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yet-another-heathen · 3 months

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Cold, Cold, Cold - VIII

1,744 words. Original work, The Jackal of An-Nadr

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Content Warnings | UNREALITY, fever whump, very vivid hallucinations, nightmares, fear of drowning, hypothermia, anchored to the bottom of a river, used as bait, crying into your captor's arms, gorgeous & incoherent begging

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump @whump-queen @scoundrelwithboba

The thready, unraveling world had stopped making any sense to Nadeem so very long ago. He didn't know how long he'd been drifting. Only that night had now come, and the cold had, too.

Silt pressed between his toes as he strained toward shore, just barely brushing the tops of the muckweed with every kick. His hair drifted out in a raising and dipping halo around his shoulders, frost crusting the strands everywhere it touched the water.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had ever gone swimming at night, especially alone. No matter how much he had always trusted the river during the day, it was a game with death to be out here after the sun had set. The rivercats that lazed at the glinting heat of the shore would have returned to the river by now. The ones that couldn't even be bothered to roll an eye in a human's direction during the day would be out hunting for cattle that wandered too close to the blackness of the shore—and they were much more difficult targets than him. And even if the alligators didn't kill him, The Purratu's cold northbound waters were enough to.

The motion of the current had already wicked away any of the heat his body had to offer. Shivering against the steady onslaught of water was useless. He knew with a creeping sense of dread that worsened with every minute; I'm dying.

Still he tread water, trying to keep his chin above the surface. His wrists had been bound behind his back, the anchor tied from them to the depths far too heavy for him to lift. He had spent all of his strength and energy trying to drag it closer to shore, but now his violent shivering was beginning to slow. His body was failing. He didn't know when the stranger was coming back to him, only that he was running out of time.

A sharp, shuddering breath rattled his shoulders, sweat seeping into the pillows as he tried to curl deeper around himself, chasing the warmth that was quickly seeping out through the bottom of the canvas bed. No matter how much he shivered, the draft from below took away all heat faster than he could make it.

Was this his punishment? Were they not coming back?

I can't do this.

He gave a frustrated sob as he tried, one last time, to saw his hands free of the rope. The fibers cut deeper and deeper into his skin, succeeding in doing nothing more than spreading more blood into the water.

He twisted his hands weakly in the leather strips tying them to the head of the bed. His fingertips had long since turned a worrying shade of frigid grey, and it took all his focus to get them to gradually flex to try to keep life in them.

The ladder creaked as one of the creatures came down the steps. He caught the flash of eyes, metallic silver pools of light that glinted in the blackness like those of a hyena. The predator shifted through the small space, the sound of lanterns tinkling against its shoulders. Then a second set of glinting eyes joined it soon after.

"Come back!" he cried in a fog of breath into the empty night. His voice was hoarse from clattering teeth, weak with the only shallow gasps he could still reach from the surface of the water. The lights of windows flickered orange against the dark landscape, glittering like embers in the wind.

He knew this man could outwait him. He could remember nothing of the stranger's face, but a deep well of rot in his chest told him he was facing something worse than freezing to death and drowning. He was bait. Even as the shouts grew closer and he saw the distant silhouettes of his townspeople pass, he bit back his sobs and kept himself silent.

If they come for you, I’ll kill them before you have even a chance to scream.

But now he heard his sister's voices in the distance. He had been a constant for their whole lives. They knew him. They knew him well enough that he knew the river was one of the first places they would look. He could do nothing but cry as he ran out of time.

"Come back and take me," he wept breathlessly, "Pl—please." His leg spasmed with a cramp of pain, and with a gasp of shock his mouth dipped below the surface. It took him a few long, terrifying moments to kick again strongly enough to break the surface. The redoubled cold of the night air washed over his face. He sputtered and coughed from the shock of it, feet sweeping back and forth over and over to try to buy enough air.

He let out a breathless sob as claws brushed slowly, carefully back through his hair. He shuddered, shying away from the touch, and held his breath as he felt it pause. Then a warm hand slid down the curve of his jaw and cradled his face. Please, please. "...please."

