#''just remember that there is nothing shameful about being emotional'' like. okay. just adopt me while you're at it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelguk · 3 years

Note

omg so i sent in an ask re angst jock jk n oc ! but then i also realized its highly possible these 2 break up at one point while in uni mostly bc of the "are we dating bc its convenient" kinda dilemma and then it just pushes them apart bc they think theyre losing theirselves while being in such a close relationship,,,cue save ur tears by theweeknd BUT i just know when they grow up a lil bit more, theyll end up together <3

here we go! (the beginning of the end....may be...)

didn’t include save your tears as the soundtrack but may haps for the follow-up :3

pairing: jock!jk and oc

warnings: angst, yes the break-up scene, jaykay being an ass (a very huge one motivated by his own insecurities and selfishness – translation: he’d rather break her heart and carry that weight than be the heartbroken one), chayoung is no longer Seed of Doubt but something else (still up for debate but she’s fairly nice here), not edited but hey atp that’s part of my branding (also i would like everyone to consider that oc is not the greatest gf ever like guys don’t hate jk alone!!)

soundtrack: bags, clairo + stay, gracie abrams + say you know, alina baraz

(titled — honeymoon fades)

Jeongguk’s contact name hasn’t lit up the screen of your phone for six days now and you haven’t seen his face for just as long. It’s weird to go from constant incessant communication to complete and utter radio silence. Not a single meme deposited in your Instagram inbox, no random notification from his Twitter. Just silence, quiet brewing silence.

It breaks two days later when Chayoung finds you coddled under your duvet, mouth stuffed with the saccharine sweetness of mint chocolate. (Jeongguk kept a stash of it at your place but who was around to eat it anymore apart from you?).

“And why do you look like you live in a dumpster?” She’d hummed, ripping open the curtains you’d involuntarily welded shut.

“Because that’s how I feel inside,” you’d retorted, pushing aside your laptop. The screen is stuck with an image of an idiotic character named Nabi kissing the spawn of Satan. You hope for her sake it works out. Chayoung had huffed at your response, fondly whacking your head with a stray pillow.

“Well get over that feeling cause we’re going out tonight.” A declaration, the fierceness in her feline eyes a warning that you’re not allowed to even think of saying no. That doesn’t mean you hadn’t tried – sorrowful eyes and pouted lips as you begged her to spare you. But Chayoung is a force of nature, one that could easily wreak havoc on your delicateness. And she does though, with a string of comments that propels you out of the miserable burrow you’d dug up.

“You’re killing everyone, you know?” She’d supplied, yanking open your closet. “You’re sulking, Jeongguk is shutting down. He’s said like five words since this whole...thing...you have going on.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at that, toying with the corner of the large grey shirt donned on your body. Jeongguk’s shirt. One of his favourites actually. You’d thought about stealing it after spying it on his obsessively neat laundry pile, but after seeing your wandering eyes he’d given it to you instead.

“He always does that,” you’d said after Chayoung had whipped her head in your direction, curved eyebrows perplexed. “I mean, shut down. It’s his emotional response to things that bother him. Complete detachment so it hurts less.”

She had just stared at you, a long meaningful look at left your skin prickled.

“Huh.”

“What do you mean ‘huh’?”

A measured step forward, her body weight sinking into the edge of your mattress a moment later. “I mean, you know him so well.”

“Of course I do he’s my best-friend,” you’d said, indignation coating your words

“No–No you're not getting me. You know him. You know he wouldn’t make the move to reconcile–”

“But he should!”

“You told him to go away! He’s trying to listen to you even though he’s hurting!”

And maybe that was it, that simple implication that you were causing him pain that had you pausing, reviewing the things you’d said to him – the things you’d felt.

“But,” a timid rebuttal, “I just–I just need him to show me that he cares.”

“He does,” Chayoung had returned. “So much. And he misses you. He’s probably just afraid that you don’t feel the same.”

“But I do! He knows this.”

“Does he?” A question in her eyes, one that you’re afraid you know the honest answer to.

You say things and never mean them, he had said, eyes hard.

That had hurt you but perhaps he was right, there are things you hadn’t told him, feelings you hadn’t truly expressed. And Jeongguk had always been good to you, so understanding and caring, trying to fill the places were you lacked. Wasn’t he the one who planned the majority of your dates? Remembered all the important milestones of your relationship while you contributed the bare minimum. You hadn’t even told Chayoung about the surprise he had planned for your one-year anniversary, the shame of your own choice hanging heavy over your head.

So that’s why you’re here, staring at the back of his head forlornly as the music drifts around you, flashing florescent lights bathing him a hazy glory. He hasn’t seen you yet (something you’re thankful for because oddly enough you feel sick to your stomach). It feels like you’re skating on thin ice, waiting for the impending crack to sound through your heart, ice water swallowing you whole immediately. Chayoung is the one who pushes you forward, gingerly plucking the idle drink from your hand, Jimin aiding her efforts with a soft smile your way.

It’s time for you to try the way Jeongguk has, put aside that bumbling ego that oversees your actions and adopt the humility he’s always granted you.

“Go,” she murmurs. “He misses you.”

And God you hope he does because you’ve missed him too.

Except the moment his honey eyes land on you you know he hasn’t.

“Jeongguk,” you mumble. Yoonoh is frozen beside him, concerned gaze flicking between your faces. Your own eyes are stuck on him, the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the subtle hint of the dimple in his cheeks.

You’ve missed him, and it slips from your heart and brims in your eyes, vision blurry as your blink those stray tears back inside.

“Hi,” you add, when his silence doesn’t break.

“I should probably go,” Yoonoh lets out, awkward words bumping into the wall of tension standing firm between you to. He settles a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder, sending him a look that feels loaded. “See you guys later, right?”

You nod, finally noticing the lump clogging your throat. “Yeah, sure.” Jeongguk just hums, the edge of his cup caught between his lips. Yoonoh flees within seconds, leaving you to wade through this alone.

“I–I know you’re not happy with me right now, but please, can we just talk?” He blinks at you, it feels like a premonition. “Please?”

“Okay.” The simple word fills you, like a hollow you weren’t aware of finally found the cure needed.

“Okay,” a small smile on your lips. Jeongguk’s face is still unreadable. He guides you up and away from the deafening sound of the song bleeding from the speakers, into an empty room, the door closing behind him muting the music and giving way to the own pounding in your head. Nobody says anything for a second, both of you navigating this uncharted territory of animosity. Until Jeongguk sighs, melting into the bed at the centre of the room. You follow suit, allocating enough space between the two of you. You’ve ever had to do that before.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Jeongguk finally cuts through it, eyes unforgiving when he glances at you.

“I did! I do–Just Jeongguk,” you can’t help it drifting out. “I miss you.”

Nothing, not even a flicker in his eyes. He eyes shift to the floor instead. “Okay. I that what you wanted to say?”

“No–No not just that! I’ve missed you Jeongguk and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that i went off on you like that and I’m sorry I haven’t been the best towards you and I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like I didn’t care about you–or made you feel like the things I said or did had no meaning behind them. Because they do–they do because I love you. I love you so so much and I’m sorry if I made it seem like otherwise.” You automatically extend out for him, hoping to grasp on his thing floating to fast away from you. Jeongguk shifts and you hand tumbles down to the empty space between you instead, halted by his hesitance.

His head drops into his palms a second later, a broken exhale leaving his lips. The motion cause the silver bracelet on his wrist to slip down the length of his arm. It jolts something in you. Jeongguk had given you a matching one but you’d ripped it off after the last argument and hadn’t considered putting it back on. But Jeongguk was still wearing his.

“Do you really?”

“What?” He’s staring at you know, doe eyes cloudy.

“Do you really love me?” There, that stupid evil vile question that you thought you had the answer to but the words vanish in your head the longer he looks at you.

“I do–what? What are you implying? Of course, I do.”

“Of course, you do,” Jeongguk echoes. His eyes turn to the window located over his shoulder. You can see his head working through something, and you’re suddenly terrified fingertips itching to wander through his curls and coax those thoughts from his head.

“Jeongguk? What the hell are you talking about? Talk to me, please.”

He sighs again, at it feels like your heart splinters. A sudden shake of his head and Jeongguk twists back to face you, a silent tear falling down his cheek.

“You don’t love me.”

“Wh–What are you talking about? I do! And how can you decide my feelings for me?”

“No. You don’t love me the way you think you do–the way you should.” It feels like he’s saying it to more than you, like he’s saying it to himself. “Maybe this the wrong choice to make. You know. Maybe we shouldn’t have done this.”

You shatter just like that, shards on the floor as you stare him, this person that you thought you knew. And maybe the feeling is mutual because Jeongguk is staring at you in a similar way, searching for the courage to say the words you know lie in his heart. Like a loaded cannon, waiting for the match to strike and leave you lying in pieces.

“I think we should break–"

“No,” you cut him off with an adamance that you didn’t know existed until right then. “No, you’re not gonna say that and we are not doing this.”

His eyes narrow then, jaw set. “This is not about ‘us’, I’m doing what’s right for me.”

“How is that right? Huh, Jeongguk? Don’t you care about this? Don’t you care about me?”

He looks away then, ignoring your questions, his throat stuck.

“Jeongguk...” You reach out again, and he allows it, shoulders sinking with the weight of your hand on them. “Don’t you care about me?”

Another heavy exhale, his eyes blinking hard. “I do. And that’s why this won’t work, not the way it should at least. I really think we should end this, or at least reconsider the reasons why we’re together. You say you love me–you say you always have but really–really think about it. About me and us and what we are. I’m sorry, I really am but I just can’t do this anymore.”

He rises then, your outstretched hand tumbling down to the empty space he’d left behind. You can’t move it, can’t breathe, your heart hurtling out of your chest and onto the ground where it lies, fragmented beyond repair and bleeding bare. You glance up through tears, watch him open his mouth and then it and look away.

“Do you mean it?” You finally ask, and his eyes snap to you. He knows what you’re saying. There’s a pause that stretches out for eternity, coloured by the sound of the ringing in your head.

“Maybe.” It cuts right through you, lodging itself deep with intent. And then you just have to nod, swallow the scream clawing at your throat. He murmurs one more apology before his feet carry him away, and you watch, forlorn as you burn his frame into your memory, as your whole world walks out the door.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #au: jock!jaykay #i really abused the hyphen in this but oh well

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gobblewanker · 3 years

Text

Well. Guess who had some late night Emotions™ and wrote another drabble on that "Sherman adopts Stan and Ford when they're eight because Filbrick is the worst" story?

The room at Sherman's apartment was smaller than the one at their parents place had been. It was cramped, the singular window was poorly insulated, and the wallpaper was flaking. Almost everything in it was second hand - deeply cherished childhood toys picked up from garage sales piled in a corner, a banged up desk Sherman's college was going to throw out anyways nestled under the drafty window, an old space heater Ford had to repair nearly every winter puttering away snugly next to the drawer with it's missing handle. Everything was old and worn, but in a good, reassuring, way. Like a pair of well used shoes, slowly adjusted to it's wearer's feet and fitting far more comfortably than a new pair ever could. As far as Ford was concerned, it was infinitely more a home than the pawnshop had ever been.

Maybe that made sense though. He'd soon spent half his life there. The latter part. The better one. The one spent living in a shoddy apartment which's walls nonetheless practically oozed with love and family. The one without dad looming large like some invisible but always precent danger. The one with memories permeated by safety and stability.

Ford knew much of that stability was a carefully crafted façade, propped up on his big brother's shoulders. He'd caught on to it long before Stan, but in retrospect it was obvious. The way Sherman would skip meals so they never had to, the way he always seemed to be working overtime, all of it. It wasn't a stable situation at all. But he'd made it feel that was. Always made it seem like there was nothing to worry about. Ford and Stan had tried to help out wherever they could, doing chores when there were any and otherwise just being good and staying out of the way. It had taken a long time for the permanence of the situation to sink in. For the realization to hit that they wouldn't get sent back. That no matter what they did, Shermie wouldn't get fed up with them and cart them back to Pa.

But what if it wouldn't be up to him?

"Hey, Stan?" Ford whispered into the quiet of the dark. From the bunk under him, he heard a low grunt of affirmation.

"Yeah?" There was no trace of drowsiness in Stan's voice.

"I can't sleep."

"Tell me about it."

Ford dropped his arm over the side of the bed, letting it dangle. It didn't take more than a few seconds for Stan's hand to find it. Five fingers intertwining with six. An old gesture of reassurance. Quiet and secret, Pa wasn't big on sentimentality. That stuff was for women and crybabies. The secrecy wasn't a necessity anymore, Sherman didn't mind, but the gesture had carried them through long enough to become ingrained.

"I'm scared." Ford said. The confession came with ease. Just one of the millions that had been dispersed into the darkened bedroom over the years. Half a childhood spent.

"Me too." Stan's voice answered, drifting up from below. "Ya thinking about the war?"

Ford nodded into his pillow, before remembering Stan couldn't see him. "Yeah."

Silence descended on the room like a blanket again. Soft, but very palpable and almost suffocating.

It had been a perfectly normal day at first. When they woke up that morning, everything had been just fine. Perfectly average. You never really appreciate 'avrage' until it's threatened.

There'd been recruiters at their school, talking to the older students about war and enlistment and other things Ford wanted nothing to do with. It was something he was going to ignore. It didn't concern him. He and Stan were both too young. He'd felt a strange sense of almost invulnerability at that. So he'd just kept walking. He'd gotten caught up in an interesting discussion with his physics teacher at the end of the lesson, and was far more concerned with the fact that he was running late to meet up with Stan for lunch. But then it'd hit him with the same speed and ferocity as an oncoming freight train that while he and Stan might be in the clear, that same certainty was in no way extended to Sherman.

The closest thing to a parent they had, and an uncaring universe had just added his name to some nebulous lottery where being picked would spell tragedy.

Sherman was security, and now he might be ripped away.

Suffice to say, they hadn't gone to get food after that. Instead, the entire lunch period had been spent locked up in a bathroom stall, Stan trying his best to talk Ford down from the ensuing panic attack without becoming overwrought himself.

"What do we do, Stan?" Ford's voice was low and miserable. He'd managed to pull himself together for the entire evening, not wanting to worry Sherman. But problems always seemed much bigger in the dark, and this one was insurmountable enough in daylight.

"I donno." Stan said. "Do ya wanna go talk with 'im?"

"I don't know."

Ford went quiet again, just listening to the rumbling heater and the odd car passing by outside. If there was one thing he missed about their old room, it was the sound of the ocean. A busy road was no substitute for calming waves.

Did he want to go talk to Sherman? Yes. The sense of comfort he usually got - both of them usually got - from doing that was so deep rooted it was only surpassed by the comfort they could find in eachother. But this was about Sherman, so venting their fears with him might help. He never got upset at them for doing so, not for being 'sissies' or for keeping him up when he had work in the morning or for bothering him. The fact that they could go wake him up if they needed it was another one of those truths that had taken a long time to sink in. But after a bad bout of the flu had almost escalated to hospitalisation for both of them because they wouldn't tell Sherman they weren't feeling well they'd sat down and had a very long chat about the importance of communication. It still felt like night and day compared to Pa.

"I guess I want to go talk to him. But it feels stupid."

"You know he wouldn't see it like that." Stan's hand squeezed Ford's comfortingly.

"I know. But..."

But what? Ford wasn't sure how to articulate the issue. Not even to himself really. He wanted to go and ask for reassurance, he wanted that familiar comfort. The one that made him think of sitting up late at night being hugged and reassured through childhood stomach aches and emotional breakdowns over bullies. That strange paradoxical feeling of a miserable situation made almost... Cozy? None of those situations were ever good. The things that facilitated them hurt. But that hurt facilitated closeness and safety, and those emotions were always the ones that remained. They were good memories tinged with something bad. Or maybe bad memories overwhelmed by something good?

So yes. He wanted that. He wanted to make a good memory out of this hurt.

But that felt selfish.

The situation was horrible. Horrible to the point where trying to make something good, however miniscule, come out of it almost felt like it'd be disrespectful. Making light of something that should stay dark. That should hurt, and only hurt.

"Ford? Ya still awake?"

Ford breathed shakily through his nose. Trying to stop his voice from wavering the way he just knew it would.

"I want to go talk to him. But it feels wrong."

"Why?"

"I don't know how to- I don't-" Ford paused, focusing on breathing again. Intellectually, he knew he didn't have the keep the emotions tapped down. Another lesson Sherman had worked hard to drill into them. It was okay to cry and dad was an asshole for demanding they don't. But he still didn't want to. It still felt somehow weak. Shameful. "I want to go, I want to make it feel better, but I also don't want to make it feel better because it hurts and it should. It should hurt. It's awful."

Stan remained quiet for another few seconds. Usually he had no qualms about blurting out whatever came to his mind, but maybe this situation required more thought.

"Let me get this straight... The reason you don't want to go and talk to Shermie is because ya want to be upset?"

Ford didn't know if that was it or not. He couldn't make heads or tails of his own emotions. They felt huge and overwhelming, too big to fit inside him but also too big to unravel and understand. Like a nest of gigantic snakes all tangled up in eachother, chaotic and confused, hissing and biting itself.

"It's bad. It's so bad that trying to make it good feels wrong." He didn't know if that was it either.

Stan let go of his hand, and Ford instantly mourned the loss of contact. Comfort? Wasn't comfort what he didn't want? He was so confused, he just wanted everything to make sense. He lifted the corner of his t-shirt to wipe at his stinging eyes as Stan's face appeared over the side of the bed.

"Ford... Look, it's okay to let things hurt, but it's also okay to make them hurt less." Stan looked at him intensely. Ford felt himself becoming even more choked up at the scrutiny. "No, seriously. It's like... Like breaking a leg, right? Remember that time in fourth grade when you did that?"

Ford nodded, slightly unsure what this had to do with anything.

"It hurt, and it's okay that it hurt. It made sense that it hurt, and you don't pretend like it doesn't. But just because it makes sense that it hurts doesn't mean it was bad that you got painkillers and a cast. Without that junk it wouldn't have healed right."

That... He supposed that might be a valid analogy. Maybe Stan had a point.

"So... You think we should go?"

"Are you going to feel any better if we don't?"

Ford considered for a moment, still warring with the conflicting emotions twisting his stomach all up in knots. But he thought maybe it was slightly less. Shaking his head, he excavated himself from the nest of blankets and clambered down the ladder. Moving through the darkened apartment and arriving to knock at their brother's door as they'd done so many times before.

In the end, it did help. Sitting huddled together on the bed in the dark until the sun began to rise and the fear crept away with the shadows. Until it felt safe enough to fall asleep, secure in the knowledge that everyone would still be there come morning. The situation was large and looming and firmly out of their control. That much didn't change. They couldn't decide how things would end, but they could decide how they would cope. And they would cope.

Together.

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #sherman pines #fanfic #not art #tw vietnam war #this is pretty much me trying to make sense of my own emotions by writing #so sorry if it's a bit stream-of-conciousness-ish #shermie adoption au

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live-the-fangirl-life · 3 years

Text

The Last One

The Court - Throne of Glass x FRIENDS - Fic Series

S10, E17/18 : Rowan, after realizing he's still in love with Aelin, chases her down, refusing to let her go. Meanwhile, Elide and Lorcan welcome their baby...or babies, into the world.

Episode chosen for Rowaelin Month 2021. Day 12: Delayed Love Confession

Fic Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Birth

7860 words

*******

Rowan woke up to the bed shifting. He cracked an eye open, still cloudy with sleep, and watched Aelin sit on the opposite edge while she pulled her shirt over her head, concealing the bare expanse of her back.

“Hey.” He croaked, voice still rough.

She turned and gave him a soft smile, whispering, “Go back to sleep, I have to go home.”

Rowan wanted nothing more than for Aelin to never leave his bed, but he knew she had things to do so instead he said, “Oh, okay.” He reached a hand across the sheets and grabbed hers, “Last night was amazing.”

She finished putting on one of her shoes and looked back at him with that same soft smile, “It really was.”

Rowan tried to read the emotions that flashed across her face but then she was standing and bending over to draw him into one last kiss. Her palm rested on his cheek while his gently cupped the back of her head before they pulled away. Rowan kept his eyes on Aelin as she left his room and he didn’t fall back onto his pillow until he heard the sound of his apartment door clicking shut behind her.

***

Elide was scared. Scratch that—terrified. Elide was terrified, but she kept her calm as best as she could while she held Asterin’s hand.

Elide had thanked all the gods she could name for Asterin coming into her and Lorcan’s lives. After getting married and enjoying the first few months of bliss, she and Lorcan decided to try having a baby, but after months of negative pregnancy tests and too many doctors visits, they were told it likely would never happen for them. Devastated, they thought through their options and settled on adoption. But even then, they knew it would take some time.

Elide remembered some afternoons spending hours sitting by the phone desperately hoping it would ring and be someone from the adoption agency to tell them they’d been picked. When they’d finally gotten the call and met Asterin, a young woman who was looking for the perfect parents for her baby, they knew it was meant to be.

Now, standing in the delivery room, Elide held Asterin’s hand as the woman powered through another contraction.

“Breathe, breathe, breathe,” Elide coached encouragingly, “good.”

“Are you fully taking over, or do I get to say breathe?” Lorcan asked as he walked to Elide’s side beside the bed.

She scoffed and tilted her head to meet his eyes. “No. Last time, you said it like a sociopath, and it creeped her out.” She turned back towards Asterin who looked tired, “Can I get you anything? Ice chips?”

“No,” Asterin shook her head, “I’m okay.”

Elide nodded and smiled, “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

As she started to walk out of the room, Lorcan’s hand shot out and gripped her elbow, stopping her.

“Where are you going?” He asked. She could almost detect a hint of nerves as he spoke.

Elide raised a brow, “To the bathroom.”

Lorcan lowered his voice so that only Elide could hear. “You can't leave me alone with her.”

“What?” She asked incredulously.

Lorcan ran a hand through his long hair, and now she could definitely see nervousness etched across his face. “This is exactly the kind of social situation that I am not comfortable with” he grumbled.

Elide snorted, “What kind of social situation are you comfortable with?”

He leveled a stare at her. “It's just that we've never spent any time, you know, alone together.”

Elide rolled her eyes at her husband, “You’ll be fine,” she took a step and turned back, giving him a small smirk, “No, you won't, but I'll be back in two minutes.”

Lorcan sighed but grumbled okay.

He walked back over to the woman lying in the hospital bed, trying his best to seem calm, but by the grimace she shot him, he wasn't doing a very good job.

“So, uh,” He grasped for something to say, “any plans for the summer?”

“I don't know, maybe travel? I wanna do some flying again.”

Lorcan hummed, still not sure what to say. If Elide had still been in the room, she’d have laughed at how ridiculous he looked. Standing well above six feet, with his hands fidgeting and swaying on his toes from being so uncomfortable in the moment.

“So, you ever wonder which is worse, you know; going through labor or getting kicked in the nuts?” Lorcan asked the first thing that came to mind and immediately regretted it. He should've just kept his mouth shut.

“What?” Asterin asked, her eyebrows scrunching in disbelief.

“I mean, uh,” He rubbed the back of his neck, “One of life's great, unanswerable questions. I mean, who knows? Maybe there's something even more painful than those things?” Lorcan cringed and suggested, “like this.”

***

Lysandra walked into Fenrys’ apartment to see him holding two small fuzzy animals.

“Good morning,” She said hesitantly.

“Hey!” Fenrys grinned, lifting up the creatures.

“What's that?” Aedion asked, following Lysandra into the room.

Fenrys grinned, “It's my house-warming present for Elide and Lorcan.”

Lysandra and Aedion shared a look.

“It's a baby chick and duck,” Lysandra said, unnecessarily. “You know they’re living in the suburbs right?”

