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kisha-myers · 1 year

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Author's Note: Ive decided to title this - My Anxious Mouse - I think it fits decently 😅 Also, I will TRY to update 1 chapter a day IF I can help it. I've got 2 kiddos under 6 🥴 they keep me on my toes and need my help often. If you have any questions, whether that be about this fanfiction or me, feel free to comment them below! I'm gonna try my hand at a tag list as well (if you want to be added to that PLEASE let me know). Without further ado, let's get on to the good stuff!

Chapter Three: Broken Memories

You had been placed in the back seat of the humvee, your seat belt secured for you as your brain still tried to catch up to what all was happening. You registered the vibration associated to the ignition being turned over, felt the jerk of it all in motion, but as you looked up towards Ghost and König you weren't fully certain what their intentions were. Your dad had always told you to be mindful of those around you, having been a retired navy seal, he knew people were capable of many horrible things.

"They will use your timidity against you - always be vigilant. Men especially, they'll see you and instinctively see prey." His words echoed repeatedly through your rapidly clearing mind, the events of yesterday and today finally catching up to you. You equated it as your body's own version or shock - you just hadn't fully come out of it yet to register much of anything aside from now being in the back of a vehicle with two complete strangers heading to God knows where.

Fear was the first emotion to crash into you in a rolling tidal wave, it crushed the air from you lungs and had your muscles tensing painfully. You curled in on yourself, drawing your legs up slowly, your arms wrapping around them as you buried your face into your knees. Panic was the next emotion to force its way into your consciousness, burning through your veins like a raging inferno that threatened to burn you alive. It caused your stomach to churn mercilessly and spit to pool in your mouth, threatening catastrophe should the contents of your tummy be spewed all over the sanded beige interiror. You forced yourself to calm down as much as you could, opting to breathe in deeply and focus on your senses.

Grounding techniques hadn't always worked for you in the beginning, there were many times you just had to let the panic attack push you to pass out. Through countless years of therapy and many many many sleepless nights, you had learned how to use the technique to soothe you. You started with the sensation of touch, letting the pads of your fingertips brush along the seam of the fabric seat you currently resided on. It wasn't exactly soft, but it wasn't rough either - it was somewhere in between, designed for functionality over comfort you'd guess. You continued to move your fingertips across the seat slowly, letting yourself become familiar with the texture before moving onto your next sense; hearing.

You tilted your buried face slightly, opting to keep your eyes closed to not dull the other sense. The engine, you noted, purred almost in an animalistic way. You knew little to nothing about cars but you were sure the upkeep on this vehicle was immaculate. You turned your head completely, letting your right ear rest against your knees, you face now facing your door as you eyes remained closed. Rain crashed against the windshield leisurely, the rhythmic pounding a comforting sound. The sound of passing cars made you smile, reminding you that although you were here, you still remained in a public place.

Feeling slightly more relaxed than when you started, you decided to continue on, opting to have the next sense be smell. It was strange, you thought, that the interior of a military vehicle could smell like fresh pine and sandalwood. Perhaps it was due to the week old carfreshener that hung from the review mirror, or maybe it was due to their cologne - you weren't entire sure, but you enjoyed the scent nevertheless. There was a sense of familiarity there, notes you could quite place but knew you had smelt it before. It was slightly sweet but nutty, almost like a pistachio cream filling or vanilla almond milk. It wasn't you, your body wash consisted of fruity scents like orange bliss and tropical punch. Your shampoo wasn't any better as it was watermelon and berry scented. You inhaled deeply, letting the fragrance that left you perplexed relax your tensed muscles. You decided you liked that smell, the notion causing a tender smile to burst forth across your lips.

Your heart had calmed enough that you felt it was safe to open your eyes, effectively moving onto the next stage of the technique. Slowly you lifted your lids, blinking a few times to clear the blurriness from your eyes. The first thing you saw was the window, buildings and cars passing you by as the rain glided down the glass. The yellow hued glow bathing the world around you in a somber essence. Stop lights changed from green to red, reminding you subtly of Christmas for the briefest of moments. You watched the world around you silently, eyes watching the raindrops leave little trails as they slid from their position.

The somber silence was broken by the faint buzzing of a cellular device, effectively bursting your bubble of raindrop appreciation. You lifted your head, turning it just in time to see Ghost pull free his phone and tossing it to König.

"You talk to him, my patience is already thin." He growled, making you nearly jump out of your skin. König shot him an incredulous look, heaving out a sigh and sliding the green phone icon over before placing the phone against his ear.

"Guten Morgen Sergeant." He forced between clenched teeth, shooting another annoyed look at Ghost when he saw the man's eyes crinkle in smugness. Johnny's bark of a laugh filter through the receiver loud enough to be heard by you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth slightly agape - you knew that laugh, had heard it most of your life. Questions started rapidfiring through your cranium as you tried to remember everything Johnny had ever told you about his military career.

You knew he had been assigned to a military task force, Task force 141 his paperwork had said, and that he was under the supervision of a woman named Laswell. You knew his Captain, had even had a few opportunities to talk to him over a cup if tea he had so graciously offered to make you. You recalled he was nice enough, a little blunter than you'd expected, but he cracked a joke or two and helped settle your nerves.

You vaguely remembered meeting a rather rambunctious Gaz, but he had ways been busy running errands for their Captain he had been unable to sit and chat with you. The rest of his team had not been present on base at the time but you remember Johnny talking your ear off about his Lieutenant. He was fond of the man, always speaking highly of him - you'd begun to think he was bi with the way his eyes glazed over and his lips would turn up slightly at the corners in mirth.

"Sergeant, while your banter is usually entertaining, now is not the time. It's been a long night, we'll brief you when we get there oh!" Königs blundering of surprise made you jump again, effectively pulling you from your thoughts once more as you snapped your eyes over to him. He was already looking at you, eyes crinkling in the corners the only thing you had to go on to aid in your assumption he was smiling at you, "We have a civilian with us. She was displaced when our apartment caught fire, she will be staying in my room - would you meet us when we get there to show her where it is?" You looked away from him, eyes going back to your window to watch the scenery change.

Houses got less and less before barb wire fences and pop up buildings painted the signature hunter green took over. You were no military brat by any means, your dad had long since retired from being a seal just a year after you were born. You shake out of your stupor long enough to witness the phone being placed into the await skeletal gloved hand of Ghost, his grumbling of impeccable insults under his breath almost enough to make a giggle slip past your lips. A few you'd put away for a later date, having been too perfect to let them be forgotten.

"So..." You say softly, the way you nibbled on your bottom lip muffled your voice slightly, "You two know Johnny MacTavish I take it?" You tried to sound nonchalant, unbothered, but the vexation from yesterday was still a present smoldering rubble within your chest. You visibly saw Ghost stiffen by your tone, his hands clenching the steering wheel so hard you wondered how it didn't just simply break. König looked back at you, his head tilting just enough to convey his curiosity, making the giant of a man who had to hunch slightly to even fit in the car look like a little puppy.

"Ja, we are all stationed here together." He simply replied although you read the question that lingered on the tip of your tongue. You offered up a bitter smile, your right hand coming up to rub your forehead as you sighed softly.

"Johnny was the guy who stood me up. I've know since I was in diapers - he was friends with my older brother before he died while deployed in Iraq. Waited a whole two fucking hours before he called just to check in. I'm upset by it." You muttered under your breath, tilting your chin down and resting it on your knees. You failed to notice both of them exchanging an ire filed stare, silently communicating with one another to teach the Scotsman on how to properly treat a lady.

"So you two dating or what?" Ghosts blunt question fills the silence, hanging over your head and dousing you like a bucket filled with ice water. You grimaced - you loved Johnny, but he wasn't your type. He was handsome yes, you'd never deny that - you couldn't - but he was far too outgoing for your own personal tastes. He loved to go out and explore things, mingle with anyone and everyone - your anxiety was far too out of control for any of that.

"No. He's like family, and it wasn't a date. He called me two nights ago to let me know he was on a temporary leave and wanted to hang out together and catch up. It's been almost a year since I got to see him and I was really looking forward to it and I wanted-" You stopped yourself from finishing that sentence. You wanted many things, but the number one thing was you wanted you brothers dog tags back. Johnny had offered to take them, keep them safe on him as a way to help you heal. At the time of his death you were just barely eighteen - you had just graduated when you saw them. They wore the standard military issued uniform, faces perfect masks of stern indifference. One made the mistake of meeting your eyes - their eyes, you noted, were filled with unshed tears and that is what broke you. Seeing the devastation in their gaze made you knees give out, you remembered the pain that resonated there, the way the concrete bit harshly into your flesh and the warm viscous liquid that made your dress sticky.

That pain was nothing in comparison to the pain that lacerated through your chest. It was as if a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around you you squeezed with everything it had, your lungs releasing all its contents in a 'whoosh', mouth going dry, all the moisture poured from your eyes like a flooded river down stream. He died a hero they had said, one kneeling in front of you - yoy had recognized him from one of the pictures your brother had sent to you while he was deployed, Declan he'd introduce himself as. His hand had found your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before crushing you to his chest in a hug. His companion - Nathan he said - was busy speaking in a hushed conversation with your dad.

'He died a hero, y/n.' You vaguely remember them saying, telling you that he'd even earned the purple heart of bravery. It was meant to comfort you, knowing be died doing what he was passionate about - but it didn't. It left you feeling hollow, empty, like a piece of your very soul had been ripped from your very being and now the seams of yourself unraveled. It was around that time when your anxiety had begun to rear its ugly head, a wolf in sheep's clothing leading you to the slaughter.

A wayward tear slid past your water line and down your cheek, your jaw clenching tightly as you swiped it away with a sniffle, "I uhm." You cleared your throat loudly, refusing to look at either of them, "Johnny took his dog tags for me. My mom didn't want them, my dad said he didn't deserve them and our little sisters didn't understand their significance so they were supposed to go to me along with his flag. I was drowning in my grief that Johnny offered to hold onto them for me until I was ready to fully process it - said that all I had to do was ask him for them and they'd be mine. I wanted to ask him yesterday but... but he stood me up." Your voice faltered at the end, your lips pressed firmly together in a pensive line to keep your bottom lip from trembling.

The silence that filled the humvee was deafening, Ghost and König were at a loss for how to comfort you. They all knew the risks of war - of the loss it brought. They'd seen countless soldiers be killed in action, each of them having retrieved a few hundred dog tags to be returned to families as a way to offer some semblance of closure. They shared another look, one that declared they were both going to beat the snot out of Johnny when they had the opportunity to.

The rest of the ride remained that way, you lost in your broken memories of your older brother and his endless teasing, and them sharing silent conversations through gestures and looks. You didn't know it right then, but the two peeved males nestled in their seats had come to an agreement. Not only would the kick Johnny's ass, but they'd make sure he'd fix this - that he'd make this right. After all, they couldn't let their little mouse loose herself - not when she had fallen so willingly into their hands.

Your life was going to change drastically... you just were unaware of how much that'd be.

Tag List

@lianyanhongcheng

@kdkj122920

@grizzersmamma

#john soap mactavish #könig x reader #könig x you #könig cod #könig call of duty #ghost x könig x reader #vampire #vampiric #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x konig #male x male #polyamory #captain price

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chillibeanos · 2 months

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THE MISADVENTURES OF BEAN SPROUT

Episode 1 - A Normal Day In Suburbia

*apologies that it runs a bit short!!!!!!!

(ALL FRANCHISE-BASED WORKS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS)

Sit back, Relax, and Enjoy!!

White-picket fences, barbed wire and trenches…

These are what Auburn was generally described with. It was a town of joy, happiness, sorrow, chaos, deep-minded people…Basically anything goes. Some people go on long and quiet days in their room, while others go to Mulberry Beach. Maybe others wanted to see Prosopagnosia Museum to look at great works of art. Perhaps you could go to the Amaryllis Town Center to go shopping for your daily needs. You could go to the Burgundy Boardwalk to see new sights and sounds…

There’s a good range of everything.

However, our story takes a turn. This tale revolves around our childish yet violent anti-hero rabbit creature, Bean Sprout. Today they’re in a doctor’s office. One of their friends is operating on an injury they got while taking a dangerous trek through the most dangerous place imaginable…

“That’s not true, Bean. You fell off the high-dive at the local pool.”

“It is true! My whole body hurts now.”

“Only your hands should hurt.”

“Not as much as yours though.”

“Just be quiet.”

“Right. Sorry, Mr Strange.”

That’s right. Bean is friends with Dr. Strange. How? I don’t know, it just happened one day and that brought us here.

Stephen sighed. “How old are you Bean? Like 12?

“Excuse you! I’m 28!

“You don’t look or act like you’re 28.”

“I can look and act like I’m-”

Just then, Stephen poked their hand accidentally, making them let out a cartoon-like shout.

“YEOWCH!!!!”

“Sorry, sorry. Let me get that.

“:[“

“Bean…don’t look at me like that.”

“I got an ouchie :[“

“Bean, you’re fine. You’re a disciple to a literal god. He can get you a new body if you ever die.”

“But ouchie :[

Also, don’t go around saying that, Mr. Strange. There are dangerous people coming for my throat as we speak.”

“Well, maybe…you shouldn’t have killed all of those people when you were 12.”

“I was young! Naive even! I wasn’t thinking clearly! Brains aren’t fully developed until you’re 25 you know.”

“...It doesn’t seem like yours right now is fully developed either.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

As their surgery was done, Bean thanked him and went off on their merry way. They went to the beach to relax. They took off their shoes and put their little bunny paws in the sand.

“Ah…peace and quiet…”

A ship was being taken down by a kraken in the distance.

“Like I said…peace and quiet…”

There was a person on fire, screaming in agony as their skin peeled off behind them.

“He’ll walk it off.”

They smiled and began burying themself in the sand. Yeah, they aren’t the most morally-correct or empathetic person out there, but they didn’t care. They were having fun and that’s all that mattered. They were part of the Guardians of The Galaxy for god’s sake! They were a big time Toon in 1956 Hollywood. They worked for the President as a D.S.O Agent. They were happily married to 97 different people. Their brothers were Ash Williams and Ethan Winters. They are heavily considered to be adopt-able. Their uncles were Arthur Morgan and Tony Stark. Their cousins were the Animaniacs, which technically made them Warner Brothers property legally. They’re wanted for several millions of units in the galaxy and are still on the run from being put on death row. Their sister was the Savior of the Mutiverse, Kai Drew! There’s seemingly nothing they aren’t capable of doing.

Later in the day, they went over to an afternoon barbecue at someone’s household. They went in and stood next to Monarch Lovelace, the sexiest butterfly hybrid around. He was holding a glass of white wine, as was Bean.

“Hi Monarch!”

“Oh hello, Bean. it’s good to see you.”

“How are you? :3”

“Good. You?”

“I got hand surgery today.”

“Oh, are you okay? Did it go well?”

“Mhm. I’m fine. It went well.”

“That’s good.”

Monarch smiled warmly and held both of the bunny’s hands. He pressed a gentle kiss on them.

“I think this was a good close for today. Don’t you agree, Bean?”

“Yeah…It sure was-” Bean was being totally normal and not insane about the guy doing that just now while they were in proximity.

Monarch put a hand over their shoulder as they both watched the people at the party have fun at the gathering…

[End of Episode 1]

#oc #oc lore #my ocs #tmobs #the misadventures of bean sprout #bean sprout #story #writing #marvel #dr strange #suburbia

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starchild0985 · 1 year

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Okay, I'm not really sure what this is, lol. This is the first time I've written for a television series in about twenty years. I'm still feeling my way into this universe, and I'm also old enough to be Ellie's mom, so worried about having her voice right. I loved writing this, though, and it was inspired by my love of Chris Cornell and how I thought Ellie would like Soundgarden.

Looking California, Feeling Minnesota

Rating: E

Word Count: 1343

Some Joel-Ellie familial bonding. Joel's gift helps Ellie make a bridge between her life before and in Jackson.

It wasn’t as if Ellie wanted to stick out; not really.

When she looked at the other teenagers at the dining hall, those first few days when they had re-settled in Jackson, they didn’t really look so different. She sized them up with the eye of one practiced, and they were more rounded, not having grown up without food, and clumsy in a way she had never had the freedom be.

Here in Jackson, mistakes were no longer a matter of reduced rations or death.

Still, she tried to reason, her logical mind tenaciously, perhaps paradoxically, defending quixotic hope, that they were like her, still trying to learn, still trying to figure out what chances existed in a world like this.

When she looked at her own hands, though, they seemed rougher, a chimera of her, Ellie, and the specter-self she had left behind in the shadows of Silver Lake.

The softness Joel bestowed upon her—a tenderness Ellie dared not to name, for fear it would shrivel like leaves in a campfire—sheltered a tiny spark of hope that this could be a fresh start. A new her.

Watching the girls laughing in a knot together, though, that ideal seemed impossible to attain.

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

Joel came back from his first overnight patrol bearing gifts—two sketchbooks, only slightly wrinkled from previous moisture, and a new cassette tape.

Having accepted the sketchbooks with an enthusiastic “bitchin!”, trying out a slang term she’d picked up from one of the women who worked at the stables, Ellie turned the cassette over in her hand.

“Soundgarden?’

“Found this in a busted-out old station wagon in the woods. Thought you’d like it, kiddo.”

“Sounds like old people music, so it’s perfect for you.”

Joel got the look Ellie loved, when something she said made him want to laugh, but he pursed his lips to try to hide it.

“That sure ain’t what my parents thought when Tommy was playing it. Course, he blew out my pa’s car speakers with it, so can’t say I blame them.”

She stuck her pinkie finger in one of the cassette’s holes, remembered another life, when Riley had fixed her Pearl Jam tape when Bethany had pulled the fragile innards out.

“’S loud?”

“Sure is, so mind the volume when you play it, ‘less you want to be as deaf as me.”

Joel tugged on her ponytail, the affectionate gesture erasing any harshness that could be perceived in his words.

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

It WAS loud, and to Ellie’s surprise, the intense thrum of the guitar and the singer’s range, purring low one moment and screaming the next, grounded her. She listened to the tape twice that first night, falling asleep near the end of the B side.

She peppered Joel with questions about the band at breakfast, trying to figure out what the musicians looked like. Joel scratched his head, taking a sip of chicory root coffee.

“Well, they were more Tommy’s thing, mind you, but the singer was a fella named Chris. He had real long hair, and he didn’t have a shirt on in his videos sometimes.”

“Gross.” She tapped her nail on the Walkman, sitting by her breakfast plate. “I like his voice, though.”

-----------

A month passed, and Ellie sat in Joel’s garage workshop, his hand covering hers easily as he showed her how to sand the tabletop he was working on.

“Easy, now. Go with the grain, see? There you go.”

Ellie sat back and admired her handiwork, then remembered the thought that had been tugging at her brain as she slipped into her dreams last night.

“Hey, Joel? Can you ask me a question about one of the songs on the tape you got me?”

This was another Joel expression that never failed to make Ellie laugh, the way his eyebrows would shift when he was worried she was going to ask something, as he put it, “inappropriate.” They’d clawed their way through hell and back, but he still tried to raise her the same way he had the girl she secretly considered a big sister.

It made her feel achingly, almost, equal.

“Now, Ellie, you know not to repeat those if there’s anything...raunchy...”

She rolled her eyes.

“Raunchy. Okay, grandpa.”

He looked at her, head tilted in a question, and the teasing evaporated from her lips as she got back on topic.

“What does ‘looking California, feeling Minnesota’ mean? Because I don’t think I even know where Minnesota is, and I just saw California in a movie once.”

“Well, now, I reckon that’s him trying to say he the way he looks and the way he feels are two different things, but he said it like that as a, you know....”

“Metaphor?”

The look of pride on Joel’s face was enough to make Ellie feel like the neighborhood cat basking in a beam of light.

“That’s the one. It’s a metaphor. He’s saying he don’t feel like he belongs where is, even if he looks it.”

Ellie looked down at the tabletop again, pushing the sandpaper across the section in front of her.

“I thought you didn’t feel that way anymore when you grew up.”

She could feel Joel fidgeting next to her in the pause that followed.

“Babygirl, I feel that way all the time.”

Even now, it was hard not to look for signs he was humoring her. Making fun of her. The things adults do with kids. She saw, instead, pure earnestness in his eyes. She gave him a moment to gather thoughts like he needed, the way he always gave her time to finish.

“Tommy was always the more talkative of us brothers, but now, I gotta remember we’re in a safe place where I can know someone’s full name, give them mine. Feels like no one else here has that problem. But I struggle with it every time.”

“Oh.”

“And...And Sarah--”

There were still days where it was hard for him to say Sarah’s name, but he did it more around her than anyone else, and she held her breath, hoping he’d continue.

“Well, Sarah didn’t go through what you have, but her mama left us when Sarah was a baby, and she felt like everyone could tell.”

Connection sparkled across all the years, the thoughts of a girl wondering why her mother didn’t want her finding one who had, decades later, come to learn her mother’s lie was what saved her life. The connection, purple and green, over and over, forged by the weary man in flannel who would have risked it all for him for both of them.

Ellie laid a hand on his forearm and squeezed, and he bent over to press a grateful kiss on the top of her head.

“’Course, Sarah was always real tall for her age, too, and she used to hate she couldn’t fit into the clothes her friends could. Now, you could’ve, but, well, you ain’t that girly, and she would have respected that.”

“I’d have liked that.” Ellie thought back on the song. “Do you think the guy who sang it felt that way?”

“That’s why he wrote it, baby. I always liked music for that. Says a lot when you’re not real great with words.”

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

The next time Ellie went to the dining hall, her Walkman in her pocket, and looked at the kids, she was still scared. She still felt Minnesota.

But she thought about Joel, how the toughest man she’d ever known was scared to put his guard down, even after weeks, even for an instant, and no one knew.

She thought of how Sarah, who she thought must have had a perfect life, having Joel before the world went to hell, had her silent hurts.

Ellie wondered if, in the crowd of faces, they all had their own stories. Their own pain.

Her eyes met those of the dark-haired girl who’d watched her all that ago, when Ellie had first come to Jackson. Dina, she thought her name was.

This time, when Dina looked, Ellie smiled.

#The Last of Us fan fic #The Last of Us #Joel Miller #Ellie Williams

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lost-technology · 1 year

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Red Sauce

Trigun fanfiction Trigun, Trigun Maximum, Trigun Stampede - loose continuity, post-canon, canon-welding. Spoilers Genfic / No pairings Vash & Food Slice of Life, Worldbuilding (Inspired by my visit to a nostalgic eatery). Summary: In his attempt at a long rest after his adventures and agonies, Vash the Stampede seeks out a nostalgic lunch of “good old crap.” Some of Noman’s Land’s budding post-contact gourmands would not understand, but sometimes something cheap can give you a perfect moment. Also on Ao3 Reviews appreciated.

