed to me in his office.

It’s a lie, but she has to keep up the illusion, doesn’t she? It’s best if Donna knows it, but only so much to feed into the illusion. She guesses she can explain it later when this will all be over.

Donna: WHAT THE FUCK

Donna: WHAT HAPPENED OH MY GOD TELL ME EVERYTHING

She can’t help but laugh.

Y/N: I’m pretty tired, but let’s just say, I’ll let you know as soon as I can alright? Thought you’d like to know that Dean and I are an item now and that you’ll probably see my face in those glamour magazines.

Donna: FUCK I’M SO JEALOUS

Y/N: Right, I gotta get some shut eye, I’ll be in contact, Donna. Love you

Donna: I love you too, Y/N, even though I’m fucking jealous.

Still laughing, she places her phone back on the nightstand and curls herself into the soft pillows and comforter and it’s not long before she drifts into sleep.

Ch. 08

A/N: Thank you for reading until now. Your comments make my day. Buckle your seatsbelts. From now on it’s going to be a whirlwind of events and feelings! Hint: We’ll see Dean and Liv’s interaction in the next chapter!

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

#legally yours #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 12

Masterlist

Winding down from the frenzy of the last chapter... Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤

Word Count: 5.9k

Recommended song: "I Don't Care" by Fall Out Boy

“Mon amour, wake up.”

Pierre’s sleep-heavy voice rouses you from the best sleep you’d had in a long time. You’d fallen asleep to the sounds of his even breathing under the soothing touch of his thumb tracing patterns on your side.

You crack your eyes open to see him silhouetted by the white light of the waning moon, his bare chest left uncovered by the blanket slung low over his hips. The sight alone has your mind instantly jumping into overdrive, fighting the need to sleep with the need to continue ogling the bare skin a foot from your face.

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” he says softly, reaching behind him for his phone. “We have to be on the M1 in about half an hour.”

“Mmmph,” you groan, snuggling back under the blanket and closer to him, chasing the warmth radiating from him. “The sun isn’t even out.”

His chuckle shakes the bed. “I figured you would say that which is why I made you breakfast and picked out your clothes. All you have to do is brush your teeth and get dressed.”

You hum appreciatively and press a kiss to his bare sternum. “Is this how you’re going out today? Because I won’t complain but you might cause a few heart attacks.” A kiss to your temple is a small reward for your comment, as well as a concession.

"Don't worry, this is reserved only for you." He stretches an arm above his head, grinning when your eyes immediately are drawn to the way the muscles ripple and pull under his skin. You stare shamelessly as he flexes a little for your benefit, the action going straight to your head.

"As it should be." You bite your lip and let your fingertips dance over his chest, memorizing the way it rises and falls so predictably with each deep breath. Against your better judgement you trail kisses up over his pectoral and spot them along his shoulder, dragging another light chuckle from him.

"My love," he warns, voice tinted with mischief, "we don't have time."

"Oh I think we do." You continue your path over his collarbone and to the hollow of his throat. Taking advantage of his biggest weakness, you flick your tongue over his prominent adam’s apple. The move has his hand engulfing your upper arm, giving you a warning squeeze.

"As wonderful as this is" -he sucks in a sharp breath when your teeth graze his neck- "if I'm late Horner will kill me."

"What's new?" You say, but draw back. The mere mention of his name made you see red and shattered the moment. "Do you really want to go back to Red Bull after how they treated you?"

"No," he admits, slipping an arm around you and tugging you up and into a sitting position, taking advantage of the momentary lapse of lust. "But if I want a shot with a top team when my contract is up, I don’t have much choice."

"Where do you see yourself going?"

Pierre studies you as you slip into the clothes he had selected for you. Nothing fancy, just an AlphaTauri branded navy and white hoodie and some light wash jeans. You don't miss the way his lips twitch upward when you notice it's his hoodie, his last name embroidered in block font on the cuff a dead giveaway even if the hoodie hadn't been ridiculously oversized on you.

Cheeky bastard.

"I think I would look good in sunshine yellow," he remarks. You make a show of looking him up and down under the pretense of imagining him in a Renault branded hoodie or their signature black race suit. Truthfully it was just another excuse to drink him in like the fine wine he was and recall how he had tasted on your tongue last night.

He would look good in any color on the grid but you don't grant him the satisfaction of pointing that out. Instead, you lean forward to toy with the waistband of the jeans he had hastily buttoned seconds earlier. "You and Daniel get along just fine." You snag him by the belt loops and yank him forward back onto the bed. "I think you should go to McLaren.”

“I’d still look good in orange.”

You wind your fingers under his waistband. “I think you’d look best wearing nothing at all, actually.”

“The time,” Pierre protests lightly when you pop open the button and undo the zipper. He groans when you yank the denim down around his thighs, finally submitting to your touch and lacing his fingers in your hair. Your lips explore the planes of his abdomen, any and all thoughts of speed abandoned on your end. "If you don't hurry up we're gonna be late."

"Maybe you'll just have to drive fast. I hear you’re good at that."

**********

"So how is it that they got your car all the way to London?"

"It's got its own private jet."

You roll your eyes and smack the hand resting on your thigh. His response is a light squeeze and a chuckle before he continues, "They've got a few spares they keep around for when drivers come to town. I can't be seen in a Mini or it would cause a scandal."

"Oh yes it would be quite tragic." His hand charts a dangerous path along your thigh. He knows exactly what he's doing as he slots a thumb between your legs and presses it tight to the apex of your thighs.

You snap your knees shut, effectively trapping his hand "Now you're just being cruel."

"Only dishing out what you did this morning," he points out and wiggles his hand free to rest on your knee instead. The message was clear: he had shaken you well enough for his liking and was perfectly content to leave you frustrated until he could get you home.

“So catch me up on what I’ve missed,” you say, determined to distract yourself from Pierre’s slight teasing. “What’s new in the life of the rising star in Formula 1?”

“Rising star,” Pierre mumbles and rolls his eyes. “Not yet, my love. Getting there, but not yet.”

“Please, you’re too modest. Last night when you fell asleep- you were out like a light as soon as your head hit the pillow, don't give me that look!” Pierre picks his jaw up off the floor and shakes his head as you continue, “I read plenty of articles that called you the next big thing, right up there with Max.”

The comparison didn't seem to sit right with him. He shifts in his seat, rolling words over on his tongue. “I’m sure you’re caught up then. I haven’t done anything really besides train and race.”

“I did notice you’ve beefed up a bit.”

“Yet another reason to thank Pyry.”

“At this point I should send him a fruit basket for his trouble.”

“Maybe you should.” Pierre grins, hand leaving your thigh for a split second to upshift. “What about you? How’s year four treating you?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” you groan. “My senior project is already killing me and I’ve only just started it. We have to design a building from the ground up- I mean I like architecture but I’m trying to be an engineer, not an architect. I dunno why I have to be the one to design a building! At this point it’s just a brick box.”

“Sounds challenging,” Pierre notes, flooring it when he merges onto the highway. Though the speed makes your stomach flip, you don’t miss a beat.

“My team doesn’t do much either, I’ve been doing most of it. I could rant for hours about it.”

Pierre glances at the clock, then back to you. The blue of his eyes is blocked by his signature purple tinted sunglasses, shielding them from the rising sun that casts him in a warm orange glow. “Humor me. We’ve got time.”

The hour and a half drive was by no means dull with Pierre's teasing touches and endless string of questioning along the way. He asked after every aspect of your life that had transpired in the last four months, only stopping you once in a while to interject with an opinion or anecdote. He didn't stop at your life either, even asking after Ben's relationship. You'd been happy to report that he had indeed wooed his crush and had officially asked him to be his boyfriend.

"Those secret French lessons paid off," Pierre jokes as he pulls up to the imposing glass fronted building that served as Red Bull Racing's headquarters. The sweeping curve of the entrance was flanked on either side by two-story red and yellow bulls; proof that the team's dramatics extended far past the track. Anyone approaching for the first time would have been intimidated by the sheer size of them that suggested they were ready to stomp on their competition at a moment’s notice.

“Guess it’s time.” You sigh and undo your seatbelt and fiddle with the buckle, doing your best to stall. There was no reason to be this nervous. You were no one to these people; the focus would be entirely on Pierre. You would be an afterthought, not that you minded because it made it easier to fade into the background.

Pierre picks up on your hesitation in a heartbeat. “I’ll keep them off your back,” he promises and you nod, the single sentence taking the edge off. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You reach for the door handle but Pierre tsks and you pause.

"You know better." You bite your lip to keep back the grin fighting its way to the surface as he comes around to open your door. He offers you his hand and you gladly take it and are pleasantly surprised when he threads his fingers through yours and heads for the entrance.

The atrium serving as the lobby is breathtakingly gorgeous. You had to hand it to the interior designer; they knew what they were doing. Sleek white marble floors are accented by red and yellow leather chairs scattered in small groups throughout the grand space. A tiered circular modern interpretation of a chandelier hangs above to offer guidance to the accountants, engineers and artists that weave through the lobby on their way to their respective wings or offices.

A waist high, glass front cabinet of drivers helmets serves as the reception desk. The unmistakable scent of a fresh cup of coffee hits you as you approach and the secretary hands a steaming paper cup to someone before they scurry off, presumably to a private office if they were important enough to warrant special attention. The first rays of morning sunlight glint off the silver Red Bull logo inlaid in the black marble behind the woman at the counter, making you squint.

"Bonjour Monsieur Gasly," she says in perfect French. "Ça va?"

"Bien," he says simply and switches to English for your benefit. "Has Christian come through yet?"

"He has," the woman says, glancing sidelong at you. Whatever conclusions she draws about you are insignificant enough that she writes you off immediately, angling her body towards Pierre and resting her chin in her hand. The posturing puts her ample chest on display, nearly spilling out of her billowing blouse, but Pierre's eyes don't wander. "He's not expecting you yet. Voulez-vous un cafe?"

"I'm good." The woman may have been determined to alienate you but Pierre was having none of it. Pierre turns to you, a grin playing on his face. This was your first test as an official couple and he intended to see how you handled it. "How about you, my love? Coffee?"

The woman's eyes slip to where your hand remains clasped in his. She cocks her head so slightly you think you might be imagining it until Pierre's grip tightens, a silent encouragement. Your confidence soars. If this was how Daniel's girlfriend felt when the two of them were out, you finally understood why they didn't hide. It was a rush knowing that everyone wanted Pierre but he only wanted you. No matter how blatantly women threw themselves at him, there was no doubt in your mind that he would never give a single one of them the light of day.

It was about damn time you afforded him the same unwavering commitment as he had shown you.

"No thank you," you reply sweetly with a mocking smile directed to the woman. You lean in and drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might want to fix your shirt though, it’s… slipped. I know I'd hate for that to happen to me and no one tell me, especially at work. I don't think I'd ever recover from it."

Her face immediately turns scarlet as she stands straight and folds her arms over her chest. "If I were you-"

"Let Horner know I'm here," Pierre interrupts and it's somehow the hottest thing he's ever said. His purely commanding tone leaves no room for argument.

"Of course," she replies with a sharp smile in your direction that makes your spine stiffen. "Good luck. Christian is in rare form this morning."

"Just ignore it," Pierre murmurs and sweeps his thumb over the back of your hand as he leads you across the cold marble and down a carpeted hall. "You handled that well.”

“I may have gotten a few pointers from Daniel’s lover.” Your soft smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The short interaction had sapped most of your confidence, leaving you on uneven footing. “I would rather not have to deal with that again soon though.”

“I can handle the women easy enough when I know I’ve got you to come home to.”