Please, warmth. "I'll...do...." anything. I'll do anything. Don't let me spend another night like this.

I'll never make it to the oasis if I don't find warmth.

I have to make it. I don't want to die alone like this.

I don't want to die in this forsaken place.

The hand traced his face, soothing over the sweat-drenched mess of his forehead. His eyes lidded as their warmth slowly seeped into his skin, exhausted sobs slipping through clattering teeth.

"I'll do it," he sobbed into the hum of the locusts.

Please don't let them find me like this. Please, don't let my family be the ones to find me.

Baba, Maaman, his sisters—

"I'll do it!" He yelled, and immediately sank back under the surface. In the moments after he surfaced again he was left coughing so hard he almost couldn't catch his breath.

More lanterns had been lit, glimmering out beyond the high grass like guttering candles. They were still so far away. The wildlife that sang in the banks of the river gave way to the sound of distant cries for a moment before their orchestra breathed over them again.

The creature pulled the blankets away, unwinding him from the tangle of furs. He whined aloud as the cold night air washed over his skin, barely aware of the "Please...no....no," that streamed from his lips.

Talons pulled him out of the blankets, lifting him like he weighed no more than a doll. Then they moved warm over his sweat-drenched clothes, pulled him close against the creature's chest, and continued combing through his hair as arms wrapped around his back. He almost began weeping with relief when warm, bare skin pressed into the numbness of his cheek.

Something writhed beneath his toes in the muck. He jerked his foot away and instinctively kicked at it to keep it at bay, but it wasn’t something he could sustain if he still wanted to breathe. Moments after he was forced to return to his treading, slimy sandpaper scales brushed along the arch of his foot as it persistently returned.

He braced himself for the needle-pain of teeth, drawn to the smell of the wound in his foot. He let out a near-hysterical whine as he felt those mucousy scales twist up between his toes and wrap around his ankle. Then its body once again pressed cold against the bottom of his foot, slicking over the burn, and kept him from dislodging it even as he returned to his desperate treading.

Lengths of bandage turned slowly round and round his foot, gentle hands working around the wound.

His fingers curled against its chest, heat radiating against his cheek as he sunk further into the crook of its arms. The air he breathed was tinged with the incense-burn of smoke, huge hands warming the back of his neck. A wordless murmur echoed by his ear, warm breath ghosting over his skin.

Maybe the creature wouldn't... Maybe...

Wait...

No, he couldn't...it couldn't....

Something rustled in the reeds. Something brushed over his hair.

Which was reality?

"Make it stop," he pleaded breathlessly.

"Nadi!" his sister's voices cried from downriver. "Where are you?"

He coughed on more water, breath blooming in silver clouds around his head. Droplets flicked out around him as he turned his head and desperately searched the dark for any sign of the dark figure from before.

A warm cloth wiped across his forehead, washing over feverish skin. A rumbling voice soothed him as he twisted his face away from the contact.

A man's silhouette shifted, so faintly visible against the reeds that he couldn't even be sure he was there. He kicked desperately to try to raise his head from the water enough to call out, but suddenly found, for the first time, that he couldn't reach the surface.

"Õ̵͜d̸̰̆r̷͈̒ä̸̦i̸̻͋!̷̩̌ ̴̯̌G̷̨̊e̴̙͗t̵͚͂ ̴̼̃m̷̖̆e̶̬͊ ̶̑ͅs̷̠̾ȁ̸̝n̵̪͠d̷̠̽b̷͓̆a̷̳̒g̷̩̽s̸̢̊,̵̤͒ ̶̗̽n̴͓̒o̴̗̚w̴̥̉!”

He cast pleading eyes toward the figure, gasping on a breath that was as much water as air. Please. Please.

That...that was no language he knew. And some resigned sort of dread told him that his mind couldn't have come up with it on his own, not even in the fever of dreams like these.

"Nadi! Where are you?"

He struggled to crack open his eyes, but he could see nothing more than incoherent colors swimming beyond his lashes. They lidded as an ember-warm hand brushed back the small hairs at the edges of his face, relief coursing down his spine with a shudder.