Red Sauce People who got to know Vash the Stampede found themselves surprised by what the man would put in his mouth. He had just the kind of appetite one would expect on a skinny guy adept at dodging gunfire (high metabolism, feed-me-please!), but his love for…food of varying quality could catch a friend off-guard. Perhaps what surprised people most about him was the simple matter that one as dedicated to peace as he was, one who abhorred killing would, indeed, eat meat sometimes. Vash could be found apologizing to an egg he intended to have for breakfast, but he also ate shavings of preserved tomas on long journeys as most people did and would not turn down a roast rib of sandworm if it was offered to him by desert nomads who made their living by hunting the beasts. It wasn’t like any other food on the planet came “guilt-free.” Vegetables and grains came from flora, which were created by Geoplants. They, in turn, had to be carefully managed. A few patches of land could be coaxed to grow hardy crops, but, again, Hydroplants were involved. Every Plant was worked very hard on this world and while the Electricity Plants were the most often overtaxed into Last Runs, it could happen to any of them. So, no… there really wasn’t much of a flesh-eating vs. vegetarianism ethical divide in Noman’s Land. Anything that kept anything else alive came from some other living thing, more often than not sentient and conscious. Even with the native beings of the planet, the worms – the base of their food chain was mysterious – no one had figured out whether there was photosynthesis at some point in their life-cycle or some kind of mineral-fission for nutrients from the sands, but after whatever starting-point they had, it was all a series of various larval-stages eating other larval-stages until the adults ate them all; Worms all the way down.

After Pieces of Earth came to this world, new technologies and cultural ways were introduced to the people of Noman’s Land. Such ways were usual and even tired and old to Earthlings and various colonies that had a seamless landing and transition, but to the people of a sandy planet born of an apocalyptic event, these things were new, wondrous and strange. This included the food-ways. Vash would always remember the first time he’d seen live fish. He remembered turning over and over again in his brain how Wolfwood would have been freaked out by them had he gotten to see them. He had been informed that they were a type of creature from Earth and of kinds that had not been driven to extinction. He’d watched them swimming in glass tanks in an Earth Forces City (blending into a crowd on a tour) and learned their species-names; tilapia, bass, salmon… Salmon sandwiches were one of his favorite treats, but, of course, those had been made of canned cat food. Quite a lot of food post The Big Fall had been cloned from preserved sources, including sources not originally meant for human consumption, but for that of adjacent animals, pets included. Cats had become surprisingly abundant – and all traced from a single family of ancestors as shown in their fur. Most of them were pure black with the occasional orange marking showing up here and there. (And they were good for keeping the larval worms that invaded people’s homes and barns in-check). Some towns used them as a source of food but Vash was quite fond of them and, for all his gluttony, would never, ever eat a kitty. Many Earth-animals and flora that Plants could sustain with minimal effort were being introduced to the land. Now that humans and Plants were working together in harmony with the former gaining a greater understanding of the latter, equilibrium of sustainability was gained and various technologies and systems introduced by the Earthlings were easing former strains or eliminating them altogether. In other words, successful terraforming was beginning (with plenty of areas left wild, to the sands and to the worms). This meant that Vash got to meet his namesake (vache, vaca, vas… cow / cattle) and he got to meet those freaky fish. The books and SEEDS computer records he remembered reading in his childhood didn’t prepare him for meeting the real thing. They were a source of wonder and delight, like any living thing he’d met. In short order, they’d become a major source of food. (There were, as yet, no rivers to free them into, although there would be, in time).

Debates were exchanged between the merits of living Earth animals, cloned flesh – which new technologies also provided and that which Plants had always provided. Plants, of course, could generate a wide variety of things, including “meat” from tissue and DNA samples provided to them, data fed into them. That was how it had been for over one-hundred years. Every salmon sandwich, every plate of spaghetti with some kind of meat in it and every slice of pizza-toast that Vash had ever eaten on this god-forsaken world had been generated by one Sister of his or another. And, of course, unlike his brother, he had to eat – he’d been “built like a human” in that manner. Apparently it was his nature as a “draining-Plant,” able to take away pain and heal, to rebalance, but not a conventional generator. There was an equivalent-exchange issue going on. Most of the debates that Vash overheard in his travels about newfangled Earth-food wasn’t about ethics, but about taste. Taste, texture… the cooks of the taverns hotly contested it – what they’d grown up with and had worked with all of their lives versus new things, that which was “fresh” and so forth – the textures of things that had actually lived and moved over what had been grown on a robot-chassis over what had been wholesale generated; the flavor of fruits and vegetables generated under the care of a Geoplant over some Earth-fleet hydroponics garden. By Vash’s observations, most gourmands tended to favor Plant-grown tomatoes, but beef and fish from once-independently-living sources. And it was this very debate-thing that brought Vash to the town of Avon, a tiny little village out in the boonies between Inepril and what was once Jenora Rock. It was nothing more than what was known as a Plant-Station, a “two-Plant town.” Vash knew them by name – or rather nickname – their “true names,” as it were, being unknowable to humankind. The people of the town had nicknamed the local Plants “Mona” and “Matilda.” In the last several years after the Earth forces came to try to “tame the land,” Avon became one of the few havens left where, food-wise, Vash could find the “good old crap.” He didn’t wear the red coat anymore, except when he found himself in the deepest parts of the desert and in need of its weather-resistant properties or if he was involving himself in a fight and in need of its ballistics-shielding. It was best to try to be inconspicuous, so he carried the thing stuffed in his duffle bag and wandered right through the center of Avon dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, a button-down shirt and a vest and a stupid, stupid bolo-tie. Casual fashion. A bell on a door jingled as he entered a place called Edvard’s. He smiled at the arcade machines along one wall – still there, still broken. The vinyl-padded seat lining plastic tables looked as sweaty as ever. By God, it had to have been at least twenty years since he’d been here and the place hadn’t changed a bit! Good, nobody at the counter seemed to recognize him. Vash was dismayed that he didn’t see old Edvard back in the kitchen and wondered idly if something had happened to him. He also wondered, with a sinking gut, if it was one of those things that had been his fault. The dizzying dance between him and Knives had taken a lot of lives in the end. Then again, people were prone to succumbing to the most random of things…illnesses, heart attacks, cancers, simple wear and tear from old age…And sometimes the institutions they founded lived after them, stubbornly refusing change just as his own body had… Vash the Stampede, beaten and broken and scarred, but still standing, stood waiting for his order in an old restaurant where the only thing that had been replaced was some new vinyl covering old seats and where the arcade machines remained along one wall, broken with a sign warning patrons that they spent their money to try to play them at their own risk.

A paper tray with three golden, salt-encrusted rectangles and cut fries slid across the service-counter. It was accompanied by a generous cup of bright red sauce. Vash took his order and sat down at one of the tables, across from the machine that he recognized as “Galaga.” Some static blips across the screen and a few flickers in the lights told him that Mona had sensed him and was saying hello.

Mona was the town’s electrical-generator. She doubled as a Hydroplant, but she was wired up to do tandem – one product generated the other. This was rather rare. Matilda was a dedicated food-producer – part Geoplant for crops and part cloner. Vash had seen the dubious lumps of flesh that came out of her produce-chute, sometimes beef-based, sometimes pork-based or other mammal-based, sometimes poultry, sometimes fish – almost always gray and rather slimy, but the people were grateful.

Both of the Plants in Avon had always been well-cared-for. The engineers here had an excellent understanding of the Sisters, even though, like other humans on the planet, they never knew entirely what they were working with. The people of Avon were the kind of people who were content with little. Some might call them poor, but they were never ambitious enough to try to become a large city. The town had sprung up around the Plants, as most cities in Noman’s Land had, but unlike a large ship-crash where several Plants had been grouped together, Mona and Matilda had been flung out upon impact. It was a miracle that they’d survived. The people who’d discovered them knew their fortune and guarded it carefully. The town remained hard to find, was not listed on most maps and was far, far away from any sandsteamer stop. They – the people and the Plants - were all lonely together.

Mona and Matilda were among the few Plants that had, for over one-hundred years, truly felt safe among

their

humans. Vash, himself, had made good on ensuring the continuance of that with visits every now and again. He’d come out of nowhere to help train new engineers even though most of them gawked “Who the Hell are you?” at him and he never gave them his real name. The older workers called him “Lex” and just accepted him as “Some kind of Plant-doctor. He does wonders.”

Vash dunked a crispy rectangle (it was fish –fried fish) deep into the cup of red sauce and took a hearty bite. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Matilda was still making it like she used to and so were her humans.

The new gourmands of the busier cities would no doubt complain about Vash’s lunch. It wasn’t “real fish,” not “swimming fish,” just reconstituted, minced up fish, possibly mix-and-match species-base, all made from the slimy lumps that came from the back-chute of a Food-Generator Plant that was kept on conservative power and thus was never forced to make something fancy or “quality.” It was fried in too much generated-oil and covered in way too much salt. It needed a sweet and spicy red sauce – something of a mix between ketchup and pepper sauce to give it flavor…

But WHAT flavor!

That sauce! Vash mused about the sauce…and the fish…and how apart they may have been nothing special, but together they made for an absolutely PERFECT marriage. It was a taste he’d experienced nowhere else.

He had to take a once in a decade or so trip to check on a pair of well-cared-for Sisters who never actually needed his help to get this flavor, this crunch, this spice, this moment.

Nostalgia hit him like that bomb a bounty hunter lobbed his way one time fifty some-odd years ago (he’d dodged the explosion, narrowly and had scars along his left leg from the flying shrapnel).

He sent a silent communication of thanks to Matilda.

Vash wistfully thought of the people he’d never shared Edvard’s with. He’d never brought Wolfwood here. He’d never gotten the chance. Avon had never been on their way. They’d been to many hole-in-the-wall joints together and Vash had shared many of his favorite things with his friend (almost every donut-shop in the Seven Cities, for instance, while Wolfwood had groused that he could barely taste anything, anyway due to his experimentation wiping out half of his taste-sense and his cigarette-habit wiping out the other half). Vash wondered if Rem might have liked fish n’ chips. What little he could remember of their meals on the SEEDS ship, they were fairly basic and generally Plant-generated vegetarian, with fruits such as apples rare and precious treats. She probably would have liked the potatoes, though – and the red sauce. Honestly, someone could put this on a boot and Vash would eat it.

Maybe he could bring the girls here – when he saw them again, out of the limelight.

Avon was special, in part, because it was one of the few places that he wasn’t recognized. Take off the red coat, muss up his hair and people here didn’t see him or maybe they did, but they just did not care. Who cares about the Humanoid Typhoon when they’ve got their quiet lives to live and little dingy fast food joints to run?

Vash savored every bite as he watched the blipping arcade machine. He did not know when he would eat like this again.

___________________

END.

#trigun #trigun maximum #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #plants (trigun)#plants #nostalgia #food #vash and food #worldbuilding #where food on noman's land comes from #trigun fanfiction #fanfiction

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not-alien-girl-v · 9 months

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Vampires Will Never Hurt You (Harry Styles)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

"What do you think you're gonna get, girls?" Charlie had his head buried in his menu, sitting across from Donna and me in a small booth at IHOP.

"Not pancakes," Donna added nonchalantly. I turned my neck and gave her a look.

"You're going to the International House of Pancakes, and you're not getting pancakes?" Charlie put his menu down for this conversation.

"They have other things on the menu for a reason," Donna and Charlie continued to bicker on like that about why they should or shouldn't get pancakes, and I couldn't help but let my mind wander.

I spotted a man wearing a bright orange and blue shirt and was sent back into my memories.

It was June, 1978, back when Donna was still new to the coven, having arrived a mere 9 years before, and her, Charlie, and I were walking along a beach in California.

"No, no, no! You're wrong, just accept it!" Charlie bickered with Donna. Only 9 years ago they had met, and since that day they've been bickering like an old married couple. They're practically soulmates.

"Look Charlie, cats can see IN THE DARK. If they can see in the dark, werecats in a human form wouldn't need glasses! It's part of their whole supernatural thing! Shut your mouth!" Donna argued.

I was about to chime into the argument with my opinion when I saw a strange man staring at me across the sand. This guy was a textbook vampire. Sure, he didn't dress like an 18th-century governor, but he was crazy pale and strangely charming.

The more I thought about it, the more the idea of vampires intrigued me. What would I do if I met one?

That was the very first day that vampires consumed my every thought. If only 40 year old me could see me now.

"Faye, what do you think?" Charlie pulled me out of my daydream, and I suddenly realized my friend and my brother were now staring at me expectantly.

"Um, I think I'm going to get pancakes, sorry Donna." My best friend simply rolled her eyes and picked up her phone.

"Do you guys remember my accent?" I asked out of nowhere.

"Yeah, I do, why?" Donna replied while scrolling through Tumblr.

"I just miss it. It's weird to think I sound American, but then again, I don't sound remotely the same way I did a two hundred years ago," I looked out the window with a solemn gaze.

"Not so loudly Faye, we only moved here 20 years ago, I'm not ready to get the locals suspicious," Charlie warned with a pointed look.

"It's Los Angeles, this isn't even close to the weirdest conversation I've heard. Also, what do you mean by locals? We haven't had a stable neighbor for more than a year."

"Well, perhaps that's more us problem than a them problem. Remember the cotton incident of '06? Or the socks in the bathtub mishap of 2014?" Charlie said.

I shivered at the memory. A bathtub filled with socks is fun, but let's just say throwing up 3 pounds of cotton is not.

"Anyways, I'm gonna go out for a smoke. Don't order me anything," I excused myself from the table and walked outside.

I lit my cigarette and opened my phone, scrolling through my Instagram feed.

Suddenly, a post caught my attention. Harry Styles posted for the first time in a few months, with a selfie with his bandmate Louis, and the location was Los Angeles.

Maybe I'll run into him, a very old, very dangerous, yet hopeful part of my brain thought.

No. I thought we agreed to not listen to head-voice Faye. Remember the time that we-, shut up Donna! No, she wasn't telepathically communicating with me, I've just known her for long enough that her little voice comes into my head whenever I'm about to make a bad decision. That's how I know the decision is terrible, when I can immediately imagine Donna scolding me, but sometimes I just don't listen to it.

On that note, I put out my cigarette and walked back to the entrance, but was stopped by a now hiring sign.

I decided to walk inside and ask the man at the counter if I could get an interview, and ultimately got myself scheduled for two days from then.

I peered through the restaurant to see Charlie and Donna once again, in a lighthearted argument, and I decided to stay outside until they were finished.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

After I got back to the table, Donna and Charlie managed to behave themselves for the rest of the night. All the way through dinner, which was when Charlie gave us a stern talking to about using the new spell, to when he dropped us off at our shared house and went home.

"Did you end up getting an interview while we were there?" Donna had asked me while cleaning the dishes.

"I did yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm going to get a job there. By the looks of it, they were understaffed, I don't think the bar is very high at the moment," I replied and suddenly got the idea to perfect the spell now that I had some brotherly advice on it:

"That's good," Donna finished up with the dishes, "I'm gonna go to bed, goodnight, Faye." She walked off to her room.

"Night," I mumbled and pretended to be invested in my phone but once I made sure she was in her room, I scrambled to grab my grimoire.

I followed Charlie's not so specific instructions, and figured which item I'd link the spell to, which I decided would be an old dagger I found in the garage, and then got to work on my sigil.

I studied the base sigil I wanted to use and drew it in my own grimoire, then added in some jazz to make it my own.

I carefully tiptoed to my room and slid open my closet door to find a suitable outfit. I pushed aside several old dresses and jackets, and once my hand pushed aside one jacket in particular, an old Polaroid fell out of the broken pocket.

I got that heavy feeling in my heart, you know, the kind you get when you're about to remember something you're trying to forget.

I reluctantly bent down and grabbed the Polaroid, inspecting the outlines of my face 40 years ago placed beside none other than Jesse Kellerman himself.

Like always, I was sent into a flashback.

"Wait, so does that mean that you do magic and shit?" Jesse asked me with an ecstatic grin on his face as he sat at the foot of my bed.

"Yeah, I guess it does," I played with a small ring I had on my finger.

"Turn me into a frog!" He shouted, and I snorted at him. "What?"

"Why do you want to be a frog?" I asked him through my laughter.

"It's not about wanting to be a frog, it's about wanting to see you turn me into a frog," he explained and he scooted closer to me.

"I don't think I know a frog spell. Believe it or not, us witches, we try to focus our magic on more serious topics," I attempted to explain to him. Keyword attempted.

"Well then just make one up, you can do that, right?" He looked like an excited puppy, and I couldn't just say no to him.

"Fine, I'll see what I can do."

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

About half an hour later, I had found a spell for amphibians, so there was a chance he could turn into a frog, but he could also be a toad or a salamander or even a newt.

In the end, he turned into a toad, which was close enough to a frog, and it wasn't like he could tell the difference; he was a toad.

After a solid 10 minutes of me laughing my ass of and him making toad sounds (A/N I looked it up turns out toads make different sounds than frogs) I whipped out my Polaroid camera and took a picture of him. Once it came out I shook it, then wrote down 'Faye + Toad Jesse 1978'

I assumed that one day in the future we'd look back at the picture and I'd tell him how the spell didn't work quite right, but I never got the chance to.

As soon as I snapped out of my daydream, I shoved the picture into the other pocket of the jacket as fast as it fell out.

I quickly yanked on a jacket and walked back out to the living room where my grimoire resided.

From what Charlie told me, the spell can't be completed until it's tested, so I needed to find my test subject.

I decided that it could wait until I found a worthy creature to be the world's first vampire. It's a big role, I can't just hand it out to any old guy!

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #harry styles fic #louis tomlinson #louis tomlinson fanfic #louis tomlinson fanfiction #2014 aesthetic #2014 vibes #2014 core #2014 grunge

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esxchulte · 2 years

Text

So here’s chapter 2!! If you saw the old one I unfortunately deleted it because I did not like it :( I’m sorry to everyone who did. Luckily this chapter still has elements from the last one and in my opinion is much better. So enjoy!

Chapter 2

As he brought you to the base of the stairs, your gaze slowly rose up to the new mounting task upon your plate, attempting to make it to the top of the cavern. At the top you noticed flames flickering, and some type of wooden bridge connecting the landing to, what you guessed, was the entrance to his ‘room of doom’. Another creative name the villagers came-up with for his place of fortunes; which, in your opinion, was actually quite catchy.

“...you have to climb these everyday?” you whispered quietly to yourself, the unimaginable idea that this was an occurring task making you accidentally voice your internal opinion. How foolish of you to believe that your suffering was finally over by meeting the man of your fears. Now, the task of making it to the top without wheezing was what was haunting you.

“Oh yeah, it’s not that bad!” Bruno answered, shrugging his shoulders” you get used to the burning…after a while…” he finished, with his hands landing on his hip, while his words quietly drifted off into silence as he gazed at his own steps hauntingly. He seemed to not understand that your whispered words were meant only for your ears and not his. “Clearly, this man has not had a lot of social interaction in the past couple of years,” your brain supplied, “or you also could just be a bad whisperer, who knew?”.

“So do we just…?” you asked hesitating by the steps, trying to engage your guide from the corner of your eyes, hoping above hope he’d read your uncertainty and take the lead. Gazing at you questiongly for a bit you could finally see the spark of connection in his eyes, and he quickly leapt up to the first step nimbly.

“Right this way senora” Bruno said, sweeping his arms out and bowing, presenting the dusty steps to your soon-to-be sand covered feet. You took the first step-up to your very long and winding journey and heard Bruno follow after you. After about the 10th step you quickly realized that your host was not joining you by your side. “Oh, this was going to be awkward,” you thought worriedly, “was he going to follow behind you the entire way there?” Roughly by the 20th step you realized that this was so, and that addressing it now would be utterly awkward for the both of you. So instead, you decided to ask questions to try and alleviate the imaginary tension you created in your mind.

“So, how long have you been doing this?” you asked.

“Oh, uh, about 7 years now...formally,” he responded.

“Oh, cool.” you answered, nodding your head in solidarity.

By the 40th step you felt your legs start to burn, “these steps must be the real curse of Bruno” you thought bitterly. How did the village have time to discuss thoroughly on how creepy Bruno was, but continuously leave out the monstrous trek they had to even take to get to him! Perhaps, resentment is what fueled the fires of hate rather than actual fear itself within the town. Then suddenly abrupting your angry internal monolog, there was a tap behind you, and then another, soon you recognised it as a continuous sound of sandals slapping against the stone.

Turning around you watched Bruno as methodically tapped a pattern into the steps, focusing intently on what he was doing. He then stopped, took a deep breath, and ended his strange little routine with a bop of his knuckles against his head. He looked at you blankly after it, and whether or not you were making a face because of it, he seemed to freeze up at his actions, and cringe harshly at you.

“Ah, lo siento señora, I-”

“Ah, no, it’s alright, don’t even worry about it.” you exclaimed nonchalantly, flipping your hands in the air. You’ve heard of his ticks and rituals from the town gossip before, and watching him freeze and lock-up in fear of you, made you feel much more upset than it weirded you out. He reacted this way before when he had opened the door to his room and ran into you.

“...a-...yeah, okay.” He seemed stunned by your nonchalant-ness and quick brush-off of his actions, blinking at you rapidly in surprise. Perhaps, what you said wasn’t the best way to respond to someone in clear distress of what they had done, but with your subconscious desire to have people comfortable in your presence mixed with your need for others to like you, it made stopping your mouth much harder than usual. Staring at him silently now, a frown etched it’s way onto your face, as regret began to bury its ugly head into your heart.

“...sorry if that seemed rude I didn’t mean for it to-”

“No! no, you're fine!” he said, waving his hands worriedly. Silence soon then followed after his exclamation, submerging the cavern into an eerily quiet state. He seemed genuine about what he said, relieving the guilt of it’s heavy weight on your heart. Breaking eye contact you focused your gaze back up to the steps.

“...want to walk up there with me?” you asked, gesturing up to the many flights of stairs that laid before you, stepping over a bit on the step to physically show what you implied. He smiled up at you and your words, and took a step up to join you.

Chapter 3

Beginning

#encanto bruno #encanto #encanto bruno/reader #encanto/bruno #encanto bruno x reader

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rochiomaru · 2 years

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Puppet On a String

The shorter man sneered at the blond and squared his broad shoulders, bringing himself to his full eight-foot three-inch height and staring down the other as if he were the smaller one. He had always been good at running a gambit, and never more than when he felt cornered. Be damned if he would allow this fool to know the effect he was having! “So, you think that gives you the right to start a pointless contest here in front of your new subjects? Is that the impression you wish to give during the first month of your conquest of Dressrosa? If so, I would be happy to oblige you,” Crocodile hissed as he narrowed his slate-gray eyes and drew his hand up to form a small spiral of storming sand in his palm.

Doflamingo stepped back, the smile wiped from his face as he watched the movements of the other warlord. Again, his head made the slightest of twitches, giving the indication that he was looking behind Crocodile and towards the waiting vessel in the harbor. The vein deepened on his temple and his jaw clenched as he appeared to weigh his next words.

When Crocodile could not wait another moment to see what had that idiot’s attention, he turned and looked at his ship. Nothing out of the ordinary. His men were docking the boat as instructed, and the only one not actively moving was Mr. One, who was watching the scene between himself and Doflamingo. Daz Bones had been with him for years and always watched out for his safety, even though Crocodile was more than capable of handling any situation that arose. Perhaps Doflamingo was perceiving him as a threat? Does he think the Crocodile’s right-hand man will attack?

He then turned back to the blond, ready to mock him for such ridiculous thinking when he saw the frown had been replaced by a pout. For a moment in time, his mind went blank as he did not know what to think seeing a thirty-one-year-old man stand there like someone had broken his favorite toy. However, once Doflamingo became aware that he had noticed the look on his face, it was instantly transformed as if it never existed. Once again, he held the sultry look of someone fully assured they will get what they want.