The tightness in your chest eases further when the hall opens into another startlingly white space, this time packed with rows and rows of navy cubicles. But that's not where your attention is drawn- instead, your gaze is immediately snagged by the case of trophies towering high along the back wall. Cups of every shape and size shine within, each one representing a different podium for the team achieved in various years and tracks.

"There must be over a hundred," you breathe, mesmerized by the glinting silver and intricate craftsmanship. The case was easily thirty feet tall and you had to crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the ones in the top row. Each one told a story of blood, sweat and tears, each one earned by a driver who had made countless sacrifices to be where they were and finish on a podium.

"A hundred and eighty five to be exact," he counters, laughing at your amusement. "Your inner architect is screaming isn't it?"

"Only a little."

Pierre laughs outright at your white lie and tugs you along. "You can stare on the way out. I'll even show you which ones were Max's."

"Did you memorize what all his trophies look like?"

"Hey, meetings with engineers get boring. It's one of the more interesting ways to occupy your time when they are going on and on about fluid mechanics and thermodynamics- you know, stuff you understand but not me."

"Oh whatever, you enjoy those meetings and you know it."

"Only a little," he quotes.

People recognize him as you pass and some nod or give a simple greeting as they go about their morning but no one stops him to chat. The air feels a bit hostile, like no one knows what to do with him now that he's walking through the building after a nearly two year absence.

"Do you miss it?" You ask after he smiles at someone for the millionth time.

"I miss the team," he admits, "but not the management culture. My team was great- they supported me any way they could but it didn't help that Horner didn't exactly encourage them to believe in me. It's hard to crank out results when there's no one on your side."

"I'm on your side," you point out, nudging him with your hip. "You've got me forever, no takesies backsies."

"I'm grateful for it," he murmurs and gives your hand a squeeze. He hadn't let go once; not when he had to open a door or the two of you had to walk single file to let people pass.

The building was a labyrinth and if it wasn't for Pierre you'd have been lost the moment you set foot inside. He navigates the twisting halls with ease, having no need for the countless signs posted along the way.

He leads you up a set of steel stairs after what seems like ages. When he knocks on a heavy oak door, his grip on your hand turns possessive like he suspects the office’s occupant would try to rip you away from him.

“Morning.”

God, even the one word makes rage simmer in your veins. The voice precedes the man and Christian Horner swings open the door, a plastic smile splitting his face. He doesn't bother acknowledging you with a greeting, instead addressing his driver directly.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring a guest.”

“A pretty face was needed around here,” Pierre snaps back without missing a beat. You bristle, free hand curling into a fist. If there was one person you didn’t mind teaching a lesson to, it was Horner. He had little respect for anyone he viewed as disposable- up to and including “underperforming” drivers.

Christian raises an eyebrow. “Sure. She can wait out here- you and I have terms to discuss.”

Fine, Horner wanted to play dirty? So could you. When it came to staring him down, you became fearless. He was the one person you refused to let intimidate you.

Drawing on your newly minted confidence you smile up at Pierre and silence the protest forming on his tongue with a grin. “Gimme a kiss, race winner.”

Pierre doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to yours. Cupping a hand to the back of his neck you draw him in and nip at his lower lip. The hand on your hip tightens at Christian's scoff but Pierre makes no move to break away. You linger a moment longer than necessary to drive your point home: you didn’t care what Horner had to say about you, you were here to stay and he would have to get used to it.

Pierre gives you a small, blissed out smile before dropping your hand and following Horner inside. The door clicks but doesn't shut all the way, Pierre leaving it cracked for your benefit.

Uninterested in eavesdropping on small talk, you lean on the metal railing to observe the research and development garage coming to life on the floor below. Hybrid engines in various stages of disassembly dot the space, small teams of mechanics and engineers tweaking components to reduce weight or increase horsepower. Pistons and valves are scrutinized and exchanged before being placed under stress to test their strength.

An FIA official in a red jacket wove through the garage to observe and jot notes down on a clipboard. He looks over the shoulder of an engineer pouring over formulas on a whiteboard, startling him when the official asks a question. Someone calls your name from below and you search for the origin, finally spotting the woman and waving back at her.

Management may have their qualms with Pierre but it was clear there were still some within the team that had his back. They were likely the same ones that knew he would have to leave the Red Bull umbrella to find any semblance of success. They may not have possessed the guts to stick their necks out for him when Horner had cut him but they were at least happy to see him back around headquarters.

"You sure you'll rise to the challenge?" Horner's question drags you back to the mezzanine.

"I'll take seventh. I'm only a few points away and we have plenty of races left."

He had five races to catch up to be exact. Pierre currently was comfortably ahead of the pack in ninth, Sainz was only three points ahead in eighth, and Norris ten points beyond in seventh. It would only take a DNF or two from his rivals and a few podiums to pass them up.

"Right," Horner starts. "There's a reason you've done so well this season and it's not luck. You've been racing exceptionally well and I don't want that to change."

"If there's something on your mind just get on with it." Pierre's voice is calm and collected in a way yours wouldn't be if you had been in his shoes. You've been dying to rip into Horner since the day he wrote Pierre off.

"There's been a fire in you the past few months since she has been gone-"

"Leave her out of this."

The tone sends a chill down your spine. It maintains the same level headedness that Pierre had perfected over the years and you had come to expect when he was backed against a wall, but it was laced with an unspoken threat. The intent was clear: he would walk out and abandon his chance for a seat at Red Bull if it meant protecting you.

You creep to the door to peer through the crack. Horner crosses his arms, a sly smile on his face. "You would sacrifice your chance at a championship winning seat for her? Everything you've worked so hard for, gone in a flash, because of her?"

"Without question," Pierre answers immediately. The conviction and commitment behind it nearly makes you stumble. "I'm sure there's plenty of other teams that would love to have me after the season I've had. She’s not going anywhere, so either you stop disrespecting her or I walk out."

You clench your fists, ready to burst in and demand Pierre stop being a fucking idiot. His long term plan saw him at another top team that would take care of him and nurture his skill- a long stint at Red Bull Racing was never in the cards. It wasn't an environment for everyone. Some people like Max thrived in it, letting the toxicity roll off their backs but for Pierre it was a cruel form of punishment. However, a seat at Red Bull for the 2022 season could mean the difference between an offer from Alpine and an offer from Haas when his contract was up for renewal.

The idea of seeing his number stickered to the floor in a Red Bull garage excites and intimidates you. Last time he hadn't been given the chance to prove himself. Would they still hold that against him? Knowing Christian, he probably would. On the other hand, it meant that they admitted their mistake in cutting him mid-season, whether they said it outright or not.

Pierre's redemption day was on the horizon and you couldn't wait to see the look on Horner's face when he finally won. And the longer Christian stays silent, the more potent the urge to throttle him grows.

Christian gives a slow clap. "Now there's the unwavering commitment that was missing during round one."

Your heart hammers in the dead silence as papers are shuffled. "Here's the contract. Terms are as discussed, you secure seventh in the world championship in 2021 and the second seat at Red Bull Racing is yours for the entire calendar in 2022. No demotions, substitutions, or shuffling of drivers unless medically necessary or mutually agreed upon by all affected parties."

"And the same spec car as the number one seat," Pierre insists, spine straight. "Same strategy."

Christian waves a hand. "Yes, that's in there too. Feel free to take a moment and read it over."

He does, allowing Christian time to pour a knuckle of whiskey and set the glass before Pierre. He pours himself an identical glass and waits until Pierre signs and initials all the boxes before raising it in acknowledgement.

"Congratulations. Welcome back to Red Bull- conditionally."

Pierre leaves the glass untouched and remains silent, staring his potential future team principal down. He gives the man no margin to question his abilities further, conveying all he needs to with a look that would have had you shaking at the knees. Even if you can't see his face, wrath radiates from him in waves and you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it when it explodes.

"Right then." Christian lowers the glass, his fake smile vanishing. "I look forward to seeing what you can do."

"Don't worry. I'll deliver."

You step back and allow him to set the mood as he exits the office and slams the door behind him. Pierre sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You heard all of that right?"

You nod. "You wouldn't have really walked out, right?"

"I almost did."

He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like you should know that he would choose you over all of this, that all of his dreams and everything he had sacrificed to achieve them thus far meant less to him than you did. How many times did he have to prove his unwavering commitment before you realized it was true?

Pierre laces his fingers through yours, the heat welcomed by your ice cold skin. It was as much a comfort to you as it was to him. "I just have to grab some things from Max's office and then we can head out."

His jaw is still set after his stand off with Christian and you want nothing more than to ease his mind. Publicly comforting him with a touch to his chest or a kiss to his neck was out of the question so you settle on temporary distraction.

"Hey, you know what I want to see?"

"What's that?"

"That room full of all the old chassis. You know, the one that they hold all the fancy virtual events in? I wanna see those."

"I think I should be able to get you back there." He veers down a hall and you yelp, pulled along by his momentum. His attitude brightens a little at your laugh. The grin he throws your way is your own personal sun, warming your soul.

"Hey- hold on." You pull him to a stop and lead him into an alcove. The inch of space between your chests is charged with electricity, begging to jump from one to the other.

"Can I help you?" He asks and grins down at you.

"No," you say nonchalantly. "Just wanted to be selfish for a second."

You rise up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He melts into you, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while the other finds the small of your back. You side your tongue over his lower lip and he presses you against the door leading to who knew where and opens his mouth to you. You sigh into the kiss, arms winding around his neck and losing yourself in him.

Now that you had gotten over your anxiety, everything was so much easier. You know there's press roaming about the building and any number of them could pass by at any moment but you genuinely couldn't care less. Let them talk; you were over caring what anyone thought or said.

All that mattered was the man beneath your fingertips. You would endure a lifetime of insults if he was the one to soothe the wounds afterwards. As long as you both were happy, no one could come between you ever again.

Pierre pulls away when someone passes by and coughs quietly. "You're trouble," he murmurs, leaving an arm propped next to your head and effectively caging you in.

"And you're dangerous," you tease, tugging on his hair and exposing his throat enough to nip at it once. "Together we're the perfect pair."

He groans and leans away. "Keep that up and I might have to stay in London an extra week."

You slip out of his grasp and give him an unrestrained grin. "Don't threaten me with a good time." You spin on your heel and set off down the hall, swaying your hips a little more than necessary.

"You know where you're going?" He calls after you.

"Someone will point me in the right direction, I'm sure."

"Someone like me." He catches up to you and once again takes your hand in his. He was enjoying showing you off almost as much as you enjoyed hanging on him.

"Maybe we should head right to Max's office and hurry home, huh?"

"Maybe-"

"Pierre, there you are."

You both turn to a woman hustling up the hall after you. She’s slight and her brown curls bounce as she jogs to where the two of you pause at a bend. You glance up to Pierre to see if he's just as confused as you are.

"Hey Mary," he says cheerily. "How are you? Sorry I didn't check in with you when I got here."

"Oh it's fine- why aren't you in the Alpha samples I sent?” The woman props a fist on her hip and tips her head to the side. “I think I got your size right now that I’ve laid eyes on you. I was hoping for a shoot today since you've finally come by."

It takes you a moment to register that she's addressing you. You shoot Pierre a look and he offers you a tentative, closed off smile. "Um, what Alpha gear?"

The woman's chocolate brown eyes go wide. "The ones I've been sending to Pierre. Hoodies, dresses, jackets. All the stuff from the new line. They have been sending the samples to you, right?"

"Um, yeah I've gotten them," Pierre says, rubbing his neck. "I haven't given them to her though."

"Oh, I see!” Pink tinges Mary’s cheeks. “I must have missed a memo. I just thought that you'd want to do a shoot with her today, since we already had a quick one planned for you. After all, you talk about her all the time."

"He does?"