“Uh-huh,” Fenrys nodded, “And I named them Chick Jr. and Duck Jr.”

Aedion snorted, “I didn’t see that coming.”

“Yeah, I figure they'll love it at the new house, you know?” Fenrys set the animals down, “It has that big backyard. And then, when they get old, they can go to that special farm that Lorcan took the other chick and duck to.”

Lysandra raised a brow at Fenrys and hummed, unable to say what she actually wanted to say.

Aedion barely held in a grin as he nodded sagely to Lysandra and mocked, ��Yeah. It's a shame people can't visit there.”

Fenrys was cut off as Rowan showed up and joined them in the apartment,

“Guess what?” Lysandra whirled on Rowan, smiling, “we’re almost all aunties and uncles!”

“What?” Rowan asked, confused.

“Yeah,” Fenrys said, “Asterin went into labor last night. Elide and Lorcan are at the hospital right now!”

“Oh, my gods.” Rowan grinned at the thought of a massive Lorcan holding a tiny baby. He shook his head, glancing around, “Is Aelin here?”

Fenrys glanced towards Aelin’s room, “Uh, I think she's still asleep. Hey, how did it go with you guys last night? She seemed pretty pissed at you.”

Rowan couldn’t—wouldn’t—suppress his smile as he thought about the night before. Being with Aelin again was better than he remembered, and he cursed himself for all the time they’d missed out on.

“Yeah, we, uh, we worked things out.”

Lysandra’s eyes widened as she watched him, “What's that smile? Did something happen with you two?”

Rowan chuckled, “Hey, I'm not one to kiss and tell,” then he muttered, “but I'm also not one to have sex and shut up.”

Apparentally, his last words weren't as quiet as he thought.

Aedion groaned, wincing “Dude, that's my cousin.”

Rowan ignored Aedion as Fernys laughed, “Oh my gods, You and Aelin?”

“I know, it's great.” Rowan didn't think his grin could get any wider.

Lysandra hugged him, squealing, “So what does that mean? Are you guys getting back together?”

“I…” He trailed off, frowning. They hadn’t actually talked about it before Aelin had left earlier that morning. “I don't know. We didn't really get to talk about it.”

“But do you wanna get back together?” She pushed.

Rowan didn’t hesitate as he said with certainty, “Yeah, I do. it just felt so right. When I was holding her, I mean, I never wanted to let her go. I want to be together.”

Lysandra, Aedion, and Ferys all had matching smiles as they listened to Rowan.

Then Fenrys spoke up and Rowan felt himself deflate.

“So is she still going to Paris?” He asked, still holding the small animals.

Rowan had been so caught up in the happiness of last night and that morning that he’d completely forgot the reason why he and Aelin had been so emotionally worked up their argument caused the tension to finally snap, leading them to spend the night together.

Aelin had been offered an amazing job. A perfect job. Perfect, except for the fact that it was in Paris and not New York

She'd had said goodbye to each of their friends. Except him. She’d cried and laughed and reminisced with all of them. Except for Rowan.

He’d been so upset, so angry. How could Aelin not have anything to say to him, after all these years, after all they’d been through?

When he’d confronted her, she’d told him, devastated, “If you think I didn't say goodbye to you because you don't mean as much to me as everybody else, you're wrong. It's because you mean more to me.”

He’d stopped her, not needing to hear anymore as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in for a searing kiss. She’d been shocked, unprepared for Rowan’s actions. She’d stepped away, searching his face, before pulling him towards her and kissing him again.

Gods, how could he have forgotten that she was leaving?

“Wow, I hadn't thought of that. I hope not.” Rowan didn't know how he would deal with Aelin leaving now. He’d just realized that he still loved her, and now he might lose her. But how could he expect her, or ask her, to stay? What kind of person would that make him? A desperate one? A man in love? Or an overreaching, entitled one who thought he could step in the way of one of the best opportunities she'd ever been given?

He would have to talk to her before he spiraled any further.

“Oh, this is so great!” Lysandra exclaimed, unaware of Rowan’s churning thoughts, “You guys might get back together, Elide and Lorcan are getting their baby, and there are chicks and ducks in the world again!

They all looked towards the sound of a door opening to see Aelin emerge from her room.

“Good morning,” She smiled at them and ignored the pointed looks and wiggling eyebrows of her friends.

“Hey,” Rowan smiled at her.

She walked up to him and greeted him quietly, “Hey.”

“How’d you sleep?”

She smiled, “Good, you?”

He matched her grin, “Good.”

Fenrys snorted, “I bet you did!”

Aelin flipped him off, shooing him, Lysandra, and Aedion away. Once they’d left, Rowan cupped her face and swooped down to kiss her. It felt like coming home.

When they broke apart, they both wore soft smiles.

“Last night was wonderful,” Aelin told him, rubbing a hand down his arm.

“Yeah, it was.”

She kept her eyes on his as she told him, “I woke up today with the biggest smile on my face.”

He tried to keep the satisfaction off his face but failed and she huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes before softening her features again.

“I know, me too,” Rowan told her, moving one thumb to brush along her cheek. “It was...you know, it was like one of those things you think is never gonna happen, and then it does, and it's everything you want it to be.”

She nodded, “I know,” Aelin leaned up to press another soft kiss to his lips before pulling him into a hug to say into his ear, “it was just the perfect way to say goodbye.”

In that moment, at her words, Rowan felt like his heart shattered into a million little pieces.

***

The hospital room buzzed with excitement.

“It's just a little bit more, honey.” Elide held Asterin’s hand as the young woman pushed again.

She sobbed, more in frustration than anything else “Help me! This hurts!”

Lorcan stood a step back and asked, “Is it really that bad?”

Both women glared at him with a ferocity that made him want to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground.

“Yeah,” Asterin answered through gritted teeth, “I think it's time to kick you in the nuts and see which is worse!”

Elide sighed as she was reminded of the words Lorcan reluctantly relayed to her earlier. She looked back at him, “No tact.”

The doctor cleared his throat, drawing all their attention towards him, “The baby's head is crowning.”

“Oh my God!” Elide cried, walking around to see, “That is the most beautiful top of a head I have ever seen! Lorcan, you have to see this!”

Lorcan had never looked more uncomfortable. “I'm okay.”

Elide whirled on him, “Lorcan, you don't wanna miss this. This is the birth of your child!”

His child. The words rang through him and sparked some sense of resolve. He shook himself of his discomfort, outwardly at least, and stepped up behind Elide to see what she was seeing.

“Wow.” He murmured reverently, “Disgusting.”

Elide scoffed but Loracn gripped her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

“Here we go,” The doctor said, glancing back up at Asterin “Start pushing.”

A shill cry broke through the air and Elide and Lorcan watched as the doctor held up a beautiful little baby. When Elide ripped her eyes away from the infant as the nurses cleaned it, she looked up to find Lorcan already staring at her with tears in his eyes. They didn’t have to say anything, they both felt the same overwhelming sense of love.

“It’s a boy.” The doctor said, leaning back and adjusting his gloves.

“A...a boy!” Elide beamed at Lorcan as he stood open-mouthed before showing her the widest smile she’d ever seen on the man.

“A boy.” He breathed.

“Oh, you did it!” Elide went back to Asterin’s head and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She leaned closer to the girl and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Asterin smiled at them both, “I'm really happy for you guys.”

“How do you feel?” Lorcan asked.

She sighed, “So tired.”

The doctor sat back into position, saying, “Well, you don't have that much time to relax. The other one will be along in a minute.”

The hand Lorcan had been rubbing down Elide’s back froze, as did both of their breathing as they slowly turned to face the doctor with eyebrows up to their hairlines.

“I’m sorry,” Elide said slowly, aware that Lorcan hadn’t resumed breathing yet, “who should be along in a what now?”

The doctor gave them a weird look, “The next baby should be along in a minute.”

“One.” Lorcan finally regained his ability to speak. “One baby. We signed up for one baby.”

“You know it's twins, right?” The doctor asked slowly

Elide laughed hysterically, “Oh, yeah! These are the faces of two people in the know!”

“I…” The doctor trailed off, “I can't believe you didn't know it's twins! This has never happened before.”

“Oh wow,” Loracn snorted incredulously, “That makes me feel so much better.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair.

“Wait,” Elide faced the doctor, “did you know it was twins?”

He nodded slowly, “Yeah, it's here in the paperwork we got from the clinic.”

Elide then spun around to Asterin, “Anybody tell you?”

Asterin furrowed her brows, “I don't think so. Not explicitly.” she insisted. “they did mention something about two heartbeats. But I thought that was just mine and the baby's. They kept saying both heartbeats are really strong, and I thought well, that's good 'cause I'm having a baby.”

Elide let out a shaky breath trying to wrap her mind around what was happening. “This is unbelievable.”

Lorcan gripped Elide’s arm and tugged into the corner of the room. “Can I see you for a second?”

Elide had never in her life seen Lorcan look more unsure of what to do. His hands were shaky as he gripped hers. “What do we do?”

She took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes. “What do you mean what do we do?”

“Twins.” He stated urgently, “Twins!”

Seeing Lorcan so frazzled oddly calmed Elide down. “Lorcan, you’re panicking.”

“I sure as fuck am, join me!”

She cracked a half-smile, “Lorcan, take a breath, it’s going to be okay.”

“Elide, we are not ready to have two babies!” his eyes were still wide in shock and fear.

“That doesn’t matter!” she hissed, grabbing his arms and making him focus on her. “We have waited so long for this. I don't care if it's two babies. I don't care if it's three babies! We are taking them home because they are our children!”

Lorcan’s face softened and she watched as a steady resolve found its way across his face and through his body. They took a breath together and he pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead gently. When he pulled away, he had a small smile reserved only for her. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeated, her arms still wrapped around him.

“Okay.”

“Okay!”

“Okay!” he laughed, and this time it wasn’t fear clouding the sound, but joy.

“It looks like we're about ready over here.” the doctor called, and Elide and Lorcan walked back towards Asterin.

When another cry sounded, the doctor lifted the second baby, declaring, “It’s a girl.”

“A girl?” Lorcan asked quietly, a smile growing.

“Indeed.” The doctor replied, passing her to be cleaned up.

Spinning towards Elide, Lorcan said excitedly, “Well now we have two different ones!” then he whirled back to the doctor and put on his stoniest glare, “And that's enough!”

***

Lysandra, Aedion, Fenrys, and Rowan sat in the coffee house, Cadre Coffee, as Rowan told them what Aelin had said earlier.

“And then she hugged me and said it was the perfect way to say goodbye.” Even repeating it now, felt like chewing on broken glass.

“What did you say?” Fenrys pried.

Rowan sputtered, “Nothing. What do you say to that?” What could he say to that?

“Rowan,” Lysandra pleaded, “you've got to tell her how you feel.”

“I can’t do that to her.” He sighed, defeated. “I can’t lay that on her right before she’s supposed to leave.”

“Rowan,” Aedion leaned forward, making sure he held the silver-haired man’s attention, “Aelin doesn't know that you wanna get back together. If she did, she might feel differently. She might not even go.”

“You really think so?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Just then, Aelin breezed into the coffee shop.

“Hi, guys!” She waved before walking up the counter.

Rowan watched her a moment. “Alright, you know what? You're right. I should at least tell her how I feel.” He could do that. He had to do that.

"Rowan, wait!" Fenrys called from behind him.

Rowan spun around, "What?"

Fenrys grinned, "Can you get me a muffin?"

Rowan gave him a one-finger response and took a step towards Aelin.

“Aelin?” Nox, the barista who’d worked at the coffee house for as long as any of them could remember, got her attention.

“Yeah?”

“I know you’re leaving tonight, but I just have to tell you. I love you.”

Rowan stood frozen in place, mouth open, as he watched the scene unfold.

“I... I don't know if that changes your plans at all, but I thought you should know.” Nox nodded earnestly.

“Nox, Oh,” She placed a hand on his shoulder, “I love you too. Probably not in the same way, but I do. And, and when I'm in a café, having coffee, I'll think of you.” She kissed his cheek before waving towards the group and leaving the coffee house.

Rowan sat down, meeting the shocked gazes of his friends. “Oh, my gods!”

Lysandra snorted, “Unbelievable!”

"Hey," Fenrys leaned forward, "you know what might help?"

Rowan glared at him and scoffed, "I'm not getting you a muffin!"

***

“We're going to take Asterin to recovery now.” The nurse told Elide and Lorcan as they each held one of their babies.

“Oh wait,” Elide caught Asterin’s hand, “There's something that we want to tell you. We decided to name the girl-baby Asterin.”

She smiled, “Oh, that’s just like my name!”

Elide held in a laugh. It was clear Asterin was either still on some medications or just very, very tired.

“Okay,” the blonde woman said, “I'm gonna go and get some rest. I'm really glad I picked you guys. You're gonna make great parents. Even Lorcan.”

Despite his eye roll, Elide saw the pride and gratitude in Lorcan’s eyes.

“Bye, Asterin.” Elide called as she was pushed out of the delivery room.

“Bye.”

Moving closer to Lorcan, Elide cooed, “Oh look at all their teeny fingers and toes.”

“I know,” he smiled widely, making him look younger, “You ready to trade?”

“Okay!” They tried maneuvering a few different ways but eventually gave up. Switching babies when you only have two hands is not an easy feat. “Alright, let’s see…”

“Maybe later?” he suggested.

“Perfect.”

***

At Elide and Lorcan’s apartment, Lysandra found Fenrys hunched over the coffee table.

“Hey, what are you working on?” She asked, walking into the living room.

He grinned, “It’s a ‘Welcome Home’ sign for the baby.” He held up the large sign which read Welcome Home Baby in red paint beside a funky-shaped red blob.

“Uh,” Lysandra squinted, “Is that supposed to be the baby?”

Fenrys rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “No, I sat in the paint.”

She snorted just as Rowan walked in.

“Hey,” He nodded at them.

“Hey, so did you talk to Aelin?” Lysandra asked.

Rowan ran his hand through his hair and sighed, “No, and I'm not going to.”

“What?” Lysandra asked incredulously at the same time Fenrys jumped up and asked, “Why not?”

Rowan dropped into a seat at the kitchen table. “Because she's just going to shoot me down. You guys saw what happened with Nox.”

Lysandra scoffed and lightly hit him upside the head. “How can you compare yourself to Nox? I mean, sure, he's sexy in a more obvious way.” She smirked as Rowan glared. “You have a relationship with her, you slept together last night. For gods’ sake, you’re Rowan and Aelin! You’re Rowaelin!”

Rowan huffed, standing up, and told her harshly, “Yeah, and she still wants to go! It's pretty clear where her head is at.” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Look, even if I were going to tell her, I don't have to do it now. Okay? I'll be seeing her again. We've got time.”

“Gods, Rowan!” Lysandra tried to make him see reason. “No, you don't! She's going to Paris! She is going to meet somebody. Do you know how many hot guys there are in Paris?”

The door opened before Rowan could get another word in and Aedion strode in carrying a rolled-up paper.

“Hey,” He said as he walked over to Lysandra to kiss her before setting the paper on the table.

“Hey, babe,” Lysandra smiled. “Whatcha got?”

“Oh,” Aedion brightened and unrolled the piece of paper. “I made a little something. If I had more time to work on it, it'd be better, but.” He shrugged, revealing a precisely drawn sign reading Welcome to the World, Baby Lochan.

“Damn, Ashryver,” Rowan nodded appreciatively “that’s really good.”

Fenrys scoffed, still standing next to his sign, and rolled his eyes, grumbling, “You know, the baby can't read, Aedion.”

Lysandra laughed as Aelin opened the door and strode in.

“Hi. You guys, my car just got here,” she said dejectedly. “I can't believe they're not home yet! I have to catch my stupid plane. I wanna see the baby!”

Fenrys spoke up, “Elide called a few minutes ago from the car. She said they should be here any minute. And apparently, there's some big surprise?”

As if on cue, Elide carefully pushed the door open and stepped inside carrying a small baby.

Aelin couldn’t hold in her gasp and none of them tried to hide the misting in their eyes.

“Oh, my gods!” Aelin beamed as she walked to Elide, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, El!” Lysandra gushed, rushing forward.

“So tiny,” Rowan murmured, coming up next to Elide as Fernys and Aedion joined the small group, too.

They turned as they heard another set of footsteps enter, turning to see Lorcan walk in carrying his own small bundle.

“Oh!”

“What the—”

“What?”

“Oh, my gods!”

“Holy sh—”

Five different exclamations happened simultaneously as all their eyes darted between the two babies.

Rowan shook himself and clasped Lorcan on the shoulder, “Okay, awkward question. The hospital knows you took two, right?”

Lorcan glared at Rowan but neither man could keep the grins off their faces as they looked down at the infants.

“Yes, Whitethorn, it’s twins.”

“They’re precious,” Lysandra cooed, making funny faces at the one in Elide’s arms. Aelin, having said hello to that baby, stepped next to Rowan to gaze down at the one Lorcan held.

“This is a boy,” Elide told them, gesturing to the one she held. “And that’s a girl,” she nodded to Lorcan’s.

“Her name is Asterin,” Lorcan told them, not looking away from his daughter’s face.

“Oh, hey, that pregnant lady’s name was Asterin.” Fenrys nodded.

Aedion snorted, “It’s a shame you two didn’t spend more time together.”

Aelin aww’d and patted Lorcan’s arm, the two of them sharing a rare, warm smile.

“The boy we named Cal, after my dad.”

“Oh, you guys,” Aelin whined, “I can't believe this. But I have to leave now, or I'm gonna miss my plane."

“I’m just so glad you got to meet them,” Elide said, watery, pulling Aelin into a hug.

“Me, too,” Aelin told her. “I'm just sorry I'm not gonna be around to watch you two attempt to handle this! Alright, I can't say goodbye to you guys again. I love you all so much.”

I love yous were exchanged and Aelin walked to the door.

“Rowan?” She caught his eye, “come here.”

He nodded and followed her into the hall, shutting the apartment door behind him.

“Rowan, I,” She paused, grabbing his hands and looking into his face with such genuine sadness it made his heart crack and made him want to pull her into his arms and not let go. She took a breath and continued, “I just want you to know, last night...I'll never forget it.”

He cleared his throat, willing the lump in it to disappear. “Neither will I.”

He cupped her cheek and she leaned into the touch. Aelin pulled him in for a hug, holding on tight. When she pulled away, Rowan used every ounce of strength to unwrap his arms from her body, to step away as she walked down the hall and away from him.

When Rowan walked back into the apartment, Lysandra sat next to him and asked, “So, you just let her go?”

Rowan couldn’t reply, he just replayed the last two days over in his head.

“Maybe that's for the best.” Fenrys chimed in, taking up the empty chair. “You know? You just... Look, you gotta... You gotta think about last night the way she does, okay? Maybe sleeping together was the perfect way to say goodbye?"

Lysandra groaned, “But now she'll never know how he feels!”

Aedion walked over and said not unkindly, “Maybe that's okay. You know? Maybe, maybe it’s better this way? I mean, now you can move on. I mean, you've been trying to for so long, maybe now that you're on different continents…”

They kept talking but all Rowan could hear was a buzzing in his head.

“I don’t want to move on.”

He said it quietly but they all stopped talking and looked at him.

“What?” Aedion asked, unsure he heard Rowan correctly.

“I don’t.” Rowan shook his head and stood up. “I want to be with her.”

“Really?” Fenrys asked, excitedly

“Of course really!” Lysandra answered for him.

Rowan kept nodding. “Yeah, I’m gonna go after her. I have to.”

“Yeah, you are!” Lorcan cheered from the living room. Rowan didn’t even have time to find his friend’s enthusiasm funny.

“Finally!” Elide added her own cheer, smiling between Rowan and the babies.

“Come on,” Lysandra urged, standing up and following Rowan to the door. “My car’s downstairs, I’ll drive you to the airport.”

“Okay!” Rowan faced his friends again, “wish me luck!”

A chorus of Good Lucks followed him out the door.

***

“Hey,” Fenrys called excitedly to Lorcan and Eide once Rowan and Lysandra had left, “can I give you guys your house-warming present now?”

The couple shared an amused look before Elide told him, “Now, that you can do.”

“Great! Hang on a minute.” Fenrys left their apartment to walk across the hall to his.

“Okay, my little feather babies where are you?” he muttered as he caught sight of the empty box he’d put them in earlier. “Oh shit.”

He hastily looked in the kitchen, living room, and bedrooms. “Chick Jr? Duck Jr?” he called, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “Don’t hide from mama!”

***

“Lysandra, slow down!” Rowan urged as they almost took out a bicyclist.

She rolled her eyes, “Do you wanna get to Aelin in time?

“Of course I do, but I want to be alive to do it.”

Lysandra huffed at his dramatics but eased up on the gas. Slightly.

Finally arriving at the airport, Rowan and Lysandra rushed past the hoards of people, trying to maneuver their way towards Aelin.

“Rowan!” Lysandra called as he made to run down the hallway. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to Aelin.” Obviously.

“What?” She grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the ticket counter. “What, are you just gonna walk up to her at the gate? Have you never chased anyone through the airport before?”

“Not since the last time I chased the love of my life—no I haven’t Lys!”

She rolled her eyes as she kept dragging him away from the terminals. “You have to get a ticket to get past security, Idiot.”

Oh, right.

“Shit, we’re never gonna make it.” he hissed as they got caught behind the human embodiments of snails on their way to the counter.

***

“Miss, your boarding pass, please.” The gate attendant asked Aelin as she approached.

“Right, of course.” She dug through her purse then frowned, not seeing it. Flashing an apologetic smile to the people behind her, she took her purse off her shoulder and rummaged through it frantically. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The attendant cleared his throat. “Your boarding pass.”

Internally cringing, she put on her most charming smile. “You know, I had it,” she forced a chuckle, “Oh, you wouldn’t believe this—”

He looked unimpressed. “Miss, if you don't have your boarding pass—”

“I have it, I have it! Okay, I don’t have it, but I remember that I was in seat 32C,” she leaned in closer and winked, “because that’s my bra size.”

He sighed again. “Miss, you must have your boarding pass.”

Aelin huffed and stepped out of the line. “Okay, fine! But you know what? If I was in 36D, we would not be having this problem.”

Muttering to herself, Aelin scoured all her bags, finally brandishing the ticket and rushing back to the counter. “Here it is!”

***

Finally getting up to the ticket counter, Rowan slammed down his wallet, demanding, “I need a ticket.”

Lysandra pouted. “Just one? I drive you all the way down here, and I don't get to see how it works out?”

“Fine, fine,” he corrected irritatedly, “two tickets, I need two tickets.”

Lysandra sighed dramatically and leaned into Rowan, giving him her most overexaggerated doe-eyes. “We're on our honeymoon” she stage-whispered to the woman behind the computer.

The ticket agent merely raised a manicured brow and asked, “Destination?”

Rowan already had his credit card ready, “whatever’s cheapest.”

Lysandra sighed again, “I’m so lucky.”

Rowan leveled a glare at her and she tried not to laugh.

Once inside the terminal, Rowan sprinted toward the first departure timetable he could find. “Okay, flight 421 to Paris. I don't see it, do you see it?”

Lysandra stood next to him, eyes scanning the board. “No, did we miss it?”

“No, no, no. That's impossible,” Rowan told her. “It doesn't leave for another 20 minutes.”

“Maybe we have the flight number wrong? Hang on, let me call Elide.”

She stepped aside, impatiently waiting for Elide to pick up her phone.

“Hello?” the new mom answered.

“Hey! It’s me. Here’s Rowan.” Then she thrust the phone into Rowan’s hand.

“Elide, do you—”

“Oh, my gods, Rowan, wait until you hear the cute little noises the twins are making. Listen.”