“Now, my dearest Croccy. Stop playing coy, hmmm? You came to Dressrosa to visit the newest king and be spoiled by royalty, didn't you?” he drawled while gliding up to the shorter man and running his slender fingers down Crocodile’s arm to impede the building sables. “Wouldn’t you rather let your crew entertain themselves and come let me show you what you’ve been missing hiding away with him all this time?”

The sand began to fall to the ground and Crocodile allowed himself to be led away from the harbor as Doflamingo’s words kept running through his mind. The pink menace continued to prattle on, but he was no longer listening as he was trying to piece together the whole incident at the harbor. When it came to him, he stopped causing Doflamingo to stop as well and turn to him.

“You were jealous.”

“Excuse me?” the blond’s grin became tight.

Crocodile’s smile grew wide and sharp. He could see the other male pale slightly, even under the tan skin tone, and the flutter of his pulse at the base of his jaw did not go unnoticed either. Doflamingo had managed to keep him off-balanced for far too long by manipulating Crocodile’s emotions. However, he was also a master at exploitation by reading other’s cues and body language to get what he wanted, and this was the first opportunity Doflamingo had given for him to take advantage of. He would not allow it to go to waste! It was time for this damned bird to realize just who it was he had been messing with.

“Do not try and deny it, you feather-brained menace. You might as well have a sign hung around your neck that says that whole little display was because you were worried I might like Daz’s muscles more than yours,” Crocodile taunted before lighting his cigar, inhaling, and blowing a smoke ring at the other’s face. As he turned to walk ahead of the blond, he could almost hear the other man grinding his teeth behind him.

Doflamingo clenched his fists and glowered at Crocodile’s retreating back. He stood there, his face becoming tinged pink, even to the tips of his ears, until he finally looked away from both Crocodile and the townspeople that were murmuring while continuing to pass them both.

After walking a few hundred feet, Crocodile realized the flamingo had not continued to follow and he turned to see where he had gone. When he found the man standing several hundred feet behind himself, staring morosely at the ground, something tugged painfully in Crocodile’s chest. He unexpectedly found himself feeling guilty for having derided Doflamingo over Mr. One, but he honestly was in new territory to admit having feelings at all and sarcasm was his basic instinct.

He took a deep drag on his cigar and tossed the remaining stub to the side. As he exhaled the smoke, Crocodile walked back and took the other’s hand to tug him forward. “Hey, birdbrain. Isn’t the castle this way? I thought you were so eager to show off your new toys and all the pompous ass, over-the-top royal finery you have acquired?” He gave the taller man a challenging smile and a raised eyebrow. “Besides, you have to prove you got something better than Daz’s muscles, right?”

The moment Crocodile took his hand, Doflamingo took in a sharp breath and looked up, but as the other man spoke, he just turned his head to the side and frowned. The moment dragged on to an almost uncomfortable silence, and Crocodile was about to speak again when the other man broke into raucous laughter and leaned down until Crocodile could see himself reflected in the lenses of Doflamingo’s sunglasses.

“Oh, my dearest Crocodile, I can guarantee I definitely have something much better and bigger than Daz’s that I’d be more than happy to show you tonight if you would let me. I think you would be very satisfied, yes?” he smoothly declared before taking the hand that held his own and bringing it to his lips to gently kiss and then turn to kiss Crocodile’s wrist, grazing the pulse-point with his teeth very gently as the grin returned to his face.

The raven-haired man felt an almost electric shock race from his arm and pool into a warm heat from his chest to his groin, as the hated feeling of heat settled on his face, and he knew there would be a tell-tale flush to his cheeks. He quickly turned his head, as to not let the pink idiot see him in such a compromised state and pulled his hand back. “We will never know if you don’t get your ass moving, will we?” he grumbled while starting to walk back towards the hill that Dressrosa’s castle was located atop.

Doflamingo’s grin lessened by an almost imperceptible degree at having lost Crocodile’s hand, but he was still encouraged when the other male was still willing to accompany him to their destination and not back to his ship. He quickly slid next to the object of his affection and threaded his arm into Crocodile’s as they walked alongside each other.

“I want you beside me here, Crocodile. It’s more than just for a good time or to prove I’m better than that man on your ship. I want to help you with your goals, and I think you can help me with mine. Let’s team up and nothing in this world will be denied us. I can offer you everything if you would let me,” Doflamingo’s face was serious when Crocodile glanced at him as they approached the gate to the palace.

For once, the warlord was struck at a loss for words. It was not the offer itself that had caught him off guard, as it was not the first time he had offered a partnership, but there was usually some dramatic stipulation with it. However, before now, he had not seen the feather bastard look so formal, even if he was looking forward instead of at Crocodile. “I…I have my own plans, birdbrain. I…” he began awkwardly when Doflamingo began to giggle.

“No need to answer yet, Wani-chan. You have just arrived, and I still have so much to show you! I have not even shown you mi obra maestra. There is something that I am waiting for a big reveal tonight after dinner, but first, let me introduce you to my family,” Doflamingo was quick to stop Crocodile’s embarrassed ramblings as a woman with green hair and thick glasses came to open the door for them. There was a small girl with dark hair peeking up at Crocodile from behind her.

“Greetings, Young Master. Dinner is just being put on the table,” she curtsied and smiled as though the odd greeting were an everyday affair for them. Crocodile raised an eyebrow at her and then looked over at Doflamingo to see how he responded to her.

“Good evening, Monet.” Doflamingo smiled warmly at the woman. “This is Sir Crocodile of Alabasta. He will be our guest for at least the next few days, so please treat him as family. Croccy, this Monet. She is one of my family members. She has a younger sister around here somewhere, but I’m not sure where she is at the moment.”

Crocodile eyed the girl hiding behind Monet, but said nothing about it. He simply nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment. Nonetheless, Doflamingo noticed his glimpse of the young girl and his smile grew wider. He put his hand in the air and wiggled his fingers, causing said girl to fly into the air, squealing with laughter.

“Young Master, no!” she yelled out between fits of giggling as he looped and flopped her around like a puppet on strings. She began to turn pink from the exertion and he finally let her back down to the ground, where she began to smooth her skirt and pat her long hair.

“This little scamp here is Baby 5, another member of my family. She is a very important member and I fully expect her to be a high ranking official soon,” he smiled proudly at the girl, causing her to blush profusely and become shy.

“Thank you, Young Master. I’m so glad you need me!” she exclaimed, blushing even more and again running behind Monet’s skirts.

“A high ranking official?” Crocodile looked skeptical.

“Why not? She has been in my family for several years now and is successful on every mission she is a part of. I trust her not to betray me. She is intelligent, strong, eager to please, and has full control of her devil fruit. I see her going far in the family,” Doflamingo frowned as he spoke while trying to figure out why the other warlord would not see the value and raw talent in his family members. Sir Crocodile was known for seeking out talented individuals for his Baroque Works and other endeavors. Surely, he would see the benefits of one such as Baby 5, even if she was still a little on the small side at twelve years old. He reached over to pat her on the head, and she smiled up at him like the sun rose and set on his shoulders, returning the warm smile back on his lips.

When Doflamingo turned to look at Crocodile he was met with a cold glare. “So, it’s true then? You weaponize children for your army. If she fails you, will you sell her to the highest bidder at Sabaody?” he spat out.

The air was thick with tension, all playfulness gone in an instant. Monet started to step forward and confront the visitor. “How dare you say that? The Young Master would never…”

“Monet! Enough! I can speak for myself,” his face was dark with suppressed rage, and there was almost a red glow to the ruby lenses of his glasses as he spoke. Crocodile would have been apprehensive, but he was angry in his own right. He may be a bastard himself, but his line was with children. When it came to them all he could think of was him. What would he be now? Not much younger than this girl and be damned if he’d be used as a living weapon in an army.

Crocodile worked to control his breathing. He could see Doflamingo was truly riled up, and he knew that could be bad. As mentally unstable as the other warlord was famous for being, it was like dealing with a desert cobra. The strike could be instantaneous and deadly if your guard was down. This might be time for a quick exit. He attempted to dissolve to sand, but his eyes widened in horror as he found strings were digging into his skin. Strings he could not dissolve around.

Doflamingo’s lips curled into a razor-sharp leer. “Sweet Croccy, what’s the matter? Have you found that you can’t just say what you want and run away this time? I suppose you could, but you would have to leave your pretty head and remaining hand with me. I’ve infused my strings with haki, which seem to make a very nice trap for elusive logia types.” He cackled wildly while gesturing at Monet and Baby 5.

“Go tell the family to start dinner. I don’t want the food to get cold but be sure to leave plenty for me and Croccy here. We will be along shortly,” he said in a saner tone, his smile changing to the genuine one he wore earlier. They nodded, curtsied, and quickly left the room.

Once the two females had made their exit, Doflamingo turned back to Crocodile and the smile dropped from his handsome features, though he did not look angry any longer either. He looked empty. For some reason, this made the other man more uneasy than the blond’s rage did. He was back to being unreadable. He was a blank slate, and perhaps more dangerous than ever.

A few silent moments between them passed when Doflamingo sighed and dropped his strings. “If I see you try to leave, I will not hesitate to tie you up again. I just want to talk as companions and not feel like your captor.” Crocodile threw the taller man a sardonic look, causing the other to flush and cluck his tongue unhappily.

“Fine! I get it! But still, I don’t want to have to keep you in my strings while I explain. Please?” The way the blond’s voice cracked at the end of his plea tugged at Crocodile’s chest and he rolled his eyes.

“Proceed,” he grudgingly allowed before sitting in a velvet lined chair in the foyer and pulling the silver cigar holder from his breast pocket. If he was going to have to listen to the pink menace’s drivel, he at least wanted to sit comfortably and have a smoke.

Doflamingo then seemed to perch himself on one of his strings in the air, similar to a bird on a wire. Crocodile would have laughed had he not still been angry at the other man for being such an asshole for dragging children into his dirty affairs. He really was like a giant bird nesting with his feathered coat and long legs tucked in such a manner underneath him.

“I don’t weaponize children. I admit I don’t give a shit about this world. It is full of filth, and humans…” Doflamingo stopped to look first at Crocodile and then cocked his head to the side as if thinking before turning to look at the doorway in which his family members had exited shortly before. “Most humans are trash to be burned and forgotten. The exceptions are my family and those I love. I hope the ones I love will become family, since they are exceedingly rare. I can only think of a couple that are not able to join my family for whatever reason, and the other… Well, we’ll see. I sell devil fruits and weapons, but I do not purposely arm children with them to make them living weapons for war. What countries and criminals do with what I supply on the black market, I cannot say and do not care.”

“But that girl couldn’t have been over ten!” Crocodile slammed his fist on the table next to him and started to stand. He was willing to listen if Doflamingo told the truth, but to lie when the evidence was standing in front of them both not ten minutes ago was unthinkable!

“Baby 5 is twelve going on thirteen next month, so don’t let her hear you say that or she’s gonna be really pissed!” he laughed as if Crocodile hadn’t been making the point that the blond weaponized her and was just commenting on her age in general. Crocodile growled and sat back down until he was done laughing at his own joke. After wiping a stray tear of mirth from under his sunglasses frame, Doflamingo noticed the look on the other man’s face and realized the implication. He stood from his string and stepped down to approach closer.

“She is not a weapon! Baby 5 is family!” Doflamingo declared forcefully while leaning into Crocodile’s personal space. They stayed nose-to-nose for a few moments, each looking at the other until Doflamingo huffed and stood. He turned, running his fingers through his blond hair, causing it to stand on end in a haphazard manner. After taking a couple of breaths, he turned around and flopped onto the ground with his legs crossed in front of where Crocodile sat.

“Baby 5 has been family since she was six years old. Before that her mother tried to kill her. Her blood,” he spit out the word in such a manner as if it made him want to vomit, “betrayed her. That’s when we found her and saved her life. I gave her a devil fruit that gave her a way to protect herself and to hurt anyone that would ever try to harm her again! We taught her to fight and to be the best at what she does. She can kill with the best of them and will be just as good as any male pirate. No one will ever call her weak because she isn’t. She is part of the Donquixote Family. The same goes for Buffalo, Dillinger, and any child I take as part of my family.”

Doflamingo stood and walked over to a window before continuing. “Maybe if I had moved faster to give a devil fruit to my son, that sorry ass blood traitor marine wouldn’t have stolen him from me. He could have had the power to fight back and come home before the Navy took him. I just wanted him to have the right devil fruit…” he trailed off as if lost in his memories.

Crocodile swallowed, lost in his own thoughts as he listened to Doflamingo’s story. Somehow, he could sense every word was the truth. It appeared to be a rare glimpse into the mind of Doflamingo Donquixote, and as twisted as his thinking was, what he was saying was making sense. There was a particular part of his story that caught the raven’s attention though. “You have a son?”

A short, bitter laugh echoed through the room. It was a stark contrast to the man’s usual laughter and the sound sent chills through Crocodile. “Oh, he wasn’t my biological son. Blood means nothing. It was blood that took him from me. He was an orphan that sought me out to join the family, just as the others have joined at different times.” Doflamingo continued to look out the window for a bit longer, when his shoulders heaved a few times, though Crocodile could not discern the cause for that motion.

When he turned, the genuine smile was back on his face and the emptiness was gone. “You would have liked him, I think. He was so much like me that I knew right away I wouldn’t turn him away. He was dying, but I began teaching him to become my right-hand man. I wouldn’t have let him die. It was destiny for him to come to me to be my heir!”

“Then he was gone, stolen by a blood traitor, and given to the Navy. I now know that family is those that you find. The special ones that I choose to love. I put no faith simply because I happen to share bloodlines with someone. This has proven my undoing too many times,” he began to laugh wildly again and motioned at Crocodile to stand. “You can go if you want, Croccy. Isn’t your crew waiting for you? I’m sure I’ve ruined whatever chance I had today, so I will try to convince you to come back at the next warlord meeting.”

“Well, that is the height of rudeness, birdbrain. Invite me to your kingdom and then dismiss me without even feeding me first. Perhaps I should just let your new subjects know what a boorish buffoon their new king is on my way out if you are kicking me out?”

Doflamingo’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he attempted to process what Crocodile had just said to him, but as the other man shrugged his shoulders and turned to head towards the door, the blond found his voice again and quickly rushed to the other’s side.

“No, no, no, my dearest, Wani-chan. Don’t be so hasty! I was most definitely not dismissing such a lovely creature as yourself. Perish the thought! I was just lamenting that I had surely bored you with so much gossip. Please come and enjoy the feast I had prepared for your arrival,” Doflamingo steered the smaller man towards the dining hall to join the rest of the family for dinner, an excited grin plastered on his face. “In fact, I had alligator and tomatoes prepared especially for you in honor of your first trip to Dressrosa!”

Crocodile allowed the feathered idiot to paw him while leading him to the other room, feeling somewhat like a lamb to the slaughter. Somehow, hearing the sensual tones of Doflamingo’s voice in his ear, Crocodile could practically feel himself becoming impossibly entangled in the puppet master's strings. As they entered the dining hall, he supposed to himself that so long as those strings did not become a noose around his neck, he would be fine with that.

#donquixote doflamingo #sir crocodile #soul for sale #drabbles #one piece #love that flamingo #doffy #Dofuwani

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bcdrawsandwrites · 3 years

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Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: K+

Genre: Gen?? Sickfic?? mild H/C??? you got me, man

Characters: Caligosto Loboto, Boyd Cooper, Gloria Von Gouton, Fred Bonaparte, Crispin Whytehead, Sheegor

Warnings: Vomit, blood, depictions of sickness... (SPOILERS: implied torture + amputation)

Description: Loboto is having a very bad night. The inmates are not helping.

Beta Readers: @jaywings and Rocket

Notes: This fic is based on a theory that comes from a few figments in Loboto’s mental world in the demo footage of Psychonauts 2. ...also I wrote this while sick with a fever, edited it while still sick, and illustrated the cover while recovering from said sickness. have fun

—~~~—

He did not remember arriving back at the tower.

Partially because he wasn't even back in the tower, instead standing on the frosty shoreline, the chilly waves lapping at his boot heels.

Loboto stared dumbly out at the cliffside for a long moment before frustration simmered beneath his fogged mind. Yes! Of course, they wouldn't send him back to his lab. No! He could do with a good climb, especially on a frigid night like this! His chest heaved with quiet, dazed laughter before he took a gasp of cold air that grated against his sore throat.

The wind, though not harsh, cut through every part of him that wasn't covered by his shower cap or lab coat like a fine knife, as cold as it was painful. It grazed his shoulder, and his vision went white as his mechanical eyes flashed. But even with the blasted optics glitching, he could still see. His imagination ran wild with absurd visions of ridiculous things that had never happened.

On top of that, the slice of pain brought with it a violent realization that it was not the only pain he was in. The numb shock he’d been in gave way to an agony that tore through him, ripping up and down his side, nearly bringing him to his knees. No, no, no, that pain could not be real, just like the horrific visions of red and yellow that flashed through his mind. It was all a trick—all a stupid trick from his malfunctioning eyes and his brain. Pah!

He found himself clawing at his shower cap, occasionally stopping to smack his mechanical eyes a few times until they flickered back into focus, the desolate beach snapping back into view. "Enough of this!" he growled hoarsely at the sand beneath him. "That little army man will be back any day now, and we can't keep him waiting."

With a grunt, Loboto marched forward and heaved himself up onto the first narrow ledge, already finding his body shuddering with the effort and his mind struggling to push back the imaginary waves of pain. "Ridiculous!" he blurted into the rock he leaned against for balance. "A child can climb a mountain ten times this height!" And it wasn't like he'd never done it, either. Muscle memory helped him get from one step to the other, but keeping his balance was harder than normal, especially as his mind repeatedly dipped back into brain fog.

His eyes flickered in a blink when he found himself on the ladder, his boot slipping on the frosty wood and one hand losing its grip. Realizing he was about to fall, he flung his weight back against the ladder, biting down on the nearest rung to keep himself in place. A frantic giggle worked its way through his clenched teeth—ah, teeth! Useful for so many things! They would never let him down.

If you let us down one more time—

Ripping himself away from the rung and leaving rough teeth-marks behind, he let out a snarl and heaved himself the rest of the way up the ladder and onto the ledge. He sat on his knees for the moment, his mechanical eyes pulling back as he tried to make sense of the gate that seemed to be spinning around him. No, not just the gate—the entire cliffside spun beneath him like some wild carnival ride. He couldn't remember it doing that before, but the absurdity of it made him laugh, the action tearing through his sore throat. Yet he continued to laugh until his stomach lurched and a cascade of vomit silenced him.

He managed to scoot himself away, spitting and coughing as the world slowly came to a halt. At the same time, a figure that had been sleeping against the opposite wall snapped alert with a panicked gasp.

"Ah—ah!" Boyd stammered, scrambling to his feet and whipping his head around until he spotted Loboto on the ground. "Who are you working for?"

"That fool Oleander," Loboto grumbled under his breath, his eyes swiveling to glare at him.

Boyd's eyes blinked separately before recognition dawned upon him. "Y-yes! Of course!" Fumbling with his keys, he got to work unlocking the gate. "It's said he knows the milkman..."

Gritting his teeth, Loboto shakily began to push himself back upright. A large hand suddenly clapped against his shoulder, and he gave a yell as he was heaved to his feet. Without turning to look, he struck at the one who'd grabbed him. "Tricky terrible traitors try to trap—"

"AH—no, I am no traitor, I am the guard!" Boyd cried, stumbling back and holding up his hands as Loboto found his balance.

The two stared at each other for a tense moment, Loboto's eyes glowing harshly as Boyd trembled beneath his gaze. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of satisfaction at seeing his subordinate cower.

"Th... the milk is not ready yet!" Boyd said, wincing away as he eyed the doctor's clenched fist.

Loboto stared.

"I'm lactose intolerant."

Boyd glanced at something on the ground. "I-I noticed."

With a growl, Loboto finally marched past the guard, who frantically closed the gate behind him.

Now that that mess was over, he could finally get back up to his lab and get back to—

He paused.

"SHEEGOR!"

His voice boomed through the empty grounds. It was empty of people, now empty of crows, and empty of elevators.

When his assistant did not spontaneously appear, he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white beneath his glove. "Yes! Wonderful!" he proclaimed to no one as he stamped toward the withered garden with a harsh laugh. "I can scale this dilapidated tower myself then. Fine night for some exercise!"

He knew his way through his asylum, of course, so it wouldn't be overly difficult, but he would have much preferred the express elevator so he could get back to work immediately. But as it was, he ducked through the entrance to the greenhouse, fighting to keep steady as the action made his head spin, his back ache (no it didn’t, he was fine), and his shower cap to catch against the branches overhead. Turning his optics up, he pressed a hand down into the cap, pulling it away from the plants. He'd hoped to avoid the woman who occupied this corner of the asylum, but as he straightened his back, he bumped into one of the flowerpots, knocking it to the ground with a dull clunk.

"My, you need to buy seats in advance if you want to come to my shows!" Gloria said, turning to him with a patient, hazy smile. "No need to be harassing the paying customers."

"What do they pay you in? Leaves? Seeds?" Loboto asked, the frantic giggle that followed clashing with his strained smile.

Gloria ignored the comment, glancing him over and waving him off. "Please see yourself out. I'm not an usher, but since they seem to be ignoring their duties, I'll have to tell you you cannot bring food or drink into the theater."

Swiveling his optics in an approximation of an eye roll, Loboto turned away to head out the other side of the greenhouse. "I don't have any."

"Not anymore, but anyone can see that wine you've sloshed onto your nice suit."

Loboto froze.

"It's a wonder it didn't get onto the carpet—"

The next thing he knew, he was staring down at an entire line of flower pots that lay in pieces on the floor of the greenhouse.

"Oh!" Gloria cried. "I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure the ushers will attend to this ruffian, and the play can resume..."

He left her to continue rambling to her imaginary audience as he tried to rid the imaginary nonsense (visions, pain, glowing yellow eyes) from his mind. "Fickle fumbling females feeling faint for fading flowers..." he mumbled as he stepped into the lower floor of the asylum. It brought its usual sights and sounds of one of the former orderlies dozing over a makeshift game board (with stolen game pieces, he noted), the artist in the room overhead scraping old brushes furiously against a canvas, and finally Crispin standing dutifully in front of the asylum's only other elevator.

"Crispin!" Loboto said, and the man turned to face somewhere slightly to his left. "Let me up, will you?"

"Of course, Doctor Loboto." Crispin turned toward the elevator controls, only to pause, his dull eyes squinting as he turned back. "Wait..."

"Wait for what?" Loboto threw out his arm in a wide gesture. "Do you want to hear that army man ranting at us again? Or perhaps you find it funny! Though it is, isn't it? Shouting about sneezing powder and tanks! HAH!"

While he'd been talking, Crispin had been leaning forward, eyeing him up and down. He frowned. "You're not Doctor Loboto," he said at length.

"WHAT?!"

Behind him, Fred sprang to his feet. "Sacré bleu! We have fallen asleep on ze battlefield!"

Ignoring the man and his terrible French accent, Loboto stepped closer to Crispin, finding himself trembling—in rage or in suppressed laughter or something else, he wasn't sure. "Of course I'm Doctor Loboto! I was, last I checked. Highly trained and professional!"

"Yes, well," Crispin began, leaning back and raising a brow, "the real Doctor Loboto does not wear an actual straitjacket. It's merely a strappy jacket fashioned from one."