Mary nods. "Oh yes, we've all heard plenty about you. You're lucky to have someone so enamored with you. I just dropped off some more samples in Max's office as a little thank you for letting us steal him so often-"

"Okay, thank you Mary," Pierre says abruptly. "I'll get back to you on that."

Pierre steers you away and down the hall. "What was she talking about? Why would they want me to come by for a photo shoot?"

Pierre runs a hand through his hair and pauses outside Max's office. The Dutchman must have been away because Pierre pulls out his key and fits it in the lock. "I just- come on."

He waves you inside and you obey, letting him close the door and grant you some semblance of privacy before continuing.

"I never formally told anyone that we broke up. Most people came to their own conclusions once they didn't see you around for a while. Some people didn't get the message. Obviously Mary was one of them. I would still talk about you, I couldn't help myself. There was one shoot where Yuki and I were together and he mentioned off hand that you'd be a good brand ambassador. I tried to explain that it wouldn't work but Mary wouldn't hear it and she just kept sending me more and more samples.”

You draw a breath and interrupt his rambling. “But where-”

"I had it all in a box in my office but I struggled to concentrate with a reminder of you hanging over my head. I sent it over here to Max and that's where it's sat ever since. I used the excuse that Max was in town more often than I was and no one read too far into it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You whisper. "I would've taken them. I'm sure you got an earful from Mary."

"Would you have?” Pierre pauses, your silence in the face of his frustration speaking volumes. “I waited four months to hear from you. Tell me that sending you thousands of dollars in unreleased merch wouldn't have made you even more hesitant to come back to me."

Not knowing what else to say, you let your gaze fall to the carpet. Sending you expensive things would have felt something like a bribe, like he was trying to influence you with fancy clothes.

Pierre shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past now. We can take it home today and you can wear it when I take you for dinner and Alpha will get the press they’re after. Everyone will be happy.”

He wasn’t happy. That much was plain to see. He hadn’t been able to stomach seeing something intended for you, even that minute of a reminder had been too much for him to bear. God, you had thoroughly wrecked him. You were lucky that there were still enough pieces of him left to heal.

“I didn’t realize you were hurting so bad,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you cross the cramped space to him, stepping over piles of strewn paperwork carefully so as to not disturb whatever random order they were placed in. You don’t dare reach out to touch him as his shoulders slump, any and all forward momentum he’d gathered suddenly sapped.

“It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever gone through.”

Unable to let him suffer alone with his thoughts, you wrap your arms around his middle and let your cheek rest between his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to alienate you. I was waiting for you, too.”

“You needed space and I gave it to you.” His hand rests on your arm with a gentleness you’ve come to expect when he lays himself bare like this. “There were so many times I almost gave in to the impulse and just messaged you but I made myself wait. I didn’t want to rush it and make things worse. You always need time to think things through- I knew you would come around eventually. It didn’t make it any easier though.”

You rub soothing circles on his side as you blink back the tears that spring to your eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry I took so long and I’m sorry I made you wait. It had to have been torture-”

He turns in your embrace and cups your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The pad of his thumb sweeps across your cheek, the metal of the ring on his middle finger biting into your flushed skin. “It’s alright. You had a lot to sort through and I had to respect that.”

“We lost so much time-”

“Hey,” he says softly, ducking his head to meet your eyes. “We’re together now. If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that you can’t let missed opportunities control you or else you’ll never be happy.”

You nod, swiping your sleeve under your eyes. “What did they send?” you ask, nodding towards the box overflowing with tan and navy threads.

“Pull up a chair,” Pierre suggests, “there’s a lot.”

You roll over Max’s desk chair and tug on Pierre’s arm. Once he gets the picture and sits, you settle in his lap. He winds an arm around your middle, the close contact already soothing your frazzled nerves.

“That better?” he murmurs.

“Much better.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @ricciartodododo

If you have asked to be tagged in the past and I missed you I apologize! Just comment below and I’ll get you added for future updates. Thanks for reading ❤

#my writing #pierre gasly #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #pierre gasly x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #f1 rpf #formula 1 rpf #pierre gasly fanfiction

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along-came-atsushi · 4 years

Text

The way Dazai protects Atsushi

When we imagine someone who is protective, mostly it is a person who bursts into a fit of rage or someone who heroically and willingly throws away their own life if it means to protect others. A good example for this would be Kunikida’s actions on several occasions. Dazai is less a person to obviously show rage or to heroically throw himself in front of someone.

Which doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care at all, it’s quite the contrary. And it’s sometimes very subtle and tricky, because he always has plans within plans and tries to achieve several goals with a single plan.

I will only focus here on Dazai’s actions that solely have to do with Atsushi. I’m not going to bring up every single hidden agenda or goal Dazai is also trying to achieve.

In addition, this post has been tagged as #Dazatsu just to be safe. But of course it can be read from a platonic POV.

Beware: Spoilers starting from chapter 83 and for 55 Minutes!

How Dazai gets Atsushi into the ADA

Dazai practically tricked and then it may seem like he pressured Atsushi into joining the ADA, even after Atsushi already said that he doesn’t want to join:

The reason for Atsushi’s refusal was not that he didn’t want to join, because he just simply didn’t want to join. But because he lacks the self-confidence in taking a task like this. He doesn’t believe in himself and his abilities and thinks he isn’t fit for the job. This lack of self-confidence together with the fact that Atsushi constantly gets pushed by either people around him or his circumstances to keep relying on himself rather than others runs like a red string through his story.

Dazai on the other hand sees a great potential in Atsushi. In the moment where Atsushi saved him from drowning, he already planned to team him up with Akutagawa. Not only because of their abilities and their compatibility in battle. But because Atsushi would be the person to “teach Akutagawa how to put that sword away”. In other words: to value life. Which is something that Dazai wasn’t able to teach Akutagawa (I covered this in another meta and won’t explain it here any further).

Another reason is that the things Dazai states above are simply the truth: If Atsushi doesn’t join, then there is nothing the ADA can do to help him (or it would be much harder and complicated for them). He needs to do everything a normal adult in society has to do, which is harder for Atsushi than other people, since he has been abruptly kicked out of his orphanage without any further help or assistance. Not to mention that he is perceived as a monster and not in control of his own ability, and therefore a wanted criminal and dangerous ability user. This could lead Atsushi in either getting killed or falling into the hands of other shady organizations who have far worse intentions for him. Saying the above is less Dazai trying to manipulate Atsushi and more him just telling what would happen and to be realistic.

Having Atsushi join the ADA for Dazai does not only help Atsushi to live a safer life and make it easier for Dazai to keep an eye out for him, but also to give Atsushi the chance to safe other people in the progress.

The Entrance Exam

Since Atsushi refused there was no way for Dazai to have him join the ADA the easy way and then only later testing if he really was worthy of being a true member. Just like it has been the case with Dazai’s entrance exam (Dazai freely joined the ADA after being recommended and was perceived as a new member immediately. Only during his first case with Kunikida was he secretly being tested of being worthy, which he succeeded). Therefore, a plan under a pretext was needed in order to test Atsushi and convince him to join.

During the ADA’s meeting for planning Atsushi’s entrance exam (which is told in the first part of the ‘Untold Story of the ADA’ novel) Dazai anticipated that Atsushi would either convince the bomber (played by Tanizaki) or somehow defuse the bomb himself. Neither of his predictions happened, instead Atsushi was willing to sacrifice himself so that he could protect others. This selfless action honestly surprised Dazai, which not many people are able to achieve, because he always predicts their actions:

Since it’s been hinted by Dazai that he already lost other people close to him in his life, even before Ango’s betrayal and Odasaku’s death, Atsushi’s action probably could’ve served as a trigger for him. He had to realize that there is a possibility that Atsushi would sacrifice himself to protect others. Especially since he doesn’t deem his own life as worthy and has been told many times to be useless and to “just die in a ditch somewhere.”

“Stalking” Higuchi

Dazai immediately recognized Higuchi to be a PM member and that she’s contacting the ADA under disguise for ulterior motives. The scene with Higuchi is a good example that Dazai does many things which either annoys other people (flirting with her) or are seen as him just being lazy and/or fooling around (listening to music and singing), while in reality he is already following a hidden plan.

Flirting with Higuchi distracts her and everyone else from Dazai slipping a wiretap in her jacket. It helps him to let everyone just act naturally without the possibility of revealing anything by accident. Furthermore, it makes people underestimate Dazai, because for everyone else he was just fooling around.

Due to the reason that the PM contacted the ADA under disguise as soon as Atsushi was their new member could have been already suspicious for Dazai, suspecting that it has something to do with Atsushi and was not just a regular attack on the ADA. Later on, this gets confirmed when it’s been stated that The Guild set a bounty on Atsushi for some reason.

Is Dazai following Atsushi around?

When Atsushi accompanies Ranpo on his murder case Dazai surprisingly shows up:

This meeting could be just a coincidence, of course. After all it’s just Dazai fooling around again (or in this case, trying to commit suicide again). But since the case with Higuchi has shown that Dazai loves to pretend to do something else, when he in reality is following a hidden agenda, it might be that he showed up there on purpose. Maybe just to see how Atsushi was faring and to eventually intervene if something serious would happen (like he did when Atsushi and Akutagawa were fighting for the first time). Especially with the PM on Atsushi’s tail now.

In chapter 84 it has been revealed that Dazai indeed does have an eye on Atsushi. When he can’t do that himself anymore, he makes sure to ask Akutagawa to keep an eye on him instead:

Going far for Atsushi’s sake

After getting to know about the bounty, Dazai lets himself get captured by the PM on purpose, without informing any other ADA members, and stays inside the prison until seemingly a right time draws near. He is willing to do this, even though he knows full well that he is perceived as a traitor and that certain people will not welcome him with open arms.

When Chuuya mentions that he suspects that Dazai must be here for a certain reason, Dazai then states that he does all of this mostly for Atsushi. He even goes so far as to provoke a second punch in the face from Akutagawa, by belittling him in saying that Atsushi is a better subordinate than him, after Akutagawa threatens to kill Atsushi.

Probably the most visible scene where Dazai openly shows anger and shock towards someone hurting Atsushi (or hurting someone he cares about in general) is during the incident with Q:

He doesn’t act like this again the second time when Atsushi brings him the doll to nullify Q’s ability, even though the whole city is in chaos. He’s also less concerned about Naomi and Haruno in that moment and more focused on Atsushi during this. Which doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care at all for others, knowing that Naomi and Haruno are able to handle their situation (which is confirmed by them later). But it also shows that Atsushi is his main priority.

Throughout the story Atsushi slowly notices this himself. At first he is hesitant to believe that he is Dazai’s “most trusted subordinate” and worries that Dazai might be mad with him should he go overboard with something (e.g. during 55 Minutes when he was able to surprise Dazai who was hiding in the trash can).

He only ever claims to have Dazai’s trust, if it means to provoke Akutagawa (which he does for a different reason, but I’m not going to expand on this here). Later, he even wonders how Dazai would react/look if Akutagawa came back with the news of him having died:

Which means that Atsushi’s former mentality of people not caring should he die gets replaced by having someone actually be mad/sad about this.

Hiding his “dark side”

It may not be that visible in the anime, since some scenes are either left out or interpreted for the sake of jokes. But the manga makes it clear that Dazai struggles with guilt because of his own past (e.g. when Atsushi asks the other ADA members what they’ve done before joining the ADA, aside from everyone else Dazai looks away. This suggests that this question and the closely related memories of it are uncomfortable for him. Another example is his reaction when he asks Kyouka how many people she has killed).

Dazai is well aware that he can’t hide his past from Atsushi forever and that he sooner or later will find out. This is then almost immediately revealed to him by Akutagawa.