“What? No, Elide.” Rowan cursed as he heard unintelligible baby sounds. “Elide, Elide, Elide, Elide—”

“Oh sorry,” she said, “They were doing it before.”

“Elide! Listen, please. I need Aelin’s flight information.”

“Oh, sure, hang on.” he could hear ruffling paper as he paced back and forth. “Here it is, it's flight 421. Leaves at 8:40.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, its not on the board.

“Flight 421,” Elide repeated, “leaves at 8:40, Newark airport.”

Rowan froze, his heart sinking. “What?”

“Newark airport.” Elide gasped. “Where are you?”

But she already knew the answer.

“JFK.” he breathed, utterly defeated.

***

If Rowan wasn’t so upset, he would be fearing for his life as Lysandra sped through the streets at breakneck speed.

“Lysandra, forget it, okay? Newark is like an hour away. There's no way we're gonna make it in time.”

“She’s got her phone,” Lysandra braved a glance at him, narrowly avoiding another car, "you could call her.”

Rowan scoffed, “I am not doing this over the phone.”

“You don’t have any other choice!” She insisted before reaching for her own phone and calling Aelin.

It rang once. Twice.

“Hello? Lys?” Aelin’s voice rings out from the speaker and it was like a tether Rowan desperately wanted to hold onto.

“Aelin?” Lysandra answered, relieved. “oh, good. Hey, by the way, did you just get on the plane?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Leaning over, Lysandra hissed, “For what it's worth, we would have caught her if we were at the right airport.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Rowan sniped.

“Uh, Ae, hang on,” she tried pushing the phone into Rowan’s hand but he adamantly refused to do this without being able to look Aelin in the eye.

“Lys? Is everything okay?” Aelin asked, worriedly.

Glaring at Rowan, Lysandra struggled to find a reason for calling. “Uhm, actually no. No, you've...you have to get off the plane.”

“What? Why?” Aelin sounded bewildered.

“I just,” Lysandra sighed, shooting another glare at Rowan, “I have this feeling that something's wrong with it. Something is wrong with the, uh,” she paused again before snapping her fingers and declaring, “with the left phalange.”

“Lys, babe, I'm sure there's nothing wrong with the plane. Look, I have to go. I love you, and I will call you the minute I get to Paris.”

***

On the plane, Aelin hung up the phone only to feel the man beside her tap insistently on her shoulder.

“What was that?” he asked, looking anxious.

“Oh,” Aelin waved a hand dismissively, “that was just my friend. She told me I should get off the plane because she had a feeling that there was something wrong with the left phalange.” She chuckled, sure it was just Lysandra’s way of finding an excuse to talk to her again before the flight took off.

But the man started to fidget. “Okay, that doesn't sound good.”

“I wouldn't worry about it.” Aelin again waved him off, “She's always coming up with stuff like this, and you know what? She's almost never right.”

“But she is sometimes?”

“Well…” Aelin trailed off, thinking about all the things Lysandra has had an intuition about.

Her hesitation was apparently enough to send her seatmate into a tail-spin because he instantly got up and tried to grab his suitcase, only for the flight attendant to stop him.

“Excuse me, sir, where are you going?” The woman asked, curtly.

“I have to get off this plane, okay?” he insisted, then gestured towards a wide-eyed Aelin. “Her friend has a feeling something's wrong with the left phalange.”

He said it loud enough that other passengers began to panic, while Aelin sheepishly shrugged at the annoyed flight attendant.

“There is nothing wrong with the plane, sir.”

He finally got his bag down and cried, “The left phalange!”

The attendant looked incredulously between the man and Aelin, “There is no phalange.”

“Oh my God. This plane doesn't even have a phalange!”

Aelin watched, wincing, as more passengers overheard and insisted they, too, get off the plane. Person after person marched out the aisle and soon Aelin loosed a long breath, “This is ridiculous,” she watched another two people leave. “Yeah, okay.”

Grabbing her own bag, she followed the crowd off the plane.

***

Rowan doubted he’d ever felt as frantic or desperate as he did right now.

He and Lysandra finally made it to Newark, bought another ticket, and raced to Aelin’s gate.

“Where is she?” He muttered, almost pulling out his hair with how forcefully he raked his hands through it.

“I don't see her,” Lysandra answered.

“Aelin!” Rowan shouted, not caring about the stares he garnered. “Aelin Galthynius!”

“Oh!” Lysandra gasped, pointing towards a crowd, “There she is!”

“Aelin!” He yelled again, pushing past people as he tried to run onto the boarding gate.

“Woah,” the gate attendant stopped Rowan, “excuse me, sir, do you have a boarding pass?”

“I just need to talk to someone,” he pleaded.

“I’m sorry, you cannot go any further without a boarding pass.”

“Gods, please, I just need—”

“AELIN!” Lysandra shrieked, getting everyone’s attention including a specific blonde who rushed back out the gate and stood gaping at Lysandra and Rowan.

“Oh my gods,” she looked back and forth between the two before her gaze locked and held with Rowan’s as she breathed, “What—what are you guys doing here?”

“All you,” Lysandra nudged Rowan then made herself scarce

“What? What is it?” Aelin demanded, pulling Rowan aside, “Rowan, you're scaring me. What's going on?”

“Aelin,” Rowan didn’t know where to start. “Okay, the thing is,” he trailed off again. How could he tell that he loved her? How could he wrap up ten years—more than that—of falling in love with her, even at times when he didn’t know it. How could he explain that to her?

“Rowan?”

He took a deep breath. “Don’t go.”

“What?” Aelin asked, shocked.

“Aelin, please, don’t leave. I am so gods damn in love with you. Please, don’t go.”

Aelin stood open-mouthed, her eyes shimmering with an emotion he didn’t dare name. “Oh, my gods.”

He groaned, “I know, I know. I’m an idiot and a bastard, and any other name you want to call me. I shouldn't have waited until now to say it, Hellas, I shouldn’t have waited until now to realize it, but,” he shook his head, locking his gaze with hers. “That was stupid, okay? I'm sorry, I’m so sorry, but I'm telling you now. I love you. I’m in love with you. Please, do not get on this plane.”

“Miss?” a throat cleared behind them, making Aelin blink and drag her watery eyes away from his. “Are you boarding the plane?”

“Aelin,” Rowan took her hand, urging her to stay, “Aelin, please. I know you love me, too. I know you do. Don’t go. Stay.”

“I,” Aelin looked between Rowan and the gate attendant with shock and regret etched across her face. “I have to get the plane,” she whispered.

“No, you don’t.” Rowan held tightly to her hand.

“Yes, I do.” despite her protests, she didn’t pull her hand away.

“No,” Rowan stepped closer, cupping her cheek and reveling in the fact that she leaned into his touch. “You don’t.”

“Rowan,” her words barely louder than a breath, “They're waiting for me, I can't do this right now, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

He couldn’t understand what was happening. Rowan couldn’t accept that she was walking away.

“Aelin.” he pleaded, one final time.

She took a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry.”

Rowan stood unmoving, felt his breathing freeze and his heart cease beating if just for a moment as he watched Aelin walk away from him and board the plane.

He wasn’t aware of people moving around him or of Lysandra coming to stand next to him before pulling him into a hug murmuring I’m sorry. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings as he walked towards Lysandra’s car or his walk back to his apartment. All he knew was that he’d just watched the love of his life walk away and there would soon be an ocean between them.

***

Lorcan sealed the last box of his and Elide’s things.

“Wow,” Elide sighed, looking around the bare apartment. “Everything’s packed.”

“It’s weird,” Lorcan replied, looking around the space he and their friends had occupied for so many years.

“I know.” She stood on her toes and he leaned down to meet her for a kiss.

“So, uh,” Fenrys spoke up from the kitchen, “does this mean there's nothing to eat?”

Elide snorted while Lorcam tried his best to reign in his smirk. Turning, Elide told him, “I put three lasagnas in your freezer.”

He beamed, “I love you!”

She chuckled as the door opened and Lysandra walked in.

“How’d it go?” Elide asked

“So did you guys make it in time?” Aedion spoke at the same time from his place against the fridge.

“Yeah,” Lysandra sighed, “Yeah, he talked to her, but she got on the plane anyway.”

“Where’s Rowan?” Lorcan asked her, knowing Rowan would be hiding away, brooding.

“He went home,” Lysandra frowned and leaned into Aedion’s embrace. “He didn't want to see anybody.”

***

Sitting on his couch, Rowan noticed his answering machine beeping. More out of muscle memory than an actual urge to listen, he pressed the button.

“Rowan, It’s me.”

Rowan jolted, a mess of emotion flying through him as he listened to Aelin's voice filter through his machine.

“I just got back on the plane. I feel awful. Gods, Rowan, that was so not how I wanted things to end with us.”

End. Rowan braced himself, he had to get through this message.

“It's just that I wasn't expecting to see you, and all of a sudden you're there and saying these things...and now I’m sitting here thinking of everything I should’ve said that I didn’t.”

Rowan heard her take a shuddering breath.

“I didn't even get to tell you that I love you too.”

His breath caught, and hope filled him for the first time since he’d been standing in front of her.

“Because of course, I do. I love you. I love you. Gods, Rowan, I love you.”

He held his breath, he almost couldn’t wrap his brain around what he was hearing, what he’d longed to hear.

“What am I doing? I love you! I need to get off this plane—”

“Oh my gods,” Rowan listened, wide-eyed as he heard Aelin argue with a flight attendant.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, but I need to get off this plane, okay? I need to tell Rowan I love him.”

“Miss, can't let you off the plane.”

“Let her off the plane!” Rowan screamed at his machine.

“Oh, please, you don’t understand. Isn’t there any way you can just let me off—”

Beeeeep.

The message ended and Rowan was left sitting on the edge of his sofa staring disbelievingly at his answering machine.

“No!” He jumped up, carding a hand through his hair, “No! Aelin! Oh, my gods, did she get off the plane?”

“I got off the plane.”

Rowan whirled around so fast he thought his neck might snap. Aelin stood in his doorway, suitcase in hand, staring at him with a watery smile and eyes that blazed with surety.

“You got off the plane.” Rowan breathed and strode towards her, holding her face in his hands as she grabbed his arms, each clinging to the other, not able to let the other go.

Rowan wasn’t sure who moved first, but the next moment he was kissing Aelin, It was as if all the years of pining, love, heartbreak, and friendship, barreled through them and into a kiss full of promise. All the mistakes of the past, all the time wasted, was over. Now, they could finally be Rowan and Aelin. Finally.

When they pulled apart, still unable to let the other go, Aelin leaned her forehead against his and told him, “I do. I do love you.”

Rowan brushed a tear from her cheek and smiled down with all the warmth he could gather. “I love you too, Fireheart. And I’m never letting you go, again.”

“Good," She nodded, gripping him tighter, “because this is where I want to be, okay? With you. Always with you. No more messing around.”

“That’s right,” he agreed, “we’re done being stupid.”

Aelin kissed him again. “You and me, alright?” She looked him in the eye and saw everything she felt mirrored there. “To whatever end.”

“This is it. To whatever end” He echoed, pulling her in for another kiss.

***

The seven of them stood in the now-empty living room of Elide and Lorcan’s apartment. The new parents each held a baby, Fenrys sat with Lysandra and Aedion near the large window, and Aelin leaned into Rowan who had his arms wrapped around her as they stood to the side.

“Wow,” Aelin murmured, looking around the bare space.

“I know,” Rowan said into her hair, “It seems smaller somehow.”

Fenrys glanced at the walls a minute before asking, “Has it always been purple?” His answer consisted of several snorts.

Lorcan and Elide strapped Asterin and Cal into their stroller. Elide sniffed, facing everyone else, “Oh, uh, I promised the landlord we’d leave our keys.”

She said it to Lorcan, but each of them walked toward the counter to place their own keys. Elide laughed, looking at seven pairs of keys to a two-person apartment.

“I guess this is it,” Lysandra commented mournfully.

“Yeah,” Aedion wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “I guess so.”

At Elide’s sniffle, Lorcan pulled her into his arms. Through the fabric of his shirt, they could hear her say, “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

Gathering herself, Elide unwrapped her arms from Lorcan’s middle before turning to hug Aelin who’d come to stand next to her.

“Do you guys have to go to the new house right away?” Aelin asked, “Or do you have some time?”

“We have some time.”

“Okay,” Rowan grabbed Aelin’s hand, “should we get some coffee?”

“Sure,” Fenrys smirked. “Where?”

They all laughed as they walked out of the apartment that had become so important to each one of them. Aedion helped Lorcan carry the double stroller down the stairs, followed closely by Elide. Lysandra and Fenrys were bickering, but smiling as they walked. And Rowan and Aelin had their arms wrapped around each other, not daring or wanting to let the other one go. They shared a smile, and with one last glance at the closed apartment door, they left.

*****

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alyssadeliv · 3 years

Text

The Forgotten One

First Previous

Chapter 11

She always knew she had a Father. When she was younger she used to ask her mother about him. She mostly told her half-truths. She knew his real name, and about his nightly activities. About his time with the League, and how he adopted some orphans along the way. She heard all about him. From Mother, Grandfather, and sometimes other members passing by. From a young age, she had him pictured in her mind.

But now, sitting in front of him, in his office, she felt silly for ever trying to imagine what he would be like. He didn’t compare to whatever her young mind had conjured at the time. He was tall, and he had a face that she could only explain as enigmatic. He wore a mask, that she knew. After years of perfection one of her own, she could only imagine what he had been thought to dissociate himself from the people around him.

The office was simple, but at the same time imposing. It had a desk, behind it was her father paying attention to every word that came out of her mouth, with a large bookcase by her left. All the wood was dark, giving the room a more serious look. To her right, the wall was entirely covered with windows, with its drapes open showing the beautiful big garden outside the Manor. Behind her father, there is a painting hanging. A family portrait. She recognizes everyone in the painting with ease. Bruce is seated, with Damian in his lap, while Jason, Richard, and Timothy are standing behind Father’s chair. It’s an exquisite piece and even though they all are wearing suits, it makes the whole room look homey.

“Why didn’t you come here, after you healed from the attack?” They had been talking for the past hour. Marianne spent most of that time telling him the circumstances of her upbringing.

“I couldn't. My Master thought it would be better to stay longer.” She explains while playing nervously with the hem of the shirt Damian had lent her this morning. He could feel the anxiety coming out of her but was impressed that she kept herself strong and didn’t avoid eye contact. “So we continued with my training, but after some time we discovered a destructive energy that could only come from someone misusing a Miraculous. So it was decided that we would stay and assess the situation.”

“And this person was the fashion designer you killed this week? Gabriel Agreste?” He had a disapproving face, typical of parents disciplining their children.

“Damian made me aware of your no-kill policy, but since this was an Order business I believe you do not have the power to dictate how I dealt with it. I respect that this is your city, but believe or not I was lenient in his punishment. If it was up to me, death wouldn’t have been enough to compensate for all the pain he caused to the citizens of Paris, but I must allow the Gods to decide his punishment, so death it was.” Her speech allows him time to think about the situation. By the end of it he agreed, it wasn’t his business.

“What happened is in the past. I need to know if I can trust you not to endanger the people of Gotham. Who are you loyal to?”

“I am loyal to myself. And Damian. Trust has to be earned so it is okay that I do not have yours. But trust this: I love Damian, and would rather die than hurt him” Bruce analises her for some time, trying to find any hint of dishonesty on her, but just like his youngest when cornered, her emotions were transparent in her face.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that you remind me so much of… well your mother” He confessed with a nostalgic expression. “When she first brought Damian to live with me I was so shocked. I must admit that my reaction wasn’t the best. He was so grown, that it was hard to get to know him. With the others it was easier, they-”

“They weren’t your blood” She supplies. He looks a little relieved that she understood what he was trying to explain. “But you loved them all the same.”

“I did this once, it was a terrible job. Just know that I’ll be trying my best to- well, accommodate you into this family.”

“That’s all I ask for.” She replies with a small smile.

Marianne looked so much like his mother at a young age. He remembers spending hours looking through family album photos when he was younger. Sure he could see traces of Talia in her, but the blue eyes and black hair were definitely a Wayne trait. It scared him. Did he have any other children out there that he knew nothing about? He lost so many years from his children's lives, it pained him to think about what type of childhood they received. Sure, both Damian and Marianne didn’t hide their upbringing, but anyone could see that there were things they weren’t comfortable sharing. He knew from his own time at the League that it wasn’t easy.

“When did you meet Jason?” He had heard from Dick just this morning that apparently there was something that Jason hadn’t told them about his time in the League.

“Mother ordered me to train him after he was resurrected, because of my powers I was the best candidate to help him control the madness inside of him.” She explains, but Bruce could see the faint blush on her cheeks.

“And you two…” He trailed off, not knowing how to phrase his question.

“Yes. And please let’s leave it at that.” She’s blushing more than she ever did before. The fact she’s talking about her love life in front of her newly acquired father makes the whole situation hilarious, and if she wasn't so mortified she would have laughed.

“There is one more thing I would like to discuss with you” Marianne begins, uncertain of how the man in front of her would react to her request. “If it was alright with you, could I please have a hug?”

Whatever Bruce thought she was going to ask, it definitely wasn't this. So he stays there in shock, totally still for more time than he realizes. Enough for doubt to appear in the girl in front of him. His daughter. His blood daughter. He had some experience with Cassandra, but he still wasn’t sure he hadn’t totally fucked up with her yet, so this whole new daughter scene was hard on him.

Before she can flee the room in shame of her request, Father rises from his chair with grace, hiding his anxiety behind his perfected mask. In two strikes he is at her side.

The hug feels nice. Not that she would ever confess but the physical touch was something she always missed. The only person that had no trouble with being smothered with her love was Damian, and then later Jason. So, this hug from her father was definitely something she needed.

When they are done Bruce takes one more lounging look at her before dismissing her. He truly needed some time to think of all that had happened in the last few days. It had been almost 4 days since the reveal of the parentage of the girls, so he still had a lot to process.

So now sitting with a glass of bourbon in one hand, and his cellphone in the other. He did the only thing he could think of. He called Seline.

“Hey… It’s me.”

Hello again everyone! A special thank you to everyone that has been supporting this story! I wasn't sure if I indeed wanted to write a PART 2 to this story, but after all your comments I decided to do so. I hope you all like this chapter, it's shorter than usual, but I still need to figure some stuff about the story, so please bear with me! Let me know what yall think of it!

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Dark Side Of The Moon Ch. 2 - Dark! Loki x Reader

Chapter 2: “On The Run”

Chapter Summary: Even though you can’t help feeling drawn to the lunatic that looks like your deceased lover, you try to surpress your feelings and flee to find your friends.

Warnings: Loki is fucking crazy, Violence, Torture, Jotun! Loki, Mentions of Death, Abuse, Unhealthy Relationship, Mentions of Rape

Words: 3360

[Story Masterlist]

Masterlist to my other works right ->Here<-

“And the shark, it has tears,

And they run down its face.

But the shark lives in the water -

So the teardrops one can’t see.”

- Rammstein - Haifisch

Taglist: @winterglcw @commonintrest @emmojoy @satansbra @just-someone-who-likes-to-write

“She died through my hands.”

That sentence replayed over and over in your head, forming a continuous loop as you silently formed those words with your own lips.

“It’s not him!” you called out to yourself, since your reason had seemingly disappeared ever since you first saw the person that was a perfect copy of the man you once loved.

You were rolling around on the bare floor, shivering as you softly punched your head to not get lost in thought again. The emperor didn’t even have the basic decency to give you any clothes back, only having the Citauri throw you into an old dungeon to keep you prisoner - or whatever he’d plan to do with you.

That man was so different of your Loki.

And the timeline both of you were currently in had exceeded your worst expectations, making you wonder if fate just wanted to torment you.

In this universe, Thanos never even got so far as to collect all of the Infinity Stones. Loki Laufeyson had won the battle of New York and took over this world, then somehow double-crossed and killed the Titan. So right now, he possessed the power of the Tesseract, as well as the Cascet of Ancient Winters. For what reason he kept that Jotun relic was unknown, probably out of nostalgic sentiment you assumed.

Afterwards, the God of Mischief had killed his brother Thor in bad blood, as well as torturing Natasha - the exact way he threatened her back in your world, when he was in his cell. Clint was still his servant, as it seemed. You had seen him when they took you to his cell.

He couldn’t get rid of all the Avengers, however - even though their current location was unknown. They were in hiding for many years now, probably trying to get their hands on the other Infinity Stones.

Also noticeable was the fact that this universe had neither Hela, nor Captain Marvel - so one good and one bad thing to compensate for each other. Not that they’d be a match for Loki in his current form anyway...

And there was no Dr. Strange on this version of Earth, your last bit hope to escape disappearing as you learned about this fact.

That much was all you had learned by now, mainly through tricking and manipulating some of your guards into giving you information.

All in all, you only knew for sure was that this world’s Loki was a terribly trong, murderous sociopath, intoxicated by power and loneliness.

And you had become the focus of the little emotion left in him.

It was hard trying to surpress all the voices and memory submerging in your mind. So there was nothing left for you except for rolling up into a ball, lying on the cold floor as you prepared to be washed over with sadness and guilt once again.

_____

“Would you help me recieve the greatest honor by becoming mine and mine only, Lady Y/N?”

How could you ever forget this moment?

Back on the Asgardian refugee ship, your Loki had asked you that very question, now popping up in your mind once again.

Every detail was still as bright as daylight, preserved deep into your heart.

You clearly remembered the small, green box he had summoned out of thin air, presenting you a plain but still incredibly beautiful ring. The golden piece of jewlery formed a snake eating itself - a symbol of infinity and wholeness.

It was just his way of being thoughtful.

“I-I prepared this a while go, to be precize...but I never thought of being worthy” he had stammered and you found yourself speechless, admiring that very scene playing in front of your eyes. “A-Anyway, after all that happened, I realized that all moments I spent happy, were when I was with you. I don’t want to lose you again, Y/N! And I feared, well...that it might be too late to ask someday.”

It was most unjust that this most blissful moment would be interrupted by a great rumbling shaking through the whole spaceship - and even before Thor would crash Loki’s proposal, both of you were aware just what kind of danger you would have to face soon:

Thanos.

Your numbers had already been decimated by Ragnarok, all that’s left being some civilian refugees, injured and traumatized. The only ones capable of fighting left were Loki, Thor, Heimdall, you and the Hulk.

Yet all of your struggles were to no avail, only able to watch and scream and bag at the Titan, so he’d at least spare those innocent lives as he mercilessly slaughtered woman and children alike.

“Fucking monster!” Pulling out a gun, your mind went completely blank as you gave it some last, desperate attempt to save or avenge just anyone.

No bullet would even come close enough to pierce his skin, as Ebony Maw would deflect them to hit yourself and people close to you. “I’m not the only one you should see responsible for this outcome” Thanos scoffed.

“What do you mea-” Your voice got swallowed by a pained groan as you saw Loki, kneeling in front of Thanos and revealing the one thing he was after:

The Tesseract.

“You......took it?!?” The only thing managing to escape your throat was a high-pitched yell as Loki’s face contorted in disappointment and regret - just now realizing that he had put you all in danger.

They would’ve never went after you if it wasn’t for him. He had doomed his race, failed you and what was left of his family.

“How could you put us all in danger?! I thought you had changed! You swore it with your life, Loki! That you loved me more than you desired power!”

No answer.

Instead, the god would prepare one of his speeches, directing words of undying fidelity at Thanos and his arms. And even though it was meant to be lies, a play to make the threat feel save, every single word hit your heart like knives.

“How could I ever marry someone like you?!” feeling as if Loki most recent, selfish act was suffocating you, you could only whisper - yet he understood very clearly, the facade dropping in an instant. “I-I hate you...traitor...”