"This is my jacket, you milky-eyed moron!" Loboto cried, tugging on the front of his coat in demonstration. "It doesn't have my arms tied up!" He lunged toward Crispin to grab him by the collar, but stumbled as the world spun once more. He struggled to keep his stomach from flipping again.

"Well, that's because you're wearing it poorly. But you are certainly not Doctor Loboto. I can tell. You don't have the right jacket, or the right complexion." He tipped his head. "The real Doctor Loboto is blue, not sickly gray. As you can see, you can't fool me. Now go back to wherever you came from and—"

"He has returned from ze war!" Fred blurted behind him. He blinked, then shook his head, hunching in on himself. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, we really shouldn't—" He straightened again. "Yes, shut up! We are in ze presence of a great war hero!"

Crispin rolled his eyes. "What are you going on about now, Fred?"

"Do you not see? He bears ze blood of his enemies upon his robes, and ze scars of victory—"

Loboto whirled on him faster than he could think, managing a swift kick to Fred's shin.

With a yelp, the man crashed to the ground, curling up on himself and whining. "Ohhh... can we just postpone the battle until morning?" He twitched. "NON! Ze enemy never sleeps, so neither shall we!"

"Well, Fred's down for the count again," Cripsin remarked. "So if you're done, kindly step away from my elevator and off the nearest cliff, thanks."

Loboto wanted nothing more than to knock Crispin to the ground and find a few bad teeth to remove, but his vision was blurring and flickering, and he found it hard to think.

"No, really, we can't fight in the dark, and the enemy can't either, can they?" "Rrrrrghhh, I suppose you are right, for once. We shall camp here for now, but come sunrise, we fight!"

A weak laugh made its way past his lips as he stared down at the former orderly settling on the cobblestone. Yes, that crazy man had a point. There was no point in fighting tonight—he'd get his work done in the morning. And that work would have to include getting back into his lab in the first place.

After a brief moment, he snatched an item from the floor before stumbling back through the greenhouse and toward the entrance.

A nice night for sleeping under the stars, he supposed.

---~~~---

Judging by how bright the world was by the time his mechanical eyes flickered back on, the sun was starting to rise. But he couldn't tell for sure when there was a large metal cage blocking his view, with something else within—

"He said he would be back by nightfall, but he hasn't come!" a high pitched voice cried as a familiar form stepped out of the elevator, her back to him. "Oh Mr. Pokeylope, do you think he's gone for good this time?"

The corner of Loboto's mouth twitched.

"Oops!" She clapped an oven mitt over her mouth. "I'm glad he's not around to hear me say that," she said as she began to turn. "If he was, he'd be—EEK!"

Sheegor jumped back at the sight of Loboto laying sprawled out at the foot of the fountain, having slept (or passed out) there the remainder of the night. He clutched his worn teddy close to his chest and stared her in the eyes.

"Oh—I—I—!" Sheegor held her pet turtle close to herself. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry Doctor Loboto, I didn't mean any of that, I—"

"Yes, well it's a nice morning, isn't it?" Loboto grumbled, tucking the teddy bear under his arm so he could push himself to his feet. His entire body ached (from sleeping on the ground, not from anything else). "A nice morning to get some work done after you left me stranded here all night!" He took a threatening—but wobbling—step forward, fist clenched.

Oddly, Sheegor didn't seem as intimidated as usual. Her mouth gaped, and her eyes darted between his face and his right side.

"What are you looking at?"

"Y... you..." A trembling mitt was covering her open mouth. "D-Doctor! What happened to you?!"

His eyes flickered. "I slept out here with a rock for a pillow."

"N-no, it's—it's—!" Her whole body was shaking now, but not, he sensed, in fear of him. It should have made him angry, but exhaustion pulled at him instead, making his frame droop.

"Yes? Well, spit it out."

Sheegor held out one hand, pointed toward his right side. "Y-your arm!"

Loboto's optics slowly angled down to his right. For the first time he noticed the enormous, darkened bloodstains on his jacket, and a torn, empty sleeve hanging limply at his side.

"Oh," he said dully, feeling himself wobble as the pain finally worked its way to the forefront of his mind. "How did that happen?"

At once the world tipped to the side, and Sheegor caught him, straining to keep him from fully collapsing to the ground.

Wordlessly she helped him into the elevator, letting him lean onto her while he bit back the urge to scream. He wanted to protest, to berate her for touching him, but everything felt distant, even the upper floor of the asylum as they rapidly ascended toward it. And anyway, once they reached the top, anything he would have said was held back by his rolling stomach ejecting whatever bile still occupied it.

As he gagged, he could hear Sheegor whispering to the turtle in her mitts: "I know, I know, but I-I can't leave him like that—th-the asylum wouldn't... w-we were supposed to..."

"Just... get back to work... Sheegor," he managed to slur around the acrid taste in his mouth. Bitter bile breaks brittle bones of the mouth.

Sheegor looked from him to her turtle a few times, her mouth wobbling, and carefully eased his arm over her hunched back again. Instead of leading him to his lab, however, she led him down into the asylum, into the usual room he slept in: a mostly-intact bedroom with a mattress and blankets over a broken bed frame shoved into one corner, a chair and a desk with papers scattered across it, and a meticulously crafted and framed (and official) DDS license on the wall.

After easing him down into the bed, Sheegor stepped back, looking away. "Um... I-if you want, Doctor, I can clean that robe..."

His initial thought was that the blood stains made a wonderful addition to his ensemble, but glancing down at them again caused his brain to supply him with more awful, made-up nonsense. No, he wouldn't have that any longer.

With some amount of struggling he managed to get the thing off, unceremoniously tossing it in Sheegor's general direction. She managed to catch it and quickly scurried out. "I'll get this back to you as soon as I can Doctor bye!" she squeaked before the door slammed behind her, leaving Loboto sitting in the empty room.

Everything felt surreal, being in familiar surroundings after spending an entire night on freezing cobblestone. The sight when his gaze turned downward, however, was less familiar: there was new stitching across his chest, and on his right shoulder where his arm had been. It was cleanly done—they hadn't wanted him too much worse for wear, since he still had a job to do for—

Oleander. He had a job to do for Oleander right now. The sneezing powder, yes. His mind drifted over the things they'd discussed in their last meeting.

They'd both figured out a way for it to be made, more or less. The remaining issue was how to properly dispense the stuff. Oleander had suggested keeping it in a bag, but that was easily-spilled, and it may lose potency if pre-ground. But what was he supposed to do? He didn't have a grinder with him on-hand at all times—

A shock of brilliance bolted through him, and he stumbled to his desk with renewed energy. He grabbed a well-chewed pencil and began to write, his non-dominant hand shaking badly as he forced it into motions it was not used to.

But that was fine. It wouldn't have that job for long.

A manic giggle bubbled out of his throat as he worked out the notes and rough sketches, detailing a jointed pepper grinder with claws and a strap to secure it to his now-unoccupied side.

This loss of a limb, baffling as it was, was exactly what he needed.

#caligosto loboto #sheegor #crispin whytehead #boyd cooper #psychonauts #fred bonaparte #gloria von gouton #my writing #my art #fanfic #aka 'loboto and the terrible horrible no good very bad night'#also okay Boyd does try to help a bit #and also Sheegor is Very Good and she does not deserve the crap Loboto puts her through

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aspiringauthorintraining · 3 years

Text

Sands of Eon (1/2)

(A/N): Buckle your seatbelts, cause this is a long one! Read with sad music to really get in the mood. Cause I wrote this with sad music playing in the background lol.

“Do you have a wish, Xiao? I’ll write it on your lantern.”

“No need. I don’t have a lantern nor do I have the desire to make one.” He quickly shut down your offer, no sound of amusement or humor found in his tone. But unfortunately for him, you were used to his constant rejection and came prepared this time.

Grabbing another lantern from under the table, you pushed it towards him with a smile.

“Well, lucky for you, I already made you one.” you laughed, seeing his surprised reaction at the lantern in his hands. “No need to thank me.” you added.

“I don’t-”

You interrupted him before he could say no. “I already made it, and I don’t need two wishes. And like I said, I’ll even write it for you if you want.” Seeing his hesitation, you offered him a deal. “I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.”

Xiao, knowing you weren’t going to give up until he relented, nodded reluctantly.

You clapped your hands happily at his defeat.

“My wish is to become someone who can protect the great and mighty Xiao!” you exclaimed, showing him your lantern.

To become someone who can protect the great and mighty Xiao.

- (Y/N)

The adeptus gave you a puzzled look after confirming for himself that you had indeed written the same wish verbatim, onto your lantern.

“Well, you protect Liyue, right? But who protects you?” you asked the yaksha. And you predicted that he would say something along the lines of “not needing the protection of a mere human” or what not, so you chimed in again. “Of course, I’m not as powerful as you are. So my protection will mostly be in the form of Almond Tofus and my company. And I'll always be here for you, whenever you need me.”

“I have no need of you, nor your company.”

You tried not to smile at the fact he didn’t mention not needing Almond Tofus.

“I’m lonely. You’re lonely. So we can be lonely together, then.” Shrugging, you changed the subject before he could retort back. “So, what’s your wish then?”

At the conversation returning back to the topic of his wish, he let out another sigh.

“Hand me the brush, I’ll write it.”

As he silently wrote down his own wish on his lantern, you wondered whether he insisted on writing it himself because he was embarrassed to say his wish out loud. Or was it because he didn’t like your handwriting? You figured it would most likely be the latter. But upon noticing the slight blush dusted onto his cheeks, you couldn't help but second-guess yourself.

And after a short moment later, he handed the writing utensil and lantern back to you.

“You sure you don’t want to come with me to release the lanterns?” you asked him, hopeful that maybe this year would be the year to finally convince the recluse man of joining the festivities. “We can release it on the mountain, instead of in the city if you would feel more comfortable?”

“I would feel more comfortable staying here.” he replied firmly. His tone didn’t give away any leeway of changing his mind, so you decided that the lanterns would have to do this year. But hey, at least he participated.

After gathering your things, you made your way down the steps of the inn, and into the direction of the road leading back to the city. You waved a goodbye up to Xiao, who just watched your retreating figure. It was only when you stopped walking to frantically wave at him, that he gave a half-hearted wave back. He probably breathed a sigh of relief at your absence, once you left his view. But still, the half-hearted action brought a smile to your lips, and it remained with you the rest of the way home.

Once the Lantern Rite festival ended, the Xiao lanterns disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.

You had been tempted to keep Xiao's lantern after the festival, knowing it was the first, but you hoped not the last, lantern Xiao had written a wish on. But the lanterns were meant to be released, not kept. And it wasn't hard to keep the wishes written on yours and Xiao's lanterns to your memory.

In the following days after the Lantern Rite festival, you spent your time contemplating how to go about making your lantern wish become a reality. But as you wracked your brain, continuously pondering over the problem, you were left with one resounding question.

What really could you do for Xiao?

You didn’t have much to offer the yaksha. You were neither rich nor someone with immense power that could rival his. Your company, which you weren’t even sure whether he enjoyed or not, was the only thing you had going for you. Well, that and making him Almond Tofus.

So then, nothing, it seemed.

You sure talked big for someone who had nothing to back it up with.

That was until one day, when you came across a certain object in a treasure chest in your adventures.

“It’d be best if you destroy that, and forget you ever saw it, (Y/N).” the archon responded to your question.

“Why? Isn’t it just another hourglass artifact?”

You figured asking Zhongli about the item would be your best bet. With how old he truly was, the Geo Archon had an immense knowledge of everything, and if anyone knew what the artifact was, it would have to be him.

“That’s one of the artifacts that was lost during the Archon War. It’s far more powerful than any used these days.” The funeral parlor owner took another sip of his tea, before continuing. “It’s infused with the raw power of a god, so it has special abilities.”

“Like?”

The man should've known that you weren’t going to follow his advice from the start. He let out a defeated sigh, before elaborating further. “There were rumors that the god who created that specific artifact had received the Sands of Eon from Time itself.”

“Time is a person- I mean a living being?!”

“Again, just rumors.” he noted. “And supposedly, by infusing the artifact with his own power, it could bend the laws of time.”

Your eyes grew wide at the new information. “So you’re saying this artifact could, in theory, turn back time.”

“In theory, yes.”

How could such a powerful artifact have washed up shore and land into your hands?

You decided to ask him one last question, already getting a slight headache at the information just revealed.

“What happened to the god?”

“It was said that the first and only time he used the piece was after watching his people massacred during the Archon War. He used it to save his people; warning them of the future events beforehand, buying them enough time to flee. Consequently, the price he paid for saving all his people was was at the cost of his own life.”

He left you with some parting final words as you left the funeral parlor, to sort out your thoughts.

“There's always a price for changing the past, (Y/N).”

Your first thought had been to give the artifact to Xiao, allowing him to go back in time to when he made a contract with the evil god, Kubira, who used him as a bloodhound. But remembering the fate of the original owner of the artifact prevented you from doing so.

It was then you were reminded of your lantern wish.

To become someone who can protect the great and mighty Xiao.

This was the answer to your wish.

You could use it yourself, and stop Xiao from forming the contract with whatever means necessary. You made a promise to protect him and by doing this you would be able to. There would be no pain or suffering for him to endure if you were successful. And once you realized that this was the the only way to truly protect your friend, you knew there was no turning back.

You gave yourself a month to prepare. Reading up on everything there was to the Archon War to prevent a change into the outcome, with your sudden appearance in the past. It was also meant a month of pestering Zhongli; asking about anything that wasn't recorded or lost in Liyue's history. You researched everything you could about the evil god, Kubira, as well, in order to prevent the infamous past contract that sealed Xiao's fate.

And it was, perhaps, the first time you were ever thankful to have grown up alone. No close ties with anyone, no family to miss once you left. Sure you had friends, but they could continue to live on without you.

The only one person you realized that you would truly miss and regret leaving behind, was the same person you were going back into the past for. You wondered if he would be okay once you left. You were the only one who pushed through his constant rejection and intimidating demeanor to truly get to know him and to be able to call him a friend.

But if you were successful in changing the past, would he even be able remember you?

The night before your departure, you visited Xiao at the Wangshu Inn, with a bowl of his favorite dish.

The adeptus who didn’t know a word about your plan, paused at the forlorn look you had as you watched him eat his food. It was already strange to him that you were just watching him, instead of asking him how his day was or telling him who you had met on your way over like always. And the forced way you nonchalantly brushed off your watering eyes as seasonal allergies confused him even more. Something was off about the way you were acting. And the question you proceeded to ask him was the icing on the cake.

“Hey, Xiao. If I went missing for some time, would you miss me?”

If you had asked this in the first year you met him, he would’ve probably responded with a relieved no. But currently, he remained silent at your question.

Had your efforts to befriend him pay off? Did you actually manage to squeeze into his heart, and make yourself a little home?

“…I would miss your Almond Tofus.” he replied after a long minute, paired with a straight face.

Well, it was better than a no.

During the early stages of your "friendship" with Xiao, the words, "get lost" were thrown in your direction every time you had come to visit. So to you, his current answer was certainly an improvement.

“Is it really that hard to say, “Yes, (Y/N). I would miss you so much. Don’t ever leave me” ?” you drawled, trying not to laugh when he briefly choked on his food at your choice of words.

Gulping down his water, he cleared his throat loudly. “Ehem. F-fine, I guess I would notice your absence.”

Sure, it wasn’t the confession you were hoping for, but you would take it.

You gave him a small smile, turning your attention to the view from the top floor balcony.

Taking in a deep breath, you gathered up the courage to speak your next words.

“Hey, Xiao.”

You looked at him with another smile, this one not quite reaching your eyes. You took a silent moment to memorize his face, down to every detail. When you reached his eyes, you tried to keep yourself from getting lost in the amber pools. But with one look at them, you failed miserably, falling straight into their depths. And with your undivided attention given to his eyes, you failed to notice the slight reddening of his cheeks.

“Thank you for protecting Liyue. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being my first love. And most of all, thank you for always being there for me.”

You stood up quietly, holding onto the same bittersweet smile on your face as you neared him. And before he was given the chance to register your words, you quickly left a soft kiss on his cheek; disappearing down the stairs without another glance back.

Regaining his conscious a moment later, he was about to chase after you, knowing you couldn’t have gone far. But a folded letter on the table in front of him distracted him momentarily, giving you enough time to escape.

Xiao,

I thought long and hard about what I could do for you after saying those big words about protecting you. And I think this is the best way to do that.

I know you won’t remember any of this once I come back, if I come back. You probably won’t even remember me. But that’s okay. I’ll be fine, being the only one who remembers, if it means you’ll have a better future. So don’t let my efforts go to waste! Eat something other than Almond Tofu and snow. Make and surround yourself with friends. I hope I showed you that humans can be worthwhile friends too. And don’t ever think that you deserve solitude, because you deserve so much more than that.

Thank you again for everything. I never felt alone when i was with you. I’m still not even sure if you consider us friends, but your friendship meant the world to me. So I’m going to have to insist that we are friends.

I don’t have any regrets leaving. I lived and I loved thanks to you. So now it’s your turn.

I hope you can live your new life without any regrets or burdens weighing you down.

Love Always,

(Y/N).

Part 2 here!

(A/N): i made it into a two part, because it was taking too much scrolling to read everything lol. Also why is Xiao’s story so sad? I did some research before writing and like I’m crying dude.

Like, comment, subscribe, ring the bell for notifications for more videos. jk lol, this isn’t youtube. Just play some Genshin.

#genshin impact imagine #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao #genshin xiao #xiao imagine #xiao x you #genshin xiao imagine #genshin imagine #no beta we die like hilichurls lol

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mxvladdy · 3 years

Note

Hi! just finished reading your Tumblr request on AO3 and I just looooove your writing ;; if it's not a problem I wanted to ask how you imagine that Lucifer, Mammon and Beel would react to a MC who is usually very quiet and not very expressive, impossible to embarrass or make nervous, to suddenly, one day manage to make her blush for the first time (Also, English is not my first language, so I hope this is okey) I wish you a lovely week ❤

A/N: This is adorable! Sorry for the slow turn around, I hope you enjoy!❤

Lucifer

Stoicism is something he normally finds very attractive in a woman. To be able to keep such a level of calm outlook during even times that might even shake him. He loves the idea of a power couple, and the way you hold yourself. You definitely make one.

It does grate him that he can’t fluster you like you do him, especially during your time together in private. He tries multiple ways to even just draw some color to your cheeks. Flowers in the classroom, hand written invitations to private dining establishments and venues, he even went to the human realm just to find some kind of familiar comfort to give to you. You love them all he knows but he wants, craves to see an uninhibited reaction from you. He’ll get it one day, his pride depends on it at this point.

Luck graces him one evening after a hellish work day. A fight in the school yard leading to property damage he had to do extra paper work for. The only saving grace of that was it wasn’t one of his brothers, this time. Only followed soon after by a report of yet another racket engineered by Mammon. Then, to top off a horrible day one of Belphie and Satan’s little “pranks” blew up half his office.

All his loose or unprotected paperwork, gone. Nothing but smoldering bits of ash. He was now more than ever thankful to have you by his side. Before he could get his hands on the two you stepped in shooing him away to deal with the other fires that needed to be put out while you handled his office.

Things got done, in record time for once. He was able to rewrite his notes for the next council meeting, but at the cost of your weekday dinner together. A pity, but he knew you understood. Trudging up to his room he looked forward to perhaps a few hours of sleep before the next crisis struck. Then he found you.

He chuckles to himself quietly leaning against his door frame. You had beaten him to his favorite resting roost. You sat on his favorite armchair, rolled up tight in his comforter. All he could see was a tuft of hair and the very tip of your nose. Beautiful as always, but he wanted to rest. Well-two birds, one stone and all…

He scoops you up envious of how deeply you could slumber and places you on his lap. Kicking off his shoes he sighs blissfully before resting his head back on worn leather.

Mini fic

You didn’t expect to see Lucifer tonight. Today has been the absolute definition of a shit show, on nights like these it wasn’t uncommon for you not to see him at all. You would normally place your bets on him being unconscious at his desk. Though, he couldn’t really do that tonight. You pat yourself on the back mentally knowing that he would be pleased with the work you and the brothers did cleaning up his office. While you couldn’t get them to apologize to Lucifer you at least got them to clean up what was salvageable in his study.

After a few hours of cleaning his office was back in working order and your feet were screaming for a break. Bidding the two miscreants farewell and making them promise to hold off on the pranks for at least a week you let your body lead you to Lucifer’s room. The room was how you left it that morning. Your slippers next to his by the door and your robe tossed haphazardly on his linen sheets. You make a beeline for the only piece of furniture Lucifer loved dearly. How many nights had you snuck in only to see him melting into the old chain. His long legs sprawled out and tangled in his foot rest, while his body sinks into the imprints he has left from years of use like a lover's embrace.

Yanking the thin comforter from his bed you curl into the divots with a yawn. Before you know it your eyes close and the crackling of the fireplace lulls you to sleep. You awake with a jolt, confused and disoriented for a moment before your sleepy brain catches up. You fell asleep alone on the soft leather but woke to something unyielding beneath you now.

Lucifer sits underneath you snoring softly. His arms rest around your blanketed body. His head tilts down over you, his nose tickling your hairline. Like always he sports a mild look of annoyance. His lips were drawn in a scowl, brows crinkling in displease. You could tell his jaw was tense even while he slept.

Freeing your arms from your cocoon you reach up from him moving to cup his twitching jaw. With practiced ease you began to message the pin joints. You smile to yourself moving down to his tense neck and shoulders. This had become a nightly ritual for you when you shared a bed. When you knew he was asleep you would start trying to work away some of his tension from the previous day. You swear in the morning that he looks better on the nights you get the chance to.

This was your little secret though. You couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing you did this. Not that you thought he would disapprove. Lucifer appreciated acts of service, but just the thought of him knowing made your whole body heat in a flush. You push the thoughts away focusing instead on the extremely tight muscles underneath his brow line. It amazed you that he didn’t have any wrinkles after all this.

So engrossed in your perusal of his features you didn’t notice him stirring till his warm palm traps your hand to his cheek. Before you realize it his lips push a firm kiss into the flesh of your palm. Scarlet eyes meet yours crinkling around the edges. They were warm and radiant. “You’re blushing.” His voice was deep and husky from what little sleep he got.

“What?” You stammer.

Lucifer leans in tapping his forehead on yours. He studies your wide eyes and pink face for a moment before cracking a smug grin. “I’ve never seen you flustered before. Your blush looks good on you.”

“You caught me off guard.” He nods, kissing the tip of your nose tenderly taking impish glee in your squirming.

“Good-I will strive to do so more often. I wish to see you as undone as you make me.”

Mammon

Stoic MC? Rare pair? Rare pair. Mammon wears his heart on his sleeve. Nothing about him is slick. From week one everyone knew he had it bad for you. He is so open with his affections whether he likes it or not. Unlike you.

Honestly, how were you always so controlled. Ain’t the dame supposed to be all blushy and giggly too? It-it makes him think he isn’t doing something right. Is he not treating you right? Were you unhappy?

So he goes to do what he does best. Scheme. There has to be someway to crack that stoic disposition of yours. He gets clingy-well clingier now. He starts springing random vacations on you. Expect to skip class whenever he thinks he won’t get skinned alive for it.