He was either drowning or falling asleep. He could no longer distinguish one from the other any more than he could make sense of either of the realities from dreams.

The man on the shore was going to get what he wanted after all.

The creature at the bottom of the river curled its body slowly up his calf, fins fluttering against his skin. Its body tightened around him. Then it pulled him slowly deeper, and Nadi's vision wavered as the water closed over his head one final time. The muffled roar of the insects went silent. He turned his eyes once again up toward the night sky, empty breath clawing at his lungs.

He had no more strength to fight. His trembling, exhausted muscles finally went lax with one last, burning exhale that blossomed to the surface. Then he was no more.

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Like this chapter? Please remember it can only be seen by other people if you reblog!

#The Jackal of An-Nadr #(this chapter has an easter egg 👀)#whump #whumpblr #writeblr #whump series #historical whump #historical fiction #fantasy whump #drugged whumpee #defiant whumpee #whump fic #monsterfucker #monsterfucking #sick fic #fever whump #slow-burn monsterfucker series

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runwayrunway · 10 months

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Hello my fellow resident of the world! How did you get into planes, if you don't mind my asking? I've just started my interest in aviation (thank you Admiral Cloudberg) and would love to know how you went about learning what you know. (Also, converted all my friends to PSA lovers this afternoon. I am still a JetBlue stan for the airplane names.)

Joke answer 1: I generally board planes through the aerobridge just like everyone else.

Joke answer 2: When they give you your autism diagnosis they tell you to pick a vehicle.

Real answer: is going to be under a cut, for length (seriously, it's long) and for rambling (seriously, it's incoherent) and also for being my life story rather than blog content proper (seriously, I talk about my grandparents) and also for discussing morbid things like plane crashes, so be advised.

I'm not totally sure. I mean, I moved across an ocean as a young child, my grandfather was a microelectronics engineer who worked in aerospace, I've spent most of my life living directly nearby an airport, but I don't think any of that is it?

I think it's a combination of factors. A major one was my first flight in a propeller plane and realizing that I really enjoyed it. Also major was an interest in air disasters. I'm a huge enjoyer of the Admiral's work as well, I think she has among the best coverage of air disasters out there (definitely in terms of narrative content, at least) and I find her writing style in general very inspirational, but I didn't discover air disasters through any specific media. Rather, I actually was very struck by certain crashes in the news (particularly the 2011 Lokomotiv crash, which I heard a lot about because my family are Russian expats).

I was a morbid kid. I've just sort of always been like that. I'm a second-generation goth who lives across the street from a cemetery with immediate family members who've survived some pretty awful things and aren't shy about it, it might be weirder if I wasn't kind of curious about mass casualty events. Like, one of the earliest things I remember is the Columbia disaster. For a long time I thought I had a weirdly specific and irrational fear of tsunami, nightmares and all, and then I remembered that I lived in Japan until the tail end of 2004. Also, my grandfather thought war stories were appropriate for three-year-olds. So I heard 'awful plane crash' and went 'oh cool. Let's look up what happened'. And then my family got talked to because I didn't own a computer and thus had no choice but to frantically search "Air France 447 CVR" in my school computer lab.

And then I got older than my nebulous age at the time of "child" and became a far different type of person and learned about politics and human people and the like. Frankly, if I were more of an active member of general avgeek communities I would probably spend literally all of my time yelling at people because of my very strong feelings about the callous ways people discuss these crashes, the uselessness of the concept of "pilot error", and pop coverage and 'memeification' of air disasters (again, another reason I enjoy the Admiral's work is that she does not do this). Discussion of air disasters is frequently done by a type of person I will describe, bluntly, as smug racists too afraid to admit that human nature is fucking up and that means they might have crashed the plane too if they were put in that situation.