If only you knew that those would be the last words you’d ever direct at him...

Loki materializes a dagger, desperately trying to make up for his biggest mistake yet, and at least save you, the light of his cursed existence, and the only thing he had ever done in his life full of wrongs.

But Thanos looked right through the charade from the very beginning, using the stones to trap Loki in their hold - and then, grabbing the god’s throat.

“You have what you want, Thanos!” Thor tried to bargain, “There’s even less than half of my race left. Please, just let us go!”

“Oh, I will” he spoke stony, then shifting his attention to the god in his hands. “But first, I’ll do you a favor and erase that disgraceful pest all of you were too weak to take care of.”

As he was struggling for air, gasping uncontrollably as he tried to free his neck from the Giant, Loki’s glare wandered to you - and when your eyes met, both of your hearts skipped a beat.

He smiled. In the face of death, the last thing he wanted you to remember was the good things after all.

And seeing the ring on your finger, how couldn’t he? Loki knew you were about to say yes - and knowing this was more than enough for someone like him.

After all, the God of Mischief was used to happiness being taken away from him as soon as he thought it to be okay to open up to someone.

But you were safe. That’s all that counted for him!

It was like his eyes were telling you “It’s gonna be alright. I’m sorry, Y/N...I love you.”

You don’t remember much after that, having a mental breakdown as you had to watch the love of your life perish - and forever thinking about how you had turned him down just seconds before.

A part of you had died with him back then.

_____

The creaking sound of the cell’s door made you jump from your dream - but the person which entered was one you had never seen before.

A monster.

It’s silhouette very much resembled Loki, yet his skin was painted in a dark shade of blue, with thin linings carved across his whole body. He had fangs and even horns coming out of his temple to add at that.

The beast’s eyes were shining in a threatening red, glistering contrastful in the dark hallway. But the worst were those black irises, absent of any form of compassion - there seemed to be only rage, confusion and hate.

“Fuck!” you screamed, terrified and fearing for your life. Shuffling until your back hit the wall of a corner of the room, you defendingly put your arms in front of yourself. “Go away! Don’t to-ouch me!”

Loki cleared his voice as he put the Casket away, not making any efforts to revert his outer appearance back to ‘normal’. He had admired it on his way to your cell, like he’d do many times a day when he was reminiscing about the day he learned about his heritage...

...and how he had killed Odin, his adoptive father, with that very relic, afterwards clearing the universe of that despiseful race of the Jotunn - making him the last of his kind.

“Oh my” a dark voice finally declared, “Seems like ‘your’ Loki never dared to show you his true form. Pathetic.”

No, that wasn’t completely true. Your lover had at least told you back then. But when did you ever have the time to talk things over and heal, being dragged from one fight to another?!

The Jotunn felt great joy as he towered over you, gleefully watching your naked body cowering to his knees, covered in goosebumps and shaking heavily. Your breath was clearly visible while you tried to cover your shame as best as you could, wary glare never leaving the abomination that was just lurking right in front of you.

“Wha- OUCH!” you hissed as the Frost Giant took ahold of your wrist, monitoring the pain spreading across your face as his touch would frostburn any skin he was touching with ease.

Loki grinned menacingly as he let go off of you, admiring his handywork as the first layer of your skin had already died, crumbling away to reveal your pink flesh.

“Oh, how I missed that” he explained, much to your surprise ripping a piece of his own clothing apart to cover the wound with it. “Your kind is so easily broken. It’s always fascinating to watch.”

“Just kill me already, you freak!”

Well, Loki had in fact spent hours after hours thinking about how to handle you, and yet he couldn’t decide. Obviously he would’ve killed you right away if it was otherwise, but he still had a soft spot for you somewhere deep in his heart, after all.

And it upset him more than he’d ever admit. So he tried to assert his dominance, to ease the feeling of weakness and loss of control.

“I’m only doing you a favor, woman.” The god would touch your cheek, making you flinch away - but this time, it wouldn’t hurt. Never would he dare to scar this most beautiful face!

“The man you loved was just the same as me, yet it seemed he wasn’t completely honest with you. What you are seeing right now is the form of a Frost Giant...the monstrosity you chose to love.”

“L-Loki…”

It was no surprise that he saw tears filling the rim of your eyes - yet out of a whim, you pulled your arms around his neck, tears wetting his robe. He gasped, unable to act in any way as he stiffened in the pose.

That was by far not the reaction he had been expecting - and he surprised you as well. You had thought him to instantly shove you away, beat you agaib or even bite - but he just kneeled there, not daring to make a move.

"Why?” Now his voice was much softer, pained even. “I’m a monster. I hurt you. So why?”

“I’m so sorry” you whimpered, words being interrupted by heavy sobbing. “I try to fight it, I really do. But I just can’t, I-I”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“How could I be? It’s you, Loki...no matter what you look like.” Eventually, you’d face him again, wiping the tears out of your face when for another moment, you made yourself forget that this was a completely different person. “I was just surprised, that’s all. Letting me see this form out of nowhere...”

“Y/N, I’m not the same as him” he retorted, knowing very well what it’s like to lose oneself in daydreams and illusions to ease the pain of loss. His sight wandered around the room instead of your face, stating “I did horrendous things, dear. Tormented and killed countless. It’s unforgiveable.”

“So did he” you stated, even though you knew those two Loki’s couldn’t be compared. “And you should already know: I feel dead inside, ever since he died.”

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” When you nodded confidently, Loki sighed ashamed, reluctantly touching your wrist again. A warm magic would flow through you, healing the wound in no time. “I wish she had felt the same for me...”

For a while, both of you were plainly sitting in uncomfortable silence, with Loki even lending you his cloak to warm yourself up.

“It’s not him” you told yourself once again. “It’s not him. It’s not him. IT’S NOT HIM!!! That man is dangerous and instable. He can’t be trusted!”

And then, finally, you dared asking, cutting through the thick air:

“What exactly happened to me, in this world?”

Loki’s face contorted in agony, rubbing his face as if in deep pain. “Is this really necessary? I already told you. She died because of me.”

“More details would be nice” you retorted bluntly, not really caring if he was to have a violent outburst again. Curiosity got the better of you at that moment.

The emperor’s voice was low and husky, and just now you realized how damn tired he looked - with dark rings under his eyes, and more pale than you had ever remembered him.

The weight of his sins sure had taken a stroll on that sensitive man.

"I saw the ring” he uttered deeply affected, “That’s something I could only dream of. Thinking about it, I think she never really loved me in the first place. Or maybe she just grew tired of my lies. Understandable, I have to admit...”

“Yes, it was quite the opposite, even” he continued after a long, strained breath of his. “She hated me. Joined the Avengers and tried to kill me, several times. Only years later I learned about the truth: Already far in the past, back on Asgard, she betrayed me. After I fell off the Bifrost, she thought myself dead - and consoled herself by bedding my brother. I had to kill him, I-I-I just had to!”

Loki’s hands were shaking so frantically you could feel it from over there, mad eyes darting over your physique to take in your reaction. “After they finally lost, I took her prisoner. Seven months of trying to make her mine, no matter the methods. Mind-controlling her would not be satisfying. So I tortured her, played games with her sanity, and- I’d rather not speak about how else I violated her.”

“You, wha-” Now you were the one shivering in horrid anticipation, “You raped me...?”

No answer. Instead he just finished this disastrous story.

“One day, I went to her cell like I always did. I hoped once her mind was broken she’d stop struggling to be mine. But she never did. You Y/N’s are quite the fighters, as it seems.”

“Wha- wwhat happened to me...I mean, ‘her’?”

A loud whine escaped his vocal cords as he hit the wall right next to your face, making you suck in a pained breath.

“She used her chains to hang herself. There was nothing I could do. Ever since then I knew I’m cursed to inflict pain on anything I hold dear.”

"D-Don’t give me that self-pitying bullshit” you wanted to shout at his face - but the cramping in your heart as well as the hyperventillation made talking impossible.

How could one do something like that to a person they claimed to love?!

“Go” you whimpered, already shuffling away from him and he could hear anguish and fear drop out of every vocal, and he realized you were having a panic attack. “Please!”

Loki closed his eyes, letting out one last, deep sigh. He knew he owed you that much.

“Very well.”

That whole night, you spent crying and screaming to your hearts avail, unable to process your current situation and newfound knowledge.

So that would be your life from now on? Being hurt mentally and physically, frostburnt and hurt and violated against your will - all while looking at a face that remembered you of happier days?

Never!

Things were just like that evil Loki said: You are a fighter!

And if you couldn’t help that crazy man, you would at least help yourself! The Avengers are still out there, somewhere. You needed to escape and help them!

How could you have been so blind all those years?

Loki - your Loki - would have never wanted to you give up. He’d want you to survive and live your life to it’s fullest, trying to make the best out of everything you’ve got.

Just like he always did. That much you had learned from him.

“I’m sorry, Loki. If I die, I can’t even remember you...I love you…”

Breaking out succeeded faster than you could ever think it would take - because when you’d finally get out of your fetal courl and wandered across the cell, you realized Loki didn’t properly close the heavy steel door back when he rushed away from you.

“It’s not him. There’s no helping that man. I have to find my friends, I-”

Still shocked and scared and traumatized, you didn’t even realize that someone was watching you, not even questioning that the hallways were oddly empty.

You sneaked out of an open window, bare feet feeling the morning dew as you shook away Lokis cloak and ran as fast as your feet could carry you.

There was it - the fence.

No one could tell you what kind of world would await you outside of that property as you swiftly avoided some guards, rushing through the all so beautiful garden.

But as soon as you reached out to climb the railing, you felt someone balling a fist in your hair, harshly holding you back and causing you to stumble and fall.

“I thought you to be different…” an all too familiar voice grumbled. Loki didn’t even want to hear any apology or excuse, kicking your guts so heavily that you had to throw up, cramping on the ground.

“Don’t you dare to run away ever again!” he now yelled furiously, "She tried it too...so damn.many.times…!”

But before you could even respond, he suddenly began to cry uncontrollably. “I thought you would stay. Do you think I like to do this?!”

His voice was laced with grief and regret, yet he kept on forming countless bruises on your body. “Why can’t you fucking love me, hel?!”

You didn’t know how long his violent crying fit lasted, with him weeping as he let off some steam on your helpless self.

There was no trace of the hurt, regretful man left you talked to in your cell earlier. After being finished, having reclaimed a fraction of composure, Loki pressed your face in between his hands, ripping on your mangled body to face him.

“Fate gifted me another chance to possess you, Y/N. And I will form you into a magnificent pet, I promise.”

_______

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

Text

Ret'urcye Mhi - Rogue, Chapter 7 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (F)

Summary: Can things go back to normal after the Mandalorian saw you break down? Or have walls been torn down that can’t be replaced?

Warnings: Light swearing, I don’t want to give it away but no smut but… a ‘moment’ with some certainly hot thoughts and pining but nothing heavy though, reader has a back tattoo, let me know if I forgot anything!

AN: I have brought in Cara Dune in this, and she will be a frequent character. I by no means condone what Gina Carano did, and I am pleased and relieved that she is gone. However, I do like her character, as many others do. She IS only mentioned in this one briefly but will be a main character in a few future chapters.

Also, Readers tattoo is loosely based on this design!(link) I’m not sure who the exact creator is, but it was posted by Urban Threads on Pinterest, but if you know, please tell me! ❤️

Word Count: 8231

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jackgrzs

Mando’a Translation: Ret'urcye mhi - Goodbye

Neither of you mentioned that afternoon.

It hadn’t come up in the 3 days since, and it hadn’t come up today. You made sure of it.

Every time Mando looked at you, and you just felt he was going to mention it, you’d change the subject. Or just walk away. You didn’t need to have that conversation with him. You couldn’t have that conversation with him. Or anyone.

The Mandalorian had sat there, holding you for the hours it took for you to cry yourself out. When the shuddering sobs had given way to hitched breaths and a numb stare, he’d still sat there. Rubbing your back in gentle circles, in time with Duru’s tail gently swaying over your arm. He hadn’t uttered a single word either, just letting you break down in his arms.

When the quiet ambiance of the ship and the pressure of his hand had lulled you into sleep, he’d carried you to his bed – well, the narrow cot that jutted out from the wall in what was supposed to be the medical area. He’d given up his sleeping compartment to Grogu a long time ago, to keep the little creature warm and safe.

He’d laid you in, covering you with the blanket and then one more that he pulled out from a unit.

You were asleep, so you hadn’t seen the way his gloved fingers gently brushed back the hair from your tear flushed cheeks, the way they’d lingered for a moment as he’d looked down at the soft strands gliding over his fingers. You hadn’t felt the way he’d frozen when a sudden want crashed through him, to yank off his gloves and run his bare hands through your hair, feel the silkiness and the texture for himself.

And you also wouldn’t have noticed the way his breathing went ragged for a moment and he’d lurched back, stumbling away so quickly he nearly overturned a box on his way out of the door.

Your sleep hadn’t remained easy. Only a few hours later, you had woken up screaming, unsure of where you were, why you were on a thin cot that smelled like metal and smoke and something distinctly unique and almost like sandalwood. It was somehow comforting, soothing. You had inhaled the scent, trying to calm down your pounding heard and regain control of your breathing.

It was only when you could suck in a full breath that you realised where you were, who’s bed this was.

A feeling of gratefulness had crashed over you, only to be immediately wiped out by shame. You had broken down in front of him, spat such awful, awful things to his face.

And when you heard footsteps outside the compartment door, the husky baritone of his voice as he called out your name softly, you’d gone still. Like you were back on the run, mere inches away from a hunter and one move would mean disaster.

He’d lingered, you could see by the shadows of his feet under the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. A wild thought had come to you, that he had his hand pressed to the door and you could just.. open it. Open it and let him come in, let him carry the burden of your nightmares and your feelings even If it was just for a little while. You could share some of those plaguing thoughts that you’d unleashed today. And he would listen. You didn’t know him that well, but you knew him enough to be confident he would sit there, let you talk. He knew what it was like to be alone, to have emotions and worries that you had no choice to bear yourself.

The temptation was so strong, you craved that contact and connection so much that you were halfway across the room before your snarling argument came back in full technicolour. The things you’d said to him. The appalling way you’d acted.

No.

You couldn’t see him. You couldn’t face him after that. After what you had said and the way you had cracked. You shook your head firmly, waiting until you heard a sigh so soft you might have imagined it and retreating footsteps.

It was only then you that you returned to the bed, pulling the twin blankets up high over your shoulders.

You’d deal with seeing him in the morning, but for now, all you could do was bury your face in the thin pillow and try not to notice how it smelt like him.

Something had changed between the two of you since that afternoon. He had glimpsed a part of you that you normally kept perfectly hidden, even from yourself.

…

You were on your way to another bounty, one of the last couple of pucks that Mando had left.

Mando had mentioned it was a hot, desert planet and he’d prefer it if you stayed in the ship with Grogu. It’d be far too hot for the little guy out there. You had obliged happily, more than fine to stay in. You didn’t like to be too hot, it made you uncomfortable and agitated.

The cockpit was quiet, a peaceful silence had descended upon it as Mando flew the ship.

You’d found yourself drawn to watching his hands lately. There was something… oddly soothing about it. Watching him work the controls, hold Grogu, clean his weapons.

You wondered if he missed the sensation of touch, and then wondered if yours and the kids presence here made it harder for him. Meant he had less chances to take off his armour and be free of it.

Of course, that had then led you onto the thought of wondering if he slept naked when he was alone.

The thought of him lying there, nothing hiding him, separating him from the world.

The thin blankets sliding over the body you knew was toned, yet soft enough in all the right places.

It made your mouth a little dry, your cheeks a little pink and you struggled to find something else to think about.

Your eyes drifted to his hands again, remembering the sound of the gloves being drawn off the other night.

They were mesmerising, agile, and you couldn’t stop thinking about them in your hair, on your skin.

Stars above, get a grip, girl.

You mentally scolded yourself for these thoughts, trying to steer your damned imagination onto something more appropriate.

Luckily, your saviour came in the form of Mando himself. He tilted his head back slightly, enough for you to know he was talking to you, “What’s your favourite planet? Or one you’d like to visit?”

The question surprised you, you had to admit. You weren’t used to people asking about your likes and dislikes. You smiled though, perhaps this was his gentle way to break any tension left over. “Hmm… I think… I’d have to say the planet I’d like to visit most... either Hoth or Coruscant.”

Mando laughed, that gorgeous rough, honey laugh, “Okay, Coruscant I can understand, but Hoth? Really?”

You pouted at the back of his head, “Yes!! It sounds beautiful.”

The Mandalorian laughed more, “Beautiful? Sweetheart, it’s covered in ice. It’s freezing there. All you would see is ice and snow… and more ice and more snow.”

You scowled at him now, throwing the leftover wrapper of Grogu’s cookies at his helmet, “And? Snow and ice are stunning. They’re powerful and strong. I’ve only ever been in a proper snowfall once, and I fell in love. The way the flakes float down and.. dance even if there’s the faintest breeze. And then when they land on your skin or your eyelashes like little cold kisses… The sound it makes under your boots when you walk on a fresh fall. And it softens everything, makes it easier on your eyes to see across the landscape… it’s quiet, muffled… Besides, I like the cold.”

Little did you know, Mando was grinning like an idiot under his helmet, adoring the way you defend it to him, the way you describe something as simple as ice and snow. “You like the cold, huh? Then why are you always grumbling that the heating is broken?” The teasing lilt to his voice was evident, so animated and content, compared to his usual cooler, calm silence.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “That is… completely irrelevant.” You looked at the back of his head, “What about you? If my choices are so hilarious.”

The Mandalorian made a thoughtful noise, “I wouldn’t say there’s one place in particular… But… there’s a few sanctuary planets dotted around. Places with really pretty, dense forests where you could walk for days and not spot anyone else. They’re protected and safe, no dangerous animals or anything allowed… literally sanctuaries. I’d like to take Grogu there… let him wander and have fun and eat things he shouldn’t without having to look over my shoulder.”

It was the most you’d ever heard him speak in one go, and there was a tenderness in his voice that brought tears to your eyes. This man truly loved his little green adoptive son and would do anything for him. “That sounds... stunning. I’ve heard of those planets and always wondered what they were like...”

He made a hum of agreement, fingers working over the control panel as he put it in autopilot. “One day…” He turned around in his chair, “What about your favourite colour?”

You moved to sit cross-legged in the seat, defying the concept of a chair. “Blue. Darker blues, like a midnight blue.” You swayed your chair from side to side slightly, “Actually, the same colour as the cloak you got me. So well done, kudo’s for you.”

Mando leant back in his own chair, tapping the side of his helmet before resting his hands on his thighs again. “This thing lets me read minds; you know.”

You began pulling the pins from your hair, “Mmhm, and I can fly.” You raise an eyebrow at him, grinning.

He chuckled, watching you intently behind the helmet though you wouldn’t know that, watching every pin get removed from holding up your hair, “It wouldn’t surprise me at this point, princess.” He tapped his thighs absently, “You wanna know the real secret?”

You nodded, reaching in for a pin that had become stuck deep in your hair, the last one. “Surprise me.” Got it. You yanked the pin out, letting your hair fall down and your fingers through it. You sighed a little in relief as you rubbed your fingertips against your scalp, chasing away any tightness from the day.

Mando didn’t say anything. He was too distracted, to struck into silence by the sight of your hair.

The light from the ship and coming in through the windows turned some of the strands to gold, igniting them with that fire that blazed within you – and that he’d been on the receiving end.

His hands tightened over his thighs, because he was overtaken by a craving, a need to remove your hands and feel your hair for himself.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had these thoughts.

Fuck, he’d been having these thoughts since he first saw you. He just hadn’t realised them until that night he’d nearly lost his life and woken up to you passed out on his chest.

He’d frozen, even his breathing stopping as he felt the warm weight of you, even though the armour.

He couldn’t bear to move you, to take away that pressure, the closeness of another human that he had missed for so long.

So, he hadn’t. He left you there. Spent hours watching you sleep, the warmth of your breath slightly fogging up the armour on his chest.

“Lori? Anyone in there?” You tilted your head, watching the man before you that was staring at you intently, his breathing somewhat ragged.

He startled slightly, coming back to himself, “Huh?”

You chuckled, “Where did you go? I was waiting for you to knock me off my feet with your revelation.”

He made a noise, “Uh… I.. actually can’t remember...” He tugged at his glove, an odd gesture so at odds with his usual confident demeanour.

You tilted your head, still smiling a little, “Are you okay?”

Luckily, he was saved from answering by the beeping of the controls behind him.

You’d arrived at the planet.

It was hot.

Beyond hot.

The air was warm, the water was warm, you were warm.

And already awake, having just calmed your breathing down from another nightmare, when you heard Grogu, his little coos and gurgled filtering down the hall to you.

The poor little creature had probably woken up from the heat. You had been on this desert planet for a couple of days, opting to stay in and look after the Child whilst Mando hunted down the bounty. The days here were scorching, a dry heat that sucked the life from you immediately. Even the nights were hot, unlike normal freezing desert nights.

Mando had returned this evening, panting from the heat after coming up from the carbonite chamber. “I swear it’s getting hotter out there.”

The cooling system on the Crest was just as temperamental as the heating, so it wasn’t exactly cool in here. The metal floors, which were normally always chilled, were warm underfoot. Mando had let you keep his room, and it was just as hot, being contained in with itself, so you’d been sleeping with the doors open.

Not that it made a dent. Every single closed space was like a heat trap, especially Grogu’s little compartment. So, no wonder he had woken up.

You stretched, then slipped from the cot and made your way to Grogu.

It didn’t take long to settle him, he was all tuckered out from the games you’d been playing today, so after patting his skin with a cool cloth, he had fallen back under.

You were now at the small ‘kitchen’ area in the ship, washing out the cloth. You huffed, splashing some water on your wrists and pulling out the pin that was holding up your hair, and falling out. Grogu had a habit of tugging the ends of your hair in his little fist.

You’d taken to wearing a thin floaty dress to bed, one you’d picked up in that market before it had turned into a horror show. The material was gauzy, allowing the heat to escape your body without it sticking to your clammy skin. What helped enormously was the large cut out in the back. It secured at the back of your neck, and then fell open, exposing almost your whole back before joining again at the base of your spine.

It was probably the flimsiest, most sinful thing you’d ever worn, but it was gorgeous and hey, it did the job.

You rolled your shoulders, pressing the cool cloth to your neck and you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips and you could have sworn you heard a sizzle.

Footsteps behind you startled you, breaking you from your reverie, and then Mando’s voice filtered through the silence, “Are you okay?”

You turned around, smiling when you saw him because he was still in all his armour… not that you were surprised. He must have been boiling though, under all those heavy layers.

You nodded, lifting the cloth from your neck, “The kid was awake, but I settled him down, he was really warm.”

His head was covered, naturally, so you wouldn’t have seen the way his eyes followed a bead of water rolling down your neck, and the unbidden thought of his tongue catching it “Thank you for seeing to him, I didn’t hear..”

Weird. Normally he was so attuned to Grogu, hearing him before he even woke up if you were sitting together. Maybe he was tired, from his hunting.

What you didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that he had been staring at the ceiling for the 3rd night in a row. Having thoughts that he should not be having, his body yearning for things it shouldn’t.

You shook your head, still smiling and turned back to the sink area, “It’s no worries, I was awake anyway so… And you’ve been hunting. You deserve the rest.” You set down the cloth, running your hands through your hair and reaching for your pin to secure it back up. You faced him again, gathering your hair in your hands, “How was it?”

But he wasn’t listening.