He’ll take you anywhere all his internet research tells him to. Black sand beaches, crowded boardwalks to see the lights, deserted hiking trails late in the evening to watch the fireflies. He is sure it will work. But nope, nada. You love every moment of it and show him with a soul searing kiss and sweet words of praise. But damn you if you aren’t always so cool about it.

He is about to throw in the towel when he finally gets what he wants. At work no less. It was completely by accident but he isn’t one to complain. Perhaps he should go to work more often.

Mini Fic

“Pucker up!” Mammon’s make-up artist orders, squeezing his cheeks between her thumb and forefinger. “And for Diavolo’s sake put your phone down.”

“Shove off Cazzin.” Mammon sputters around the sour tasting lip stain and plumper. His eyes still glued to his screen. His freshly done nails swiping at picture after picture of fancy hotels and spas. Just thinking about taking you a private spring got his blood boiling in the best ways.

“Woooow.” Cazz whistles through her fangs looking at his screen. “Who is the lucky lady you are trying to impress this time?

“Mammon bristles, shooting her a murderous glance. The smaller demon blanches, purple skin turning ashy with fear. Her eyes drop to the floor immediately in submission, a sincere apology falling from her lips. “My girlfriend.” He says finally after cooling down. “I’m-I’m trying to impress her or something.”

“Well, pretty sure with a price tag like that anyone would be impressed.” Mammon only grunts barely glancing at the excessive amount of zeros on the page. Any other girl he knew would be a blushing mess after getting a gift like this. Hells, even Cazz was eyeing the site with open envy and excitement. Yet, this wasn’t the first time he had done something like this with you. Every time he did all he got was a blisteringly radiant smile and kisses that probably could send him back to heaven if he didn’t have a life long ban there. Not that that was a bad thing...but he just wanted more.

“You would think so…” He trails off clicking his phone off to focus on the rest of his routine. No sooner had his hair and make-up artist finished then his director was stomping and shouting down the hall for him to get his ass on set. Grimacing Mammon slides off his seat stretching to spare himself a few more seconds of peace. He stops at the door taking one last look at his get up for this shoot.

Damn, he looks good. It was time for a new spring collection, but more importantly, his most popular season. The light spring colors always brought out his best features. The pastel cotton shirt they “fashionably” threw him in hung casually around his frame. Buttons “tastefully” undone to show the smooth planes of his freely waxed and oiled skin. The linen board shorts and finishing touch of leather sandals gave him the perfect beach vibe. At top dollar mind you.

Hmmm-perhaps he could borrow this outfit for your next beach outing.

Unable to tone out his bosses shouting anymore Mammon makes his way to set. He thinks hard on what else he can go or take you to impress you, ignoring the poking and prodding of his camera men and set designers. His partners today, two incubus twins stood sourly next to him. They had been at this for hours and even he was ready for a break from the sweltering heat of the lights.

“Alright! Alright!” The director broke an hour later tired of the twins whining. He throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “We’ll break for an hour for lunch- lost the light as is.” He huffs stumping off for a smoke break.

“Finally,” Mammon sighs from his pose on the ground. “Think I got sand in my ass.” He gets up from the ground grimacing as he tries to brush the grit off his legs. “Shit starts to burn when they get hot.” One of the twins nods looking down at their own arms. Tiny burn marks showing on their fair skin, they will heal by the time the shoot resumes, doesn’t mean they will be happy about it.

“Want to grab lunch?” The twins ask tossing him a towel to blot at his sweating brow. “New food truck is coming in today.” Mammon shakes his head. You had packed him something to eat this morning and he kind of wanted to enjoy it in peace for once.

Waving the two off he hurries back to his room already salivating at whatever tasty food you got him. Halfway to the door he stops, the fine hairs on his neck standing up. Someone was in his dressing room. Devil’s please don’t let it be another rabid fan. He pleads before creeping forward to check. Whoever it was left the door ajar, peaking in he stares enraptured.

When did you get here? It wasn’t abnormal for you to just drop by while he was working, but you usually waited for him on set behind the cameras. You sit humming to yourself reading something on your lap, feet kicking out innocently while you wait for him. Flipping a page he gets a glimpse of what you’re reading. His feathers ruffle in satisfaction. He had plans on showing you these shots before their release date. They still needed approval from his director but he knew they were great. You flip through shot after shot humming or nodding at some. One shot makes you stop fully, eyes growing wide.

Mammon snorts to himself, knowing exactly which photo you stopped on. The next issue was focusing on “Elegance in the work space”, whatever that means. His designer for the projects went a little overboard with the cuts and designs of the business suites he was to model. The sketches and drafts she had thrust at him had made his head spin. They were all amazing in his opinion, but one had been killer, everyone had agreed on that. If he didn’t know any better he was certain that it would put him on the cover. By the way you were looking at it, he was hoping it would.

That suit really complimented all of his features. It was form fitting accenting his slim waist but hid the slight sloping of his shoulders. The gold of the threading of his vest was done up in soft floral patterns that popped against the dark navy blue of the suit's fabric. The dark blue really brought out the lightness of his eyes. The look was topped off with a bright yellow silk pocket square, polished leather wingtips and gold cufflinks. He was about to interrupt you when he saw it, that one thing he wanted more than anything.

The pink starts at your ears swiping across the bridge of your nose before blooming on your round cheeks. It was breathtaking. Thinking he was being sneaky, Mammon whips out his phone for a quick picture, no one would believe him unless he had solid evidence. But the flash gives him away.

“Mammon!” You jump caught, hands flying to cover your warm face.

“Oi! None of that!” Mammon moves quickly snatching your hands away from your face beaming. “I’ve been waiting for ages to see this face on ya, an’ all it took was a picture of me?”

“You- you clean up really nicely, Mammon.” His hearts flutter at your soft admission.

“Huh,” Mammon scratches his neck, feeling his own blush coming forth. “Well- I mean I could do that more often, so long as you keep looking at me like this when I do.” He picks up the stack of photos from the floor where you dropped them in surprise. “Ya know- I still got that suit.”

Your face turns molten- oh he was going to have a field day with this.

Beelzebub

Doesn’t even notice at first. He is kind of the same way with expressing himself too- unless food is involved. So if you are content then he is content, so who cares if you don’t show it on your face?

Well- he didn’t care, until Belphie brought it up. His twin didn’t mean anything by it; he knew that, but it made him wonder. He trusts you when you say you are happy, you have no reason to lie to him. But date nights, game nights, and family dinners you were always so impassive.

It makes him wonder, not enough to ask you though. Truthfully, he is a little embarrassed that he can’t read you as you do him. He won’t force it like his brothers might. He is patient and hopes one day it will just come naturally like it does for him around you.

Mini Fic

Beel watches you over his lunch. You two were silent as you ate, but that was to be expected on days like these. The school cafe was packed with students all jockeying to get a place in line for today’s special. He had gotten there early for the both of you to gap a few of the specials and sides before they were gone. “Are you ok?” He puts his fork down leaning in close to speak to you across the small table. It creaks dangerously under the weight of his elbows on it. You look up from your tea mug. He smiles at your perpetually mild expression, your eyes were hard but your lips and brows were relaxed giving away nothing.

“Of course.” You smile up at him, face smooth and controlled. “Just excited about tonight.”

Hmph, could have fooled him. Beel leans back, studying you intently. He hopes you were as excited as he was for tonight. A new arcade had opened on the edge of town last week and he thought it would be a great date night for the two of you. He had expressed to you on several occasions how he was looking forward to the roller rink and the hoop games. You seemed eager, giving him a closed lip grin every time he brought it up. “Me too.” Beel says finally turning back to his food. “Think we will win any prizes?”

You snort dismissively. “Us? The dream team? I would be surprised if we didn’t win something. Have you seen the plushies?” You pull out your phone and show him their Devilgram. “I want to try and get the hydra one…” You prattle on and scroll through all the cute prizes on their site. He nods along taking a mental note of all the ones that you pointed at, determined to get each and every one for you.

School goes by quickly, far too quickly for him. Each tick of the clock caught him by surprise, jacking his nerves up more and more. It wasn’t like it was his first date with you, but it never stopped the butterflies from starting in his stomach. After school he changes quickly and waits for you by your bedroom door. He fiddles with the zipper of his jacket until you finally open your door.

“Ready?” The smile you throw up at him is breathtaking. “Hope you don’t mind my get up. You mentioned a roller ring so I figured something sporty and functional would be appropriate.” You kick out a leg waving a hand over your bright sport leggings.

Beel chuckles offering you his large hand. “You look adorable as always.”

Being with you was as easy as breathing to him now. After all your time together in the house getting to know you you became one of his closest friends, even before you started dating. You shared many of his interests and wasn’t afraid to argue your point if you saw fit. You fill the train ride to the arcade with idle chatter, goofy selfies to send to his siblings, and annoying the other passengers with your ill-contained chuckles.

The place itself was packed but well spread out to handle the massive throngs of demons and beasts coming for drinks and a good time. “Come on!” You shout over the other very drunk and very loud customers tugging at his sleeve. “Let’s get some coins and find an empty station.” He lets you lead. You take full advantage of his impressive frame to part the crowds around you as you hunt for a free spot. “See anything?”

Beel peers over the heads of most of the demons and looks out. In the far corner sat a few jump rope games that were free. “Stay close.” He murmurs in your ear wrapping a protective arm your shoulders so you wouldn’t be swept away in the flow of the crowd. The games were...hard. Mentally Beel kicks himself. Of course an arcade in the Devildom wouldn’t be geared for humans. They were built for demons' fast reflexes and inhuman strength. You were a good sport about it though, cheering him on when the games began to move too fast for your senses. If a game broke in his zeal to get you tickets, well you were both fast walkers.

“Think we have enough?” Beelzebub asks hours later around a popsicle. His jacket pockets bulge with multicolored tickets screaming to be spent.

You hum around a scoop of ice cream. “Possibly-” Your eyes flick to the prize booth. “And extra, you want a plushie too?” He shrugs. No doubt the moment it got into his room Belphie will steal it to add to his horde.

You end up getting your stuffed hydra and a giant fuzzy minotaur to keep it “company”. You clutch them close to your chest, seemingly happy with your bounties. After that you spend a bit at the roller ring before you finally had to call it a night. Exhausted you lag behind Beel as you make your way back to the train station, feet dragging with each step.

Wordlessly, Beel stops just in front of you. “Here,” He squats, offering you his back, arms stretched out behind him. “I can take us the rest of the way to the stop.” He feels you hesitate for a moment before climbing on to his back.

“Thank you.” He thinks nothing of how soft your voice was, just barely a tickle at the base of his neck. Beel treks one once you are secure, stuffing his hands in his pockets to lock you in place. The rest of the walk was quiet but he didn’t mind it, your warm body and soft breathing in his ear was a comfort.

He stops at the benches with a few minutes to spare before your train. “We are here. Do you want-” He gasps quietly, cutting himself off before he could accidentally wake you. You sleep on unperturbed by his voice. Your hold on around his neck was tight, your head buried in his neck.

It seems only when you're sleeping do you let your guard down. A blush sweeps across your face, your lips pulled up into a serene smile. You looked-happy. Happy in a way he never saw before. He won’t say anything about it, he decides. He’ll cherish this tiny expression all the same. Perhaps one day he’ll see when you're awake too.

#Request #om beelzebub #om lucifer #om mammon #im slowly cranking them out!!!#obey me shall we date

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andfollowthesun · 3 years

Text

come kiss me silver and gold

written for @dinlukenation's dinluke week day 5! prompt was: knight/prince au.

read it on ao3 if u prefer (5.6k words)

Din is covered in sand and krayt dragon blood and other various fluids when he enters the inn, the smell of it lingering in his nostrils and causing everybody to go silent once he steps past the doorway. Peli swoops the kid from his arms as soon as she sees him, and it’s testament to how exhausted he is that he doesn’t protest. She points up the stairs, “Bath’s waiting for you,” and he only spares her a grateful nod before trudging to his room. He’d usually be a little more considerate— beskar is heavy, and Peli’s stairs don’t deserve his clomping footsteps— but given the day he’d just had, he figures he’s allowed to take a few liberties.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice Luke the first time, because when he comes back downstairs, body and armour clean, vision still tinged the same red fog as the colour of the dragon’s stomach lining, he finds it hard to notice anything but Luke.

He’s sitting in the corner, alone, and that’s the first thing— nobody ever came to Peli’s alone, or if you did there’d be someone trying to swindle you or sell you something within the first five minutes. But he’s just sitting there on his own, a berth of at least four or five seats between him and any other patrons.

The other thing is that he’s so still. Head bent over some papers on the table in front of him, empty plate pushed to the side. Hands steepled in front of his nose, only one hand gloved, brow furrowed. For all appearances, he held himself with the calmness of a man who knew he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was going to do with it all.

Din tears his eyes away when Peli sets Grogu down on the seat next to him, along with two covered bowls of stew. He reaches to gather Grogu in his right arm while balancing the bowls in his left, to take up to this rooms to eat, but Grogu rips the covering off one of the bowls and in the blink of an eye is wrist deep in food, half of it already smeared over his mouth. Din stares at him, the grainy feeling in his brain meaning it’s a good few seconds before he computes the fact that apparently, he’s so tired even the kid has faster reflexes than him right now. He’s acutely aware of the way his stomach is cramping with hunger, but he knows getting Grogu to stop eating for the five minutes it will take to move them to their rooms will be more effort than it’s worth.

Peli’s smiling at him, a half-crooked, reluctant twist of her mouth, and Din tilts his head in thanks for watching Grogu as he cleaned up. She nods in return before heading back to the kitchen, and Din settles in to wait for Grogu to finish his dinner. He runs a gentle hand over his head, before letting him grab hold of his thumb and chew on his glove. It’s clean. Mostly.

His thoughts are interrupted when the chair across from him scrapes out with a loud screech, and he looks up to see the dark figure from the corner now sitting at his table.

“Hello.”

Din is suddenly glad that his signature response to people introducing themselves unexpectedly to him is to stare them down in silence, because currently, behind his visor, he’s gawping. The man in front of him, for lack of a better word, is bright, even more so now that he’s right there instead of in the corner. Din feels like he can’t look at him directly, needs to steal glances through his lashes instead, like a bloody schoolgirl. But at the same time, he can’t look away.

“My name is Luke.”

And the last sign that Din has completely lost his mind and is going delirious with exhaustion— and perhaps also that he’s getting old if he’s so easily soft for shiny, pretty boys— is that he answers, before his brain has really caught up to his mouth, “Din.” Not with continued stony silence, not even Mando. His actual name.

“Din.” A smile spreads across Luke’s face. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Din is thankfully saved from answering when Grogu pulls on his glove a little too hard, overbalancing to tip forward and flip the remainder of his dinner over on the table. Din clucks his tongue, and leans forward to clean up the spill.

“Be careful, kid.” he chides, and he’s in the middle of claiming Grogu’s bedtime as his graceful exit from the conversation when Luke holds up his ungloved hand.

“Let me,” he says, and with a wave of his hand, flicks the tissues across the table to clean up the mess, and then sends them flying neatly into the bin across the room.

“What,” Din says, “the fuck.”

That seems to cow Luke a little, or, at least his smile turns sheepish. “Sorry,” he says, even though he doesn’t seem very sorry at all. In fact, now that Din has been staring at him for a couple of minutes and can decipher some of the twitches of his brow, the jut of his jaw, he seems, of all things, a little smug.

Din refuses to think about how the neat motion of Luke’s hand— something he was clearly practiced in, confident, precise— showed the delicate bones in his wrist, which only made him look more fragile, and Din especially refuses to think about how his mouth had watered with the sudden desire to lick over the joint. He has no interest in competing with some wizard in a weird ego game, no matter how attractive he is, so he gathers Grogu more firmly in his arms and makes to stand, but before he can pick up the other bowl that contains his own dinner, Luke speaks again.

“Wait!”

And there’s something in his voice that makes Din pause; a note that wasn’t there before. It’s not quite a cry for help— Din can already tell Luke is too proud for that— but it’s close. That brightness that had first caught his eye before is more apparent than ever, and Luke looks at Din with pleading eyes that rivals Grogu’s.

God, how is he even prettier like this? He curses himself for being weak, and sits back down.

“Sorry.” Luke repeats. His posture as slumped a little, and the bravado from before is all but gone. It’s like he was trying to be someone else before and now he’s exhausted from the effort. “I’m not very good at this.”

Din tilts his head questioningly.

“Making friends, I mean.” Luke elaborates.

Din has to stop himself from snorting. The last friend he made was Cara, about ten years ago. He didn’t need to make friends. He had the kid. He knew enough people.

Luke takes Din’s silence as an answer, and changes the subject. “What brings you to Naboo?”

This, at least, Din knew how to respond to. “Business.”

Luke’s face goes cheeky. Din knows his answer sounds suspicious on a good day, and he knows that Luke knows that. What he doesn’t know is why Luke’s face now looks like a foundling’s on Life Day, momentarily flooring Din with this new, relaxed, open expression. He’s still holding himself incredibly still, but not like before where he was tensed like he was trying to prove something, or even before that in the corner, when he seemed to be propping himself upright with the sheer force of that stillness. Din finds that he likes this version of Luke best so far, bottom lip full with smiling, one dimple sitting on the corner of his mouth, and despite himself, Din finds himself leaning forward.

“What brings you to Peli’s?” he asks, trying to level the playing field. It didn’t seem fair that Luke already had such an effect on Din, when he was still just sitting there, regarding Din slowly, deliberately.

“What,” Luke spreads his hands. His tone is affronted, but the cheeky smile is still on his face. “A man can’t come get a drink?”

“To Peli’s?” Din doesn’t keep the incredulousness out of his voice, and he only lowers his voice as an afterthought. No need to get on Peli’s bad side, but if Luke wants to be secretive, that’s his own business. Din knows what it’s like to hold everything you know tightly to your chest. It would hardly be right for him, of all people, to judge.

“If I’m being honest,” Luke says, after the silence between them has stretched out to the wrong side of awkward, “I came over because I noticed you watching me.”

“I was watching you too.” he adds, when Din doesn’t reply immediately. Din feels his face go bright red under his helmet, and he watches, transfixed as Luke’s tongue darts out briefly to wet his lower lip.

“Why?” he asks, when he remembers how to talk.

Luke gives Din an appreciative once over. “You’re not bad to look at.”

It’s such a line that Din is embarrassed it only makes him hotter. He thinks it’s something to do with how Luke has shifted, bodily, the long line of his legs now sprawled out in his seat like he’s on a chaise lounge, not a creaky chair in a dingy bar. But it’s not just that; Luke has shifted in other ways too, and Din can’t quite put his finger in it, but there’s a hungry look in his eyes that wasn’t there a minute ago, even though that must have been the very reason Luke made his way over to his table. The brightness has dimmed, not like the spluttering out of a torch, but like coals at the bottom of a fire.

The thing is, Din doesn’t do this— doesn’t indulge. The right thing to do, the safe thing, would be to turn Luke down, gently, but firmly, take Grogu back to his room, go to sleep, and head back to Nevarro tomorrow morning.

“It’s my last night as a free man,” Luke says, watching him with those bright, bright eyes of his. His smile is so sad that Din forgets to ask him to elaborate. He wants to wipe away the downturned tick of Luke’s mouth, forget about the dragon, about how the kid nearly died, again.

Luke must sense Din’s resolve caving, because he says, brightening, “So, what do you say you humour someone on his last night of freedom?”

“Who?” he says, pretending to look around, and Luke laughs, the last thing Din can coherently remember is the feeling of his ungloved fingers wrapping around the sliver of exposed skin between Din’s glove and vambrace.

+++++

Din wakes up alone.

Not that he was expecting anything else, but there’s a brief moment while he’s still swimming out of sleep, curled in the warm patch of sunlight that’s filtering through the window, where he can pretend the phantom heat next to him is Luke’s body, bare and soft.

When they’d stumbled up to Din’s rented room last night, Luke’s breathy laugh fogging up Din’s visor as he clumsily bounced his cheek against the beskar in his effort to get closer, closer, Luke’s clever fingers had snuck to the back of Din’s neck, looping to pull him in. And even though there was no indication he meant to pull off Din’s helmet, Din had still flinched, and then marvelled in shock at the way Luke had immediately softened, pulled back, the way he’d been able to read the minute twitches of his body him so accurately already.

“Not the helmet,” he’d said, his voice already a rasp even though they both were still fully clothed.

“Okay.” Luke had said.

And afterwards, when they were both sweaty and Din still trying to catch his breath from quite frankly the most incredible sex he’d ever had in his life, Luke had gotten up without a word, BUT before Din even had the chance to miss him, was back in bed, curled up against Din’s side, finishing off the knot for the blindfold he’d looped around his eyes.

“If you want to take your helmet off to sleep,” he’d murmured softly, and then he was out like a light, leaving Din to stare at him open mouthed for the second time in three hours, stunned at the trust, the thoughtfulness, the vulnerable nape of Luke’s neck.

He’s taken his helmet off with shaking hands many, many times before, but it’s the first time it feels like a benediction.

He shakes himself out of the memory, and rises out of bed. By the time he comes down the stairs, collected Grogu from Peli who is looking at him with a shit-eating grin on her face, he’s mostly convinced himself that he can live the rest of his life with Luke as a sudden flash of brightness, the scent-memory of his skin on the sheets.

Grogu chatters to Din as they walk from Peli’s towards the Naboo Spaceport, and Din makes all the appropriate noises like he can understand him, and he’s concentrating on making sure his kid is getting the enrichment he needs (he read somewhere once it was very important for early development)so he doesn’t notice the unease in the Spaceport at first. But he rounds the corner to where the Razor Crest is parked, and suddenly it’s all there; the prickling silence and sideways glances from the deck crew. Din’s gaze zeroes in on his ship, and he sees the men waiting outside the Razor Crest.

Not just men. Royal guards, from the look of their deep blue uniforms.

They must be on the lookout, because as soon as he steps foot into the hangar, one shouts, “You there!” He keeps walking forward calmly, but he shifts his grip on Grogu to one hand and rests his other hand on his blaster.

“You own this ship?” one of the guards asks once he’s within earshot. The leader, Din notes, spying the gold crescent badge on his breast.

Din nods warily. He’s half-distracted thinking how he can get Grogu to safety, if it all goes to shit, and the other half is mentally running through all of the ship’s modifications. He’s pretty sure most of the illegal ones are well hidden enough that a preliminary search wouldn’t have found them.

“You fought the dragon yesterday?”

Din blinks, jolted out of his train of thought, and he’s too startled to lie. “Yes?” he says, and then tenses, widening his stance a little. Everybody had seemed ecstatic when he’d come back into town yesterday, but the last thing he needed was lord furious about their precious pet dragon being injured.

“Come with us.” The head guard’s tone brooks no argument, and he doesn’t offer any further explanation either. And although his last fifteen years of bounty hunting are all screaming at Din to run, take the kid and get the fuck out of Naboo, there’s a fuzzy feeling behind his sternum tugging at him to follow that makes him feel lighter than a second ago. It’s the same way he’d felt when he’d seen Luke in the inn last night, what had allowed Luke to reach across the table and touch him. And inexplicably, it feels well worn, familiar to him.

Din goes with them.

+++++

Din forces them to circle the speeder back around to Peli’s first, where he drops off the kid. She takes Grogu with a fearful look in her eyes, and Din doesn’t look at her as he presses his forehead against Grogu’s. He doesn’t think about how it could be the last time he sees the kid.