However Dazai still tries to hide his “dark side” from Atsushi. Apparently, he doesn’t want him to see that he’s capable of being cruel or that Atsushi may become too aware of anything that could reveal more of Dazai’s past and the things he has done. During certain situations Dazai purposefully doesn’t let Atsushi go or stay with him:

1.) When he pushed Atsushi out of the room to “interrogate” Kouyou:

2.) When he pretended to need to use the bathroom, because he knew they were being followed:

3.) When he meets Ango:

(Even Kouyou comments on how Dazai lets Atsushi out of certain business.)

The reasons for this may be that he’s afraid to reveal this “dark side” of him to Atsushi and that he doesn’t want to drag him into the business of the underworld. It could also be that he’s afraid that Atsushi might see him in a different light and that he’ll turn deprecating towards him. As of now Atsushi doesn’t know the full extent of Dazai’s past and actions. But due the fact that he’s aware that Dazai was a former PM member (an executive even), he must also be aware that some answers will be frightening. Furthermore, he must also already have some ideas about Dazai’s past.

Throughout the story Atsushi has been shown to be sympathetic with different characters, trying to understand their actions or the reason that drives them. Even when these characters fought against or tried to kill him in the past (Kyouka, Lucy, Akutagawa, Fitzgerald, Sigma). Therefore, I doubt that Atsushi will see Dazai in a different/negative light, should his past be fully revealed. But this is something Dazai may not anticipate, since he doesn’t see himself as a good person and as someone worthy of redemption.

Dazai believes in Atsushi

Dazai has an overwhelming believe in Atsushi and his abilities. He reassures and compliments him from the very beginning:

“Nice, Atsushi. You’re like a real detective already! It’s such a joy to see you grow up so fast!” [After being send back in time] “Ha-ha-ha! I never thought you’d be able to scare me like that! You’ve grown Atsushi!” – 55 Minutes

“Oooh!” Dazai squealed in excitement. “Look at you, Atsushi! Impressive!” – 55 Minutes

Contrary to Atsushi, who struggles to acknowledge his own self-worth and has little to no faith in his own abilities.

This is the reason why Dazai sometimes pushes Atsushi (not only literally but also figuratively) to do things on his own, whenever he realizes that Atsushi is hesitating. He’s throwing him in at the deep, in order for Atsushi to learn more self-confidence:

He sends him on several missions alone (e.g. sneaking into the Moby Dick) or with other people (e.g. Akutagawa), because he knows that Atsushi is able to do this, even without him:

“[…] It’s up to you to prove the detective agency’s innocence and set us free. You can do it, right?” Atsushi knew – Dazai only asked people if they could do it when he was certain they could. – 55 Minutes

Atsushi’s actions get firmly planned into Dazai’s predictions, knowing that he will choose the right decision:

This great believe in Atsushi gets also noticed by other people (e.g. Mark Twain and Akutagawa):

In return

Dazai’s positive influence on Atsushi also has a positive effect on his psyche: The headmaster’s voice and image inside his mind – the person who always drags him down, tells him to be useless and that he will “not make it” – slowly gets replaced by Dazai’s voice and image – the person who cheers him up and tells him to believe in himself:

It’s no doubt that Dazai was the person who helped Atsushi to live a better life and he is perceived as “the man who saved me” by Atsushi himself. For this reason and his self-confidence Atsushi admires Dazai and is grateful to him.

But on the other hand, Atsushi was also willing to save Dazai despite his dire situation. Not only does Atsushi put Dazai on a pedestal, it is also Dazai who puts Atsushi on a pedestal and who sees him as the person able to help, protect and maybe even change others.

#Dazatsu #Dazushi #Osamu Dazai #Atsushi Nakajima #osamu dazai bsd #atsushi nakajima bsd #Bungou Stray Dogs #BSD #Dazai x Atsushi #my metas #bsd meta

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sukumen · 3 years

Note

CONGRATS ON 2.5k!!!!!! so so deserved!! also i don’t think i ever told u this but you were my first ever mutual on here and i just 💞💕💞💕 if it’s still open can i request bakugou + exes to lovers?

HOORAY FOR 2.5K --- AU/TROPE FICLETS: bakugou x exes to lovers.

notes: things we already knew about me: i overwrite. WOW! this got so long, but i had so much freaking fun with it, i can’t even tell you. it’s my first time writing bakugou and i hope i did him justice, especially with this trope that i love. thank you so so much for the support and love victoria - it’s an honor to have been your first mutual!!!! i hope you enjoy this~

summary: it was an odd match from the start, you and katsuki --- at least that’s what you tell him when you walk away after a year and a half. as you leave, you remind yourself of the probability your quirk had read the night of your first date - 73% chance of breaking up. not certain, sure, but high enough to help you through missing him: this was always going to happen. you tell yourself the same thing a year later when he becomes your protection detail at a support item expo that’s received a major threat: being in the same industry, you were always going to cross paths.

but, over the course of your week together, you start to realize that not everything has a rational explanation, a logical way in or out. not Katsuki, and certainly not the way he makes you feel.

quirk details: reader has a quirk that grants insight into the probability of an outcome occurring. ultimately, she can analyze a situation and determine within seconds how likely a specific outcome is if she was to move forward with all variables unchanged. she uses it primarily to design her support items, but can also use it in personal situations too. notably, she used it to work out how likely it was that she and bakugou were going to break up in a misguided attempt to deal with her feelings.

key limitations: scenarios have to be simple for her quirk to work - she can only determine if something will or won’t happen, not what will happen. the information she has will impact the accuracy of her prediction; this means that using it for personal situations - which often rely on the complicated emotions of other people - can be tricky. but, being emotional too, she doesn’t always remember that….

Snippet (2.7k, slight nsfw at the end):

Your flight ends too quickly for your liking, the walk to the arrivals gate even more so. Katsuki is waiting for you under a Starbucks sign as planned with arms folded over his chest while a second hero - a newcomer to the rankings - makes small talk beside him.

As you move in their direction, time follows in slow motion, each step rigid as you’re reminded of the day you’d walked the other way and out of his life. You’d been strong willed then and hadn’t turned once to see the look in his eyes as you went. But now, you can’t look anywhere but him, not even when the other hero notices you and waves for your attention.

He hasn’t changed much in the year apart. There’s a littering of scars that you’d noticed on the news and are seeing for the first time in person; but otherwise, Katsuki is the same man you’d always known, imposing but in a way that’s nearly comforting after his years in the public eye.

He seems to be watching you right back, but where your gaze is full of scrutiny, his is practically empty. Looking right through you as you draw near, which doesn’t change even when you still in front of them.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giving an awkward half-bow that you hope neither of them read too much into. The person beside Katsuki - hero name Phantom - introduces themselves right back, their bow deeper before they return to their rambling. They’re too caught up to note the way you and Katsuki don’t share names with each other and, with the moment lost, have gone to avoiding each other’s eyes altogether.

The tension lasts until the other support item maker - a man you recognize from the flight - emerges from baggage claim. The sight of him shifts the tides and you all start to gather your things for the hotel. Katsuki still hasn’t said a word to you, though if the others have noticed, it doesn’t show. You, of course, have and even as you trail behind him and Phantom to make small talk with the other designer, your eyes linger over his broad back.

Somehow, you’d expected more...anger when he saw you next.

Of course, this calm is pleasant, especially when you’re in public. But, there’s something about it that’s disappointing as well. Leaves you with an emptiness in your gut that you push past with animated conversation with your new companion.

[ … ]

“Who was she?” Your eyes screw shut before the words even make it out. How embarrassing --- all that talk to yourself about letting it go and you fold not even three steps into your shared suite. It’s none of your business who she is -- it’s none of your business what he does. But, your heart twists every time you think about the two of them in the back of the welcoming party. You’ve never seen him like that - at least not from an outsider’s lens - leaning into another person so closely and the curiosity comes tumbling out of you before you can stop it.

Katsuki is silent for a long while; long enough that you almost think he hadn’t heard you. But, the stiffness in his shoulders tells you aren’t so lucky and after a moment of you watching him untie his shoes, he finally turns to look at you. The glance is brief, but poignant, before his focus returns to himself --- this time, his tie. “I don’t think you’re in any place to be asking me that,” he grunts, tugging at the fabric until it loosens.

Embarrassment sears your throat, a sting you feel behind the eyes as you turn them towards the floor. It’s bad enough that you’d given into the urge to ask, but Katsuki being so straightforward is mortifying. He’s right, of course, but what makes it worse is that he’s not even trying to belittle you with that answer. He means it as simply and plainly as he’s said it: you’re in no position to ask him to tell you something like that.

Self-indulgence from you is rare and you find it’s for this very reason. When you step out of the safety of your logic, your equations, your reasoning, you always manage to trip yourself up. Even now, you want to push, misplaced jealousy gnashing its teeth at the back of your mind. But, his response has sobered you and you lock it and your curiosity up tight with a stiff apology and a goodnight.

Katsuki doesn’t look up again until your door closes behind you.

[ … ]

When the chaos has gone, and dust settled, a gang of thirty-something villains is in handcuffs and you’re banged up; ankle throbbing, but very much alive. You haven’t seen Katsuki since he’d stashed you away with the others with a promise to come back, but you’ve heard enough steady explosions to think he must be okay.

Still, you want proof. When the panic room door opens with a creak, his face isn’t the first you see, but it’s all you’re thinking about. Him, and getting back to him. You want to say it’s the last of your adrenaline, but even you know better. Know adrenaline from longing well, even with your limited experience and you let yourself admit something you’ve hidden for twelve months.

You miss him.

And even with the lengthy process that usually follows a villain attack, this will likely be the last full day you’ll have with him for the rest of your life.

The realization makes the panic room shrink to a quarter of the size, pain punching air out of your lungs so fast your vision swims. You need to go, you tell yourself, Katsuki’s promise lost in the static of your upset -- you can’t be here right now.

Your ankle smarts when you start putting real pressure on it, but the pain isn’t enough to stop you from pushing to the front of the line to leave. With each step past someone else, you hear sneers and you think you apologize, but when you’re so cotton-mouthed, you can’t really be sure.

Either way, it doesn’t slow you. The madness makes it easy to peel away from the crowd and though it takes you some time, you don’t stop until you’ve made it outside where you can breathe. For everything that’s happened in the last forty-five minutes, the island’s relatively unaffected, air as cool and breezy as every other night that week. The only real sign of the attack where you are are sirens and voices rising from the other side of the expo center - where you imagine Katsuki to be.

The thought - that he’s so close - should be comforting, but your despair does good work to keep it bittersweet; to remind you that it won’t be for much longer. It has to be selfish to be so upset when this had all been your choice to begin with; but for the first time since the breakup, you don’t try to explain away what you’re feeling. To dissect and rationalize so you can avoid it altogether.

For the first time since the breakup, you let it all in.

[ … ]

It takes Katsuki fifteen minutes to find you. Each one finds him more agitated than the last as he works himself up, searching every space by the now empty panic room to figure out where you’d gone.

At first, he’d assumed the best - that you’d been ushered with the rest of the group to the lobby waiting with police and paramedics. But, a quick skim of the crowd came up empty for your familiar face and panic set in not long after.

An admittedly tense conversation with the officer that had unsealed the room revealed that one civilian - a woman with a noticeable limp - had broken away from the group just as the doors opened. It’d done well to calm him, knowing someone had seen you after the fighting was over, but he’s hardly settled, if the way he stomps through the floor is anything to go by. “She never fucking listens,” he growls to no one in particular, eyes narrowed in razor sharp focus.

He’s worked up, above all, by his worry. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t vaguely wounded by the fact you hadn’t let him come back like promised. It draws him back, despite his best efforts, to the day you left --- the day you told him in no uncertain terms that you’d always expected one of you to leave, what with that know-it-all quirk of yours.