While I consumed the normal air crash media (Macarthur Job's books, Air Crash Investigations (very hit or miss depending on the episode), Mentour Pilot (recommend) and the like) I'm actually a history student with a focus in archival science, so I like to do these dramatic dives into researching specific things and a lot of the most formative media to me is individual documentaries and books about specific crashes that probably isn't worth listing out unless someone wants a source about something specific, and the same sort of thing about specific models of planes and airlines. My point is that I kind of started just getting wrapped up in it, and it's been an on-and-off fixation ever since.

Like I said, though, I'm a history student, so I wasn't going to limit myself to one area of aviation. Like I mentioned, air disasters are a focus of mine, as are, obviously, liveries and branding, but neither of those are enough on their own to understand aviation as a field, the way it evolved - all of these things, wake-up calls to industries, changes in regulation, the evolution of airline marketing and structure over time, shifts in technology, they're all part of the same broader story. So while I have things I know more about than other aspects, I like to understand at least a little about everything. I like pulling these threads out of the cloud of information I don't know until I've unravelled it as much as possible.

At this point I have a solid working understanding of the physics of flight (though I'm also very interested in astrophysics so I expect that played a part), the history of airlines, the way they developed in the US and in Europe and also in other places that didn't start out with the same infrastructure, the role they play in society and propaganda and the avenues they open. I have a lot of blind spots. I don't really know how engines work and I think it's unlikely I ever will. But I'm always learning and I like that about aviation. It's just a gigantic field. You never run out of reading material. And that's even despite the fact that I simply do not care for military aviation (unless it's really strange/niche things like the SR-71, but I just don't really care about how many missiles you can strap to the Boeing Foreignguyblaster 9000 or the like).

I also sort of have an advantage over most people in that Soviet aviation is an entirely separate and deeply interesting subject that often gets reduced to jokes or 'well isn't that weird' and I have a secret weapon for researching it called "my first language is Russian" and a second secret weapon called "I can ask my grandmother and she'll just tell me about how she remembers the Miracle on the Neva happening and walking past the plane before they got it out of the river because she lived right nearby".

I also just like planes. I think they're pretty. I think it's incredible that they're real machines that humans invented. I don't know anything about computers and I never will so this is sort of the main avenue I have to be awed by the scale of human engineering. We put a giant metal thing in the air and then we painted a smiley face on her nose.

I not only am not a pilot, but cannot be a pilot. I have a seizure disorder and also the potential to get very lightheaded very suddenly, so I cannot fly and that's fine. A lot of people hear this and try to argue with me about how I could get an exemption or find a loophole and I get the idea but it's very misguided. Some people shouldn't be pilots. Causing plane crashes is bad and the reason aviation is so safe is because it refuses to take risks. The thing about being disabled is that you aren't able to do things. And that's fine, I have no choice but to be fine with it. But it gives me a lot more incentive to research and to planespot and to discuss aviation with other people, and I think paradoxically I would probably not know or care as much about the history of airlines if I were spending all this time out there doing figure-eights in a Cessna Whatever.

And I just sort of don't have the capacity to like something a little. I either don't care or I've looked into it enough that I could run some sort of blog about it. Aviation is important to me even though I can't directly participate in it. And I wanted to write about it. And, to be honest, not only is this a niche that's not often covered, but the backstory to this blog is exactly what my intro post is. I was at the airport with a friend and we had this conversation:

Me: oh my gosh, look at that Lufthansa plane. It's basically white. Him: yeah Me: why are all airlines painting their planes such boring things nowadays. This sucks. They're bereft of both whimsy and character Him: yeah Me: I feel like I could complain about this for years Him: yeah Me: has anyone written a blog about this Him: probably not Me: would you like someone to?

Is it the most elegant genesis out there? No. And I'm sorry I don't have a more coherent explanation for how I got super into planes than "I have access to a large library and also an autism diagnosis", but I'm sort of an earnest person and I like thoroughly answering questions.

If you want general recommendations for informative civil aviation content I recommend the youtube channels Mentour Pilot and 74gear, which are both run by actual pilots, and also just digging around at any libraries near you and seeing what you can find. You might be surprised by the depth of the research people have done into very specific topics, and also because you can find some good overviews written by very passionate people. If you want specific recommendations about any defunct airlines or old planes or major historical events, shoot me a DM. Also, if you know any pilots, ask them, because pilots are the only people worse at shutting up about planes than me.