The palace at Theed is built on the edge of a cliff, with domes of gleaming jade and its marble walls carved out straight out of the rockface itself. When they pull over the drawbridge, Din can hear the thundering of the waterfalls, and through the windows of the entrance hall, see the vast ocean to one side, glittering in the sun, and the green of the rolling plans on the other side. It was beautiful and grand and a little bit terrifying all at once, if Din was the kind of person who was impressed by that sort of thing.

The entire trip to the palace is silent, and it’s only when they’re deep into the castle, in front of a huge set of doors, that the head guard finally addresses Din, “Wait here,” before he disappears through the doors.

Din’s stuck outside the grand oak doors, and he briefly contemplates prying one of the rubies or emeralds that are encrusted into the door’s bolts with his vibroknife— could probably get good money for them— and how he could distract the remaining guards around him for long enough to do it, when the doors open.

It’s a throne room, that much is clear, with a lush red carpet and floor to ceiling windows along one wall. The sun is at midday height now, and its glare casts long beams of light across the floor, leaning towards the people at the other end of the room. Din steps through the door and takes stock of his new surroundings.

Seated on the throne is the Queen, who Din understands is well beloved and not at all prone to torturing bounty hunters, although her dark expression says otherwise. To her left, sitting on another throne—although perhaps lounging would be a better word— is a man who Din presumes is the king. In another world, Din knows, instinctively, that he would have been a dangerous opponent, long scar over one eye, shaggy brown hair, gaze sharp and keen. The same can be said for the young woman standing behind him, the same gaze, the same tight line of her lips.

To the Queen’s right stands an old man, white beard and white hair, drab brown robes. He looks mildly more welcoming, mouth drawn up into a soft smile, although Din can still read tension in the way he’s holding himself. And next to him…

Din stops as he looks at the last figure on the left of the room, the warm brightness, the shocked curve of a mouth dropping open. Din remembers how that mouth had opened against his throat last night, hot and wet, and how he’d wanted Luke so badly he thought he might combust.

Luke, who is in front of him right now, in golden robes, nothing at all like the black ensemble he wore last night. Luke, who had disappeared from Din’s bed this morning without a goodbye.

Din feels the mark he knows Luke bit into the inside of his thigh last night throb for a second, and he has to force himself to keep walking down the room. He stops in front of the thrones, and stares at them for a minute, the five of them assembled in front of him.

“What is your name, Sir Knight?” Queen Naberrie’s voice is kind, but there’s a steel underneath. She doesn’t look very happy to be sitting there. Belatedly, Din realises that he probably should have knelt.

Din shakes his head. It’s hard for him to keep his eyes off Luke. “I’m not a knight.”

Her face doesn’t lighten up, exactly, but a flash of humour does cross her face before it’s as gone as quickly as it came. “How would you like to be addressed then, good sir?”

Din tries to hide his grimace at good sir, although he doesn’t think he’s very successful. “Just Mando is fine.”

“Mando,” Queen Naberrie says, all trace of laughter gone from her expression. Beside her, the king’s face goes completely blank, like he’s trying to hide a sudden tide of emotions, and the young woman standing behind him scowls, glaring daggers at Din.

“Naboo is in your debt,” the Queen continues. “We thank you for your act of service.” It sounds like the words are being forced out of her mouth as she says it.

“What?”

The Queen’s expression becomes a little more impatient, a little more sour. Din feels like he’s running out of time, even though he didn’t realise there was any sort of rush to begin with. But before she can say anything, the old man standing the right of her chair speaks.

“You’re Mandalorian?”

“Yes.” Din’s hand goes to his blaster. The old man may not look like much, but Din knew better than to be fooled by appearances. However, the movement doesn’t make him any more tense. If anything, it seems to amuse the old man.

“Padmé,” he says, turning to the Queen. “I don’t believe he knows.”

She turns to her other side to look at her husband, and a silent conversation passes between the three of them, quirking of eyebrows and slight flicks of the wrist. Din takes the moment to drink in the sight of Luke, who is still staring straight back at him, eyes glittering. Din wants to rip those golden robes off him where they’re buttoned up to his neck, run his hands down his sides to the spot where he learnt last night Luke is ticklish, hear the breathy giggle before he firms his touch.

Except Luke is standing next to the throne, not beside him under the coarse sheets, and the distance between them may as well be one of Naboo’s oceans.

“Mando,” the Queen says, drawing his attention back to her. “You slew the krayt dragon yesterday, and in doing so, saved the lives of hundreds of my people. As is tradition, a dragon-slayer is given the princess’ hand in marriage.” She gestures to the girl standing behind the king.

Din’s thoughts come to a screeching halt, and his eyes flicker to follow the direction of the Queen’s finger. The princess’ arms are still crossed across her chest, and her expression looks more thunderous by the second.

“However,” the Queen continues, and Din has to stop himself from sagging in relief, there’s a however, thank god, “my daughter is already promised to another. As such, I hope you will be similarly pleased with my son’s hand in marriage.”

The relief vanishes, and Din turns sharply to look at Luke, who’s practically glowing looking back at him. But all Din feels is the swirling sickness in his stomach.

“No.” He can barely hear himself over the rush in his ears.

The Queen raises her eyebrows. “No?”

“I don’t want to marry him.”

“It is tradition.” The Queen is cool and calm, and it makes Din want to hit something.

“I don’t want him!”

His voice bounces off the ceiling. There’s a shocked beat of silence, and when Din dares to look at Luke, all the light has left his eyes. And no sooner than Din has caught a glimpse of his face, as if Luke senses his gaze— which he probably has— he turns sharply on his heel and leaves the room.

Queen Naberrie watches him, with an eye far too keen for Din’s own liking. “I think,” she says slowly. “We might give these two some time alone.” She stands in a rustle of silk, and gestures for her husband to do the same. She puts a firm hand on her daughter’s shoulders and the old man does the same for the king, guiding them out of the room through a separate door despite the king and the princess’ loud protests.

It leaves Din alone in the throne room, the silence suddenly suffocating around him. The heat from the sun streaming in through the windows no longer feels like an extension of the palace and the view, but instead sharp, urgent, stifling.

Din takes a deep breath, and follows the door Luke had exited through.

It opens out to a courtyard behind the throne room. The air is muggy outside, and he feels the dampness of sweat on his underclothes, the awkwardness of the quiet clank of every movement with the bulk of his armour. Luke is standing on the far side, by a balcony which overlooks the sea.

Din comes to a stop in the middle of the courtyard, unsure if he’s allowed any closer. Last night, he would have said that closing the distance between himself and Luke would have solved any problem between them, healed any miscommunication. He can still feel the phantom strength of Luke’s fingers laced between his, like a balm to his aching joints. Now, he’s not sure if his presence is welcome at all.

“You really didn’t know?” Luke asks without turning around.

Din’s tongue feels clumsy in his mouth. “No.” he says. He knows he’s not saying exactly what he means, because he does, very much, want Luke. Just not like this; passed around like a political jockey, one of the means the end is supposed to justify. Luke, being given to Din like a playing piece in chess, bound to him out of duty, instead of choice. The mere thought of it makes the sickness in Din’s stomach swell up again.

He doesn’t know how to say any of that, so instead, he says, “I wasn’t trying to slay a dragon. I was just protecting my foundling.”

Luke gives a startled laugh. “Of course. Thousands of knights actually trying to kill it and you go and do it by accident.”

They lapse into silence. Din wants to get that awful, stricken look off Luke’s face, but the only way he can think of doing so would be to touch him, just once, softly; cross this vast distance between them and dig until he sees the brightness he’d held to his bones last night. It kills Din to think he’s lost the privilege to comfort him.

“I thought,” Luke says, his voice quiet, wobbly. He takes a breath and starts again. “They told me yesterday that someone had slain the dragon, and I was to be married the next day. Figures the only dragon-slayer I’d actually want wouldn’t want me back.”

He sounds so self-deprecating, none of the soft sureness Din had seen last night, the cocky slant of his smile when he’d wrapped his mouth around Din’s dick. Din wants it back so acutely that he can feel it like a physical weight in his ribs. He doesn’t like this version of Luke, buttoned up tight, uncertain of Din, of the trembling thing they had cradled between them last night.

But he can’t seem to have Luke back without anchoring him to Din, so instead, he says, “I didn’t kill the dragon.”

Luke turns around. “What?”

“I wounded it, sure. But it was definitely still alive when I last saw it.”

“So you don’t have to marry me.” he adds, when Luke just stares at him, but even as he says it, it feels like there’s a crack in his heart. This morning, he’d shored up the hole Luke had left with the curled imprint of his body on the sheets, and now it’s all coming back, all the golden light pouring out with how much Din wants, simply, to hold Luke. Not to marry, not even to fuck. Just to hold.

Luke does not seem to be on the same page as him. “So the dragon is still out there?”

Din nods confusedly, and Luke closes his eyes. “Fuck.” he says.

“It’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Din says. “You don’t have to marry me.”

“It’s still out there.” Luke repeats, but it’s not a question this time, and Din looks away from how he’s wringing his hands, tries not to think about how much he wants to press his palm against Luke’s heated skin, in hopes it would loosen some of this sudden nervous energy. Looking away allows his brain to clear up a little, not completely occupied with the sight and thought and smell of Luke Luke Luke, and it hits him all at once.

“It’s still out there. Oh, god. It’s still out there in the village.” Din feels the dread pool in his heart. “I’m gonna have to go kill it, aren’t I.”

“Well, you don’t have to…” Luke trails off.

Din’s already striding back into the throne room, before a thought occurs to him, and he turns around and goes back to Luke, taking one of his hands in both of his. “If I manage to kill this thing for good this time,” he says, “you still don’t have to marry me. I don’t care about tradition.”

Luke has gone completely still under his touch, just like he was when Din first saw him in the corner of Peli’s, his grip strong under Din’s palm. His eyes are very wide, very blue, and even though Din knows he can’t see through the visor of his helmet, he feels like Luke is reading his face with inexplicable familiarity. With the calmness of a man who knew he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was going to do with it all.

Din drops Luke’s hand like he’s been burnt and steps away, his face going red with the realisation of his rash decision in the heat of emotion.

Luke says, “I’m coming with you.”

And Din forgets all about how completely inappropriate it was for him to touch Luke like that. “What? No.” Not Luke, with his soft body and curves and bony wrists, who had a family in the palace who clearly cared about him. Who Din still wanted to hold afterwards, and they couldn’t do that if Luke was dead via krayt dragon.

“I can handle myself.” And there he is, Din can see the man last night who wiped the table clean with his freaky powers just because he could; because, Din realises now, he was trying to impress Din, not compete with him. The relief at seeing the glimmer of that Luke again, without the frills and false airs, almost swallows him.

“Also,” Luke adds, as Din is still marvelling at the appearance of Luke’s brash edges again, “if someone else went and killed it now, I would have to marry them. I’m just making sure you make good on your word.”

Din feels a flare of anger in his chest, way too intense for having only known Luke two days, and resolutely puts it out of his mind, deciding to think about it later. But then Luke grabs his hand again, tugging him through the throne room and back to the speeder, and Din can’t find it within him to pull away. He’s only thinking about peeling his glove off so they can be skin to skin, and then peeling that disgustingly impractical gold ensemble off Luke’s body. He’s thinking about how Luke didn’t pull away when he’d grabbed his hand before, and now, how he’d reached first, and the lucent gleam in his eyes when he’d looked at him, like suddenly everything had become clear to him.

And as the speeder roars to life, the warm shape of Luke in the passenger seat next to him, Din dares to hope, could it really be that easy?

+++++

The dragon, surprisingly, is easy enough to kill, what with Din having mostly incapacitated it the previous day when he’d ripped himself out of its stomach. He’s honestly surprised that the dragon had survived long enough to drag itself back to its lair. Luke almost looks disappointed, and if Din’s learnt anything as a bounty hunter, it’s that as soon as you complain about it being quiet is when things start going to shit.

They’re climbing back into the speeder when the first blaster shots are heard, some very angry knights— real knights— who apparently were banking on slaying a dragon and marrying a princess to get fat and rich off the royal coffers, pissed off that someone else had gotten there first.

Din groans, rolling out the crick in his shoulder— after the dragon (twice!), knights seem as relevant as gnats— but he draws his spear all the same. After all, it didn’t matter what killed you, a blaster shot is just as deadly as krayt dragon teeth.

And then Luke, out of fucking nowhere pulls out a green sword and dispatches them all without breaking sweat. Din hasn’t even moved from his spot next to the speeder. A ball of heat shoots straight through his stomach, and he feels his mouth go dry.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you could handle yourself.”

Luke smiles serenely, sheathing his sword. Din feels his stillness again, this time, the kind that indicates imminent danger. Unfortunately, because Din has now accepted that he just functions on a lower brain capacity around Luke, he can feel certain parts of himself getting very interested in a dangerous version of Luke.

“Luke.” he manages. He knows he has to say this before anything else happens. “You don’t have to marry me.”

And Luke just looks at him, patient, light, none of the heavy sadness Din had seen in the courtyard, and Din knows, then and there, that Luke understands, that he’s been able to read in between the lines: everything Din hasn’t allowed himself to want from fear of losing it. Luke knows what he wants to say— what he’s going to say. He just has to say it.

“But would you like to come with me?” he gets out.

Luke’s face breaks open into a smile, like rain after drought, and this time, Din doesn’t stop himself from crossing the distance between them, pulling Luke flush against him by the waist. Luke knocks his forehead against Din’s helmet, and Din closes his eyes, basking in the sheer sense of rightness.

“I’ve always wanted to see the galaxy.” Luke says after a long minute, and Din laughs, feeling so light he could fly.

#dinluke week day 5 #dinluke #star wars #luke skywalker #din djarin #the mandalorian #jo writes fic #i wrote this in under 24 hours lol so #cut me some slack won't ya #dinluke week #dinluke week 2021

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

welcome to the jungle {frankie morales}

summary: after taking a job with the delta guys, you cross paths with frankie morales. even though you’re at each other’s throats at first, it proves to be the start of something beautiful. (for @what-the--curtains - i hope you enjoy!!) - 7k words

warnings: swearing, mentions of ptsd

this is kinda ambiguous in terms of the timeline of the film but i sort of hint to the first half being before the events of t.f and the second half being after -- with that said, you can take it as you would like :D

- jazz

Your brother had dog sat for a few days.

In exchange, you were flying out to Colombia in the middle of your work week.

You believed in favours, but these two did not feel like they were equal.

Still, you were a person of your word - and getting to fly to South America was exciting. The job itself was exciting, if not a little...eyebrow raising. His friend, an ex-Delta soldier, needed somebody to ID a body. That part didn’t bother you - you were a forensic archaeologist after all and it was quite literally your job description. The suspicious bit was the circumstances under which you were doing it; Santiago Garcia hadn’t been entirely clear on the phone, but he’d said something about witnesses and getting the government off of our backs. You’d met Santiago a few times and you knew what kind of work he did - military stuff. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was probably an under-the-radar kind of affair. But, you’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

So, here you were on a warm Colombian Tuesday afternoon, suitcase trailing behind you as you trekked towards a dusty old air base. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on your back in a way that had initially been comforting, but was now just plain annoying. You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but packing three jackets now felt like a stupid idea. The one one you’d worn on the plane over had been long discarded and tied around your waist, which only added to the struggle of dragging your case up the steep, sandy hill. In the distance, you could see an ATC tower glinting under the sun - the streams of light bounced right back off of it, causing you to shield your eyes with your forearm. The taxi you’d gotten from the international airport - not like this sandy little place - had only taken you so far. At least, of all things, the boots you’d opted to wear were built for this kind of thing.

A few hundred meters up the road, you finally saw another sign of human life. A 4x4 was parked outside the abandoned terminal entrance, three men leaning against the side of it. You spotted Santiago standing a few metres away on his phone, thumbs tapping away. He didn’t look any different to the last time you saw him; dark and curly hair, a semi-friendly smile and stubble littering his chin. You hadn’t seen him since your brother’s birthday party a few months ago.

‘Hey!’ The former soldier offered you a grin when he saw you, holding his arms open. ‘Long time, no see!’

‘Hey, Santi!’ You replied, giving him a pat on the back as he pulled you into a hug. ‘And yeah, it’s been a while. Then again, when was the last time you were in the country for more than five minutes?’

‘I’m in high demand.’ He shot back.

Pulling back from the embrace, Santi pointed to his colleagues. There was Will and Benny, two blonde boys, both in military gear. It didn’t take much to figure out that they were brothers; same smirk, same stance, same eyes. Even if Santi hadn’t pointed it out, you would have figured as much. You were naturally deductive - came with the job. After the brothers, there was Frankie. He had dark eyes and hair, the latter of which was covered by his hat. Unlike the other three, he was wearing more casual clothes, just with a tac vest over the top. You kind of got the vibe that he didn’t want to be there - that was...comforting.

‘What’s all this?’ Frankie asked, gesturing to the heavy metal suitcase behind you.

‘Just...stuff. Tools.’ You replied. ‘Things I need to do my job, I guess.’

‘How heavy is it?’

‘Light enough that I was able to get them onto a commercial flight?’ You offered.

‘The plane is already at max weight.’ He replied, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours.

‘God, give ‘em a break, Fish!’ Santi slapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Remember last time you said it would be fine-’

‘- hey.’ He cut him off with a harsh look. ‘We don’t talk about that.’

‘So I can bring them?’ You raised your eyebrows. ��Because I can’t do whatever it is you need to do unless I have them.’

‘Yeah, it’ll be fine.’ Santiago gave you a comforting smile. ‘Let’s head to the jet and we’ll talk about the job.’

Swinging your duffle bag back over your shoulder, you picked up your suitcase and began to follow the guys further up the hill. There wasn’t anybody else around -- just sand, sun and rusting old jets. There was one in particular that they seemed to be headed towards. It was only mildly less eroded than the damaged ones around you, but the engines were running and the cargo doors were open. Santiago took your bag from your hands as you approached it, tossing it in with the other luggage.

‘Do not throw that one, Garcia!’ You demanded, flinching slightly as he took your suitcase.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He shot back.

‘Sure thing.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘You brought a medkit right?’

‘No. Why?’

‘There’s one in my duffle bag.’ You replied. ‘Side pocket. Can you grab it?’

‘We don’t need one, we’ll be fine-’

‘- Santiago Garcia, do you want me to report back to my brother that you took his baby sibling on a jungle-wide expedition without the correct medical supplies?’ You challenged.

Santi swallowed, mind briefly flashing back to the time he’d almost been decked by said brother for letting you walk home alone. ‘Fine.’

Your triumphant smile only lasted a split second; as soon as your eyes fell on the plane, you realised you still had to get on it. Fuck.

The engines seemed to be working fine, but it was just...old. And eroding. And making a funny sound. You were by no means an engineer, but even just binging a few episodes of Air Crash Investigations made you feel qualified enough to know that this was not where it was at in terms of air safety. You could have taken it up with Frankie, but he didn’t seem entirely approachable.

You did trust Santi, however - though sometimes that seemed a little against your better judgement. Every crazy story that your brother had relayed back to you from their time in the military involved him making questionable decisions. Hopefully, opting to fly this hunk of metal wouldn’t be one of them. Here’s to hoping it was aerodynamic.

‘Are you getting in or…’ Frankie peered down at you from the stairs, eyebrows raised.

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘This thing is safe, right?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘What is it to me?’ You snorted. ‘Just, y’know, that I’m about to fly a few hundred thousand feet in the air and if it falls out of the sky I’ll die.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’ Frankie shut the door behind you as you climbed aboard, twisting the handle shut. ‘I’ve been flying for years.’

‘I’m not saying it’s you.’ You brushed past him, shoulders bumping as you did. ‘Captain fucking Sully couldn’t fly this thing.’

‘The guy from Monster’s Inc?’

‘No, the guy who landed the plane on the Hudson? They made a movie about it, with Tom Hanks-’

‘- you should sit down now.’ Frankie turned away from you. ‘We’re about to take off.’

Your mouth fell open in slight disbelief. What an asshole.

Santi called your name, signalling for you to sit with him in the cockpit. The seats on the plane hardly looked comfortable, and your brain was mentally working out if it was safer to sit over the wing in a crash, or by the tail. You’d definitely seen it in a documentary once, but you couldn’t remember exactly what they said. Perhaps the best option was to just be less dramatic.

Taking a seat between Frankie and Santi, you pulled your seatbelt on and shuffled awkwardly. This was fine. Absolutely fine. Frankie was a trained pilot (and a dickhead, but that didn’t take away from his flying skills) and you were going to be fine. Fiiiiine. Maybe if you said it once more, you’d believe yourself. You were going to be fine. Yeah, there we go.

A few deep breaths and you were certain. Or, at least you’d convinced yourself to be certain.

‘So.’ Your eyes momentarily flicked over to where Frankie was adjusting some controls. ‘What exactly am I doing here?’

‘A few months ago, the boys and I were involved in the shoot-out.’ Santi began. ‘Pretty standard for the type of operation we were on.’

‘Right. Standard office work.’ You muttered. ‘Do go on.’

‘We thought everyone who had witnessed it had been recorded.’ He continued. ‘And everyone who we spoke to verified that it was a justified shootout. No dirty work, no ulterior motive. All valid, from a legal perspective.’

You thinned your eyes. ‘I don’t think I like where this is going.’

‘We ID’d all the bodies at the time.’ He said. ‘Including a Ricky Martinez. Except now, a guy claiming to also be Ricky Martinez has come forward, claiming that his version of events is a little different. Like, different enough to incriminate us.’

‘He’s lying, right? You guys were the good ones?’ You urged. Santiago’s silence was anything but comforting. ‘Right?’

‘Morals are all a matter of perspective.’ He replied. ‘Our labs ID’d Martinez’ body twice but we need a third party opinion before we can completely dispel the guy pretending to be him.’

‘Guess that’s where I come in?’ You asked, leaning further back into the seat as the jet began to move.

‘Exactamente.’ Santi nodded.

That didn’t sound too bad. Between excavating the grave, running tests and returning the body, it would take a few days tops. You could manage that.

The jet began to pick up speed, making its ascent towards the runway. Frankie did look like he knew what he was doing -- heck, the man looked bored, even. He barely even had to look at the dash controls as it moved forward, hands moving freely and easily to manoeuvre the plane down the runway.

‘What are you staring at?’ Frankie glanced over at you.

‘N-nothing.’ You replied. ‘Shouldn’t you be focusing on the road-’

‘- that’s a runway.’ He cut you off.

‘Whatever.’

You were thrown backwards in your chair from the momentum of the take off. The plane angled upwards as it went up in the air, tilting sideways as it balanced out. You felt your stomach drop as the ground disappeared from beneath you, the push of the engines pulling you up higher into the sky. There was a clunk, signalling that the landing gear had retracted.

Well, the plane had fulfilled its first purpose: taking off. That was a good sign.

‘So,’ Benny peered over at you. ‘What’s your callsign gonna be?’

‘My name, presumably.’ You quirked a brow at him.

‘We have Ironhead, Catfish and Pope.’ He continued. ‘But Will and I were talking, and we thought Barbie was gonna fit well.’

‘Oh, really?’ You sniffed. ‘And why might that be?’

‘Because you’re young, and pretty hot-’

‘- so your call sign is Benny, right?’ You cut him off. ‘Short for Benjamin? That’s really clever. Did you come up with it yourself?’