He’d felt then as he does now: utterly untrusted. Like he’s behind without even knowing there’s a race --- like he’s lost without any hope to catch up. He doesn’t like it, feeling that way again, and it gets him so unnerved that he starts to revert to old habits. Shoulders bowed, hands stuffed into his pockets, and, notably, taking a foot to every door that could stand between him and wherever the hell you’ve disappeared to.

When he finds you, finally, behind the fourth, it’s with a kick so firm it turns your sob into a strangled squeak.

[ ... ]

“I thought I told you to stay put---” There’s venom in Katsuki’s voice, but a sort you know well. Worried more than enraged, even if his expressive face doesn’t show it. You move to answer, but he steps in before you can, eyes locked eerily on your face. “...Why the hell are you crying?” You reach up for your wet cheeks, cursing internally; you’d hoped to be well through this before you faced him again so the question catches you off guard. Long enough that Katsuki can close the distance and kneel at your feet, pulling your fingers away from your face so he can inspect it. “You gonna say something or what? Did someone hurt you?”

You can tell he’s biting his tongue, tempering his rage until he’s sure there’s something to rage about. But even that muted anger can be dangerous and you’re quick to shake your head, hands coming up again to wipe your face. “No! No, it’s...just my ankle. From before, when we were running.”

Relief spreads in Katsuki’s face hearing that, like he’s grateful that that’s all it is. But, his frown stays put, deepening some when he reaches down for your ankle and watches your expression sour from the touch. “Hm. Doesn’t seem broken or anything.” He turns thoughtfully towards the building behind him, stilling at the sounds rising from the busy lobby. You try to glean purpose from his face, but have to wait until he speaks up again to work out what he’s doing. “‘S gonna take ages for them to see you right now. I can wrap your ankle up at the hotel and take you in for a check up before tomorrow’s flight.”

You nod wordlessly, grateful for the chance to avoid anyone else for the night.

[ … ]

The quiet in your suite as Katsuki carries you in is a blessing.

You hadn’t realized how badly overwhelmed you were until you’d been alone on the balcony, so even just a few minutes going through the expo center was too much. Katsuki had picked up on it and hesitated very little in hoisting you up so you could move quickly through the crowd and rubble.

You’d insisted he didn’t need to do it at all, let alone again in the hotel; but just one glance at you down the slope of his nose had silenced you.

The first thing he does when the door shuts behind you is set you down on the couch, warning you to stay still with a look alone. When you’re settled, he disappears into his room before emerging with an impressively stocked first aid kit. And for the second time that night, he’s on his knees for you, taking your swollen ankle in hand to inspect it more closely.

With so much happening earlier, his touch on the balcony was easy to drown out. Now, there’s nowhere to focus but him and the press from his palm as it cups your bare skin. He runs a thumb over scratches you hadn’t noticed, the way he traces the lines almost pensive, before his attention turns to the kit beside him.

You, all the while, are stock still, frozen from the heat of his touch. It’s nothing compared to his mouth or the weight of his full body, but after so many months apart, it bowls you over all the same.

You don’t notice you’re crying again until he says something.

“You’re not crying over the ankle,” he says simply, though his touch softens just in case as he brings it into his lap with some bandage wrap.

You don’t know what it is, but something in the way he asks compels your honesty and you nod, feeling pathetic as you sniffle and look down at your hands.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on then?”

You swallow thickly, words already threatening to bubble up like they had the night of the welcoming party. “I...I don’t think I can.” Or should, rather - you don’t need to use your quirk to know that nothing good could come out of this.

But, Katsuki is firm, shaking his head as he starts to wind the first layer of bandage carefully around your ankle. “Well, I’m sayin’ you can. So, don’t go crying by yourself for some dumb reason like that. If you don’t want to, you don’t want to. But if you do, you can.”

He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s a given. And beside your better judgment, you lean into that open assuredness. You’d always loved it about him, after all --- the way he so firmly believes that nothing could stop him - or anyone - if he didn’t let it. For some people, it was self-importance, but nights holding him after good and bad days had taught you otherwise -- it was bravery.

Bakugou Katsuki was the bravest man you’d ever known. A blaze that shone so bright on its own that you felt out of place beside him -- like you couldn’t give him what he needed -- and decided for you both that that meant you didn’t have a chance.

But, in the quiet of your suite, with Katsuki sitting comfortably at your feet, you decide that maybe he’s rubbed off on you some. That maybe, in your time alone, you’ve become a lot braver than you realized.

So, you suck in a deep breath, look him square in the eye, and tell him the truth.

“I miss you, Katsuki.”

[ … ]

He holds your hands to the mattress so tight they hurt, but the ache is welcome. You know him well, even now, and can read between the lines of your intertwined fingers.

He’d missed you too.

All these days of looking through you, past you had been intentional to protect himself, but here, now, he’s completely laid bare. Mouth kiss swollen and eyes lined with tears he’ll wave off later, Katsuki is spilling out every ounce of love he’d held back the day you told him you’d always planned to leave.

You meet him halfway with an arch off the bed to chase his kisses and tell him that you love him --- and you’re sorry --- between each one.

The weight of his body is as precious as you remember and the heat of your tangled limbs lulls you into a daze that pulls your eyes shut.

Katsuki doesn’t notice at first as he’s dragging his mouth over your bare neck, but when he does, he’s quickly displeased. “Look at me,” he hisses, fingers tightening between yours. Your eyes open heavily and it takes you a moment to find his gaze in the darkness. But, once you’re back, he presses his forehead to yours and slowly, carefully presses forward until his cock’s stretched you to the hilt.

The fill feels like coming home.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha fanfic #hooray for 2.5k tag.#saintdabi

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ohmyasmodeus · 4 years

Text

𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 ✧

as requested, a follow up to your first kisses with the demon brothers ! thank you so much, i’m glad to hear you enjoyed them sweetheart. i hope you enjoy these too ♡ baby luke gets a boop on the nose and a kiss on the cheek and nothing more !

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ 𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙡𝙤

✧ Your first kiss with Diavolo is a thousand things— the rush of excitement, the tenderness of understanding, the feeling of the wind running through your hair and all-consuming passion. Your first kiss with Diavolo makes you feel like you belong.

✧ Receiving attention from the ruler of hell himself felt completely unreal. Have you been that exceptional of a student? It constantly begs the question of what you had done to warrant such attention, not to mention the way Diavolo looks at you, striking eyes so full of want. Your meetings with him are often that of pure chance, or formal meetings to discuss your academic performance, but they are quick to become much less formal.

✧ The startling realisation that Diavolo cares for you more than he should for a mere student comes in the form of him consoling you; his amber eyes gaze at you so honestly, and he rests a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I know he can be frustrating, but Lucifer means well, ______. I know it’s been hard to adjust to life here, but you’ve been doing so good!” Diavolo laughs, boisterous as ever. It manages to make the corners of your lips tilt upwards in slight amusement. The pressure on your chests eases slightly with his presence and the arm he wraps around your shoulder. “Really! You manage to wrangle those seven brothers better than anyone has before! I’ll talk to him, get him to ease up on you a bit. How does that sound?”

“Thanks,” you give him a smile, resting your head on his shoulder. The Devildom sprawls out in front of you as your gaze wanders past the balcony railing, and you find yourself breathing in the fresh air, thinking about how the moment feels so perfect. Diavolo by your side, his kingdom below you… “But being around you makes me feel better already. I just wish you weren’t so busy.”

Diavolo grins like a kid in a candy store. “Oh? You want to spend even more time with me?”

“Duh.”

“Wow, I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before!” Diavolo gives you an affectionate squeeze with his arm. Breathlessly, you laugh, sure that if he had a tail it would be wagging hard. The way he looks at you is so full of life, so excited. You’re a breath of fresh air in the burdensome life of a prince. “I should be the one thanking you for letting me in, I love spending time with you too. Everyone walks on eggshells around me, but you… You’re special. Thank you.”

Maybe it’s the Devildom air getting to you, or maybe it’s the way Diavolo’s closeness is almost intoxicating, but the way he looks at you makes your heart race like nothing before. Instead if shying away, you find a little bit of boldness you never thought you had— the boldness to tiptoe and press your lips against his. Immediately, you feel his large hands on your waist, hoisting you up and making you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist to avoid a fall. He laughs when you pull away, his cheeks faintly flushed.

“You really are a special human! My favourite human!” Diavolo holds you close in delight and brings you into kiss after kiss. The moonlight illuminates the both of you as he sways you around on the balcony, and you know that this is exactly where you have always been meant to be.

♡ 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙢𝙤𝙣

✧ Your first kiss with Solomon feels like a long fought for victory.

✧ What a tease. Solomon likes teasing you way too much, especially when he suspects that you might have feelings for him. He isn’t mean per se— he just has fun giving you mixed signals and letting you try to decipher the mystery that he is. He really is fond of you though, and can’t help but be more genuine when you two are alone together.

✧ It’s all too easy to get distracted when you were alone with him too, not just by the smell of his cologne or the way his knowing gaze summoned butterflies in your tummy, but by how he was the best person to talk shit with.

“—and they act like they know everything about you! They’re all so smug too, invading my privacy just because they’re bored!” You huff as you lean your cheek into the palm of your hand, watching Solomon flip through your textbooks. He smiles idly as he listens to you chatter away. “I can’t imagine what it’s like having a pact with almost a hundred of them.”

Solomon just laughs as he closes a textbook and bops you on the head with it. “Maybe you’d have an idea if you did your school work like you told me you wanted my help with.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything right now.” The warmth of the sorcerer envelopes you as you scoot closer to him and lean your head on his shoulder. You hear him chuckle as he runs a gentle hand through your hair. All you want to do in this moment is enjoy being with him, instead of wasting your time and attention on schoolwork you honestly couldn’t care less about.

“Not even me?”

When you lift your head to make your snarky retort, you’re faced with Solomon smirking as if he’d just issued you a challenge, lips too close to yours to be unintentional. And you’re never one to turn down a good challenge. Maybe it’s predictable of you, but you can’t care less as you chase his lips and firmly press yours against his.

Solomon’s smirk is mirrored on your lips when you pull away, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. “Asmo is a terrible influence on you. That was so fucking cheesy.”

♡ 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣

✧ First kisses, first loves, you have many firsts with Simeon. Your first kiss with him is nothing short of divine.

✧ The both of you connect on so many levels, more than you would’ve ever expected from someone from the Celestial Realm. It’s almost as if Simeon just knows you and has for centuries, and the spark between you is immeasurable in its brightness and intensity. You feel it like it’s the first time every time Simeon touches your arm gently, or guides your hand to draw a rune correctly, or tucks a lock of hair behind your ear.

✧ “What are you going to do when you get home?” Simeon asks, taking off his gloves. You lie on his bed lazily and glance up from your D.D.D. to look at him, which he smiles at. (It had taken a surprisingly long time to be invited into his dorm room, and you guess that it likely has to do with the implications of spending time alone, completely unsupervised, nobody but each other… Or maybe that was just you talking.)

“Ew, are you already thinking about getting rid of me?” You laugh, letting your legs sway in the air. “Maybe I’ll pray to God and ask him to make you my guardian angel. Then you’ll never be able to get away from me!”

Simeon laughs, chime-like in the comfortable silence of his room. “I wouldn’t dream of it, ______. I was simply asking.” He shrugs off his cloak and hangs it up properly, before rolling onto the bed beside you and leaning his chin on your shoulder. “It’s good to know that I’ll be missed.”

You don’t like thinking about it. The dread fills you at the simple mention of leaving, of not having Simeon close. Will you even get the chance to tell him how you feel about him?

“Yeah… I guess I just…” An ache clutches at your heart, making your hands tremble slightly. “I don’t want to be without you. I don’t like thinking about it.”