He suddenly moved forward, and then he was in front of you. “Wait.” His voice was low, almost strained. There was a husk to it that hadn’t been there before, but it ignited something within you.

You froze, your hands still stuck in your hair. You looked up at him, raising your eyebrows slightly, “What..?” It was only now he was right in front of you that you could see his chest, rising and falling rapidly. “Mando, are you okay?”

He shook his head quickly, his helmet tilted down to you, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides, “Let your hair down.” His voice was still that rumbly order, and it was such an odd request that you did just that, letting it tumble back down again. Your own hands trembled slightly as you lowered them.

A shudder seemed to roll through his body, and he rocked forward on his feet, lurching toward you in a movement that lacked his usual smooth elegance. It was unsteady, unsure.

He stopped when he was a mere few inches away, the closest you’d been to each other since that afternoon.

This close, you could practically feel the heat roiling off of him under his armour, and you tilted your head up to meet him, concern in your eyes, “Mando, you need to go and have a cold shower.. You sound like you’re burning up… do you feel flushed?”

He shook his head jerkily, his hands raising, “Shh… please. I just.. I need to..” He broke off, a sharp intake of air cutting his words.

Something else began to curl through the worry in your belly, like some instinct knew things you didn’t. You swallowed, your voice low when you next spoke, “You need to what..?”

The Mandalorian was shaking, his body tensing and untensing like he was fighting himself, telling himself not to do this. “I.. I need to touch your hair.”

Stars, you could feel the flush that crept up his neck and cheeks, like it burned through his helmet but you stayed completely still.

His words were whispered through gritted teeth, like he was physically trying to bite them back, “I just... I need to do this, please… I’m sorry, but I cant-” He sounded like he was in pain, still breathing raggedly.

Heat flared through your blood, igniting a flame within you that was irresistible. You nodded, letting him see you, “Okay.” Like you could say no to him.

The vocoder nearly didn’t pick up the huff of relief that escaped his lips and he curled his hands into fists again, “Turn around. And close your eyes.” That rough command was back and you were more than obliging to let him navigate this moment.

You turned around, facing the kitchen area, looking over the darkened surroundings before shutting your eyes. It immediately threw all your other senses into overdrive, so you could hear every single rasp of his breath as you exposed your skin to him, and the pounding of your own heart.

“You have to keep them closed. You cannot turn around or look.” There was a desperate plea in his voice, an edge to it that hurt your very soul. He was audibly torn, between his Creed… and this desire that he seemed to have given into.

You nodded again, aching to reach back and reassure him, “I won’t. I won’t open my eyes or turn around until you tell me, I swear on it, Lori.” You let every ounce of truth and understanding seep through your words, praying that it would be enough to convince him he could trust you.

Seemingly, it was, because the next noise that you heard could have struck you dead.

It was the sound of leather rubbing against skin, the friction as they were pulled off, then a soft thump of the material on the floor.

He had taken off his gloves.

He was standing behind you… with his hands bare.

You. A person he hasn’t known for very long at all, and he was partially bare, uncovered.

Your head exploded, a million thoughts racing through it once, sending your heart into overdrive and your own breathing rapid and unsteady.

There was a pause, like he was steeling himself and then… then the slightest sensation, like he was catching the ends of your hair, just brushing them.

That simple movement sent a shiver down your spine, and it was enough to get him to move more. He lifted his hands and then you felt fingers slide into your hair at the back of your head, then slowly, slowly, drag down the length.

You heard a sharp intake of breath behind you, and then a soft mutter, “It’s so soft..” You barely picked it up, even though the ship was silent. The fingers ghosted through your hair again, and his voice was bewildered, “How do you get it this soft in that tiny ‘fresher..” It was like he was talking to himself.

You couldn’t help the soft laugh, a release of tension from this whole thing, “I can’t reveal my secrets, Lori. Can’t have your hair being softer than mine. There’s only room for one on this ship.”

He chuckled, and it ran over your bones like honey, dousing them in such a sweet sensation. “I’ll get it out of you one way or another, princess.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t get the chance to speak because then his fingers were running up your scalp from the base of your head to the crown, with a light pressure and the feeling was so unbelievably good, that you couldn’t help it. Your head leant back into his touch and the faintest sigh left your lips. “Keep doing that..” Your cheeks flushed, embarrassment crashing over you. Why did you have to say that?

The Mandalorian’s hands had paused, absorbing that soft sigh of pleasure and trying to cool his body. But you had a hold over him, he couldn’t say no. He merely did it again, with a firmer press of his fingers against your scalp, a light scrape of his nails just to get you to make that noise again, to be convinced that you were enjoying this just as much as he was.

You didn’t stop the next sigh, this one louder, more delighted. It was like you knew what the other was thinking, could read each other that well.

He was driving you insane, rendering you speechless just from playing with your hair.

You don’t know how long you stood there for, his hands running through the soft locks.

He lifted it slightly, then made a soft noise. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

A tattoo? Oh right.

It was true, you did. It was a delicate piece, spanning from the top of your spine to just above your hips, lining your spine. It showed the phases of the moon, drawn in a minimalist style, with small stars and additional lines coming out of every other piece.

You nodded quickly, “I’ve had it for years.” Fuck, could your voice sound anymore needy?

“What does it mean?” His words were murmured and then the next thing could have had you on your knees.

You heard a sound that had haunted you since the night he nearly died, the sound of leather sliding over skin. The soft plop as it fell to the floor.

No way. Has he just..

His fingers, his bare fingers ghosted down your spine, following the line of it with a touch so fleeting it almost made you whine.

In fact, it did, a whimper rising from deep in your chest.

He was touching you.

His bare skin, skin that he had sworn by Creed to keep covered and hidden until marriage, was trailing down your spine as light as wings.

Pleasure shot straight though you, making your nerves and blood sing, making your knees shake and your belly hot.

A tug on your hair, a tug that was sharp enough to send a faint tinge of pain through your scalp had you moaning, you couldn’t help it. Your lips parted and the moan fell from them, soft, a little high and drawn.

Mando swore under his breath, his whole body twitching behind yours, “I asked you a question, sweetheart.” There was a hoarseness to his voice that hadn’t been there before, a straining note like your moan had shot right through him. Which is had.

What does it mean… what does it mean? Focus!!

“Um… right. When I was on the run, initially in the beginning, I never had a place to call home. Everything I knew had been torn away, and I could never settle anywhere. Every night, I would look up into the sky and watch the moon. No matter what planet I was on, no matter where I was, or if there two moons or 4, it was always there. I only had to look up, and there was something up there to ground me, give me some sense of comfort. It might look smaller, or be a different colour, but it was still the moon. And it made me feel… safe. Like it was a… a companion in a way. I just had to look a little closer, beneath the colours or the distance and there it was. It was always in the sky, so I wanted to get it tattooed so that it would always be with me. No matter if I was outside, as free as I could be, or inside and trapped.” You flushed a little, “That probably makes no sense and sounds so stupid.”

You could sense the Mandalorian shaking his head, his voice still low and soft, “No.. I think it’s beautiful. And I get it. I move around so much too, there’s only a few things that always remain the same. So I know the value of having something familiar.” He ghosted his fingers down it again, trailing all the way down to where the cut out portion of your dress stopped and then back up again.

When his hand reached the top of the tattoo, he slid it up further, cupping the back of your neck in his broad, warm hand.

It sent electricity shooting across your skin, that blazed as he wrapped his thumb and fingers around either side of your neck, just a gentle pressure there.

You moaned again; you didn’t even try to hide it. Your head fell back, exposing your throat to him in a sign of instinctual submission, even though you knew he wouldn’t kiss you. You didn’t mind, you just needed more, more than this teasing touch, more than the faint brush of his fingertips. Your chest shuddered, knuckles white as you gripped the counter in an effort to stay still, “Lori…” You whined his name, hoping it would spark something in him, would force him to do something.

You felt him shudder again, felt his hips draw back from your body like he was trying to hide just what these noises did to him.

Fuck.

It burned you, turned your belly molten and the power that washed over you was heady. You had turned him on just from your hair, your skin and your moans.

The voice that came out was equally as tight, husky and you might have lived and died inside the low baritone “What is it, princess?”

Your fingers curled around the side of the counter in front of you, and you were glad he couldn’t see your face when you whispered, “Please..”. Your voice was low, pleading and aching.

You felt him shudder behind you, a tiny groan echoing through the helmet.

His next words nearly undid you there and then, “Like I could say no to you.”

Then his fingers pressed into your spine, caressing down your back over the tattoo with such admiration, such warmth that it arched slightly, chasing more of that sensation.

Your head was spinning, convinced you were dreaming, that this wasn’t real.

This didn’t happen between you both.

You flirted, sure. But that was harmless, playful.

This… this was real. He was letting you feel his bare skin, uncovered and unhidden.

And it was tearing you apart.

The scrape of his thumbnail on your skin tore you from those thoughts, ripped you back to the present as it ran down the curve of your back. If your eyes had been open, they would have rolled into the back of your head.

Your head fell forward, back arching completely into him and the sound that you let out was sinful. You could only concentrate on the that sharp, pleasurable hurt that you felt in your belly, the feeling of his other hand as it held your shoulder, holding you in that arch.

Heat pooled low in your belly, and every dream, every thought you’d been trying to suppress about him came blasting into full technicolour. All because of his hands.

Those damn hands you’d been pining over since saving his life.

His head was so close over your shoulder that you could hear the low pant of his breath, the coolness of his armour barely brushing your shoulders as you pressed back into him.

Fuck, did he want this as much as you did?

By the way his hand tightened, he had to. You didn’t know how you knew it, but you did.

You swallowed, licking your lips to say something, anything, spur him on but a harsh beeping suddenly broke through the thick tension on the room. A light was flashing, and by the time the fog of pleasure cleared in your head, he was gone.

Gloves picked up and yanked on, boots disappearing up the ladder into the cockpit to check on the autopilot.

The taut sensation in your body snapped, making you sink to the floor as though the strings had been cut.

You lifted shaking hands to your face, burying them in them with a low noise. Your head was a mess, you couldn’t get over it. Couldn’t stop feeling his fingers on your back, your hair. Hear the ragged pant of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against your shoulders.

It was just touch, just the simple act of touch but it had igniting something so fierce within you.

Something had changed.

What the fuck was that?

You sat there on the floor for Maker knows how long, before dragging yourself up and hurrying off in search of a very, very cold shower.

You weren’t quite sure how to face him the next morning.

You had taken your cold shower, and it had done nothing to cool the fire in your blood so you had to take the initiative, hoping the crash of the water and the fact you were biting down the back of your free hand would cover the desperate moans you made.

Little did you know, the Mandalorian was going through the exact same thing, back arched, lips biting into his lip to stop the groans.

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, stop thinking about what had occurred between you.

Surely it broke some kind of rules of his Creed?

He had touched you with his bare skin. You weren’t married. You weren’t together. You didn’t even know his name.

Yet he had touched you and.. reacted to you.

Maybe that was just instinct, his body’s natural response to such things.

But he had carried on… until you were disturbed anyway.

Your head went round and round in these circles until your body had calmed down enough to sleep.

…

You rose early, wanting to be washed, dressed and ready and doing something to occupy you before you had to think too much about what you were going to say. Maybe just… Good morning?

Sure. Good morning was fine.

Normal.

It totally didn’t reveal what you’d had to do in the shower, or the thoughts you were still having about it.

You had this discussion with yourself all the way up the ladder of the cockpit, and when you rose to your height, you blurted it out in a cheery voice before you could bail, “Morning!”

Breezy. Nailed it.

The Mandalorian was sitting in the pilot’s chair, fiddling with controls and levers, gloves firmly on. “Good morning. Did you sleep okay in the heat?”

You nodded, sinking down into the pilots chair and feeding Duru a treat, “Yes, thank you. Finally.” You stroked under Duru’s chin, your eyes straying to those hands as he slide them over some switches.

The same hands that had cupped the back of your neck and trailed fire down your spine.

A flush started to creep along your cheeks, so you quickly looked away, “Did you?”

The light bounced off of his helmet as he nodded, “Yes, thank you.”

Polite. His words were polite. Almost... distant.

Okay… Okay, so maybe he just feels awkward?

You bit your bottom lip, worried if you should say something.

No, leave it. He no doubt feels over-exposed and maybe shy about what happened last night. Don’t bring it up. Just act normal.

You nodded faintly to yourself and returned your attention back to Duru.

Mando was ignoring you.

You had been trying to deny it, but he most certainly was.

Yesterday, he had engaged in talking to you now and then throughout the day, but only passing comments and a few spare words.

You had spoken more when you were beating the shit out of each other.

You kept telling yourself that it was just lingering awkwardness from how to go back to normal after that night, but the gnawing in your gut told you otherwise.

It had been shouting at you this morning when he had parked the ship on a planet, announced he was going hunting and he’d be back in a few hours.

Then he’d just gone.

You had waited for him all day, mooched around the ship, played with Grogu and Duru and tried not to worry.

You sat up for hours, even when the little ones had gone to sleep, waiting to talk to him.

You’d convinced yourself that you should talk about. You should tell him you didn’t expect anything from him. That you didn’t hate him, that he didn’t hurt you or anything like that.

Just to tell him whatever you needed to stop this frostiness.

You had it all planned, had every phrase and comment worked out to stop this atmosphere.

About 15 minutes ago, you’d heard the ramp open. 3 minutes after that, the hiss and echo of the carbonite chamber.

Then you’d heard him go and check on the kid, then go to his quarters.

And now, it was his booted feet on the steps to the cockpit that held your attention.

You took a deep breath, prayed to the Maker and spun your seat to face him as he rose up.

The mere sight of that beskar-clad body set your heart thumping, but you coaxed an easy smile on your lips anyway. “Hey, how was the hunt? Cause you any trouble?”

Mando didn’t turn his head to look at you, just padded over to his seat and spun it to the control panel, “It was fine. Easy.” His words were clipped, not harsh, just… efficient. Straight to the point.

You swallowed, your courage faltering a little.

Mentally, you scolded yourself. You didn’t falter in the face of a man who’d touched you and now wouldn’t talk to you. You didn’t whimper and pander to a tense atmosphere.

You sat up a little straighter, pulling your shoulders back and you looked over at him.

Now or never.

“About the other night-”

“I’m taking you to Nevarro.”

What?

You had both spoken at the same time, your eyes now bewildered as you beheld him. “What?”

He said nothing, just fiddled with some controls.

“Mando, what do you mean?” Your voice was shocked, but steady. Did nothing to betray the shock that had just hit your chest like a punch.

You didn’t hear him swallow, only heard his words, “I’m taking you to Nevarro. We’re on the way now.” He said them softly, evenly.

Hearing it again only made your heart drop to somewhere around your waist.

He was leaving you. Dumping you on some planet. And going.

Your hand tapped your leg as sort of nervous habit, and then the words were out, “Is this because of the other night?”

It was his turn to sound bewildered, his head just turning to the side, but you knew he couldn’t see you in his peripheral, “What? What do you mean?”

Your heart was starting to beat uncomfortably in your chest, a sense of shame beginning to creep over you, “Because of what happened in the kitchen. I didn’t see you, I didn’t see your skin.”

Mando turned to face you, one hand still on the panel, his hair half turned but head rotated all the way to look at you, “No, no it’s not because of that-“

You cut him off, “You didn’t… you didn’t offend me. Or hurt me. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry if.. if my reaction made you feel awkward or think something. I don’t.. I don’t expect anything from you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I never have, so please don’t think that.” You flushed, the shame colouring your cheeks. You couldn’t help it. But this was the reason, right? The only reason why he would be dumping you.

He shook his head, “Stop. Stop..” His voice softened slightly, “No. It’s not because of… that. I know you didn’t see me. And I know you don’t expect anything from me.” He took a breath, “I’m taking you to Nevarro to keep you safe. That’s all. I have friends there, Cara Dune and Greef Karga. They’ll look after you. They’ve already set up accommodation for you, so you don’t need to worry about that.

They already knew?

Something like hurt flashed in your eyes, colouring your tone, “They… You already planned this..?” There was no bite in your voice like you would normally have in this situation, you were too shocked by the sudden change in direction your journey was taking.

Mando tilted his head, “I contacted them whilst I was on the hunt… I wanted it set up before we got there, so you wouldn’t stand out to anyone looking.” He still looked at you, “Is that okay?”

You sensed you wouldn’t have a choice in this. So you decided to take the high road. You wouldn’t whine about this.

You smoothed your expression over into a mask of calm, “Yes… I was just a little surprised that’s all. But thank you, really. I’ll… set about packing my things.”

He sounded confused, his head tilting back to watch you rise from your chair, “We have a couple of days yet.”

You nodded, “Oh, I know, I just want to make sure I have everything. And all the things I want to steal from you.” You laughed, even going so far as to nudge his shoulder before escaping.

You were gone to quickly, so you wouldn’t have seen the way he slumped in his chair, dropped his head into his hands. You wouldn’t have heard the pained sigh that escaped his lips at the thought have having to part with you.

The Mandalorian stood at the top of the ramp with you, staring out across the dusty, volcanic terrain of Nevarro. Your new home for… however long.

You said nothing, running your fingers along the edge of your cloak, observing the landscape and trying not to let any emotion show on your face. You had kept up natural conversation the past few days. Saying nothing of the wrenching pain that tore in your chest every time you remembered you were departing.

Mando cleared his throat, one arm holding Grogu and the other hand resting on his hip in a gesture that was becoming painfully familiar, “Cara and Greef know you’re coming. They’ll be waiting in Cara’s office for you.”

Grogu was sulking, squirming every now and then to try and get out of Mando’s grip. He had screamed the whole morning, and only calmed down when you hugged him and sung to him on the way here.

You nodded, also trying to ignore the thoughts swirling round in your mind as to why he was leaving you here. Was it because of your argument? The way you had broken down in front of him? Or was it because of the other night? The way his fingers had run through your hair, and then trailed down your spine, mapping your tattoo. His bare fingers. The things he’d whispered to you, “I just... I need to do this, please… I’m sorry, but I cant-”

“I’ve been thinking about this for days..”

Had he known then that he was going to leave you here? Or was it after that, that he’d decided he had broken one too many rules and had to get rid of you.

Words floated over to you, and you realised he was talking again so you hauled your attention back to the conversation at hand.

“-safe here. No one will come looking for you. Greef has taken all the pucks that have come through with your name on them and Cara will do sweeps every couple of days to make sure.”

You looked down at your feet, a bitter feeling leeching through your veins that was getting stronger with every moment you got closer to leaving the Crest.

“Hey… look at me..”

It was that honey softness of the Mandalorian’s tone that finally had you looking up at him, your expression perfectly masked to hide every ounce of emotion in you aside from a calm neutrality.

He tilted his head a little, turning his body toward you, “Please don’t think I’m dumping you here. I had planned to bring you here since I destroyed the puck and the fob.”

Like that made you feel any better.

He must have read the flicker in your eyes, because he stepped closer, his hand lifting to your upper arm, “I want you to be safe.” You could almost feel his eyes boring into yours, “I am more than grateful for everything you’ve done for me. And the kid. More than you’ll ever know. But, travelling with me.. it only increases the target on your back. People know you’re with me. I don’t want that for you.. you deserve to be free..”

And what about what I want?

You only smiled, forcing your expression to one of a lighter one and you nudged him gently, “Hey, I get it. You have to get rid of me because I’m showing you up on hunts. Can’t have anyone destroying your infamous reputation.” You rolled your eyes, laughing even if it did send daggers into your heart.

And his.

He squeezed your shoulder playfully, then dropped his hand. “You’re hilarious. I told you, the day you beat me is the day the stars implode.” You could feel a line of humour in his voice though, and it softened your shoulders, made you relax.

He was doing this to keep you safe. He had planned this for weeks so you could have a break, a chance to rest.

So, you lifted your head a little higher, your smile becoming more real. “Thank you, Mando. For everything. I can’t ever repay you for this, for what you’ve done.” You motioned to the outside.

He nodded, his hand resting at his sides again now, “We’ll call it even.” His head remained focused on you, lingering on you and then he reached into a pouch and held out his free hand, “Here.”

You let him drop the objects in your hand, a small stack of credits.

“It’s not much, I know, but it’ll be enough to get you some food and supplies you need. You don’t need to worry about a place to stay, Cara will show you but… You can get what you want and need.” He withdrew his hand slowly, almost reluctantly.

You swallowed, closing your hand around the credits and you slipped them into the pocket inside your cloak. “Thank you..”

The Mandalorian merely nodded again, leaning back against the threshold of the ramp, his thumb absently rubbing circles on Grogu’s belly.

It seemed that there was nothing else to draw this goodbye out, so you took a breath, straightening your cloak. “Well… I guess I’ll say goodbye then.” You looked up at him, then stuck out your hand for his, realising only a few seconds later how dumb that was.

Before you could pull your hand back, he reached out and clasped your hand in his own, wrapping his fingers around your distinctly smaller hand. “Goodbye… princess.” You heard the smirk in his voice, and you couldn’t help the chuckle and the eye roll again, not failing to notice the way his hand tightened involuntarily and then withdrew.

You looked at Grogu in his other arm, who was still avoiding looking at the pair of you, wriggling in his father’s arms. You bent down to draw your face to his level and you stroked his ears, “I’ll miss you, little guy. Make sure to keep your dad on his toes, okay? You gotta make up for both of us now.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling his little hand pat your cheek with a mournful noise. Tears burned the back of your eyes, so you leant back, instead picking up Duru so she could say goodbye.

Grogu cooed sadly again, stroking Duru’s cheek, looking up at her with his glossy eyes.

You let Duru but her head against him, chitter a goodbye and then you stepped back, allowing her to climb up your shoulders as you looked up at Mando.

You just watched him for a moment, his armour reflecting the light on one side and then, with a soft inhale of courage, you turned and walked down the ramp, Duru padding at your feet.

You had only just cleared the ramp, stepping onto the hard, compacted ground when Mando called out, “Wait.”

You turned quickly, hope blooming in your heart, in your expression though you tried to stop it.

He had made a step onto the ramp, body poised like it was trying to run to you but he was holding back. He hesitated, almost as if he were torn with what to say – or what not to say, but all that came out was, “Ret'urcye mhi.”

You couldn’t help the shiver that licked down your spine, the way his voice turned into dripping honey when he spoke Mando’a. “What does that mean..?” You prayed he couldn’t hear the slight hoarseness to your tone.

He tilted his head down to look at Grogu, then lifted it back up to you, “It means goodbye…. And maybe we’ll meet again..”

Your heart swelled a little, a flush of pain going through it but you smiled softer, your expression melting and you inclined your head slightly, “I would like that.. very much…”

There were a million other things that threatened to roll off your tongue, pour from you but before they could, you turned around, walking toward the town and feeling his eyes on you the entire time, burning into the back of your head like a fiery brand.

You were about 4 metres away when you heard Grogu start crying, when your own tears broke through and spilled down your cheeks. You kept walking, even when your vision began to blur and go fuzzy.

So you didn’t see the way Mando hugged Grogu closer, whispered, “I know, kid, I don’t want her to go either.”

You’d be okay. It would be fine.

So you and the Mandalorian were parting. It was no big deal. You had helped each other; you had returned each other’s debts. You owed each other nothing.

The sound of engines whirring filtered into your ears, and you waited until you heard the Crest lift from the ground before turning round.

You paused, wiping your cheeks as the ship that had become a haven of sorts lifted into the sky. It hovered for a second, as if hesitating and then shot up higher, taking with it the two people that you had come to mean more to you than you realised. It felt like the Razor Crest had taken your heart with it.

How comes you hadn’t realised before how much they meant?

Too late now.

You remained watching the sky, long after the ship had vanished into the atmosphere.