Sorry this got so long. Much like my inability to hold a tepid interest in a subject, I am very bad at answering questions in a way that's not perhaps too forthcoming and thorough. I hope at least some of this feels like a satisfactory answer to some of your questions, though. Thank you as always for reading my silly little blog about airplane outfits.

#off-duty #transmissions #the man behind the cockpit door

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kn95-blog · 11 months

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saw ur post about the slowburn fic ur writing. just letting u know. ur fucked up and eveil. im with it tho. reigen fucking roshuto is the funniest thing ever and not enough people explore how funky a circumstance hate fucking can be

the fic is actually about serizawa finding out that reigen isn't psychic, and he leaves spirits & such for a while. it takes place about a year or two after canon. reigen self destructs while serizawa thrives away from him, working at a cafe and soon dating his manager, a woman named nana (name subject to change, i'm only like barely 3 chapters into this fic). it's similar to the separation arc in canon. then, serizawa realizes he wants to help people with his powers, and comes back to spirits & such, now ready to mend their relationship, and it gets complicated.

putting everything else under a cut because there's just so much to this fic i'm writing and i HAVE to talk about it or i will go insane, but also it's spoilers. it's all incoherent down there, so be warned, everything is out of order, i'm just talking about it as it comes to mind.

content warnings for general homophobia, (including the use of slurs and homophobic attacks), as well as predatory boss/employee relationships (not between reigen and serizawa, between serizawa and someone else)

roshuto is kind of a rebound/coping mechanism in a way for reigen, and what's even better is during the relationship, reigen is more of the asshole in the relationship than roshuto is, and roshuto is the one who ends up dumping him. it's fucking great. it hurts so much.

this fic is a whole lot of reigen getting deeply caught up trying to untangle the web of lies he'd been weaving for like 6 years straight while serizawa tries to unravel his trust issues and his negative view of himself, all the while the both of them are trying to figure out who they really are, because at the end of the day, they both don't know who they are.

reigen has spent so long lying about pretty much everything about himself that he doesn't know where to begin with what about himself is true or just part of the mask.

on the other hand, serizawa just doesn't have the life experience necessary to have a solid grasp on who he is as a person. he's only been out of solidarity for about six years, he hasn't even made it to the halfway point of the amount of time he spent in isolation.

reigen also has a huge complex with his internalized homophobia that he struggles to work through as a part of figuring out who he is. he struggles to be gay without shame and guilt, and for many years, he repressed his feelings toward men very intensely out of disgust for himself and fear of what other people would do to him if they found out, and he struggles to accept that part of himself. happy trails, the bar he goes to, became a safe haven for him to go to, and even if he didn't outright say anything about being gay or ever have a hookup there, it was a place where he didn't have to worry about getting attacked because everyone there was just like him, living their own lives with the same fears, and understanding him.

for years, he went to this bar and felt safe, like he could completely unmask and it would be okay. however, one night, he gets attacked by a group of drunk, homophobic men looking to take the frustrations of their jobs out on him, and it completely undoes any progress he had initially made with accepting himself.

serizawa's arc and the big things he works through on the other hand, are his issues with going along with what other people want, even if it's something he hates, because he doesn't know how to say no. he gets too anxious to, like he's going to ruin everything. he never said no to toichiro, he rarely said no to reigen, and thus far, he's the same with nana. he ends up struggling really badly trying to figure out if he actually loves nana or if he's just too nervous to say no to her on anything, especially because at one point she was his manager at the cafe they met at.

he can't tell if he's attracted to people more dominant than him, who take charge, or if it's because he's only ever really been around people like that, who have been in literal positions of authority over him, and he's just become afraid to say no, like he's not allowed to, feeling that his place is to be used and to do whatever other people want him to.

it's reigen's internalized homophobia that eventually destroys their relationship because he goes hot and cold; one day he wants roshuto, the next he dumps him and wants nothing to do with him.