“Oh, my sweet little lamb, you’ll always have me... My heart belongs to you.” Simeon sighs gently. You feel his soft breath ghost across your skin, before he uses his gentle fingers to lift your chin to face him. His gentle smile calms your heart instantly, and you lean in without a second thought. Simeon does too, closing his eyes as he feels your soft lips against his. It feels like an eternity with him— an endless moment that you could stay in forever. “I’m never letting you go.”

♡ 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙨

✧ Your first kiss with Barbatos feels like finally reaching home after a long journey.

✧ Every aspect of your relationship with Barbatos seems to come as a surprise. It seems simply impossible to guess the next moves he would make, and though you didn’t expect yourself to gain an interest like this in any of the demons, Barbatos leaves you wondering about him deep into the night. It’s frustrating at times.

✧ One of the only times you get to spend time with Barbatos is late at night, once his duties for the day are finished. You watch him finish organising stacks of paperwork on Diavolo’s desk and cross your arms.

“You know you aren’t meant to be here.” Barbatos doesn’t look up to acknowledge you, but you hear the smile in his voice.

“You’ll get me out of trouble anyway,” you say confidently. “Are you still busy?”

“Maybe you should’ve texted me first, then maybe you would know.”

His sharp sense of humour has always made you laugh, especially when used on the more dense people around you, but this time it makes you sigh. All you wanted to do was spend some time with him after being apart for a while, but the way he responded makes you feel a little foolish for it. “Alright. Have fun doing whatever.”

That’s what you hate about him. You hate how opaque he always is, how you can never know if he wants to spend time with you or if he’s ditching you on purpose, and how you can never tell if he feels the way that you do. Maybe it’s best to just go back and lick your wounds.

You turn away, but before you can begin walking, you feel gentle hands on your hips and an almost teasing chuckle. Barbatos kisses your head and quietly says, “You’re cute when you get mad. It’s clear that I haven’t been spending enough time with you, and I’m sorry, ______. Let me make it up to you?”

“Bring me to Hell’s Kitchen or I’ll still be mad.”

“Anything for you.” Barbatos’ voice is a soft mutter as he uses his hands to gently turn you to face him. The kiss he gives you comes as both a surprise and something expected, and it makes you softly wrap your arms around the back of his neck, smiling as you let your eyes close. Finally being able to kiss him feels like breathing a sigh of relief. This is home.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #swd diavolo #obey me simeon #swd simeon #obey me solomon #swd solomon #obey me barbatos #swd barbatos #obey me luke #swd luke #txt #mine

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cheelduh · 3 years

Text

The Shackles of Duty

Pairing: Diluc x gn!reader

Synopsis: As a weapon of the Abyss, your obligation towards your Princess should be eternal.

Warnings: Unedited angst. Pls ignore any mistakes besties <3

Word count: 2k

You've never really given the weather any thought. It's not as if it matters to you. Stormy day or not, your responsibilities—no, your duty towards the Abyss will remain the same.

It's still raining. The mud thick underneath your boots, slippery against your heel, the putrid smell of grassy dew lingering miserably against the air.

"You know what you have to do." The Abyss Princess commands you, her loyal servant, hers to dispose if she so desires.

"The dragon...Stormterror." You explain, goosebumps forming on your skin as a result of the damp clothes that adorn your wet body. "Your brother, the honorary night, along with others, thwarted our plans by eliminating the fragments."

"Why?"

"You know why, your grace." Is all that you can give to her. "I shall follow him. Keep him away, from inciting another encounter—"

"No," Lumine declares, no room for argument. "Infiltrating their ranks is no easy task. You mustn't be relieved of your post, not yet at least. We need to extract as much information as possible to further avoid outcomes like these."

Exactly the answer you don't want to hear in the middle of this archon forsaken storm, all bruised and bumped up from Stormterror's confrontation.

Don't make me do this again. I don't know how much more I'll be able to take.

You bite your tongue, knowing full well the finality of her words. "As you wish, my princess."

The familiar redhead suddenly plagues your mind, stoic, and with years worth of anger at the world. The hero in the shadows, the man with an agonizing past, a sense of retribution albeit his severed connections with the knights of favonious.

Despite the obstacles of life and the intellect honed from his journey, he's reckless. Reckless enough to still believe that he can make a difference. That anyone can make a difference.

Diluc is reckless enough to love someone, reckless to think that his sworn brother would be the only one capable of betraying him.

—

"There's no point." Diluc whispers loud enough for you to hear him underneath the stars, adding onto the lull of night. "They all keep walking—no, running, aimlessly because of duty. They follow orders without knowing where they come from. It's utter chaos."

"But in all the chaos, there is calculation." You lean against the stone of the walls, and as always, you know how to speak to Diluc. How to open him up and read him like a book.

You're sure he can do the same with you, but he just isn't looking where he should be. You need him to look; to realize he's tangled up in your web of deceit and that there's no way out.

"How do you do that?" He says, aware all at once. "How do you give me so much yet so little?"

I want to give you everything, the pretty and the ugly things alike. I want to give you my secrets, fold them up in a dirty, black, envelope, and have you turn it to ash with the violent flames of your heart.

It's a lot of work hiding under false pretences.

"It's a beautiful night, my love." You say instead.

Diluc's never gotten used to the term of endearment, still new to receiving affection. It warms him up differently to his vision, pleasant yet unfamiliar. It takes a moment for him to come back to himself.

You briefly jolt at the pleasant warmth of his hand atop yours, a silent reassurance, one that worsens your guilt, weaves it into something that pierces your rotten core.

—

You don't know what you're thinking when you stand in front of Jean's office, fist hovering.

Is forgiveness why you're here? No, because you would've went to Diluc first. You would've confessed to him right then and there about what a vengeful weapon you are, a mindless soldier that will do anything for their queen.

You don't even get a chance to think of the various ways he'd kill you when the door is open, and you're met with the view of the acting Grandmaster herself. Another dear friend that will come to despise you.

"Y/N! I'm glad you're here—"

"I'm a servant of the Abyss." You cut her off, and don't stop yourself, letting the words run freely against the fast pace of your heart. "I've infiltrated Mondstadt under the orders of the abyss princess and used what I've learned to conspire against the archons."

Everything's spinning, so fast you can barely breathe.

Jean doesn't move, doesn't even blink as the confusion dawns on her face. You aren't looking for confusion.

"Don't pretend you're blindsided completely," You give her a humourless chuckle, and by the hush of your tone it's as if you're telling her a secret to any spectators. "You've known for a while now that there's been a traitor within your ranks. Every single attack from the Abyss—too clean, too unpredictable, one could say with coincidence."

"But the universe is rarely so lazy." Your voice is smooth, calm, the complete opposite to the flurries of emotions that bloom your being. "Varka knew that. And so do you."

"No," Jean finally speaks up, denying your claim incandescently. "We've fought together for years. You're one of our best, our most dependable. Everything we've done—everything you've done has been for Mondstadt. As always."

If only that were the truth.

You wave a hand over your right eye, releasing the magical bind to reveal the intricate marker. Jean's eyes widen, and she's far from her usual composed self.

"Still don't believe me?" You ask, knowing full well she's still in denial. It's not everyday your best mate, the one that fights alongside you, admits to being a traitorous scum of the abyss drenched in years worth of lies.

Ah the trials and tribulations of friendship.

"Fine then," With the flick of your wrist, it doesn't take much effort for the main doors to open up with a bang.

The acting grand master draws back at the shrill sound, teeth gritting.

She isn't the only one that's provoked. Wood and Wyratt, the only two guards on duty at this time let out shouts of surprise, reaching for their swords on instinct.

You summon your abysmal magic, which shapes into deep blue, if not black, appendages. They glitter, hiding the entire galaxy in them, with stars that burst into life. Breathtaking if not used on the battlefield.

In mere seconds, one latches on to Wyratt's leg, while the other takes Wood by his arm. All it takes is a jerk of your index finger, and they're sent flying outside the doors, which unceremoniously slam shut behind them. The lock clicks into place, cherry on top.

Jean materializes her sword, taking on a defensive position. You don't think you've ever seen the woman irritated, let alone as livid as she is right now.

That's more like it.

"Go on. Arrest me." You bring your wrists up, casual as ever. "We'd better hurry. They'll come after me soon enough, it's in your best interest to listen to everything I have to say if I'm willing to die over it." There's a tightness in your chest that you can't explain.

Jean hardens her gaze, not allowing herself to relax. You know what she's going to say. You've been her friend, her advisor, long enough to understand where most of her actions and decision stem from.

She says—well she says nothing, because she doesn't get a chance to when an abrupt screech erupts from her office, causing your ears to perk up and your blood to run cold. A series of heavy footsteps, footsteps you're all too familiar with follow.

Although you're fairly certain you know who it is, you glance over her shoulder anyways to meet the fiery red eyes that have reserved a place in your heart. The sole reason you're blowing the whistle.

You feel a sharp pang in your heart.

The pure, authentic, hurt in Diluc's hardened features are enough to have you gutted completely. Mouth dry with a rock in your throat, you don't so much as allow yourself to exhale.

You finally understand why you didn't go to him first. You were sure he'd be able to survive the betrayal, but you weren't sure you'd be able to survive it yourself.

Diluc. You want to tell him, tell him how sorry you are. Tell him how much of a piece of shit you are. Tell him that he doesn't deserve this, that he deserves so much better. Tell him that you love him, devastatingly so.

It isn't supposed to end this way. Things never go as planned.

You avert your gaze, clench your jaw shut, and wait.

"Jean." Diluc says, and there's grim finality in his voice. "We need a moment." His words send small pricks throughout your spine.

Jean regains her composure, mulling over his request, but any resistance is placated by a simple look from the redhead.

When she reluctantly leaves, the quiet is near unendurable.

"Why?" If the way Diluc's fixed gaze could set anything on fire, you would've been burned to the stake by now.

You'd calculated this moment countless of times, predicted exactly how this would go, lived through every outturn in the dead of the night as you struggled to find sleep in his arms.

Living through it is far more dreadful than you could've ever imagined it to be.

His body closes in at your lack of reply, hands gripping your forearm to pull you in and kick the door shut. "Why?" This time it's more firm.

You open your mouth to speak, like a fish out of water, and out comes nothing.

"I trusted you," Diluc says weakly, in a way that has your heart shattering a million times a second. Tightening his hold on your arm, he continues "You were the only one I...I should've known. I was foolish to think I could believe in you." a sharp exhale, and he pushes you back against the door, but it's not harsh at all. He's gentle, and somehow that makes everything so much more worse.

Your inability to reply sparks a different kind of rage in his heart.

"It must have been quite the show, watching everyone run in circles." He seethes, furious, wounded. "Was it all just a lie? Were my feelings ever returned? Or was I just another one of your fair games?"

You wrench away from his hold as if it's burning you. The words are like needles, pinning into you with so much force it has you lurching in place, and then they twist deep within your blackened veins.

"Stop it." You should've just left. Should've just pushed back the nagging in your brain and jumped off a cliff or a something. Surely the unexpected death of a royal guard—no, the death of a fundamental piece in their plan would surely be enough to cripple them for at least a few days, if not weeks.

Anything but this.

You meet his gaze. "I do love you Diluc, that I am sure of. You don't have to believe me. I know I wouldn't."

"Is that all you have to say?" He all but hisses, gloved fingers closing in to form a fist. "You've betrayed everyone. Your friends, your family...me."

"You think I don't know that?" Your voice breaks when you look away. "I don't know what's right anymore, what's wrong. I don't even know what I've been fighting for this entire time." A sharp, mirthless laugh escapes your lips, "To allow myself to carry out orders I do not believe in is too much to bear. How long do I delude myself into thinking that this is all for Khaenri'ah? That this is all for a reason that is beyond me?"