With a shuddering breath, you wiped your cheeks. You kissed Duru’s tail, and then returned to walking toward the town.

You’d be okay… right?

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#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin blurb #grogu #the force #star wars #rogue

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Miscellaneous Batfam headcanons

Dick

He’s really the only person in the family who can get away with getting out of hostage situations because of his job as a police officer

… but he doesn’t

Yes he uses this as an excuse to hug his family

No he doesn’t feel bad about it

He’s a good actor, he has to be with his job, so if there’s other civilians around or the tied up henchmen are still conscious… well, what kind of asshole wouldn’t hug a sobbing civilian?

Clings to whichever unfortunate sibling is closest when he’s let go

Just… no shame whatsoever

Yeah, the family is more than a little hesitant to help him

Unfortunately for them Dick is pretty much the entirety of the family’s emotional support system

So, eventually, someone caves and goes to rescue him

(Also, one time they didn’t, and he was insufferable for months, and they don’t want a repeat of that)

Babs

Babs knows EVERYTHING

This makes getting around her… difficult

One time she decided to make everyone get over their unhealthy habits

She was mostly just concerned about everyone’s habit of substituting sleep with coffee

They'd done everything to keep Babs from finding out

Checked everywhere for bugs, made sure she wasn’t home, bought new phones, EVERYTHING

And yet when they snuck to the kitchen for food…

The phone started ringing

Cue screaming

They only got back their unhealthy habits by begging… and considering they're the bats…

Well, let’s just say it took a while

Jason

He regularly kidnaps his siblings

It’s a love language, okay?

He might not be good at emotions like Dick is

But he WILL break into everyone’s safehouses, grab them by the back of their shirts, and drag them out for joyrides and ice cream

And that’s just as important, really

The bats are terrible with dealing with emotions and he is perfectly happy to help them avoid their problems

His services also extend to stealing them away from Dick when he’s attempting to get them to open up before they're ready

One text and he’s there

There’s two older siblings, one of them has to be bad, it’s called balance

Tim

The only time he sleeps is when Bruce is attempting to lecture him

Of course, he didn’t start out that way

He’s Tim Drake, after all, he has a duty to be perfect at everything he does

But… there’s only so many times you can listen to the ‘Don’t do reckless stuff’ speech before you can recite it from memory

At this time, lecture time has been changed into nap time

Bruce has started to use this to his advantage

When he notices that Tim hasn’t slept in days he starts lecturing him

One time he had a dream where he was getting the lecture and he had to wake up

Bruce had to scramble to start lecturing again

Tim figured out what was going on after that

But the other option is to listen to the lecture all the way through so he accepts that he has to sleep

Steph

I see your “Jason Todd/Damian Wayne are the embodiment of the Cain Instinct(™)” posts and raise you Stephanie-fucking-Brown

The Wayne Love Language is almost murdering each other and it really shows

Steph walks into a room and it is On Sight

Who punches first? Who knows

(It’s usually Steph)

It’s a smack or be smacked world and Steph is just living in it

No one is safe

At least they get a lot of sparring practice

Cass

You would think that having Cass around as a lie detector would be a good idea

And, on paper, you’d be right

She can tell when everyone is lying before they even open their mouths

But…

She’s a little bit more petty than people give her credit for

She Remembers Everything

She ranks siblings in her head based on who has the most indiscretions

Whoever is at the top of the list when something bad happens is the one she will point out as the culprit

And if nothing bad happens? Don’t worry about that, she’ll make something happen

Damian

He definitely gets teased the most because he just happens to be really young

(Doesn’t help that he’s so tiny)

But the moment someone has the audacity to make a joke about him or agree with one of his siblings?

Let’s just say the bats reconsider their No Killing Rule

Damian mentions someone at school being a little snot? Tim and Jason aren’t above throwing hands with children

A teacher gives an unfair grade to him on an assignment? Hope they weren’t expecting to get saved in the next Rogue attack

And god forbid someone call Damian a slur in front of his siblings

He's the baby of the family. What else is there to say?

Duke

He used to be annoyed that he got the reputation as the person in the family with common sense

He’s done so much stupid and dangerous stuff but nooo he’s the sane one

(Granted, he kind of is. It’s not a high bar to meet. Still, he’d like some recognition that he is also completely batshit insane.)

But now…

He realizes there are benefits

Like how he can prank his siblings and no one will ever think he did it

And when no one fesses up because they didn’t do anything? Prank wars ensue

And Duke? Duke gets by unscathed because everyone agrees he wouldn’t be stupid enough to do any of the pranks

Bruce

He has an adoption problem, we all know this

The man practically has adoption papers in his utility belt at this point

The moment a new kid appears in Gotham the batkids all start a betting pool on how long it’ll take him to adopt this one

Most of the time the kids don’t even realize they’re being adopted until it’s too late

“B caught me crying on a rooftop and he disappeared and I was like ‘wow, rude’ but then he came back with some car keys and it may not have fixed my trauma but damn did it feel better to cry in a sports car than on a random gargoyle”

“B gave me an allowance? I was going to say something but this is rent for three months so I guess I’m a bat now?”

Does he even know which kids are his and which aren’t?

(No. He treats every child that frequents his house the exact same because he can’t remember which ones are his and which ones aren’t.)

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 3 years

Text

Of Blushes and Butterflies

Pairing: Reggie Peters x Luke Patterson

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: None?

A/N: Happy holidays @penguin-writes-books! I’m your secret santa for the @jatpdaily Secret Santa event! I present you with a Ruke (with slight background willex) alive!au featuring Smart Reggie and a little bit of background Proud Dad Ray Molina. I really hope you like it!! <3

___

Luke knew he shouldn’t have left all his homework for the day after the band’s Orpheum showcase. His whole body felt ablaze with energy but none of it could be channeled towards his physics. Fortunately, he knew a certain green-eyed, dark-haired boy who was great at physics and would certainly help him out. So, he pulled out his phone and texted Reggie.

At the last second, Luke pulled his thumb away from the screen before pressing send on the message. Instead navigating to the call button. He faltered only briefly before pressing it, his breath catching in his throat as he waited to hear the boy’s soft and smooth voice.

“Hey Luke, what’s up?” Reggie asked cheerfully, picking up the phone after the first ring.

“Hey, Reg,” Luke responded, trying to fight back the heat in his cheeks just from hearing his friend’s voice.

He wasn’t entirely sure when the bassist had started making him feel so flustered all the time, normally Luke was cool, calm, and collected and Reggie was one of his oldest friends. Now suddenly he was finding himself at a loss for words in his presence, tongue tied and tripping over himself for the boy’s approval.

He blamed it on the chemistry incident. He never should’ve taken the guy’s bait while they waited for Julie to arrive for practice that day. They all knew that there was nothing but friendship between Luke and Julie and yet when Reggie and Alex had taunted him about their on-stage chemistry, Luke just had to prove them wrong. That’s how he had ended up staring deep into one of his oldest friend’s eyes, wondering how he’d never noticed the little flecks of gold and brown in them or all the tiny freckles dotting his nose and his cheeks.

“I, uh, might’ve put off my physics homework and need some help,” he answered sheepishly and he hear Reggie chuckle quietly on the other end, likely unsurprised. “D’you think you could come over?”

“I’ll be there in a few,’ Reggie responded before hanging up.

Luke flopped back onto his bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling dopily at the thought of the green-eyed boy on his way to him. Boy was he whipped.

___

Reggie was pretty sure Luke was going to be the death of him, but what a way to go.

He had spent his Sunday afternoon after their spectacular showcase at the Orpheum pressed side-by-side with the brunet, their backs pressed against Luke’s headboard while Reggie played physics tutor.

He didn’t mind it. He knew everyone perceived him as the “dumb” one of the group and he understood why. He was usually the last one to catch on to social cues and he wasn’t the most observant of the group. However, Reggie was great at school and it was something he was really proud of. Science and math especially came really easy to him, enough so that he was on the advanced track for both at their high school. Ray had even started hanging his test grades up on the fridge with Carlos and Julie’s, the family practically adopting him when they learned about his poor home life. So no, he didn’t mind playing tutor to his friends. He actually really liked it, especially when it meant an afternoon spent pressed against a certain floppy-haired guitarist who only wore cutoffs.

He blamed Luke and his stupid, confident, mic-sharing chemistry for the butterflies that now swarmed in his stomach every time he saw the boy, though he wouldn’t trade that moment for the world. Their lips so close it took Reggie’s break away, and then the guy had the audacity to kiss his fingers and press them to Reggie’s lips with that cocky smirk as if Reggie wasn’t already aware he was bi.

It was with thoughts of how Luke’s actual lips might feel pressed against his own or how it might feel to thread his fingers through Luke’s hair that Reggie entered their Monday afternoon practice with running through his mind.

Luke had traded the t-shirt he’d worn to school for one of his signature cut-offs (it was a shame the school dress code prohibited sleeveless shirts but it was probably better for Reggie’s grades this way) and his flexing biceps were on full display as he tuned his guitar. Reggie gulped before pressing forward into the studio, picking up his bass and fiddling with the tuning pegs as well, trying to keep his gaze away from his best friend’s arms. Fortunately, practice went off without a hitch, Reggie to focused on the music to be ogling Luke. It wasn’t until after practice that his brain decided to betray him.

“So, are we hanging out for a bit?” Luke asked flopping down on the couch after they’d put away all their instruments.

“Flynn is coming over in a bit so you guys are welcome to stay,” Julie shrugged, taking a seat in one of the arm chairs while Alex sat across from her.

“Is it alright if I invite Willie?” He asked, already pulling out his phone to send a text to his boyfriend.

“Go ahead,” Julie responded with a knowing smirk as Alex grinned down at his phone.

“So what’re we gonna do?” Luke asked excitedly and Reggie raised his brow at the bot.

“You have a physics lab due,” Reggie said, eyes flicking between Luke and his backpack.

“Not until Wednesday!” Luke protested and Reggie tilted his head as if to say ‘come on, man.’

“You should start working on it now, babe,” Reggie said, staring pointedly at Luke, only realizing too late what he’d let slip out.

“Did you just call me ‘babe’?” Luke asked turning to stare wide-eyed at him, both boys trying desperately to fight off the color rising to their cheeks.

“I, uh, I was just trying it out,” Reggie stammered, trying to hide the slip-up.

“I like it,” Luke smiled sheepishly and Reggie thought for sure that the butterflies in his stomach would burst out of him with how frantically they were fluttering.

“O-okay,” he responded, plopping down on the other side of the couch and burying his face in his notes to try to hide his red cheeks.

Despite sitting on the opposite side of the couch, somewhere along the line Reggie had migrated over to Luke, as if being pulled by a magnet, until they were pressed side-by-side once again. At some point Willie and Flynn arrived, the latter arriving first and forcing Alex and Willie to share the remaining armchair (though they didn’t seem to mind), but Reggie couldn’t have said when, too focused on trying to focus on his AP physics assignment and not the smell of Luke’s hair.

___

Luke was amazed that he’d been able to get any of his physics homework done with his thigh pressed right up against Reggie’s and their shoulders constantly bumping as they both scribbled down answers. He was pretty sure his mind had turned to goo, especially with how Reggie would stop working to peer at Luke’s paper when the boy stalled, unable to come up with the proper equation or solution, and would lean somehow closer to help him work it out. He was starting to wonder if he had died and was now being tortured in hell.

Reggie had just leaned forward again, giving Luke a whiff of his cologne? Body wash? Deodorant? He wasn’t sure what it was but it smelled amazing and he was trying to subtly bask in it while also listening to Reggie explaining something to him when Flynn’s phone rang.

She gasped loudly, slipping into her manager voice when she demanded, “Everyone stop what you’re doing right now.”

Luke froze, pencil slipping out of his hand and clattering onto the floor as Flynn took the call. Everybody in the room seemed afraid to even breathe as Flynn stood from her chair, beginning to pace in front of the band setup. Luke was trying to listen intently, hoping to glean any amount of information about the call from Flynn’s side of the conversation, but at some point Reggie had gripped Luke’s hand in his own and the contact was just about all he could focus on. Reggie was holding his hand.

When Flynn finally ended the call the rest of the group stood up to meet her with baited breath as she walked back towards the furniture. Even when they stood Reggie still kept ahold of Luke, their entwined hands now dangling between them.

“What was that about?” Julie finally broke the silence, giving her best friend a hopeful look.

“That was Andi Parker from Destiny Management and she wants to produce your first album!” Flynn announced and the studio erupted into surprised shouts.

The band of high school seniors had been steadily growing in popularity since it’s conception a few years back and they’d be lying if they hadn’t been hoping for this outcome after their Orpheum showcase.

“But wait, there’s more!” Flynn exclaimed. She paused momentarily, letting them anticipate her next words in silence before yelling, “Julie and the Phantoms are going on tour!”

If their reaction to the record deal was an eruption, this was an explosion of shouts and cheers as they celebrated. Luke was partially aware of Julie and Flynn embracing and Alex literally jumping into Willie’s arms but he wasn’t paying them much attention, his eyes flicking between Reggie and the boy’s hand still firmly intertwined with his. Even in the excitement of the moment neither had even thought about letting go. Luke was suddenly filled with a surge of emotion and before he knew what he was doing he had grasped Reggie’s face in his hands, pressing their lips together firmly.

It took a moment for Reggie’s brain to stop short-circuiting and remember to kiss back but when he did he did it with fervor, hoping to make up for the lost time. He brought his hand (the one that was not still firmly grasped in Luke’s) up to tangle itself in the brunet’s hair just as he had daydreamed about earlier. No. It was better than he had ever daydreamed. Nothing could compare to kissing Luke Patterson.

They only broke away when their friends erupted into cheers and wolf whistles, the two boy immediately reminded of the fact that they weren’t alone.

“Finally!” Flynn called as they pulled apart, faces flushed red. Luke started to pull his hand away but Reggie only gripped it tighter, silently assuring him that it was okay.

“Yeah, uh, I guess it has been a long time coming, huh Reg?” Luke said sheepishly, glancing shyly up at the boy.

Between the kiss, the hand-holding, and the hopeful look in Luke’s eyes, Reggie found himself at a complete loss for words, only able to nod feverishly in response. Thankfully it seemed to be enough for Luke, who grinned before asking,

“Be my boyfriend?”

Though it seemed an impossible feat, Reggie managed to croak out a “Yeah” before they were kissing again, their friends whooping and hollering in the background once more.

An album, a tour, and Luke and Reggie finally getting together. It was shaping up to be a pretty spectacular Monday.

#jatpdailysecretsanta2020 #ruke #reggie peters #luke patterson #ruke fic #jatp fic #jatp #julie and the phantoms #alive!luke patterson #alive!reggie peters

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nobodyfamousposts · 4 years

Text

Welcome the Demon School, Marinette!

Because I’m bored and you’re here. Presenting a Miraculous take on Iruma-kun.

_____________________

It was shaping up to be the worst day of Marinette's life.

She woke up late. Again.

This only happened because her alarm didn’t go off. Which was because said alarm was in her phone, and the battery had died. And she had no time to charge it.

The small lizard that she had been taking care of the past couple weeks had disappeared that morning with no sign of where it had gone. She was worried her parents may have found it or that it could have gotten lost somewhere.

She got to school just on time, only to be tripped and have her belongings scattered across the floor (much to the snickers and commentary of certain observers who of course did nothing to help), forcing her to take time to collect them all and resulting in her actually being late to class.

Lila was regaling the class with some new and most likely completely made up story as everyone seemed to gather around her and stare at her in wonder like she had hung the stars (and given their gullibility, Marinette couldn't put it past them to not fall for that if Lila HAD claimed it). Marinette quietly shuffled past them and slipped into her seat in the back, feeling the weight of their cruel glares and mocking smirks. All in all, an indicator that Lila's takeover of the class and even the school was still in effect. The only thing that saved her from any biting or passive aggressive comment was the teacher starting the lesson.

Except then she learned that her homework had been one of the things to fall out of her bag, but one of the items she had failed to recollect afterwards. The fact that Lila presented a project that just "happened" to look exactly like hers and even had the name smudged out and replaced with her own clearly meant nothing as far as the teacher was concerned.

This resulted in a failing grade for Marinette, and any attempt that she made to argue were quickly shot down as Lila pretended to cry at the "horrible accusation" and the teacher proceeded to lecture Marinette in front of the class for trying to steal credit for another student's work. Marinette's evidence (which included pictures and video of herself making the project at multiple stages of the process, pointing out the smudged name, or her own scraped knees from when she fell earlier and the project went missing from her bag) meant nothing and was disregarded as the teacher forced Marinette to apologize for something she hadn't done before sending her off to the principal's office.

Which resulted in her being suspended for "continued bullying" and sent home to her no doubt ready to be disappointed parents, who seemed all too willing to believe the worst in their daughter based off a liar they barely knew. Not that Marinette was bitter about that or anything. (Lie. She totally was.)

She trudged home in dismay. And as she made the walk of shame from her school to her home, much to the snickers and cruel comments of her former friends, the upturned noses of her teachers who once believed in her, and Lila's own smirk at yet again getting another win over the poor girl, Marinette could only ask herself:

"Can my life get any worse?"

Which clearly turned out to be the exact wrong thing to say, because yes, in fact, it could.

As Marinette soon discovered when she was kidnapped by a demon.

"Wait—WHAT?!"

Introducing one Jagged Stone. A Demon Lord of the Demon Realm. Well known for his wild appearance and unusual style, even among demons. He was popular. He was eccentric.

And he was apparently Marinette’s new guardian as of today.

“Wait, wait! I’m sorry—WHAT?!”

“Just call me Dad. Or Uncle Jagged! Oo, I like the sound of that. Uncle Jagged! Yeah, call me that!” He told her, not really seeming concerned with why she would have reservations about this entire thing, how sudden it was, or the fact that she was a human who was not only being faced with the prospect that demons exist, but that one had officially claimed her as a ward.

“No wait, can we back up to the part where I’m adopted now?” Marinette questioned, confused and frustrated and just shy of freaking out.

“I thought that was rather clear.” Jagged stated, grinning widely and outright spinning with glee. “I’ve always wanted a kid! And now I have one! Thank you, Fang!” He turned to the crocodile-looking creature hovering nearby.

“Of course.” It replied—and okay, the thing could talk.

Jagged stared at it teary-eyed before hugging it—him? “You’re the best familiar, Fang. Finding me the perfect child to spoil and eventually become my heir.”

O…kay…

“But…I have parents?” She tried to interject weakly, still confused about all of this.

“Oh, we’ve taken care of that.” Jagged explained vaguely, waving it off.

Marinette’s eye twitched. “Meaning…?”

Please don’t say they’re dead. Please don’t say they’re dead. They may not have trusted her and she may be unhappy that they believed Lila over her, but she didn’t want them hurt. His other demonic assistant, apparently named Penny, answered. “You are now officially the ward of Jagged Stone.”

“Isn’t it great?” Jagged grinned.

Well, that was…not completely horrible, at least.

Still, it begged a question.

“I’m a ward of a demon? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?”

“Well, if you remember…” Fang started.

Marinette sighed pitifully as she stared out a window.

“Oh, how my life is horrible and filled with pain and sadness! If only there was a magical demon familiar to rescue me and take me somewhere rock and roll.”

With a poof, a much bigger and scarier looking Fang appeared and grinned down at her.

“How fortunate for you, for I happen to be a magical demon familiar!”

“Le gasp!” Marinette exclaimed in shock.

“And as I am very grateful to you for taking care of me, I shall happily take you with me to a better place and destroy your enemies. Not necessarily in that order.”

Marinette clapped gleefully.

“Yay! Do that! Blow up that evil institute of learning and fry everyone inside! And then eat my parents because they're jerks who tried to smack you with a broom and flush you down a sewer drain.”

Fang smirked.

“Certainly!”

And thus Fang flew off to destroy the school and devour everyone inside—

“Okay, I’m pretty sure that’s not how it happened.” Marinette exclaimed dryly, interrupting the amusing and clearly wish-fulfilling fantasy.

“Well, it could.” Fang replied. “If you want me to, I can.”

“NO THANK YOU.” She exclaimed with a shriek before getting her emotions under control. “Just…why? Why me?”

The demonic crocodile-like familiar floated in a circle around her. “Well, it made sense. Jagged wished for a child to become his heir. You wished for an escape from your life. And you were quite helpful to me when I had been injured, proving yourself to be a human of kindness and honor. If anyone was to be worthy of being taken in as my master’s fledgling, you seemed most deserving.”

Well, that made her blush.

Wait…

“The lizard that I’d been caring for? That was you?”

Fang smiled and nodded.

Jagged rested a hand on the creature’s head and smiled at Marinette. “I have to thank you for looking out for my little Fangy. Who knows what could have happened to him all alone in the human world. Isn’t that right?” He spoke to Fang directly in a rather baby-ish voice as he nuzzled the creature.

Fang nuzzled Jagged back. And…okay, this was kind of cute—crazy situation aside.

“I’m…honored.” Because she was, strangely enough. Craziness and kidnapping aside. “But I already have parents. And a life.”

“Not a good one.” Fang growled out in irritation.

Jagged nodded solemnly. “Right. Fang told me all about it. Your school sucks. Your classmates suck. Your parents…” Seeing her unhappy expression, he coughed. “Well, they’re taking a liar’s word over yours. All in all, it’s been incredibly un-rock and roll. You definitely deserve better.”

“Well…” She trailed off because yeah, they weren’t wrong.

The demon smiled. “Which is why we’ve erased their memories.”

“WHAT?”

“This way, no one will question your disappearance!”

“WHAT?!”

“So this way you can stay here without having to worry about anyone trying to find you! Isn’t it great?”

…

“WHAT?!”

______________

Things that would follow may include but are in no way limited to:

Demon Miracuclass. (Meaning Alya, Nino, all of them are demons in the demon world Marinette will be befriending and not Marinette’s former human friends whom shall remain nameless extras).

Otaku Adrien (aka: a secret human fanboy because of course he would be).

Flower demon Rose.

Mermaid Juleka.

Siren Luka.

Kwamis as teachers.

Plagg as Fluff Fluff. And abusing it to get out of work. (Tikki: DAMMIT PLAGG!)

Gabriel still being horrible.

Lila exiting the story after chapter 1.

And more!

#ml plot bunny #ml fic #marinette dupain cheng #demon class #jagged stone #fang #penny rolling #demon school

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

If you’re taking more prompts, would you write What Happens at Cloud Recesses for the “JGY kills NHS and NMJ goes on a warpath” au? And perhaps more importantly, Nie brothers reunion ft. fierce corpse!Nie Huaisang? I need to know that it turns out okayish...

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 (Blackened!NMJ aka Digging Graves)

Home wasn’t quite the same home anymore.

Oh, the familiar contours were unchanged: the thick stone walls, the warmth from the tapestries, the intricate decorations on the few pieces of furniture – the Unclean Realm was beautiful and familiar as ever, and seeing it made Nie Huaisang’s non-functioning heart feel warm.

But the people –

The first shichen of Nie Huaisang’s triumphant return home were spent settling Lan Xichen into his usual guest quarters – he asked about a cell and was told they were all occupied with Nie Huaisang’s spare fans, which very nearly made him look amused for half a moment before he remembered how terrible everything was – and putting Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian into another set of guest quarters so that they could work out their little hand-holding-and-abrupt-realization-of-feelings dilemma in private.

The next three were spent dealing with the fact that Nie Huaisang’s entire Sect wanted to talk to him.

Or even just look at him, with expressions of such deep and intense relief – as though staring at a priceless spiritual treasure that could save their lives – that Nie Huaisang felt deeply uncomfortable. Yet the ones who stared at him were still better than the ones who seemed to need to find a reason to touch him, as if they could rub good luck off of him.

It was bizarre.