‘Maybe Eye Candy will be beter-’

Benny was cut off when you reached across, leaning over Santi to smack him in the chest with your balled up fist. All four of them jumped in surprise at your action - clearly, you weren’t somebody to be fucked with. You hadn’t worked your ass for years to get your degree to get discredited like that.

‘Make a comment like that again and I’ll drop kick your ass out of this plane.’ You jabbed your finger towards him.

Benny thinned his eyes at you. ‘Frankie wouldn’t let you do that. Right, Cat?’

‘You heard ‘em.’ Frankie’s eyes didn’t move from the clouds ahead.

To give credit where credit was due, Frankie was good at landing planes.

Specifically, he was good at landing planes in places where planes should not have been landed. Not that he’d had much of a choice when the engines gave in half way through the journey, a couple hundred miles over the thick Colombian jungle.

In short, you’d been right the entire time. The damn thing wasn’t safe. Of course, you weren’t going to say I told you so right then, since it felt like a little bit of a sensitive subject.

Now, the five of you were standing next to a pile of what-used-to-be-a-plane, defeat plastered over every one of your individual faces. You were lucky to all have made it out okay - just about. Santiago had taken a hit to the head, Benny had bitten his tongue pretty hard when you’d collided with the ground (fitting) and Frankie had split his head open. You and Will were the only ones who hadn’t sustained any injuries. He had proven to be much more tolerable than his brother.

‘Okay, we just gotta…’ you looked around, eyes taking in the debris around you. ‘We just gotta stay calm-’

‘- stay calm?’ Frankie cut you off. ‘You’re the reason the fucking thing went down! If you hadn’t taken all that extra weight-’

‘- do you ever shut up, Morales?’ You snapped. ‘And I’m no genius but I don’t think the engines catching fire was anything to do with me bringing an extra bag onto the plane!’

‘I’m the pilot.’ He reminded you. ‘I know what I’m talking about.’

‘Maybe it was the weight of your ego that made it go down.’ You chided.

‘Hey - Patrick, Spongebob!’ Will finally yelled. Both your heads snapped in his direction, eyes wide. ‘Can you keep it in your pants for two minutes so we can work out how to make it through the night?’

‘Right, sorry.’ You nodded.

You glanced around the crash site, brain calculating for a minute as you took in what little was left. The plan had landed on its belly and skidded for a few hundred metres; consequently, most of the luggage had come out on the way. That left you with the one remaining bag, the medkit you’d scared Santi into bringing and the strewn camping kit that had been ditched in the back of the fuselage.

Pulling your phone out your pocket, you sighed when you realised that you had no signal. What had you expected? Four bars in the middle of the jungle? Probably not realistic. You did, however, have a compass app. That was something. You thought for a moment, glancing between the app and the sun’s position in the sky. It was splintering through the trees, washing heat over you like a bucket of cold water. There was a small stream a few metres away, which was a source of water at least.

‘It’s just gone four, maybe five in the afternoon.’ You announced. ‘So we have about three hours till the sun starts to set. The water in the stream runs that way so if we follow it, we’ll find the source. People are more likely to set up civilization around a source of water.’

All four of them looked at you like kids who had lost their parents in Walmart. Were they really ex-military?

‘So, what?’ Benny frowned. ‘We...set up a new civilisation?’

‘Oh my days.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘I am spoon-feeding this to you! It means that there will be a town with people.’

‘That’s smart.’ Santi nodded.

‘But before we do that, we gotta sort this out. Will, d’you know how to check for concussion?’ You asked, to which he nodded. ‘Okay, you check Santi and I’ll clean up Frankie’s head. Then we gotta gather those camping supplies and head east. Best case scenario, we find a town before sundown. Worst case scenario, we camp out for the night.’

‘Who put you in charge?’ Frankie asked.

‘Me.’ You replied.

Taking the medkit from Santi’s hands, you quietly thanked him and led Frankie over to some rocks. He didn’t seem all that pleased when you forced him to sit on one - and he was even less pleased when you pulled his hat off. It revealed a tangle of dark curls, some of which you had to push back to get to the mark on his head. Some may have debated the importance of mentioning such a detail, but you couldn’t help but notice how soft his hair was.

You knelt down in front of him, pulling the supplies out of the little medical kit. There weren't many, but there was enough to give him something temporary till you got to a proper hospital. If you got a proper hospital.

‘It’s not too deep.’ You observed, running your thumb over the creases of his forehead. ‘Just a couple stitches at worst.’

‘Don’t you normally stitch up bodies?’ Frankie asked. His brown eyes were glued to the floor, following the outlines of the boot-prints that you’d left.

‘Yeah, it’s the same kinda principle though.’ You laughed slightly. ‘Despite your attitude, I’m not gonna give you Y-incision stitches.’

‘Thanks.’

‘At least not in a place people can see them.’

Frankie snorted, but it translated to a hiss of pain as you dabbed an alcohol wipe at his forehead. Despite everything, you had a slight admiration for him. He’d managed to land the plane safely as the situation allowed and despite a few minor injuries, things could have been much worse. You didn’t quite feel like vocalising that to him when you were still stranded in the middle of the jungle, but if you ever got out? You might get Santi to pass the message on.

‘D’ you think it’ll scar?’ Frankie quietly asked.

‘Maybe.’ You admitted. ‘Just take a deep breath.’

‘Where did you even learn to do this stuff?’ He asked, letting out another small grunt of discomfort. ‘The stitches and the compass shit.’

You shrugged. ‘I’ve been around the block a few times. You kinda learn to be prepared.’

‘Really? As a morgue worker?’

‘Not a morgue worker.’ You grumbled. ‘Then again, I am stabbing a needle through your skin so I suppose I’ll allow the discrepancy.’

‘What is it you do then?’

‘I’m a forensic archaeologist.’ You explained. ‘So it’s my job to retrospectively work out how people died, whether it be because their body was found a long time after they died or because they had to be exhumed from their original resting place.’

Gently pulling the needle back from Frankie’s forehead, you cut the thread and dabbed it again with an alcohol wipe. You brushed his hair back down and placed his hat back on his head, offering him a smile. For the first time since you’d met him, he returned the gesture.

You dusted off your knees and took a place on the rock beside Frankie, examining your handy work. Considering you’d been in a plane crash not quite an hour ago, it wasn’t too bad. At least if it did scar, it was in a place his hair covered up. And in your defense, scarring wasn’t usually something you had to worry about with your other...patients. They usually went back in the ground not long after you dealt with them.

‘You’ll wanna sit down for a minute.’ You replied. ‘D’you feel dizzy at all? Sick?’

‘I was just in a plane crash.’

‘Me too, funnily enough.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘I s’pose it’s the most interesting job I’ve worked in a while.’

‘Same here.’ Frankie said. ‘I normally work for a flight school, so this is...something else.’

‘It’ll make me grateful when I get back to the office.’ You agreed. ‘Because it has four walls, air conditioner and co-workers who don’t give me ridiculous nicknames.’

‘Right.’ He snorted. ‘Benny can be...Benny. He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.’

‘Benny wasn’t the asshole.’ You quipped, nudging him with your elbow.

At least Frankie had proven now that he could talk to you without being insufferable. You couldn’t work out if you’d warmed to him or if he’d warmed to you, but doing somebody’s stitches was unarguably one hell of an icebreaker. He was just a little closed off; quiet and reserved, you figured. You didn’t know what him and the Delta guys had been through, but Santi had mentioned a few things in passing that pointed to a heavy past. That was something you could relate to - your job was no walk in the park either

‘It’s not...personal.’ Frankie glanced off into the distance.

Will had managed to salvage the remaining bag from the jet, meaning that Santiago could use it as a seat. Benny was sitting with them, talking amongst themselves. You would have to move soon, in order to find a suitable place to camp before sundown, but taking a minute to recover from the last hour was also important. You’d barely stopped to sit down since the plane had gone down, and now you had, the shock had hit you. Your suspicions about safety had actually been correct. Not that it mattered now, but at least you had a plan to get everyone back to civilization as soon as possible.

‘So you being an ice cold bitch isn’t to do with me? That’s a relief.’ You joked. Frankie smiled in response; his first genuine one since you’d met.

‘The witness that you were going to ID was from the last job we all worked together.’ He explained ‘It went bad. Really bad.’

‘From what Santi said, it sure did sound like it.’ You replied.

‘I hadn’t seen anything as bad as we did then since I was stationed out in the war zones.’ He continued. ‘So being back here, and being with the guys, has just put me on edge. I’m sorry if I was an asshole.’

‘You don’t have to say sorry.’ You shook your head. ‘I mean...actually, yeah, you were an asshole but I get it.’

‘You do?’

‘Forensic archeology is no walk in the park either.’ You replied. ‘It’s my job to work out how people have died. Most of my work is on crime scenes or in war zones so I’ve seen some...dark stuff.’

‘It sticks with you.’ Frankie quietly murmured.

‘Yeah, it does.’ You said. ‘I know you might not think it on the surface, because it’s the usual sort of job that leaves stuff weighing on your shoulders-’

‘- doesn’t matter.’ He cut you off. ‘Trauma is trauma. Regardless of how you got it or where it came from, it’s valid.’

You gave him a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

---

Later that night -- and after a few hours of walking -- you and the guys had settled down into a makeshift campsite. It was just at the edge of a clearing, not too far from what looked to be a small town glinting in the distance. You did offer to keep going, but between the injuries the group had sustained, it was easier to stop for the night. You had enough of a combined skillset to find some fruit growing to snack on and to start a fire.

Santiago, Will and Benny had long passed out. It wasn’t until after they had done so that you realised there was absolutely no room left in the tent. It was only built for two people, let alone five. Where that left you in terms of sleeping arrangements, you didn’t know, but the chances of even getting to rest felt low. Your brain was on full overdrive, tired eyes darting constantly around the distance. How safe was this place? You’d managed to convince yourself that the plane was secure, and that had gone down like...well, like the fucking plane.

You were sitting on a log, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. It was just something to keep your brain occupied as you fought off the tiredness. The jet-lag from your flight to Colombia had hit in full force and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed -- the bed that wasn’t there.

‘So, are you keeping a look-out?’

You jumped at the sound of Frankie’s voice, twisting around to face him. ‘Something like that.’

‘I can take over if you want.’ He offered. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve saved our asses like three times today.’

‘Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fit into that tent.’ You replied. ‘I can hear them snoring from here.’

‘Is it worse than the alternative of me keeping you company?’ He softly smiled, taking a seat beside you. ‘I’ll promise not to be an asshole anymore.’

‘We spoke about this.’ You reminded him. ‘I get it. It’s okay.’

‘I still feel bad.’ He sighed. ‘Especially after you stitched me up and led us through the jungle. We woulda eaten something poisonous and died if you hadn’t stopped Benny going near those mushrooms.’

You chuckled. ‘Don’t feel bad, okay? You’ve had bad experiences before and it’s natural to be anxious.’

‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you-’

‘- Frankie!’ You cut him off with a groan. ‘I’m about to be an asshole if you don’t stop saying sorry.’

‘So we’re good?’

‘We’re good.’ You smiled. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’

‘Santiago, in no uncertain terms, made it clear that he would come for our kneecaps if we left you alone in the dark.’ Frankie admitted. ‘I think he likes you.’

You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘I think you have the wrong idea. Santi is only so protective of me because he’s one of my brother’s best friends, and I guess by extension, that kind of makes him my brother too. They go right back to high school, and then they did the academy together.’

‘That’s a long time.’ Frankie nodded. ‘So you and Santi, that’s...nothing, right?’

‘Absolutely not.’ You snorted derivatively. ‘And if it was, my brother would probably end him.’

‘So,’ He took a stick from the floor, joining in with random doodles you were carving into the ground. ‘Be honest: if these stitches scar, d’you think I’ll look rugged and handsome?’

You peered over at him, eyes creasing as your smile grew wider. ‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Ouch.’ He dramatically grabbed his heart, shaking his head. ‘The correct answer was no Frankie, you already look rugged and handsome.’

‘Okay, it would make you look more rugged and handsome.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘Better?’

‘Better.’ He grinned triumphantly. ‘When was the last time you stitched up a living, breathing human?’

‘College, I think.’ You replied. ‘My roommate got into a fight and didn’t have insurance, so I did some makeshift stitches with a cheap sewing kit we found at a 24/7 corner shop.’

‘We’ve all done it.’ He laughed. ‘I’m glad the stitches you gave me were actual, professional ones...right?’

‘Obviously!’ You exclaimed. ‘You’ll probably want to get them redone when we get back to...y’know, civilisation.’

‘Naturally.’ He nodded. ‘I appreciate you stitching me up. The others would not have been able to do that if it had been just us.’

You shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘What if - and feel free to blatantly reject me for my earlier actions - I took you out for a drink when we got back? Y’know, if we ever get back to civilisation.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ You smiled.

Normally, Frankie wouldn’t have been that bold -- and you would have absolutely rejected someone who had made such a terrible first impression. But, said impression had changed. He’d been an asshole but you could see why; you could reason with it, even. God knew that you also had a tendency to become withdrawn and irritable when you were retracting back to the darker corners of your mind. Bad days on the job were hard to shake. They stuck with you for a long time.

The conversation continued, though you couldn’t recall exactly what it was about. Nothing and everything. Growing up and going to college - or for Frankie, the military. You compared stories of Santiago; Frankie’s were better, but yours were pretty good. He told you about how he’d got his piloting license back, and you in return offered a tale of the time that your brother had gotten a DUI.

Between the warmth of Frankie beside you and the crackling fire in front of you, it became harder and harder to fight off your exhaustion. You would have been tired enough if you were from this timezone, but your body clock was hours out of whack. With your eyelids getting heavier and the dark sky above you, it wasn’t long before you’d flopped into the pilot’s side with defeat.

‘’M sorry.’ You murmured.

‘It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.’ Frankie replied. He moved his arm around your shoulders to support your weight from falling off the log - also to give a sign that he was more than okay with it.

You rested your chin on his shoulder, peering up at him. Now that his cold facade had slipped away, you could admire him a little bit more. Warm chocolate eyes, a strong jawline, and a face that just felt kind, even despite initial impressions. The warm glow of the fire illuminated his face with a soft hue, making the lighter tones of his eyes a little more visible.

You were both still lingering from the adrenaline of the plane crash, hearts pounding in your chests and brains wrestling with the idea that you’d both made it out with minor injuries. Was that what had made you bold? The sudden reminder of your mortality? Because you never would have kissed him if it had been a normal night.

He met you halfway, lips gently capturing yours in a soft kiss. They were a little chapped from the humidity of the jungle air, but intoxicating and enchanting all the same. He tasted very, very faintly of tobacco and a little bit of mint -- had the bastard had chewing gum this whole time? Not that it was relevant. Not that anything else in the world was relevant. Not when Frankie Morales was kissing you.

Neither of you said anything after; he simply pulled you into his chest, resting his head on top of yours. Between the mental exhaustion and emotional ping-pong game that you were partaking in, you wanted to sleep.

And sleep, you did; tangled together on the dirt of the jungle floor, not a worry in the world.

---

Time passed.

It passed quickly and slowly all at once.

Once you’d found a little town and got on a coach to Medellin, you did what you came to do: identified the body, cleared their names and closed the case. Your duties at your actual job called you back home and less than a day later, you were on a plane home.

After that, everything was a blur. You tried to keep in contact with everyone, but life was demanding as ever. Thanks to a promotion at work, you were being kept busy 24/7. Santiago finally retired from active duty and moved back to your hometown, near to his parents and to the guys. Even with the group chat he’d made - affectionately titled Plane Pals - it was hard to constantly keep up with everyone.

You and Frankie had texted for a while, but it sort of faded out. Whenever you were able to make it back home to see him and everyone else, he was busy. You’d both tried to make plans a few times but they’d never come to fruition. You still texted each other happy birthday every year, but that was it. Like that night in the jungle, he quickly became a thing of the past. A distant memory that sometimes felt like a dream.

It made a good dinner table story, especially for first dates. You told it on many actually, actually -- only one ever went well. So well, in fact, that you’d ended up in a four-year-relationship. A marine biologist called Simon; not boring, but not necessarily exciting either. He was nice...enough. Nice enough that you didn’t find a reason to leave.

Looking back, you probably had a million reasons to leave. He was an asshole, for one. The last time he’d treated you right had been your first anniversary - and for some reason, you’d stuck around to celebrate your second and third and fourth. Everyone around you was settling down, and you felt that pressure too.

Even Santiago fucking Garcia, the biggest flirt and bachelor you knew, was getting married. You’d RSVP’d a plus one - Simon, obviously - but the week before you were due to fly home for the wedding, things had finally reached a bitter end. You weren’t sad about him; more sad that you’d wasted four years of your life on the Walmart equivalent to Ned Flanders.

On the brightside, your brother’s respective relationship had also gone through a shitty demise, meaning you could move your seats at the reception next to one another. Like Santiago, he had also retired from the military and was living his best life - even though it had taken six months for him to start speaking to his friend again. He hadn’t taken well to the idea of Santiago taking you on a job that left you in the middle of the jungle.

‘People are gonna ask where Simon is, aren’t they?’ You muttered.

‘Cheer up.’ Your brother nudged you. ‘I know what’ll help - let’s make a bet.’

‘What?’ You groaned.

You were standing outside the church, waiting to be called inside. You’d waved at Benny and Will as they came in. The latter had kids of his own now, but Benny was focusing on his boxing career. He hadn’t called you Barbie again though, so that was something.

‘I bet you twenty bucks that Santiago is divorced by the end of the year.’ Your brother grinned.

‘No! That’s horrible.’ You slapped his arm.

‘Whatever. That’s $20 you’re missing out on.’

‘I hate that we’re related.’

‘Me too.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You said it first!’

The two of you were cut off by someone clearing their throats.

You almost did a double take when you saw Frankie Morales stood in front of you. He didn’t look that different to his six-year-old Whatsapp profile picture; he wasn’t wearing his hat, instead wearing his hair pushed back, and rather than his old tac vest, he had a suit and tie on. You had a sort of vision of him in your head from that night, but it didn’t do him justice. He was even better in person.

‘Catfish!’ Your brother jeered. ‘Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!’

‘Says you!’ Frankie gave him a slap on the back. His eyes then fell to you, and his demeanour changed a little. ‘Hey.’

‘Frankie fucking Morales.’ You murmured. ‘How’re you?’

‘Thriving.’ He replied. ‘You?’

‘Also thriving.’ You smiled.

‘I was sorry to hear about the divorce, man.’ Your brother, as clueless as ever, didn’t sense the sudden onset of tension.

‘Divorce?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘Is that really something you should bring up-’

‘- you brought up your break up at dinner last week-’

‘- only because you brought up yours first-’

‘- guys!’ Frankie cut you off. ‘It’s fine, really. I appreciate you looking out for me but it was a while ago now. Besides, I’ve got Leya. She takes up all my time.’

‘Leya?’ your eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that your girl-’

You were interrupted by a bell ringing, signalling that it was time for the guests to enter the church. Did the universe hate you? What kind of fucking dreadful timing was that?

‘I’ll see you guys at the reception, right?’ Frankie asked.

‘Sure thing, dude.’ Your brother waved him off.

The pilot turned on his heel, giving you a smile as he headed for the church. He was the best man after all, and his presence probably was needed.

‘You asshole!’ You have his shoulder another whack. ‘I was talking to him!’

‘Jesus, calm down! And why do you hit so hard?’ He huffed. ‘What’s so important?’

‘Who’s Leya?’

‘I dunno! Do I look like Gossip Girl?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re mean.’ He grabbed you by the arm, dragging you towards the church entrance. ‘And mum made me promise to make sure you wouldn’t play Doodle Jump during the vows.’

‘That was one time!’ You snapped.

Thankfully, the actual ceremony passed quicker than you thought. Santiago’s new wife was beautiful -- you hadn’t met Yovanna before, but both her and Santi had greeted you with a bright smile as you entered the reception. It was in a large hotel room, decorated with strings of fairy lights and a large dance floor. A lot of thought had clearly got into it.

It made you a little sad to think about. How many weddings had you been to in the last five years? How many times had people looked at you and your former boyfriend and said you’ll be next. You weren’t even sad about him. If anything, you were mad that you’d let yourself think about marrying him. You could do better. You were going to do better.

‘Is that girl over there eying me up?’ Your brother’s voice pulled you back to reality. ‘I swear she’s been giving me heart eyes since they brought dessert out.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one in the cute dress! Brown hair, dark eyes-’

‘- that’s Santi’s cousin.’ You rolled your eyes.

‘And?’

‘Santi’s cousin who is a lesbian?’ You tried to suppress a laugh. ‘Who has been with her wife for 11 years and has three children?’

He groaned. ‘Why must you find such joy in my pain?’

‘It’s what siblings are for.’ You grinned. ‘I’m gonna get a drink. D’you want anything?’

He only let out another groan in response - you took that as a no, simply giving him a pat on the head as you stood up.

You’d tried to ask around with a few mutual friends if they knew who Leya was -- either they hadn’t seen Frankie in a while, or they pushed to know why you were asking. You couldn’t exactly play that one as suave. Nobody took a casual interest in the personal life of somebody they barely knew -- even though you did know Frankie. Quite well, actually. He’d practically recounted his entire life story to you that night. Told you things that not even Santi knew.

‘What can I get for you?’ The bartender asked.

‘Uhhh…’ you glanced up at the menu. ‘Is it an open bar?’

‘If I had enough money for every time someone asked me that tonight, I’d be able to pay for all the drinks.’ She shot back. ‘So, no.’

‘Jeez.’ You muttered. ‘How much for a double rum?’

‘Fifteen bucks.’

‘Fifteen?!’ You spluttered. ‘How much is tap water?’

‘Y’know, I still owe you a drink.’

Like earlier, Frankie had suddenly appeared unannounced. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw him leaning against the bar beside you, a goofy smile plastered across his face and his undone tie wrapped around his left hand. Your eyes flickered up to his forehead, examining it for a minute.

‘So the stitches didn’t scar?’ You asked.

He pulled back his hair, shaking his head. ‘Nope.’

‘You lucky duck.’ You quipped. ‘So. About that drink?’

‘This shit is insanely overpriced.’ Frankie said. ‘I can steal us a bottle of wine if you’re willing to hide and drink it?

You glanced over at your brother, who was now crying to one of Santiago’s great aunts, piling cake into his mouth.

‘Yeah. I’m down for that.’

Five minutes later, you and Frankie were out in the gardens of the hotel. It had been raining all day, but there was an undercover patio not too far from the main reception; the walls were made out of white wood, with red roses trailing up the side. The fairly lights tangled beside them illuminated the place in a gentle glow, blue evening sky providing a beautiful contrast. Even though the showers had stopped, you could still smell the rain in the fresh evening air.

‘Wine?’ Frankie led you to a seat by the edge of the patio. ‘I stole it from the head table so it's the expensive shit.’

He tore the cork off, handing you the bottle. Neither of you had brought glasses, but you didn’t mind drinking from the same bottle. You’d kissed already - what was the point in formalities?

‘I hate it to break it to you.’ You paused to wipe your mouth, recovering from the bitter taste. ‘But that’s champagne.’

‘Still alcohol, right?’ He took it from your hands, taking a swig. ‘And it’s free!’

‘You’re right.’ You chuckled. ‘So...I believe we have four years worth of catching up to do.’