There's a sliver of softness that shows in his features, but you're too busy calming the waves crashing in your head.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore." You say, the sinking of your chest only expanding. "I've already contravened against the abyss, and for that they will come for me. The only thing I regret is that they couldn't get to me before you did."

A stricken look passes across his face, brows furrowed and desperation as clear as day when he reaches for you.

This time, you let his arms curl around your shaking figure, welcoming the comfort that you're undeserving of. "I won't let them."

"I'm sorry." You whisper shakily, fisting the fronts of his coat. "I'm so sorry Diluc."

Diluc hums as he strokes your hair soothingly, with the utmost of care. Although his trust in you has shattered, like irreplaceable fragments of glass, his love for you will remain constant.

Even with the storm that is fated to come.

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshot #jean gunnhildr #diluc ragnvindr #master diluc #diluc x reader #diluc x y/n #genshin fanfic #diluc angst #genshin diluc #lumine #lumine genshin impact

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melisusthewee · 3 years

Text

OC Interview: Quinn Trevelyan

This took... a while. But it was such an interesting meme! Thank you so much @noire-pandora @morganlefaye79 @cleverblackcat and @darethshirl for tagging me! I almost sort of gave up on this and went back to my Warden as she would be much more open and candid about things, but when have I ever done the easier task?

For context, we will say that this interview was organized by Ambassador Montilyet once the Inquisition had comfortably established itself in Skyhold and its reputation had begun to grow, generating curiosity and interest among several circles across the south. Its subject found the whole idea questionable at best, but Josephine has her ways of wearing the Inquisitor down.

Introduction

Can you introduce yourself?

"Formally? Are you sure you want to write all of this down? Lord Inquisitor Quinn Julius [he grimaces] Barrington Trevelyan... His Most Holy... Herald of Andraste... etc etc. Look, just put down 'Quinn.' That's good enough."

What is your gender identity, orientation, and relationship status?

"I - what? I'm a man. And everything else is no one's business but my own. Unless this is a proposition. In which case - hang on, are you still writing?!"

Where and when were you born?

"Ostwick, 9:08 Dragon. If you want more details on the event, you'll have to go and write to my mother. Except please don't, as I don't want to read about it."

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

"I've used a bow since I was eight years old and I assure you I am even better than everyone says. You can go and check the competition board if you like. I'm surprised they haven't barred me from taking part yet... probably because I'm the one in charge. [he winks]

"There's an art to it. Everyone looks at a bow and thinks they can handle it just like everyone thinks they can pick up a sword and flail around until they hit something. But longbows aren't like you're plucking the strings on a harp. The average broadsword is what - two pounds? Compare that to the average draw weight of eighty-one pounds. You have to be strong, accurate, and careful. If the string's too taut, your aim will be off at best... at worst, it will snap and you'll lose an eye.

"As for style? Put down deadly. Yes, just like that. You didn't really think I'd give away all my secrets, did you?"

And finally, are you happy?

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Family and Friends

What is your family like? What is your relationship like with them?

[there is an extremely long silence]

"They're Trevelyans. There are a lot of them, they're wealthy, chances are that someone somewhere knows at least one of them. And they are all - well almost all of them - are all the way in Ostwick and I am here. And that's the best thing for all of us.

"...Yes, I did say almost. One of my brothers is - or was - a templar, and the Order's sort of not really around anymore so he stuck around with the Inquisition. Can you also interview him? Sure, if you want to. He's never had an interesting thing to say in his entire life though, so you're going to be disappointed. I'm the one with the looks and the personality."

Have you ever run away from home?

"There was one time when I considered becoming a bard - not the Orlesian sort - and just slipping away during one of the Grand Tourneys. I imagine no one would have noticed. But even I knew that was a very foolish idea as I didn't know how to play any instruments."

Would you want to get married or have children?

"No. Marriage is so... limiting. Why tie yourself down to one person? The idea is so dull."

Do you secretly hate any of your friends?

"What is the point of hating anyone secretly?"

What friend knows everything about you?

"No one. And anyone who claims otherwise is lying. Trust me."

Asked by fans

Can you read and write? Did you go to school?

"My father's the Bann of Ostwick. Do you really think they would have let me grow up without tutors? Life certainly would have been more fun that way, but no... I had lessons. I will admit that reading and writing is useful and important, but I'm not sure how important it was to learn to sing the Chant in its original Orlesian... unless you're trying to seduce someone who is very into that."

The scariest prediction you made that later came true?

"Hold on, did someone claim I was a fortune-teller? I'm Andraste's Herald, but she's the prophet, not me. I'm not making predictions about anything. I don't do that. Please don't start telling people that I do."

Do you have mental or physical problems?

"My back aches when it rains... old war wound and all. [he laughs] No, I've never been in a war... well, maybe depending on how you look at the current situation this might be my first. But I'm perfectly healthy. Make sure you put in that I was bright-eyed, alert, firm-chested..." [he continued but the transcript did not, despite his insistence to the contrary]

What's your main goal right now?

"Well, that's a complicated thing to answer. We're here to set things right. I'm here to keep the world from falling apart, and it isn't easy, and not everyone is amenable to stability. But I'm going to do it anyway."

Choices

Drink or eat?

"I don't think that's really an either/or choice."

Cats or dogs?

"If this is being published in Ferelden then I feel I should answer dogs. But I'm fond of cats too. Well, maybe fond isn't the right word. I am... amenable to both animals. There are a few cats around Skyhold that we keep as mousers, and only one of them is particularly mean. The rest are all right, and fond of chin scratches."

Optimist or pessimist?

"If you assume the worst then you can only ever be pleasantly surprised."

Sassy or sarcastic?

"Is there a difference? There is? Huh..."

Have You Ever:

Been caught sneaking out?

"Yes. So then I got better at it. And as long as I was back in my bed by sunrise, no one was the wiser. Oh, I'm certain this isn't new information to my parents. Trust me, nothing you write down about me is going to cause any greater scandal than all the times the city guard had to escort me back to my family's estate."

Broken a bone?

"I had my cheek broken in a tavern fight once. Cracked the skull right around my eye right about... here. [he taps his cheek just below his eye] It swelled up terribly and my father made me live with it for two entire days before he finally summoned a healer from the Circle to set it right. He thought it would teach me an important lesson, and in some way it did... just not the lesson he was hoping for." [he grins]

Did you get flowers?

"No, I can't say I ever have. [a pause] I'm going to be inundated with bouquets now, aren't I?"

Ghosting someone?

"Ah. Um. Well. Look, mornings are made of regret, so I don't intend to stick around for them."

You pretended to laugh at a joke you did not get?

"If I don't get the joke then it means it isn't a very good one and the person telling it shouldn't probably know that."

Oh lord, this took me forever... I hope this was amusing if not interesting though!

Tagging: @inquisitoracorn @rosella-writes @1000generations and anyone else who wants to do this and has yet to be tagged!

#oc: quinn trevelyan

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ordinaryschmuck · 3 years

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What I Thought About "Echoes of the Past" from The Owl House

Salutations, random people on the internet who most certainly won’t read this. I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

What probably gets debated the most in the fandom is the legitimacy behind King being the King of Demons. Some believe that there's truth to his statement, while others, like me, like to think that he was just some stray Eda picked up off the streets. Either option seemed likely, especially since Season One never gave an answer that leaned one way or the other.

Then here comes the writers finally answering the question of who King is in episode THREE of Season Two! Because, again, they don't waste time on giving fans exactly what they want.

Fans wanted answers behind King, we got 'em, and analyzing what those answers mean requires going deep into spoilers. So if you haven't checked the episode out yet, I highly recommend that you do. Trust me, it's worth seeing.

Now let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

Luz Experimenting with Spells: Hey, look! More proof that Luz isn't an idiot like some people flanderize her to be!

But, seriously though, this is a perfect little thread to introduce into the story. Luz collecting knowledge from Lilith's old books and past work she and Eda made adds to Luz's intelligence while also providing a believable explanation for how she gets new spells. It's also nice to see that she has this little notebook (or spellbook) to help see what works and what doesn't. It's a level of experimentation that proves her dedication to becoming a witch while also exemplifying how she isn't stupid. Occasionally reckless, sure, but you can't say that the person who figured out an invisibility spell through showing her work is also an idiot.

Francios with a Knife: How did Francois get a knife? I don't know. But the fact that a random knife plopped out behind him with little to no explanation is funny, and I will not hear otherwise.

I don't make the rules. I just abide by them.

Luz’s Invisibility Spell: I breezed past this, but I honestly love this invisibility spell. More specifically, I love that there's a limiter. It can turn you, objects, and people you're in contact with invisible, but only as long as you can hold your breath. It helps make the spell something the characters can't always rely on, which is appreciated. Because if it works as long as they concentrate, what's stopping them from sneaking into Belos' castle and assassinating him in his sleep? It's a smart way of explaining why they can't always rely on something, despite how insanely useful it is.

Luz: Let's gush about Luz some more, shall we!

"Echoes of the Past" is another episode that has Luz on top form. She is constantly supportive of King, even if Lilith has a point in the dangers of indulging his fantasy as a powerful tyrant. Doing so would cause more harm than good, especially when King finds out Luz doesn't believe him, but her going along with it was all done with the best of intentions. Luz doesn't want to hurt her friend, and even if she did in the long run, she still makes up for it by helping King learn more about his past.

And, as another reminder, Luz isn't stupid. She's the first to say they should leave when it's clear how dangerous the castle is and is quick to figure out there should be more at the top. Luz is a loyal and caring friend who's also guarded and intuitive when the situation calls for it. This episode understood that, so here's hoping other fans will too.

Lilith: Yeah, she's still growing on me.

I feel like this episode shows a better idea of Lilith's place in the group more than the past two. She's a person who's obsessed with knowledge and learning but considers herself above the jovial nature of King, Luz, and definitely Eda. Therefore, she acts as the perfect catalyst for what jumpstarts this week's adventure. It doesn't surprise me in the slightest that she almost instantly dismisses King's claims due to considering herself more knowledgeable than everyone else. Still, I like how she's willing to believe King once she finally sees evidence that seemingly proves he really was the King of Demons, to the point of referring to him as "her lord." Hooty does the same thing, but it comes across as him fearing for his own life and choosing to be friends with someone who could maybe kill him in an instant. For Lilith, her newfound respect comes from the desire to learn more, and it's that desire that makes Lilith an enjoyable character to me. It's adorable to see, and it has some comedic flavor in moments like when she dismisses everyone else and their emotional revelations to take pictures of the carvings around her. I'm sure she'll cause some controversy like other characters with rushed reformations, but for me, I'm more than ok with her addition to the main cast.

More of Lilith’s and Hooty’s Friendship: HOW DOES THIS WORK!?

ON PAPER, IT SEEMS LIKE IT WOULD BE A BAD IDEA, BUT IT F**KING WORKS!

HOW?!

WHAT BLACK MAGIC DID THESE WRITERS USE TO MAKE A RELATIONSHIP SO UNEXPECTED COME ACROSS AS SO ENDEARING AND ADORABLE?!

And where can I get some for my stories...just asking.

But seriously: HOW?!

Hooty Making Himself Portable: Ah, yes. The classic bit where a character does something horrifically grotesque off-screen, and we have nothing but character reactions and sound effects to imagine what happened between shot A and shot B. It's an oldie, but given how hard I was laughing (mostly because of Luz's gagging), it's still a goodie.

Eda’s Portable Bathtub Boat Thing: I mean...I was expecting Eda would use something to catch up with the others, but...that thing...well...I mean, I'm still laughing just by thinking about it. That should tell you how well executed this joke was.