i have this one quote from roshuto in the fic that's just really painful and it's really sticking with me so far:

"I know you have a whole complex about being gay. I know that you can barely even admit to yourself that you like men. I know you hate yourself for being a faggot, but I don't! I worked too hard for that!"

it hurts, man.

i haven't written it yet, but at some point i want there to be a conflict between nana, serizawa and reigen, where reigen finds out that nana was his manager at the cafe, and reigen loses it at how unprofessional and predatory it was for that relationship to happen like that. there's dating between coworkers, and then there's the manager predating on an impressionable guy without a lot of life experience who struggles to stand up for himself and say no, who she is also in a huge position of power over.

serizawa gets upset, first trying to say that he doesn't need to be treated like a little kid and that he can handle himself, but eventually thinks on the situation, and he realizes that reigen was right. he couldn't tell if he actually liked nana or if he was just happy to be in a relationship at all, feeling like he's not allowed to say no to anything she wants.

eventually, they break up and it devastates reigen to see serizawa so torn up over it, but in the end they both know it's better for him to get some more life experience and to learn how to better stand up for himself and say no than it is for him to be in a relationship with the mindset that he's not even allowed to say no.

so far, i'm calling this fic "psych" because reigen is pretending to be psychic, and is using his jack-of-all-trade skills to bullshit his way into having other people believe that he's actually psychic, and that is very similar to a murder-mystery cop show from the early 2000s called "psych", where a guy called shawn spencer pretends to be psychic to help the santa barbara police department in california solve crimes, and his best friend, burton guster, enables his lie.

eventually, shawn starts dating the junior detective, juliet o'hara, and they have a great relationship until she finds out that he's not psychic, and it destroys everything.

it's a really entertaining show, and it's nothing like other cop shows. highly recommend if anyone reading this enjoys murder mysteries, 90s and 2000s rock, constant movie references, an easter egg hunt involving pineapples that happens in every single episode, and general silliness and hilarity. honestly, brooklyn-99 has nothing on psych. the parallels between shawn spencer's ADHD ass and reigen's ADHD ass are fascinating.

that's where i got the inspiration for this fic. i'm not sure if this is going to be the actual title for it, especially because this fic is nothing even remotely close to silly, it's like all angst, but for now that's what i'm calling it until further notice and i'll be using the tag 'psych' to talk about this fic if anyone wants to block it.

anyway, that's my ramble. i hope you enjoyed it. that's far from everything that happens in the fic because no way in hell i could put it all in here, but here's a lot of it.

#ask #anon #my fics #psych #mp100 #serirei

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hanakos-hat-brooch · 1 year

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Going insane (Tumblr year review under the cut kjdhf)

I posted 72 times in 2022

That's 14 more posts than 2021!

5 posts created (7%)

67 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@iamhereinthebg

@macey-wacey

@amaskeddragoness

@kiramiisu

I tagged 69 of my posts in 2022 (Nice)

Only 4% of my posts had no tags

#reblog - 43 posts

#tbhk spoilers - 5 posts

#jshk spoilers - 4 posts

#tbhk - 3 posts

#hananene - 3 posts

#jamie rambles ig - 2 posts

#themmm!!! i love them sm - 2 posts

#tbhk chapter 71 spoilers - 2 posts

#oh my god look at her i love her - 1 post

#also da way you draw sumire is so pretty- - 1 post

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#also!! i'm not trying to say you're wrong or anything i just wanted to offer up these as well... i'm not great at identifying flowers

My Top Posts in 2022:

grrrr want more dmld fancontent

wait

wait i draw

...

0 notes - Posted March 18, 2022 (Wow how nice-)

youtube

I spent maybe 8 hours on it, but I’m pretty happy with the results! Longest animatic thus far,,,

9 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

See the full post

19 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

this is prolly gonna be incoherent but I love how similar yet different Shijima / no.4 and Mitsuba / no.3′s positions and stories are

so shijima's boundary, her rules are in play; to escape, you have to kill the protagonist of the story (in this case, mitsuba and hanako). Simple enough, but as sakura mentioned, the people with good hearts will struggle the most with this. it won't be easy to get out. It's meant to keep the good people trapped. It shows you what you want most. The hell of mirrors is the opposite. It shows you your worst fears and regrets. If you have a lot, it will become a living hell. if you're pure at heart, you'll pass through fairly safely. The bad people struggle the most. It shows you what you fear.