He was a fierce corpse. The sabers’ instinctive attempts to obliterate him felt much more natural.

It took him until late in the evening to finally escape the crowd.

Luckily, sleep was now apparently optional - or possibly not an option at all, he wasn’t sure, he hadn’t really quizzed Wei Wuxian about the exact details of fierce corpse-hood yet and anyway when he did he intended to bring up a list of complaints and suggested improvements he’d started working on in the back of his mind – so he still had energy to do what he’d wanted to do all along.

Talk to Nie Mingjue.

Nie Huaisang’s da-ge had been by his side every second until they reached the Unclean Realm, eventually retreating to go rest at Nie Huaisang’s urging and eventual ordering, but he hadn’t – he hadn’t said anything. He’d had one of Nie Huaisang’s fans on him, he’d brought out the sabers for him, destroyed the Jin sect for him, he’d done so much –

But he hadn’t said anything.

Nie Huaisang went to find him.

It took a while, since Nie Mingjue had apparently taken refuge in Nie Huaisang’s bedroom instead of his own and Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have guessed that in a thousand years – though perhaps he should have.

“Da-ge?” he said hesitantly, walking up to where Nie Mingjue was sitting on the bed, vacantly staring at one of the walls without seeing a single one of the paintings Nie Huaisang had put there.

Nie Huaisang still wasn’t used to the way his brother’s face seemed vacant of emotion. His brother had always been full of life, always angry or glad or something – even if he tried to control himself he couldn’t, his eyes always giving him away, and even those who didn’t know him, the ones who mistakenly thought he was nothing but angry, which couldn’t be further from the truth, even they didn’t think he was…

Like this.

“Da-ge?”

Nie Mingjue seemed to hear him at last, turning to look at him.

“Huaisang,” he said, and there was the slightest tremor in his voice: fear and pain and loss, and so much of it that it was overwhelming him.

Nie Huaisang sat next to him, leaning over until their shoulders were touching.

He felt helpless.

He’d known his brother loved him, of course. They weren’t like the Jiang sect, where one side tried to show their affection by lecturing and the other side tried to show it through acts of sacrifice and neither side understood the other; they weren’t like the Jin sect, all smiles hidden behind daggers and not one of them actually liking any of the others; they weren’t even like the Lan sect, two brothers so closely attuned that they might almost have been twins born a few years apart, rarely butting heads over anything.

No: Nie Mingjue chased and Nie Huaisang fled; Nie Huaisang complained and Nie Mingjue scolded; Nie Huaisang teased and Nie Mingjue pretended he didn’t laugh. Through it all, his brother always tried to do right by him, sometimes spoiling him and sometimes being too strict with him – a child raising another child, fumbling through it clumsily but earnestly, determined to do the job because to give Nie Huaisang to anyone else to raise would have been to give him up entirely.

Because the Nie sect only believed in adoption when it could be done whole-heartedly. Giving Nie Huaisang to be the son of some cousin or another would have made someone else the heir, and that had always been unacceptable to Nie Mingjue. Not once, no matter how useless Nie Huaisang proved himself to be, had Nie Mingjue ever wavered in his belief that Nie Huaisang deserved everything good in the world.

No matter what things were said about them – that they were only half-brothers, that it was odd that Nie Mingjue kept him by his side, that it was such a shame Nie Huaisang was such a waste of time – it had never mattered one bit.

Yes, Nie Huaisang had always known his brother loved him.

He’d lived a happy life, for the most part, felt safe and content knowing that no matter what happened, he had his brother to hold up the world for him. And now his brother needed him, not the other way around, and he didn’t know what to do.

Helpless to help, again.

Nie Huaisang had only just turned seven when their father had died, but he remembered more of it than he would like. The person Nie Huaisang had known as his father had been lost forever the moment his saber shattered, Wen Ruohan’s poisonous touch and smug smile a looming shadow behind it, but in fact it had been another six months before he’d actually passed away. Six terrible months of madness and pain, which to Nie Huaisang were mostly just faint snatches of angry voices and bruises littering his arms because his father no longer had the ability to remember that he was just a child that couldn’t fight back – Nie Mingjue had kept him as far away from it all as he possibly could, taken the brunt of it in a way Nie Huaisang hadn’t really understood as a child, but there was no escaping it.

Nie Huaisang remembered it being a relief when word had gone out that the Sect Leader had died: he’d been too young to properly understand filial piety back then, to understand that there would be three years of mourning and a lifetime seeking revenge awaiting them; all he’d thought was that he could finally stop hiding in his room all the time, keeping his voice down to try to avoid anyone noticing that he existed – Nie Mingjue had locked and barricaded the door so no one (one person in particular) could get in while in a frenzied rage, and the only way in and out being the high window that his brother smuggled him through for a few short outings in the middle of the night when it was a little more safe.

He’d made his way out of his room on his own, somehow, and run to find his brother, foolishly thinking of sharing the good news that the monster was gone.

Instead, he’d found his brother kneeling on the floor in one of the inside rooms that had once been their father’s. There had been blood everywhere, Nie Mingjue’s precious saber discarded on the floor as if it were nothing but trash, and his brother’s arms had been wrapped around himself as if he’d been cold, his whole body shaking uncontrollably as if he were suffering from some sort of fit.

Nie Huaisang had run up to him and asked him if he was all right, if something had happened, if it was going to be okay, and the only thing his brother said in response, repeating it over and over again as if it were the only words he knew, was I don’t know…

Nie Huaisang hadn’t been able to do anything back then – and now he was fully grown, having lived and even died, and he was just as helpless to help his brother’s pain as he’d been when he was a child.

He’d never felt more useless than he did now.

“Da-ge…”

His brother suddenly moved, pulling Nie Huaisang into his arms as if he were a little child again. “Huaisang,” his brother said, and his voice was truly shaking now. “Huaisang, forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” Nie Huaisang asked, astonished, even as his arms came up around his brother, letting him bury his face into his shoulder as he shuddered and wept as if he were the child. “For what?”

“I lost you,” his brother whispered. “I lost you, I failed you, you were gone –”

“You didn’t lose me, you didn’t fail me, you didn’t! I’m here now, aren’t I? You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t know what would happen. You had no way to know that he would violate his oath to you – that he’d fix his attention on me. You even avenged me – okay, perhaps you overdid it a little bit –”

It was more than a little bit.

Nie Huaisang’s brother had achieved in a single murderous night what Wen Ruohan had struggled for years to accomplish and still failed: with the Wens gone, the Jins gone, the Jiang and Lan sects still rebuilding, there was only one sect with any power or influence left, and now everyone knew it.

As he’d learned from the countless hours he’d spent with his sect, the world had already started changing even while they’d all been preoccupied with their own personal dramas: Nie sect commanders were already starting to be asked questions as if they were everyone’s commanders; their forces had been forcefully swollen by any number of overly-eager volunteers, who were currently being sent out to sweep the land for evil if for no other reason than to keep them too busy to ask the aforementioned questions; and one of the inner sect disciples in charge of correspondence had casually mentioned to Nie Huaisang the truly monstrous pile of applications from small sects seeking to officially register as loyal subordinate sects under Qinghe Nie.

There was even, it seemed, a very stiff one from Jiang Cheng himself, asking for a formal acknowledgment of the new state of affairs –

If Nie Huaisang had known about everything, he might have been a little less eager to take Lan Xichen into custody. He didn’t actually think Lan Xichen was to blame for his sworn brother’s actions, but he did think it was a good idea to have a proper trial on the subject. Lan Xichen needed the cleanness of a trial, of judgment and punishment, to wash away the filth that his sworn brother had left him covered in – it was the ambiguity, the questions, that would be the true torment. Only once everything was acknowledged, the burning light of the truth shining on all the dark places, would he be able to accept that his only crime had been trusting the wrong person for all the right reasons.

Only then would he be able to move on.

Only then would Nie Mingjue be able to move on, from the role he had also played: Jin Guangyao had been his sworn brother as well, and he’d been the one to give permission for Nie Huaisang to go.

Only then would Nie Huaisang be able to forgive himself for having not figured it out in time to stop – all of this.

He’d been stupid. He’d known Jin Guangyao’s loyalties were with the Lanling Jin, that tensions were escalating – he’d even known, as his brother had learned the hard way, that Jin Guangyao was more ruthless than he appeared. And yet he’d liked Jin Guangyao’s indulgence, his little gifts, his sympathy, and that had been enough for him to ignore the rest; he hadn’t thought for one minute to be worried.

He’d never thought Jin Guangyao would kill him.

Just as he’d never thought Jin Guangyao would hurt Nie Mingjue in such a vile way, slowly driving him insane with insidious poison. Based on the little the Lan brothers had said on the way back, the song would have been forcing Nie Mingjue back, step by slow step, into a qi deviation, the ultimate fate of their family, and the mere thought of it put the taste of bile and ashes into Nie Huaisang’s mouth.

If he hadn’t been just that little bit too curious, his brother might have one day – might have ended up just like –

He didn’t want to think about it. As a child, he’d had nightmares about it for months, both during and after – panic attacks during the day, triggered by loud noises or sudden movements or not seeing his brother for too long, and terrors at night that kept him awake and trembling even as he took up space in his brother’s bed, keeping the exhausted newly appointed sect leader from getting any rest himself.

He’d spent hours staring at his brother’s face, afraid that if he blinked, his brother’s eyes would become bloodshot, his cheeks flushed, veins pulsing even as they shattered from the strain of ceaseless rage –

Jin Guangyao would have done that on purpose.

And Nie Huaisang had very nearly missed it – for what? A smile? Not having to train? Some pretty fans?

He would rather they had all been burned.

Yes, they needed a trial. They all did, to wash themselves clean.

Perhaps insisting on a trial was just Nie Huaisang finally living up to their family heritage. After all, their sect had always put justice first and foremost, justice and its close cousin revenge; it was only once justice was accomplished, the scales balanced, that they could move on to healing and purification, to building up again from a new and better foundation.

But putting aside what the trial would mean to them all personally, Nie Huaisang had to admit that he hadn’t thought about the impact of it, the wider implications. How did this all look to the rest of the world? The Lan sect’s leader, willing submitting himself to trial at their hands – acknowledging the Nie sect’s right to lay judgment on his head –

Even if they didn’t want to be in charge, they weren’t going to have much of a choice.

“…we’re going to have so much work to do,” Nie Huaisang said out loud, reaching the conclusion with a grimace. They had a responsibility, now. He knew his brother: his brother would never accept the right to rule without the duty of care, and that meant that they had to care about the whole world…

He thought he knew his brother, anyway –

No. No.

He still knew him.

This was still his da-ge, still Nie Mingjue – a little broken, a little damaged, all those shattered pieces put back together in a way that would never be the same again, but still his brother.

(It wasn’t like their father again. It wasn’t.)

His brother huffed, his own quiet version of a laugh; his breath was warm against Nie Huaisang’s neck, and Nie Huaisang knew that if he embraced his brother the same way, it wouldn’t be the same. “You would be most concerned about the prospect of paperwork, wouldn’t you?”

It wasn’t what Nie Huaisang was most concerned about, not by a long shot, but he’d put years of effort into being a shameless dandy that he wasn’t going to throw away, so he forced a laugh and said, “I mean, can you imagine? Our ancestors would roll over in their graves to think of a fierce corpse filling out orders on behalf of the sect –”

“I broke open the graves,” Nie Mingjue said, and Nie Huaisang stopped, because yes, he had, hadn’t he?

He’d desecrated the tombs of their ancestors, and all of it for Nie Huaisang.

“I don’t regret it,” Nie Mingjue said. “Let me be punished or cursed as an unfilial child or a disgrace to our name; I don’t care. It was worth it to give them what they deserved – that and more, for what they did to you. We all deserve to pay.”

He was going to have to be very cautious in the sort of things he said or did for a while, Nie Huaisang realized. Whether it was because of what had happened to him, or maybe the poisoned music had already pushed Nie Mingjue too far down that road to the dead end – yes, his brother was still his brother, still beloved, but there was a streak of bitter madness in him now, one that would have to be very carefully tended to if Nie Huaisang wanted to see his brother fully restored to health and sanity.

If he didn’t want to see more devastation.

If he didn’t want to see his brother turn Baxia onto himself, in the end.

“You avenged me,” Nie Huaisang finally said. “You avenged me, and you had Wei-xiong bring me back – you did everything you needed to do. You did it, da-ge. You can – you can rest now, okay? You did everything you needed to do, and now it’s my turn to handle things for a while.”

His brother laughed a little at the thought of Nie Huaisang handling – well, anything, and Nie Huaisang supposed he deserved that, but in the end he managed to coax his brother to finally get some sleep, lying down beside him on his own bed like they hadn’t since he’d grown out of childhood.

Nie Huaisang was pretty sure it was the first actual sleep his brother had had since he’d died.

He himself did not sleep.

He looked up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom, and for the first time in his life –

He began to plan.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #digging graves #warnings for memories of child abuse #tanoraqui

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browniefox · 3 years

Text

The Spectral Turnabout 2/?

Chapter 2! Last chapter was about Phoenix when he got introduced to the spectral world, this one is about Miles :D

oOo

Miles passed out in the elevator with a scream ringing through the air, one that will haunt his dreams, haunt his footsteps, haunt his every moment for the next fifteen years.

When he woke up, his world had been turned on its head.

When he’s a little older, Miles goes through the events over and over and over until the story makes sense, until he knows the events forwards and backwards. It goes like this:

Miles got into the elevator with his dad and Yanni Yogi. There was an earthquake. The elevator became stuck. The oxygen ran low. Yanni Yogi started attacking his dad. Miles threw the gun. A shot rang through the elevator, and the scream chased Miles in darkness as he passed out. And Miles goes crazy.

The days after The Event are a blur, are foggy, and they tell him it’s from the trauma mixed with the lack of oxygen. What Miles does know is that when he’s capable of forming memories again, he sees things that aren’t really there. Creatures, monsters that lurk in the corners, brightly colored mist coming off of them. An energy that Miles could see coming off of himself in muted purple waves.

They said Yanni Yogi’s lawyer had him plead insanity. Brain damage due to the lack of oxygen. There was a precedent for it.

Miles was an orphan for six months before Manfred von Karma adopted him. Miles’ used those six months to perfect ignoring what he could see. He didn’t want to think about how he’d be treated, how people would look at him, if they knew something had snapped in his head from The Event. Even more so once he was under Von Karma’s roof. Imperfection was not tolerated. So Miles would be perfect. He was perfect.

He was a perfect child, who most certainly didn’t see things that weren’t there.

oOo

Pess was the first spirit to ever speak to Miles.

It’d been an entire year since the accident. It wasn’t always easy to act completely normal. When the figments of his imagination actually come into contact with him, he felt phantom pressure, and a time or two they’d run into him with enough force to bowl him completely over. No, that was wrong, they didn’t run him over. Miles tripped or something, and for some reason his brain had decided to place a make-believe monster as the reason.

Pess had slipped into Miles bedroom in the evening, straight through the walls. She had landed on the floor, curling up into a tight little ball in the corner. Miles hadn’t thought much of her at first, aside from allowing himself to openly track her movement. He was in the safety of his room, he’d allow himself to look.

This one imaginary monster was shaped like a very curly-furred greyhound, if greyhounds had tails longer than their bodies, three pairs of legs, and wings instead of ears. The back two pairs were bird feet instead of paws, and there was another set of wings tightly closed onto the monster’s back.The colored mist coming off of her matched Miles’ own to a ‘T’, but something looked off about it.

Miles shot a look to his door, making sure it was still closed, and then for extra good measure he locked it and pulled the curtains shut over the window. Then, he got a little closer to the creature that wasn’t real, staring. The mist usually came off of things like steam off of warm water, but for this creature it was also coming from spots that closely resembled would. She had gouges in her sides and bite marks on her legs, long scratches down her snout.

The hallucination opened one of her eyes and then flinched back at how close he was. Miles responded in kind, head whipping around to check the door once more. He felt like he’s standing at the precipice of something dangerous here, of showing so much acknowledgement to something that isn’t really there, but his curiosity still has a hold on him.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize a spectral lived here, I-I’ll, um, I’ll…” The thing got to her feet, all six of them, and shook her coat.

“Wait…!” Miles whispered, and then slapped a hand over his mouth, going bright red and shame filling him. This was too much, talking to her was a step too far. But then, she actually stopped, and turned her big and warm brown eyes on him. “Wh… what did you call me?”

“A spectral? You are one, right? In fact, we match.” She said. Miles couldn’t deny that.

“I don’t know what that is.” He admitted, sitting back. Why would a hallucination use a word he doesn’t know?

“It means you can see us.” She explained.

“‘Us’?”

“Spirits.”

Miles looked at the door again and raised a hand to bite one of his nails before yanking the hand down.

“Come on,” He said and crawled underneath his bed and the hallucination - the spirit? - followed after him, “Tell me more about spirits.”

The spirit introduced herself as Pess, and she explained how spirits weren’t ghosts, really, but more like the conglomerations of leftover energy from dead things. Spectrals were people who were still alive but could see them. There were very few of them, to the point that Miles was the first one Pess had ever met.

It seemed like far too convenient an explanation. Oh, yes, Miles wasn’t crazy, he was just special, like a character out of a book his teacher’s used to read out loud to the class before he switched schools.

“I don’t believe you.” Miles told her right to her face. “Ghosts don’t exist.”

“Oh.” Pess rested her head on her front paws, looking over at him sadly. “Well, why can’t they?”

“If they did, then…” Miles trailed off. He opened his mouth and closed it, unable to form the words. He didn’t like thinking about The Incident, and definitely not talking about it. But… but if spirits were real, if ghosts were real, then why did Yanni Yogi get proven innocent? Why would Misty Fey claim to have channeled his dad, and his dad to have said it was Yanni Yogi.

No, Miles needed to remember to focus on what was real, what was physical, what he had evidence for.

Pess seemed to understand anyway. The wings on her head closed up tight and her tail swept over to rest on Miles’ hand. It felt soft and warm. No, it was the heater kicking on somewhere, a gust of warm air, and the broken part of his mind had decided to make the hallucination align with it just so.

“I need to go to bed.” Miles said out loud. He did not say it to Pess, because Pess wasn’t real.

“Okay,” Pess asid, and while Miles crawled out from under the bed, she simply phased right through it to sit on his bed and then settled on top of the blanket. She didn’t so much as rumble the comforter, because of course she didn’t. “Uh, Spectral, I don’t want to bother you, but…?”

Miles knew he should set himself straight again. He’d been working on ignoring what wasn’t there for a year now, he should be better than this. And yet, Miles found himself sighing and looking at her.

“But?”

“Spirits can heal on their own, but they heal faster around a spectral with a color that matches their own. C-could…? Could I stay here? Until I’m better?” She begged. She had the puppy-dog eyes down pat.

Miles cast another look to the door, clenching his hands into fists until his fingernails were embedded into his palms.

“Okay. Yeah, okay. Just until you’re better.”

oOo

Pess didn’t leave after she was healed up.

Sometime between that night and the time wounds had closed up, Miles had become used to her presence. One would think that having a figment of his imagination that he did acknowledge at time would make things worse, and that was what Miles had feared at first, but he’d found he didn’t deny the comfort of cuddling close to her at night, and she never complained if he ever hugged her too tight when he had nightmares. She followed him everywhere, at first so she might heal up quicker, but Miles found himself enjoying her constant presence at his side.

It certainly made him feel a little less lonely at school. He hadn’t had much luck yet making friends. Manfred von Karma insisted that Miles didn’t need to think about things like that. Miles nodded to that in perfect agreement.

Pess was very soft, very nice, and very excitable. She always seemed able to pick up on when Miles was starting to get anxious and would come over and rub her face against his hand. He couldn’t say anything to her, or look at her, or purposefully try to touch her. At least, not out in public. He only allowed himself to indulge in that sort of thing when he was sure nobody else could see him, and even then he only ever talked to her in low and quiet whispers both he and pess could barely hear, let alone anybody who might try to listen in.

He asked her, once, if she’d ever wanted to leave. She must’ve done something before being here, being with him. She’d stopped chasing a smaller ‘spirit’ around his room and looked over him, cocking her head, a doggish grin on her face.

“Why would I leave? I have you now.”

He wondered if she’d been alone before she’d met him. He didn’t ask. He felt he knew the answer.

He tried to convince himself over the years that he was passed needing her there for him. She was nothing more than an imaginary friend. He got older, he shouldn’t need it her, he shouldn’t like having her there. A couple times he’d even managed to find somewhere far and secluded and yell at her to go away, to leave, to let him finally be closer to perfect.

Both times, Pess did leave, tail between her legs.

Both times, it hadn’t sat well with Miles and he’d gone out late at night searching the city and calling her name until he found her.

The older he got, the more he realized he didn’t ‘leak’ spectral energy constantly. It surged particularly when he had intense emotions. He seeked that out, stifling his emotions, burying them so he came off self-assured. He asked if there was a big reason for the energy, telling himself he was just curious of what his mind would come up with to explain it, and pess told him she wasn’t really sure. She knew spirits were made of it, and she’d heard rumors of spectrals being able to do something about that, but again, he was the first spectral she’d ever met.

The habit of her accompanying him to court came about naturally. Where he went, Pess went, and where did he need her more than during a case?

Miles found a balance of almost-nearly perfect that he told himself was Perfection.

It had to do.

#paranatural #pnat #ace attorney #miles edgeworth #pess #au #browniefox writes #the spectral turnabout

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sparrowwritings · 3 years

Text

Final Fantasy 14 Writing Challenge Day One: Exchange

Masterpost -- Day Two

The day had started out rather well. The usual overcast weather that covered Ishgard had prompted Lara and Roger to suggest a day inside Fortemps manor with warm drinks and stories. While there was plenty that he could have been doing elsewise, the two had coerced Alphinaud into joining them. He’d told himself it would be a brief interlude, but as the clock chimed the passing of morning into the noon he’d found himself enjoying this rare moment of leisure.

He’d finished regaling the other teens with a story about an incident occurring on his and Alisaie’s nameday when Roger had blinked and looked to Lara. “You know I never thought to ask...when is your nameday?”

She’d looked confused and told him. There had then been a stillness as Roger’s already large green eyes widened further.

“That’s my nameday too!” Before Alphinaud could interject that many people shared namedays, Roger further exclaimed, “And it passed just before we met! Why didn’t you tell me??”

“I didn’t even think about it…” Lara’s own dark blue eyes were also round with realization. “The echo shared a lot about us to each other, but it didn’t show everything...” She’d trailed off with an odd expression. Roger mirrored it.

Then, suddenly, the two had left their mugs on the drawing room table and stood. They moved quickly enough that anyone else could have thought that they had rehearsed it.

“I’ve got to go do something.” “I need to take care of something.”

Lara and Roger had said over each other as the two left as if being chased by dragons. Leaving Alphinaud behind and very confused.

Now here he was, braving the cold of Ishgard’s city to find out just what in the world was happening with the Warriors of Light. Someone had to, so it might as well be him.

It didn’t take long for Alphinaud to find someone who would be willing to talk to someone still considered an outsider (not even going into the results of the heretic trial). After all, Lord Haurchefant Greystone was considered something of an outcast himself. “Ah, young Alphinaud! Good to see you!” He called out with far enough enthusiasm to draw the attention of passersby. They turned away just as quickly, which was expected of the folk of the Pillars.

“Good to see you as well, Haurchefant,” Alphinaud gave a nod, though it was still odd to address the commander so informally. The widened smile on the man’s face indicated that he approved.

“Are you also on a quest to find a gift for Roger, or is it something else? Lara seemed in quite a hurry when she spoke with me.”