John Luke: ...I'm gonna go ahead and add him to the list because HOLY S**T was this guy disturbing! From his design to his movements to even the sounds he makes when moving, everything about John Luke screams as something that will stay in kids' nightmares for a while. Now, this might seem like a complaint, but to be honest, I'm more than alright with how creepy John Luke is. I highly doubt adult viewers will consider John Luke scary, but I guarantee he'll terrify some of the youngins that this series is aimed for. And that's fine. It's good to creep kids out a little bit with something somewhat scary, as it might introduce them to more good horror stories later in life.

Plus, the reveal that John Luke was only a guard for King is pretty solid narratively speaking. You can see how John never really meant to hurt King aside from one accident when Eda escaped with him. If you want to read into it, I guess it might be questionable to tell kids that something that looks dangerous is secretly nice, but that's really nitpicky, in my opinion. John Luke was a fantastic threat that is designed and animated well, with a solidly executed twist. Some might hate what he presents, most will fear him, but we can all agree on one thing: His theme is awesome (can I get the track for that, please)!

King’s Backstory: Finally, at long last, we know who King is, thus putting an end to a year-long debate. And I fully mean it when I say that the writers gave the best possible answer. Because in a way, everyone was right. Yes, King was just an animal that Eda decided to adopt, like the nature-loving hippie she is inside (She's got the hair for it). However, while he may not be the King of Demons himself, he is still the son of someone who deserves that title. So while he isn't the King, there's a chance he might be the Prince. Once again, there's no direct answer, but given how the writers came up with something that pleases everyone while still providing more questions for debate, it acts as a brilliant move, in my opinion. So whatever answer we get next, I'm sure it will be just as perfect.

Baby King:

My heart was not prepared for that level of cuteness!

King’s Breakdown: NOR WAS IT READY FOR THIS LEVEL OF SADNESS!

But in all seriousness, a HUGE round of applause to Alex Hirsch for his performance in this episode. He expertly captured the raw emotions of shock, anger, betrayal, and sadness that King must have felt when finding out that everything he believed he was is a lie. It's one of those moments where I don't hear a person voicing lines in a booth (or wherever the hell VAs are voicing characters nowadays), but instead hear a living person being emotionally torn apart. It was heartbreaking seeing King so vulnerable as he's so guarded with his emotions. Seeing him like this adds so much more layers to a character that many would mistake him as a cute, comedic animal sidekick. But just like with Luz, there's more to him than people will tell you.

“I don’t even know what’s real or fake anymore!”: I'm just pointing out this line because I believe it's what convinces Luz to help King learn more about who he is. Hell, not knowing what's real or fake is the main reason why Luz got sent away in the first place, so I feel like she can relate to King when he's in a similar predicament.

Hooty and Lilith vs John Luke: This was just a cool scene with some epic moments of dodging John Luke's attacks and some funny ones, like how Hooty said the word "pain." It's a ten out of ten that I would rewind to watch again.

King’s Other Horn: I'd question the logistics of how a horn that got broken off when he was a baby still manages to fit perfectly in the present...but it is neat symbolism of King accepting his past and letting it be a part of him, so who cares?

(The fact that the colors of the broken-off piece don't match the rest of the horn is nice attention to detail as well.)

WHAT I DISLIKED

It's a Little Too Predictable: I pretty much figured almost every little twist the episode offers. But, I'm willing to say that's because I'm in my twenties, and I've seen enough stories similar to this one, so I'm more likely to know what will happen. The little monsters watching this will see it for the first time, so they'll most likely get more surprised than me...And that was my only complaint about the episode...which is more of a personal problem than an actual issue...I guess that means it's perfect.

IN CONCLUSION

"Echoes of the Past" is an easy A+ in my book. It gives lore and backstory that furtherly develops the characters that episodes like this should. It also tells a tragic story about King that still sprinkles in a few good jokes every now and again to lighten up the mood. Sure, there are some nitpicks I could mention (how did King remember his own birth?). But when the good stuff is done so well, what's the point of dwelling on small, insignificant issues? This is still a phenomenal episode that flew past all expectations I had for it, and it continues the winning steak this season is having so far.

(But that's still three home runs in a row. Meaning that a stinker is coming. Ooiee, is it coming!)

#the owl house #the owl house season 2 #king of demons #luz noceda #lilith clawthorne #toh hooty #the owl house reviews #what i thought about

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ammocharis · 3 years

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OC Interview: Vatna

Thanks for the tag @cleverblackcat, @mageofholyandraste, @darethshirl! It sounds fun!

Introduction

This event was organized a few weeks prior to the Winter Palace ball. Ambassador Josephine Montilyet had invited a few Orlesian journalists to Skyhold to interview the newly appointed Inquisitor.

Can you introduce yourself?

Vatna Einarsdotten Selkesdotten of Two Falcon Hold. (a moment of silence) In the Frostback Mountains. (another moment of silence as the interviewers wait for her to say something else) Inquisitor of the Second Inquisition. (it seems that she won’t say anything more, so one of the journalists asks the next question)

What are your gender identity, orientation, and relationship status?

Is that what you ask every Lowlander? (grumbles) Alright. I see myself a woman. Who I invite or don’t invite to my bed is my very own matter. I am unmarried and have never been before. If you’re curious, yes, the Avvar may marry multiple times in their life if they wish so. Does this answer satisfy you?

Where and when were you born?

I was born in Two Falcon Hold, eighteen... no, nineteen winters ago. (she corrects herself as she remembers that winter came and went when she was away from home, making her one winter older than when she left)

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

I am a mage. Unlike most spellweavers in your Circles, we in the mountains train with all sort of weapons, just like any other warrior. I prefer fighting in close quarters. When I came of age, I chose an axe as my preferred weapon. It was commissioned from the dwarves of Orzammar. The blade is engraved with runes and the handle has lyrium core that I can easily channel my magic through. It has been... misplaced for the first few months that I spent with the Inquisition, but it was recovered. Fortunately, the gods blessed me with another weapon in the meantime - the fire-staff that belonged to the Avvar-Mother. I’ve been told this topic is a source of confusion, but I’m not sure how to explain it better. Yes, I do use both an axe and a staff now. I had a battleaxe when I arrived into the Lowlands. Then I lost it. Then I claimed the staff of Tyrdda Bright-Axe. Tyrdda was called Bright-Axe because she had a staff with a fire-focusing crystal. But the word ‘axe’ used to mean every hafted weapon. Then I got back my axe, my regular axe... Let’s go to the next question.

Are you happy?

I’ll be happy when the Lady’s Veil is fully repaired and Corypheus lies dead. Until then, I have work to do. Would you be happy if there were world-dooming critters in your house? Because there are. There are cowards in Orlais scheming together with Corypheus, maybe even people you know. (a lady in a pale blue mask exchanges looks with the others and suggests a lighter topic)

Family and friends

What should I say? Just talk about my family and friends? Well, my father is called Einar, my mother is called Selke. In my hold, we take bynames after both our parents, so I actually already revealed their names. My father was born is Two Falcon Hold, my mother moved from another hold further south. They’ve been married for twenty three years now. They were rather mad to promise such a long marriage without extensions. Eighty-eight knots, can you imagine? I mean, they could always as the Thane to cut the rope short if they grew tired of each other... But it works well for them. I hope they’ll live together until it the last knot. (the interviewers prompt her to explain what she meant by knots and ropes) Oh, I run away with that. The number of knots is the number of years the marriage is supposed to last. Before the wedding, the bride ties a number of knots into a rope, and the groom’s task is to untie them. On the wedding day, the bride starts to sing hymns to the Lady of the Skies. The groom begins to untie the knots then. However many he’ll manage to unravel before the hymns ends, that many years they shall be married together. After the promise ends, they can get married again if they wish. But my parents vowed to get married for eighty-eight years right away. Eight is a blessed amount. Eighty-eight, doubly so. I’ve been told the ritual took all day to complete. By the end of it, my mother’s throat was sore and my father’s knuckles were raw. But they got married how they wanted, and the bond has been steadfast for many years now.

I have a younger sister, Hirka. She’s only four winters younger than me but she can be a real brat sometimes. We used to be inseparable as children. Then we both grew a bit. I got my magic and had to spent a lot of time mastering my abilities. She had other things to do too. But she’s my sister no matter what.

I have some (she pauses to rememeber the right word in Common language) aunts and uncles, but most of them and their families live in other holds, so I haven’t seen them a lot. Only a few times, never in some cases. The word still travels through the Mountains, so we do hear news from them every now and then.

In the end, the whole hold is your kin.

Have you ever run away from home?

Once or twice, I skulked outside of the hold and refused to go back until well after nightfall. But I never really run away, I wouldn’t abandon my family like that.

Would you consider marriage or having children?

I don’t know.

Do you secretly hate any of your friends?

No, I do not. Those who I call my friends, I think as such. I make my dislikes known. Too easily, I’ve been told.

Which friend knows everything about you?

There is someone who knows my soul, but I’m not going to talk about it.

Asked by fans

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

Yes, I can read and write. Not everyone in the Mountains does, but more than you imagine, I think. Augurs, skalds, merchants, those who aspire to be thanes... Many are able to tell the numbers, in order to trade with dwarves, but haven’t practiced beyond that.

The augurs learn how to read so that they may study old magics. I was an apprentice to the Sky Watcher of my hold - uh, a Sky Watcher is like a... priest to the Lady of the Skies. I was supposed to become his successor. So I studied something almost every day since I was eight. One day, I would memorize the shapes of protection sigils, and then try to draw them myself. Another day, I would study the uses of all mushrooms found in caves. But we don’t have any schools like there are in the lowlands. You learn from your mentors and from the gods, and most importantly, from your own mistakes.

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

Eeriest? I’m not sure. I dreams of many things. Some come true, but not in the way I imagined them to.

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realise?

I had no idea those lap dogs your Orlesian ladies carry around are really dogs. I’d never guess they share blood with wolves. I thought they’re some sort of magic toy.

Do you have mental or physical problems?

Do you honestly expect me to reveal my weaknesses to you?

What is your current main goal?

As I said before, restore the Veil and kill Corypheus.

Drink or food?

Am I supposed to choose between the two? Food, I guess. I could live on soups and stews, maybe. Does goat milk count as drink or food?

Cats or dogs?

Birds.

Optimist or pessimist?

I learned these words only recently. I must say, I do not fully understand why your sages would divide people like that. Is there someone who truly sees everything in bright colours? And someone who sees everything in black? Isn’t everyone a little bit of this and a little bit of that? Perhaps I’m more on the pessimist side.

Sassy or sarcastic?

Eh, sarcastic.

HAVE YOU EVER:

Have you ever been caught sneaking out?

Yes, I once got so bored with my healing lessons that I decided to sneak out while Jokka wasn’t looking. She of course noticed me right away. I never tried to sneak out again.

Broken a bone?

I broke my left wrist while climbing. My mentor healed it quickly but he left a scar to serve as a reminder to not be so reckless.

Received flowers?

I... (she bits her tongue) Josephine tells me I had received several bouquets of flowers this last week. She had placed them in the guest hall where everyone can enjoy them.

Ghosted someone?

Ghosted? (a man in a green mask explains mirthfully) No, never. I wouldn’t leave someone hanging like that. I’d tell him straight in the face. (she replies sharply)

Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn't get?

I have yet to learn how to pretend so well as to laugh at something I don’t understand or find funny.

Tagging (no pressure, of course, this is just for fun): @dreadfutures, @tejaswrites, @serenpedac, @molliehaswords, @crackinglamb, @a11sha11fade, @rakshadow, @samuraisaucefrites, @noire-pandora, @1000generations

#oc interview #dragon age #vatna #avvar #watch the skies #long post

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