‘D’you wanna go first?’ Frankie offered. ‘I heard you got a promotion.’

‘I did, yeah.’ You grinned. ‘It’s a thousand times more work but I get more control over what jobs I take, so that’s good.’

‘Anyone special in your life?’ He asked.

‘Cut the shit, Frankie.’ You groaned. ‘I know that Santi updates you on every second of my life as it happens.’

‘You got me there. He mentioned a...Steven?’

‘A Simon.’ You corrected. ‘But Dickhead or Asshole works just as well.’

‘Damn, I’m sorry.’ Frankie gave your leg a light squeeze. ‘What happened?’

‘He didn’t deserve me and I stayed with him too long.’ You shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had a reason to leave.’

‘Not having a reason to leave isn’t a reason to stay.’ He murmured.

You didn’t know whether to bring up the D-Word. D-i-v-o-r-c-e. He hadn’t seemed that phase when your sibling had so eloquently and gently brought it up earlier, but you knew Frankie was good at putting on a front. It was why you’d clashed when you first met.

‘Am I allowed to ask?’ You quietly said.

‘It’s nothing bad.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean it is bad, terrible actually, but it was two years ago now. We only got married because she got pregnant and then left the minute our daughter was born.’

‘Leya.’ You didn’t mean to say the name out loud, but it made sense now. ‘Leya is your daughter.’

‘Yeah.’ Frankie warmly smiled. ‘I hate what happened but I’d do it all over again ten times if it meant having her in my life.’

He spent the next few minutes telling you about her. She was named Leya after a certain space princess, though Frankie had changed the spelling to make it less obvious (to which you had argued it was still quite obvious, but a cool name nonetheless). She was currently three years old, often got confused between Spanish and English words, and enjoyed Power Rangers. All in all, she sounded like a great kid. Above all, it was obvious how much she meant to Frankie. His whole face lit up when he spoke about her. Her mum was entirely out the picture, meaning he was doing the whole thing by himself.

‘She sounds amazing.’ You beamed, peering down at the picture on his phone. ‘She looks so much like you.’

‘Thank God.’ Frankie murmured. ‘I dunno if it being a dad has made me more introspective, but I think about that night a lot.’

‘Me too.’ You replied. ‘Not the thing about being a dad. The other part.’

He laughed. ‘I got that.’

‘What do you think about?’

‘You, mostly.’ He admitted. ‘The fact I was an asshole. The fact you basically saved us all. The fact I never got to take you out for that drink.’

You took a swig of champagne, poking his arm. ‘We’re doing it now!’

‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘I just...I know it was only one night but we might not have been around to tell the story if you hadn't been there.’

‘You were the one who landed the plane safely.’

‘Which wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t do all the stuff after.’ He reminded you. ‘The thing I think about most, though, is that kiss.’

You froze slightly, head slowly turning to look at him. He was peering down at you now, brown eyes intently gazing at you, not unlike they had the first time you’d been in this position. Now, you weren’t both beyond exhausted, or stuck in the middle of the jungle. You were safe and sound, right here with one another.

‘It was a pretty good kiss.’ You edged slightly closer towards him.

‘A very good kiss.’

‘Maybe we should do it-’

Frankie cut you off, meeting your demand before you could even finish it. He was just as you remembered; chapped-but-soft lips with a hint of mint. No tobacco this time. He gently placed a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you further up towards him. It was like you were both reliving the memory of that night in a dream - something you’d done many times. Your memory of it had faded over time but this? This was vivid and giddy and entirely consuming all at once.

‘You know,’ Frankie pulled back for a moment, keeping his hand on the back of your neck and forehead pressed to yours. ‘I asked Santi about you a few years ago, pretty much the minute I realised I was ready to move on from...her.’

‘You did?’ You murmured.

‘That’s when he said you’d been seeing Simon for a few weeks.’ He admitted. ‘I was gutted. Kept wishing I’d got there first.’

‘I wish you had got to me first.’ You lightly chuckled. ‘It would have saved me a lot of pain.’

‘If I were to ask out now, what would you say?’

‘Fuck yes, obviously.’

‘Good.’ He pressed a brief peck to your lips. ‘I admire the enthusiasm.’

That night - well, actually it had probably been the night in Colombia, depending on who you asked - marked the start of a fresh start for you both. What had initially started out as an attempt to seek solace in one another during a difficult time had led you to something more: something whole, something fulfilling.

If someone had told you the first time you’d met Frankie Morales that the unfriendly pilot was going to become the best thing that ever happened to you, you probably would have slapped them. Or laughed, or cried, or all three. That night you met, you thought the emotions you were feeling were from the plane crash -- adrenaline and warmth and panic.

As it would turn out, it was simply the feeling of knowing -- knowing that Frankie Morales was it.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales angst #triple frontier imagines #pedro pascal character headcanons

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agoldengalaxy · 3 years

Text

Fun, Indeed

read on Ao3

“Every time I begin to think you actually have a brain in that head of yours,” he sighed, placing a hand on the small of Mobius’ back, guiding him to walk down the beach a little. “That...is why we are here.” He gestured to a small dock, to the place where it met the sand. An old man sat in a folding chair, a hat covering his face, and at the end of the dock was a striking, brightly painted red jet ski.

Mobius blinked a couple of times, attempting to process the information. “So let me get this straight,” he said, unable to look away from it, “you brought me to 2036 to steal some poor man’s jet ski?”

“Mobius. Oh, come on. Wake up.”

Somewhere in his subconscious, the TVA agent could recognize that annoying, hushed voice anywhere. He groaned, burrowing further into his pillow. And then something soft hit him in the face. He had a feeling that the God of Mischief wasn’t planning on leaving him alone anytime soon, so he groaned again. “What d’ya want, Loki?” he mumbled, opening one eye as whatever had hit him before was lifted from his face.

Loki stood over his bed, a huge grin on his face, still holding a pillow with the letters ‘TVA’ inscribed across it. “I want to show you something.”

Sighing, Mobius rolled onto his back, running a hand over his face. “And it was so urgent that you had to wake me up for it?” The TVA didn’t allow much time for rest; he supposed he should have expected his rest would be cut short by the man he was so often in charge of babysitting.

Not unlike a child, the other frowned, tossing the pillow onto his chest. “Yes. It has to be now. Come on, I don’t want your colleagues to be on my back again.”

“What did you do?” It was his first thought, and he didn’t feel the need to keep it to himself as he begrudgingly pushed himself to sit up, throwing the pillow back at him. “And how did you get in my room?” He was surprised, but then again, should he have been? Even without magic, Loki always found a way. Sometimes it was a good thing, and other times it was just aggravating. And yet, more often than not, it was endearing all the same.

“I beg your pardon, Mobius. You ought to have more faith in me. I didn’t ‘do’ anything.” Feigning hurt, Loki huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. The way his eyebrows knit together was a common expression these days, and yet Mobius found himself still unable to look away. It was replaced with a sly grin. To answer your second question, you left your door unlocked. Perhaps you are going senile.”

Mobius groaned, putting his face in his hands. “Don’t talk to me about getting old. You’re thousands of years old. I’m only fifty.”

“And that’s half of a mortal’s lifespan. Your point?”

Getting to his feet, Mobius waved a hand dismissively, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright, wise guy. You woke me up, so I’m the one asking questions. What is it you wanted to show me?”

Loki, seemingly pleased that Mobius had finally gotten out of bed, grinned and headed toward the door. “Look, we don’t have much time. You know how we can do anything we want, anything at all, and it’s of no consequence so long as a natural disaster occurs?”

“Right…” He already felt wary, not liking the excitement Loki was expressing as they left the room.

“I know you just hate breaking the rules, but I think you’ll want to make an exception this time.” Now Mobius really didn’t like the sound of that, but he also knew that whether or not he followed, Loki was probably going to keep going - or come back to drag him to wherever he was going. “Just trust me.”

Mobius couldn’t help but laugh at that. Whether it was sarcastic or not, though, he couldn’t tell. “Trust you? That’s funny.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a smirk tug at the corner of Loki’s lips. “Come now, Mobius, after all we’ve been through together? I’m trying to do something kind for once.”

And he couldn’t help but smile, too, though he hid it by ducking his head a little. “That doesn’t exactly reassure me, you know. Your version of ‘kind’ is different from most.” They reached a shimmering door, presumably left open by Loki when he’d come to wake Mobius. Loki didn’t bother waiting, just smiling a little more as he stepped through the doorway, leaving Mobius no choice but to follow him.

His shoes began sinking, and he looked down in surprise to find sand beneath him, sparkling in the sun. Brows furrowed, the sound of crashing waves surrounded him, and looking up confirmed it. The ocean’s waves weren’t very big, and the sun shone a light orange, dipping toward the horizon, bathing the beach in a warm glow. The beach was only home to a couple of people at the moment, and Mobius frowned as his eyes scanned the beach. “Is this…?”

“Japan, 2036,” Loki finished his thought, glancing down at the TVA bracelet around his wrist. “And if I’m correct, in about an hour, there will be a tsunami that will wipe out this town.” He let his arm return to his side then, looking over at Mobius, barely containing a grin.

The agent sighed, still unsure of where he was going with this. “...Okay. And why are we here, Loki?”

Loki rolled his eyes, taking him by the shoulders to make him look at him instead. “Oh come now, Mobius. You’ve always wanted to, haven’t you? Remember, none of this matters! They’re all going to die anyway, you can afford to have some fun without the TVA breathing down your back.” He leaned back, smirking as he folded his arms over his chest. “Or do you not know how?”

Putting aside the fact that every instinct in his body told him to say no, to drag Loki back to the TVA and continue with his work, one thing stuck out to him. Loki remembered. Loki remembered how much he admired jet skis, how he had never been on one but loved how they looked. And...no one had ever done anything so kind for him before. He never would have expected it from the God of Mischief.

Before he knew it, he was smiling a little, and he had to look away, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “Alright, alright. Jeez. Only for a little while.” While Loki grinned, Mobius turned and began walking toward the dock, shrugging off his blazer. His heart pounded, though he wasn’t quite certain if it was due to the thrill of doing something wrong, or something else entirely. He was careful to be quiet as he walked past the owner of the jet ski, who didn’t move at all as they passed by.

“Oh dear. Is he dead already?” Loki whispered, and Mobius laughed, hitting his arm.

“Shut up.” Leaving the blazer and his shoes on the dock, pants cuffed below the knee, he climbed aboard the jet ski, admiring the details. Loki stood on the dock, looking down at him, smiling, genuinely. Mobius raised a brow. “Are you coming?”

The smile faltered for a moment, replaced with slight amused confusion. “You want me to come with you?”

Mobius almost burst out laughing, but he settled on an eye roll instead. “Every time I begin to think you actually have a brain in that head of yours,” he teased, mocking him. “C’mon, Loki. You brought me here. Don’t tell me you’re scared now.”

“What, me? Absolutely not,” Loki scoffed, but Mobius didn’t miss the smile that returned as he shrugged off his own jacket, stepping down to sit behind him. Mobius did his best to ignore just how close he was as he started the engine, untying the rope.

Excitement buzzed through him, making it easy to focus on the water rather than the man behind him. “Alright. Here we go!” Revving the engine, he took a deep breath, grinning, and hit the gas. He started out slow, but as he moved past the larger waves, he increased the speed. Loki’s arms came around to embrace him, holding onto him tightly, keeping him from falling off.

“I suppose you do know how to have fun, after all!”

Mobius was pretty sure his heart stopped for a moment, and so he focused on driving, on the wind that whipped at his hair, the cold water splashing up against his legs. “Of course I do!” He could barely hear Loki, but he felt the way his chest rumbled against his back as he laughed. And Mobius couldn’t help but laugh, too.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive.

There was no telling how much time had really passed, but as clouds began setting in, Mobius slowed down, directing the jet ski toward the dock again. His cheeks hurt from smiling, he was out of breath, and he could feel Loki’s breath on the back of his neck, too. As he tied the jet ski up again, Loki slowly removed his arms from around his torso, getting up onto the dock carefully. When he turned around, he was grinning.

“See? Causing trouble isn’t so bad, is it?” He offered Mobius a hand, and he hesitantly took it, letting Loki pull him up onto the dock. The God’s dark hair was windswept, and his eyes were bright. Mobius’ heart lurched as they both knelt on the wood, inches from each other. He swallowed and opened his mouth to respond when he was suddenly shoved, pushed off of the dock with a small yelp. The water engulfed him, colder than he was expecting, and he pulled himself to the surface with a gasp, only to hear Loki laughing loudly. “Oh! You should have seen your face!”

Mobius frowned, up at him as he tread water, shaking his head. “I thought you wanted to have fun. This is not fun.”

At that, Loki grinned, kneeling down to reach for him again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m having lots of fun.” Frowning, Mobius reached up for Loki’s hand - and in a brief moment, barely without thinking, he pulled Loki into the water beside him. Shock was the last thing etched upon his face before the splash took him downward, letting go of the other’s hand. A moment passed, and he surfaced again, pushing wet hair out of his eyes with an annoyed frown.

“And now I’m having fun,” Mobius said smugly, and Loki blew out a long breath.

“Hmph. I suppose I deserved that.”

“Yes. Yes you did.”

They knew not to stay too much longer. After all, the last thing they needed was to be caught in the tsunami, so they both swam over to the sand. Crawling onto land again, Mobius let out a long sigh, flopping onto his back for a moment. Loki did the same, not too far away from him, so they could both catch their breath.

The sand was warm on his back, which was appreciated after the cool of the water. He stared at the cloudy sky for a moment, then glanced at Loki, whose chest was rising and falling steadily now. “Hey.”

“What is it?” Loki turned his head to meet his gaze, raising a brow.

“...Thank you. For this.” He didn’t miss the surprise on Loki’s face, but he turned his head to look back up at the sky, suddenly unable to really look at him. “I’ve never really had any time for myself before. The TVA doesn’t leave much time for leisure. This is…” he chuckled. “This is probably the most fun I’ve ever had.”

There was quiet for a moment, and he was aware of Loki staring at him, so he pressed his lips together, turning to look at him. The other’s eyes were soft, and he was smiling a little. “Well, I am the God of Mischief, after all.” A beat. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Mobius’ heart beating hard in his chest. For a moment, he wondered if Loki had somehow put a spell on him. Suddenly, Loki propped himself up on an elbow, hovering right above the agent. Mobius was paralyzed.

Before he knew it, his face was being held by calloused hands, rough lips pressed against his own. He tensed, every inch of his body going rigid, because Loki Laufeyson was kissing him. After a moment, though, he realized he had two options; push him away, or kiss back. And...the choice was clear.

Closing his eyes, he reached up, placing his arms around his neck, and kissed back. He could feel Loki smile a little. It wasn’t exactly gentle, but it wasn’t too rough. It was perfect. It wasn’t unlike stories Mobius had read a long time ago, of fairy tales that were meant for children.

They probably could have stayed there all day if it weren’t for a large wave that crashed nearby, spraying them yet again with cold water. Loki pulled away, looking down at Mobius with a grin, water droplets dripping from his hair. “Fun indeed,” he purred, making Mobius turn bright red. Loki stood up, dusting himself off, and green engulfed him for just a split second, drying him completely. He turned to Mobius, who was still lying dazedly in the sand, and flicked a hand, using magic to dry his clothes, too. With that, he bent down, taking his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “We can’t stay here. Perhaps we ought to finish this somewhere else.”

People were running now. The tsunami was certainly on its way. Loki didn’t let go of his hand, and Mobius struggled to articulate, a dumb grin on his face. He couldn’t believe this. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. Perhaps we should.”

Laughing lowly, Loki opened a portal back to the TVA, and together, they headed back to Mobius’ room for the fun to continue.

#marvel #mcu #loki laufeyson #mobius m mobius #lokius #loki show #wowki #why do I love them so much already #god #mobius believes in loki so hard #okay anyway enjoy im trash #agoldengalaxy #my writing #my post

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lichfucker · 3 years

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i would love to hear about why all of the ted lasso characters would fail survivor but especially rebecca

hhh ALL of them... okay the vast majority of the players can be explained away with just "physical prowess enough to make them a threat in individual challenges but dumb as bricks and would not be able to strategize themselves out of a bad spot"

this is abt to get long lmao so I'm putting individual ppl under the cut

nate is the most obvious first boot I honestly feel bad about it. bumbling, socially awkward, has NO idea how to assert himself without being an asshole about it (in the rare instances when he does assert himself at all), and even if he's smart enough to be a great strategist (which he absolutely IS), he can't convey it well enough to convince his tribe to overlook his (probable) lack of challenge ability. most of the time, people don't want to draw harsh lines in the sand on the very first vote so they can pretend everyone's getting along and still friends, so nate would be a sort of freebie vote that it'd be easy to agree on.

beard is too much of a follower. what ted says to dr sharon abt him is, "that man has had many lives, many masters." he's very comfortable being led by people with stronger personalities, and even when he disagrees with their calls he will still execute them like a perfect little lackey. the thing about beard is that I think he'd go VERY far in a season of survivor! I think he could EASILY make it all the way to the end! but I just don't think he can WIN. he's genius-level intelligent and SO strategically savvy, but more than that he is fiercely loyal. he'll attach himself to the right person (or the wrong person, as it were), and even if he is whispering in that person's ear all the way through, he would be TOO content to let them take all the credit, he wouldn't push back against them if they disagree with his plans and make a lesser move instead (the whole beginning of 'beard after hours' is him berating himself for not standing up and making the hard calls even when he knew they'd be better), he wouldn't turn around and slit that person's throat at the end to further his own game, and he would make himself socially impenetrable to everyone else. nobody could get close to him, nobody could like or understand him, he'd probably be seen as good collateral if the opposition couldn't strike directly at whomever beard works with, and if he DOES make it to final tribal, I think he'd have a very difficult time convincing the jury that he deserves the credit and the limelight. he wants to win, I just don't think he believes he deserves to.

ted and roy actually would have the exact same problem, which is "physically and strategically competent, but so FUCKING ANNOYING to live with that they get booted for the sake of tribal quality of life." roy would isolate himself socially with his aggression, and ted...

ted is the antithesis of what a "good survivor player" ought to be, which I actually think could work to his advantage in a number of ways? like I think more typical players would find him incredibly unpredictable because he's sharp enough to see what the best moves are, but generous and self-sacrificing enough not to make them. like, there's a reason he's a coach and not a player. there's a reason he says that he doesn't measure success in wins and losses. if he could survive the first few votes, his social game would be AMAZING-- the entire first season of the show is about him wearing rebecca down through the sheer magnitude of his friendship! lesser survivor players would be so endeared to him that they couldn't fathom voting him off, but they're the ones who are getting picked off in his stead. moderately savvy survivor players would not trust a single word out of ted lasso's mouth; there's no fucking way a man can be this kind and this sincere, not on survivor, it's just not possible, he must be plotting something MASSIVE, we have to strike first before he gets his chance. and the truly brilliant survivor players would realize that he IS genuine, he IS sincere, he IS loyal and giving to his core, and that's DANGEROUS. you can't let someone like that make it to the end or they'll take your million dollars. best to shut it down at the jump.

and above all that, I just think that ted... ted would thrive in the pre-merge, in the tribal portion of the game, he's SO team-oriented, but post-merge, in the individual game... perhaps if he had a solid alliance he could also feel that way about, then it might suit his temperament, but ultimately I think he just. wouldn't want it badly enough. I just think the significant majority of people would be vastly more self-interested than ted would be, so they'd take the shot first.

higgins is an interesting midpoint between all three of nate, beard, and ted, in that he's a henchman through and through even when he disagrees with his boss, he's a pushover who'd be seen as a liability in physical challenges in the early game, and he's off-puttingly friendly and polite to the point that nobody would trust that he's being sincere even though he absolutely is. early boot, maybe second or third.

maybe it's just because I've got cook islands on the brain, but jamie (esp season 1 jamie but like. season 2 as well lmao) would play A LOT like early ozzy. an arrogant wonder-boy who's good at everything (did you know there's literally a survivor casting archetype called the "amazing ace"?), with a heart-wrenching underdog story (playing for richmond, that is), an absolute beast in challenges, a huge threat but always immune, he'd win his way to the end but ultimately be beaten out in final tribal by someone smart enough to have dragged him along as their meat shield the whole game.

and as for rebecca... g-d. this one I think hurts me the most because she has everything going for her, she doesn't have a single one of the problems I've listed for anyone else, but I do genuinely believe that rebecca still loses. she's strong and she's smart and she's assertive and she's ruthless and she's sociable and she's a great liar and she's ambitious and she's ADAPTIBLE (she immediately bounces back after not getting the sun to run the photo of ted and keeley and comes up with an alternate plan that will still serve her own endgame, and by g-d being able to roll with the punches and change course is the single most important thing a survivor player can do), but rebecca still loses.

even if we set aside the fact that survivor on the whole is not particularly kind to women over 40... season 1 rebecca, especially early season 1 rebecca, is spite-motivated to the point of self-destruction. she will set her sights on one target and she will be relentless in her effort to get that person out and it'll make her so myopic that she won't see her own end coming immediately afterwards. nobody on that tribe wants to be her next victim-- better get rid of her once she's proven what she's capable of.

she's also dreadfully insecure in the wake of her divorce and when her polished veneer cracks enough to let it show (how many days of being rained on do we think it'll take for her to slip? my guess is five), some people will see it as the vulnerability that finally allows them to connect with her on a human level, while others will see it as a threatening endgame storyline and an exploitable weakness.

there are some juries, particularly old-school juries, that wouldn't vote for her in the end purely based on the fact that a million dollars is just a drop in the bucket to a woman like rebecca mannion welton. that would be a real shame, and a disservice to the game she would have had to play just to make it that far.

what's more likely than that, though, in my opinion, is that rebecca... loses the drive to win. I think that somewhere along the way survivor stops being a game that she is playing, stops being a competition, and instead becomes a journey of personal growth through adversity. I think she, like ted, stops measuring her success in wins and losses. I think she proves herself more capable and resilient than she ever thought she could be, and that is worth more to her than the money or the title of sole survivor, and she stops fighting for it. and maybe the jury admires that, and gives it to her anyway, rewards her transformation. or maybe they don't. maybe they view it as a concession, a forfeit. but I'm not certain that that moment of revelation happens at the final tribal council. I think it happens just before. I think it happens after the final immunity challenge, and she tearfully and valiantly allows herself to be voted out just inches from the finish line. I think rebecca is the fallen angel of the season, and she goes off to the jury with her head held high, which is nice, and so very noble of her, and the fans would be DYING to have her play again but she wouldn't, because she'll have gotten everything she could have wanted out of her survivor experience, and she doesn't need the crown on top of it.

I think rebecca COULD win. she just WON'T.

#jockjamsandjellies #thanks jack #bluh bluh #honestly I'm a little tipsy and this hurt me to write #rebecca's arc in the show of her becoming a better person is literally an arc of her becoming a worse survivor player #and that's not to say that it's impossible for someone who's kind and honest and open-hearted to win survivor!!#bc plenty of those people have!#it's just that... I think she'd end up pulling a rafe in guatemala and valiantly falling on the sword right at the end for NO REASON #when victory was otherwise all but guaranteed!#also I didn't mention ted's panic attacks at all because I do not believe they would matter lmao I've seen multiple seasons #where people had panic attacks during challenges that they weren't even participating in #and then those people made it all the way to final tribal and one of them even won #survivor #ted lasso

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