Well that answered the question that he didn’t even need to ask. “No, I was actually about to question you about where they’d both gone. We had been chatting when something came to mind in both Roger and Lara and they had rushed off. I suppose if Lara was looking for a gift for Roger, then he must be doing the same for her.”

Haurchefant barked a laugh, which drew temporary attention again. “You know, I think you’re right young Alphinaud! Those two do seem to be of one mind more often than not! Almost like twins if I didn’t know any better.”

Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, Alphinaud gave another nod. “Indeed. But back to the topic at hand; did you have a suggestion for her?”

“Alas I did not.” The commander sighed and folded his arms. “While I’ve been blessed to have assisted and been assisted by Lara and Roger, I’m afraid I’ve spent far less time with them individually. ‘Tis a shame, for their lives are most fascinating. Just hearing your story of how you came to be on my doorstep is almost nothing compared to the one I participated in. And mine had such complex twists and turns as it stood! Think of what they’ll accomplish next!”

Alphinaud suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

It didn’t take much for the man to sing the praises of the Warriors of Light. While this trait was invaluable for helping himself, Roger, Lara and Tataru to be invited to the Holy See, after a while such enthusiasm was a tad...tedious. Not that either of the Warriors of Light had ever indicated that they felt the same. In fact, they seemed to flourish under the attention of their practically-adopted older brother. Half a wonder that Lara had gone to him first for ideas.

Thankful for all of the lessons in diplomacy that he had been forced to learn, Alphinaud hid his annoyance behind a polite smile. “I’m certain the Warriors of Light will surprise us yet. Although at the moment I was wondering where Lara had gone off to after she spoke with you.”

Remembering himself, Haurchefant cleared his throat. It didn’t do much to hide the embarrassed flush on the elezen’s cheeks. “Right. I suggested she try talking to Tataru. I may also not know much about her, but she seems to be the industrious type. Perhaps try there?”

Industrious was one way of describing the lallafel, but the idea was quite sound. If anyone was around that could feasibly suggest gift ideas, it would be Tataru Taru. Alphinaud nodded and made to leave with the standard farewell when the commander offered, “Are you sure you don’t wish for me to join you?”

“I will be quite well, thank you.” Alphinaud answered quickly as he left.

------

“Sorry, you just missed’m! Both of them!”

“Drat,” Alphinaud said under his breath.

The Forgotten Knight was as busy as the tavern ever was. People were wandering in from the snow flurries that were steadily falling from the grey skies, looking for warm food and company. One could almost forget that Ishgard was cut off from the rest of Eorzea for how crowded the place felt. Thankfully the corner that he and Tataru were chatting in was relatively clear even as people came and went.

“Aw, you don’t have to be so worried about them. You know Lara and Roger can handle themselves!” The lalafell woman patted his hand, her small legs dangling from the elezen-sized stool she’d sat in.

“I’m not worried about them in that sense,” He protested. “Even separate, those two are far more capable than many groups of warriors I’ve encountered.”

Tataru opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it while biting her lip. He didn’t have to guess at what she had decided not to bring up.

“Yes, the Crystal Braves can be included in that. If I hadn’t been so foolish then they couldn’t have been--” A thick slice of bread inserted in his mouth cut off his sentence. Tataru huffed and clapped crumbs off of her hands while he took the piece out and coughed.

“No. We’re not going to do that right now. We’re talking about Roger and Lara, not your guilt. You are worried about your friends so I’m not going to hide what I know. But. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault and that you’re not being blamed for.” She levelled a violet glare at him. “So. If you want to know what they’re up to, you’re not going to go on about how you could’ve changed things with the Crystal Braves. Okay?”

Alphinaud was once again feeling left behind and confused, but in a different way than had happened earlier that day. He’d just wanted to know what the Warriors of Light had been doing. When had his own emotions gotten in the way of finding that out? It hadn’t even been at the forefront of his mind, and yet his guilt had been summoned unconsciously. He turned the hard slice of bread over in his hands as he mulled over the offer. After a beat, he sighed. “Very well, I agree.”

As if the sun had come out from the clouds (as rare as such an occurrence was in Ishgard), Tataru beamed and spoke as if she hadn’t just told off the boy. He chewed on the part of the bread that had already been in his mouth while she chattered on. “WELL, first Roger came to me asking if I knew what Lara liked to eat so I asked why and he said he was getting her a late nameday gift so of course I offered to help. I sent him on his way to the markets and talked to a few folk in the tavern about places to find rare herbs, so by the time Lara came in asking for gift ideas for Roger I already knew where to send her so that I could help with the cooking while she was away!” Tataru spread her arms wide, her fingers splaying out and shaking in a theatrical fashion. “So! If you want to find gifts for them, they should be fairly occupied until the end of the day.”

He swallowed the last of the bread before he spoke. “Where is Roger practicing his cooking?” He didn’t need to answer her about potential gift giving, after all.

“Oh he’s in the kitchens here. I have someone making sure he doesn’t burn anything important.”

“I see…” His eyes slid to the door towards the room in question.

The apprehension must have been apparent because Tataru retorted, “He can’t burn anything yet, he’s still got to mix ingredients and such.” She openly rolled her eyes when he looked back at her.

“You make it sound as if he might burn down the whole tavern.”

“He won’t! Probably. Hopefully.” She was suddenly nervous, pulling at the ends of her sleeves. “...I’ll...go see how he’s doing. In the meantime, think about what I said. About all of that.” The lalafell then hopped off the stool and made her way into the back.

Alphinaud let the surrounding conversation wash over him as he thought. After some time, he got up from his seat and made his way out. He’d made a decision and he was going to follow through with it.

-----

“You really didn’t have to find these for me!” Roger exclaimed as he examined the variety of plant life that had been neatly tied together with a red ribbon.

It was just past supper, and the teens plus Haurchefant and Tataru had retired to the drawing room of Fortemps manor. As soon as everyone had sat down, Lara had shoved the green bundle in her best friend’s direction and he’d fumbled but kept his grip on it. Tataru had clapped happily at the sight. Harchefant’s face seemed to be stuck in a proud smile.

Alphinaud was no expert on botany, but he was fairly certain that the shrubs and flowers had been picked more for their looks than their usefulness. Still, Roger looked at them as if they were rare ingredients. Lara relaxed her nervous stance at the sight of his appreciation.

“I know, but I wanted to find something useful and it was the best thing I could think of at the time. Now that I know when your nameday is, I’m going to blow you away with a proper present next year.” She grinned.

Now it was Roger’s turn to fidget in his seat. “W-well. I hope you like this too.” From his pocket came a small paper bag, fastened with a green ribbon. The paper had a flower pattern printed on it. Lara gently took the bag and pulled until the ribbon came undone. In the middle were a handful of cookies. The bottoms were slightly burnt and the size of them were inconsistent. “I-I know you like to cook but I wanted to try to make your something and Tataru suggested honey cookies and it was way harder than I thought so you don’t have to eat them but--” Before the poor boy could nervously ramble on, she had already picked up the top cookie and taken a bite.

The whole room held its breath as Lara closed her eyes and chewed. After what felt like ages, she swallowed and smiled at Roger. “These are pretty good! Between Tataru and I, we’ll make a culinarian out of you yet!”

It took only a moment for the two to fall into fits of giggles, and for the adults in the room to join them. Alphinaud took that distraction to stand and head towards Lara and Roger. When they had recovered a little, he presented them both a small plain blue box. “‘Tis equally late for your actual nameday as what you’ve already exchanged. I’ll do my best to have something better by your next one.”

Wearing similar expressions of confusion, the two opened up the boxes. Inside were identical sketches of Lara and Roger, happily chatting with one another. The quality was such that one could be mistaken in thinking that they were directly copied off of another work, though obviously no paintings had been made of the two. Roger and Lara stared at each other, then to the drawings, then to Alphinaud in a cycle. “It’s rough, but if you wish I can touch it up at a later date. I was hard pressed for time, muchlike you both were and--”

All of a sudden he was sandwiched between Lara and Roger in a warm embrace. Alphinaud could feel his face and pointed ears turning scarlet as the oblivious Warriors of Light started complimenting his work. “I didn’t know you could draw!” “What do you mean that it’s rough, it’s amazing!” “I need to find a place to hang it--oh wait maybe I could get it framed??” “This is the best nameday present ever!” He was too flustered to respond, much less pay attention to who was speaking.

He’d forgotten how physically affectionate Lara and Roger could be. At least this was a more embarrassing than fatal mistake.

Through the press of bodies he spotted a grinning Tataru elbowing a chuckling Haurchefant. Nevermind, he was going to expire right here in front of everyone.

He desperately hoped that Alisaie wouldn’t hear a word about this.

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potatopossums · 3 years

Text

Insecurity and Boundaries: A Necessary Coexistence

Content Warning:

This post includes discussions / mentions of:

bodily insecurities, explicitly including dysmorphia, dysphoria, and implicitly including but not limited to eating disorders, weight

childhood trauma including shame, humiliation, fear

coping mechanisms, both healthy and unhealthy, including anxious avoidance, projection, masking, reflection

mentioned references to all of the above through lenses of morality, cis white feminism and sexualized body positivity

adhd

—

Author's Note:

Written through the lens of adhd, anxiety, depression, queerness, transness, nonbinaryness, aromanticism, alterous attraction, and as always, questioning.

—

Ngl I've had the opportunity to date/"be with" (in whatever capacity) several quite attractive ppl, and the last couple have been great examples of something that actually kind of triggers me / turns me off.

I didn't really know what to make of it then, and I felt bad about it then too because I thought I was just being judgy. Not saying some of that isn't potentially still there, but i think i understand better now.

It honestly kind of scares me when I have the opportunity to have close relationships with people with bodily dysphoria/dysmorphia or strong insecurities. My brain has a really bad habit of being reflective when I'm feeling vulnerable. I just match people. It's a way of masking while relating to people. It's a defense mechanism. But it feels quite real in the moment and i often don't realize it's happening until it has already happened.

But as a nonbinary person who gets misgendered a lot at work, I've spent a lot of time now very acutely aware of my own body (as if i wasn't already). I don't tend to hate my body in a vacuum. I actually enjoy my body. I like how it looks in certain clothes; I like how I can trick the eye and make it look another way with other clothes, and then surprise, it's a different body underneath! I like how my body feels when i masturbate, i like how my body feels in the warm sun, i like how my body feels when i self-soothe. Even when I'm in pain, in some of those moment, i like that my body exists because I know something is happening inside me, something systematic and programmed, something beyond me that does it's evolutionary purpose, no matter how flawed. I've always had a curiosity about bodies in general (gender and sex completely aside). So when i say i love my body, i mean that.

Does it mean i don't struggle with dysphoria? Of course i struggle. And it makes me feel like shit.

Sure, I've got that Cis White Feminist Self-Loathing Intervention Voice in my head that says "all bodies are beautiful" (and she really means all women are beautiful but I'll co-opt her lines to fit my agenda). That voice is problematic because like. I like being beautiful, but why do I want to be beautiful, and what happens when I'm not beautiful? How do I guage whether I'm beautiful at any given moment? Isn't that largely subjective even with an overarching cultural & social standard? When I feel "ugly" — my cowlicks sticking up, teeth unbrushed, i feel too short, i feel i look too childish, I'm afraid my boobs are showing in a way i don't want to be seen, etc. — who's to say that someone else doesn't find some of those things attractive? So attractiveness is a poor method of confidence, despite how influential it still is on my brain and personality. That influence is fear based.

All that in mind, when I hear other people struggling with their bodies, especially in a Trans/Non-Binary/Dysphoric way, it really scares me. I mean, any bodily struggles scare me because I have my own insecurities to deal with. And when I'm in that state of really wanting to keep a connection because abandonment trauma + adhd, my vulnerable brain says that in order to impress someone, I must reflect relatably. So that has me digging back into my bodily insecurities. And I explore them as if I should be feeling them.

Let me unpack that. I'm avoidant with my anxieties. I don't talk about them, and I don't think about them much if I can help it, because when I think about them, that result can be largely painful, dramatic, and too emotionally volatile for me to handle. I always want to look put together, I want to feel secure enough to not need to ask for help, because those few times it went badly when I asked for help still stick with me (regardless of how long ago those moments were, and regardless of how many good times I've had where received actual help since). I remember the embarrassment and humiliation, the shame, the fear, the guilt. I remember wanting to make myself smaller, and how crushing that felt to do. I remember how little I understood of these wild and complex emotions, and all I knew was that I felt violated and disgusting. And I turned that inward. Because I had no external support.

So me saying that I explore my anxieties "as if I should be feeling them" is multi-pronged. It's Cis White Feminist Body Positivity, it's all those family members who modeled and normalized self-hatred for me from a young age, it's bodily dysphoria/dysmorphia at being misgendered, it's me trying to convince myself that my body truly is okay and that my negative inner voice doesn't know what it's talking about due to it's poor influences, and it's me ultimately not being able to reconcile all that on my own (or fast enough, thanks adhd) and resorting to anxious avoidance of my insecurities as if that solves them.

And then, when I hear someone I might kind of want to be intimate with start to talk about their insecurities, my brain panics. It says, "If you go in there, you will lose it. You will fall into the same hole they're in. You will have to suffer just as much for them, and for yourself. You will lose all your energy and you will start to hate yourself. They will treat your body the way they treat their body. You will be made to hate yourself."

And even though I know plenty of people with dysphoria/dysmorphia and other bodily struggles absolutely won't do those sorts of things, I also know that projection is a thing. And considering how poor I am at boundaries and how I tend to adopt unhealthy relationship dynamics due to my avoidance, I know that it would just start a bad cycle for me. Even with all the empathy and understanding in the world, I simply cannot root myself in a situation that would cause me to loathe myself.

And again, in case this wasn't clear: this is absolutely not a statement about people with bodily confidence issues as a whole. I am not trying to villainize or demonize or moralize their experiences. That is markedly the opposite of what I intend here.

But it took a long time for me to get to this point in my self-awareness. And i wanted to share it because i want other people to be able to reach an understanding of themselves too, whatever that understanding might entail. Yeah, it's a little cliche, but our projections and fears about others can have a lot to do with our fears about ourselves. It's important to be self-aware, even if that doesn't immediately solve the problem(s).

I tend to really like confident people because of this. That attraction has it's own roots in confidence issues, and its own potential flaws. And until I can change my own avoidant anxiety, I'm going to find new ways to project my avoidance and shame onto others, regardless of whether they are confident or unconfident, dysphoric or not.

But, just because I'm projecting doesn't mean that I'm unworthy of boundaries. Even if my behaviors are unhealthy, even if I do need to work to change those things (and even though I actively want to change those things), it is still healthy for me to know my limits. It's healthy to know what triggers me. It's good for me to realize these things and step back, even if the relationship I'm leaving/not starting is arguably "good." (And that assumption is a whole other topic for another post.)

So, along with whatever other epiphanies you might have received from this read, here's my major takeaway that I want to leave you with:

Your boundaries are okay. Even if they're based in anxiety, even if they're based in unhealthy coping mechanisms, even if you want to change your unhealthy behaviors/mindset. Your boundaries do not need to pass any social justice or morality tests in order to be valid. Your boundaries do not have to "make you grow." Your boundaries are not bad, even if you feel like they keep you from being the best version of yourself.

The only way you can actually grow is if you respect yourself enough to respect and enforce your boundaries. The only way you can feel comfortable and happy and healthy is if you respect your boundaries.

So please do that for yourself. Please respect your boundaries. I know it's very hard, especially for people-pleasers. I know it's hard for you avoidant types. I know it's hard for those of us who mask and reflect.

But please, just a little bit at a time, respect yourself. Even if that means disappointing or hurting others with a "no."

And please, please, please surround yourself with people who respect your boundaries and stand up for you. Of all the work I've tried to do alone, nothing compares to the effectiveness and growth I've experienced when I've been around radically affirming people — people who fought for my right to say no; people who defended my boundaries no matter what they entailed; people who stood up for my pronouns at work; people who validated my life experiences, labels, queerness, and questioning. It can be difficult to find people like that in real life, but please stay in the company of people who do that for you. Even if they're online. Stay near people who model self-respect for you. They will help you practice how to treat yourself.

—

#tw body insecurity #tw dysphoria #tw dysmorphia #tw eating disorder #adhd #masking #reflecting as a coping mechanism #trauma #relationships #alterous attraction #questioning aromantic #nonbinary #agender #queer

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catrasredemption-moved · 4 years

Note

That whole "an abusive mother shouldn't be seen as a mother figure" sitting not well with me.

So can you elaborate on that and not make it super invalidating to people abused by foster/adoptive/psuedo paternql figures?

This feels like a trap, but sure. Buckle up, we’re going back to my childhood.

(this is long, contains emotional/mental abuse, alcohol and drug references, and is just plain unpleasant)

I was emotionally/mentally abused by my mother and stepfather for pretty much my entire life. I was an oops baby, and my bio dad at least had the self awareness to check out my life early because he knew he’d never be a good father (yes, I give him some twisted credit for that, because at least he was honest). My mom was kind of... I don’t want to say forced to keep me, but her family was very insistent. I don’t think she would have gotten an abortion anyway (put aside that this was 1991), but things might have been different if she’d just been allowed to go the same route as my father. Her parents pretty much raised me for six years, partially because she had a full-time job, and partially because she just had no clue what she was doing. And I think having her parents as a crutch for so long definitely limited her.

And then she met Paul. Twenty years older than her, didn’t even have a toaster to his name, alcoholic, drug addict. I was six, so obviously this all went over my head, but my mother’s parents did not like him (something I didn’t find out until years after they both died). My mom was 27 at the time, and I don’t know if she just thought no one else would want her because she was a single mother, if she was just desperate, or maybe she really was attracted to him, but she started dating him. I don’t remember everything that led up to the Breaking Point, because this was 23 years ago, but I remember the specific night - she was on the phone with Paul, and I kept saying I was hungry. I forget what she made, but it was something I’d eaten before and suddenly decided I didn’t like (as children do sometimes), so I was upset.

At this point my grandmother or grandfather would usually step in and just make me something else. Instead my grandfather went upstairs and told her to get off the phone and deal with it. Was I being a little bratty? Yeah, probably. Should my grandparents have just dealt with it? No, that was my mother’s job. Even if it just meant coming downstairs and making me eat the Thing. But she didn’t want to get off the phone (this was 1997, people still talked on phones. Weird, right?)

One huge fight later, my mother put me in her car and drove me 20 minutes to another city to stay with Paul and his roommate. I didn’t see my grandparents for three days. That’s when they learned they had to play nice with Paul or my mother would actually take me away.

We moved in with Paul, after they’d been dating for three whole months. My mother upended both of our lives, including making me transfer to another school after first grade, for a guy she’d been dating for three months. A guy she knew had substance abuse problems. A guy who, when home alone during the day, would sit out in the living room and watch porn (and one time watched it in my room, which? I was eight, I very vaguely remember walking into the apartment, my mother immediately grabbing me and pushing me back into the hall while saying “get that shit off her TV.”)

Some very fucked up things happened over the next twelve years, some I still haven’t told anyone about (including my wife), and some that were just wrong in retrospect. Common occurrences included (some of this might be considered lowkey sexual abuse? I’ve never thought about it that way, but my perspective is skewered af):

Telling me to turn sideways so he could see how I was “developing” (this started at 10)

Inappropriate comments about my weight and how I eat too much (starting around 8 or 9)

Wildly gross and sexual comments about my body (starting around 13)

Coming into my room while drunk and asking for a hug, then holding me for too long and lowkey groping (starting around 13 or 14)

Calling me a whiny bitch (starting around 8)

Yelling at me for eating food, especially if I finished something, because I didn’t pay for the food so why should I get to eat it all (starting around 15)

Yelling at me for daring to go out into the living room and talk to my mother while they were watching TV (pretty much the entire time I lived with them)

Telling me my mother used to have “a great body” before she got sick and lost a ton of weight (I don’t remember when exactly that started, but the sickness in question happened when I was 7)

Trying to tell me about how he and mother were getting hot and heavy while I was at school (high school; one of the only times my mother actually told him to shut the fuck up)

Enjoyed calling me stupid and calling me an idiot and other things that were entirely damaging to my self esteem

Straight up saying, after seven years of my mother insisting we were family, that I wasn’t his daughter and I never would be (13)

Inappropriate comments while drunk, to the point where I knew when he’d be drunk (because it was always pay day), and me arranging to be out of the house for a couple of days just so I wouldn’t have to be there (high school; I went to my aunt’s, and eventually she started figuring out a pattern and asking me what was going on. I was 16 when she finally realized I hate Paul as much as she does)

...to name a few things. And my mother? Knew about all of this. And sure, she tried to stick up for me once or twice, like about the food thing, but even that came with the caveat of “maybe you should stop eating so much.” (before anyone asks, yes, I’m slightly overweight, and this was some grade A body shaming). But for the most part, she enabled him. And when he told me to stop being sensitive and it was “just a joke”? She sided with him and told me to stop “whining” (whining being “trying to defend myself”). She took his side about 95% of the time, while still insisting that he was my father, because he was there and he was helping “raise” me. They’ve been together for 23 years, and she’s basically chosen him over me at this point (because I chose to get the fuck out of the house and take a job in a state 300 miles away just to escape that hell). We actually got into a huge fight about him back in June because I didn’t call to wish him a Happy Father’s Day. He has never met my wife (whom he referred to as my “friend”, and my mother saw nothing wrong with that, then got mad when I tried to say “what if I called him your roommate”), he was not invited to our wedding, and we had a fight last Christmas when I went back to visit and straight up said he wasn’t allowed to visit our hotel (because I never want him to meet my wife).

Do I consider her my mother? ...sure, in the absolute vaguest sense of the word. She made sure I made it from birth to 18, kept me clothed and fed and a roof over my head (while constantly reminding me about how much it cost to raise a kid.)

Do I consider him my father? Fuck. No. I left the house for college when I was 18, moved out when I was 22, have had three therapists, been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and probable PTSD, have gathered a small group of my own found family, and I still carry a lot of shit from that time in my life. I hate showing my body in any way, and tend to wear shirts that are, oh, 2-3 sizes too big. I hate eating “too much”, despite the fact that a) my wife doesn’t care if I finish something and b) I help pay for the fucking food. I get extremely anxious when I try to correct someone about something (like my pronouns), because I’m afraid they’re going to yell at me and tell me to stop being sensitive. My self esteem is still basically at rock bottom, to the point where I don’t believe people sometimes when they say they like my writing. I flinch when people try to touch me (that’s getting better, though).

I can’t even give him the bare minimum credit I give my mother, because he actively hindered my attempts to grow up and move on from the shit he put me through. He was, and still is, a terrible person, and the idea of him being my father makes me sick. I give more credit to by bio father (you know, the one who walked out because he knew he wouldn’t be a good father), because he’s at least made a few half-ass attempts throughout my life to show he cares (and in a way, I think he does, he just knew he wouldn’t be a good father). Paul, though? Paul could die tomorrow and I... I can’t say I wouldn’t care at all, just because he has had such a presence in my life, but I wouldn’t miss him.

If you have an abusive parental figure (be it bio/step/foster/adoptive/etc.), and you consider them your parent, then that’s you, and I don’t judge. But Paul, no matter what my mother says, will never be my father in any way. He actively made me afraid to exist or be in my own home. He left scars so deep that I don’t think I’ll ever totally move on from some of it. I need people to remind me that nothing he did was okay or normal, and that my mother wasn’t right for allowing it.

So basically, I have a lot of experience to back up why I don’t think abusive parents should be considered parental figures. Parents are supposed to help you grow and care about you and want you to succeed. Paul did none of those things. He continues to be an active roadblock in my life, as a matter of fact. And I refuse to feel bad about not considering him a parental figure.

#Mystery Person #Sam Answers

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