Mitsuba and Shijima are both not the real themselves. The real mitsuba vanished, and Tsukasa took his soul and put it in a new body, creating this mitsuba, who was never human, and has no memories, though he was able to view the other's memories through the reflections. Shijima was a persona created by the real Mei Shijima when she was in the hospital, showing her ideal self. Healthy, and artistic and happy, plus some design choices ofc. Shijima cares a great deal for her real self, and is still distraught over what people think of her, and how she died. She wants to protect her real self, almost like a sister, I'd say. Mitsuba dislikes his real self. He's jealous how come he acts like his life is so bad, when he gets to be human? He gets to reach out to people, and he could make friends if he actually tried. He can live his life! That's all Mitsuba wants. He wants to live a normal life. And he wants to do that. They're so similar yet their thoughts on their real selves are so different, and their goals are different too i just. AAA /pos

like obvi this isn’t new information or a theory really i just like to compare those two a lot

20 notes - Posted March 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

TOOK THOSE DUMBASSES LONG ENOUGH I LOVE THEM

26 notes - Posted January 17, 2022 (OF ALL POSTS... chapter 86 man-)

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #jamie rambles ig #Youtube

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alycosworld · 3 years

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Tainted

Scaramouche X Reader

WARNING: mentions of (nearly) sexual assault

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈❀┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A/N: I seem to have more angst/comfort ideas for genshin but I'm not sure why...also, I'm on holiday in a foreign country! I have no work and I'll probably spend all my nights on Tumblr after exploring the city in the day, so please please please send in some requests! I'm bored and although they might take some time, they might help me get back into writing more regularly. I'm pretty sure this is gender neutral but if I made a mistake, feel free to tell me. This has NOT been checked for any errors (I'll get around to it at some point).

I'm not sure if Scaramouche is ooc, since he doesn't say anything that nice in the game or in any official works, but I definitely think he has the capacity for it. And I like soft Scar <3.

If at any point you feel uncomfortable, PLEASE DO NOT READ ON. I felt a little icky after writing the assault bit so do not force yourself to read any further or read at all. I do not want to make anyone reading this unhappy. Any victims of sexual assault or harassment, I hope you heal

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Keep walking. Just keep walking. Get home as fast as possible.

Avoid dark spots, avoid all people, avoid secluded areas. Just get home now.

That's what you told yourself after it happened. Archons, you didn't even know how you should feel. Ashamed? Angry? Disgusted? Upset? Confused? Afraid? The amalgamation of these emotions just made everything worse. You felt sick to your stomach. You wanted to cry and scream and vomit and disappear all at the same time.

You felt like you were covered in grime and you don't even know how you managed to get away. You should've done something, anything! But in the moment, you couldn't.

Your day had started normally. You went to the Adventurer's Guild in Inazuma, doing your commissions and taking up a few extra quests to help people out. Even though you were walking home later than normal, you didn't think much of it. Until somehow, you lost your way. In the dark, things became a little more vague and confusing, so you ended up taking a left and ending up in a dark alleyway between two dimly lit buildings.

You walked through, lost in your own thoughts, until you heard some chuckling and some incoherent remarks made by someone exiting one of the buildings out a back door and into the alleyway.

Glancing up, you saw that the person was a man - quite tall and well built with flushed cheeks: he was clearly not sober. You paid him no mind, staring at the ground as you continue to walk, determined to get home to see your boyfriend, Scaramouche. Though he wasn't one to worry, knowing that you could handle yourself, you did want to see him as soon as possible.

"Well, what do we have here?" The man asked, and you looked up at him again, tilting your head in confusion but staying silent.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?" He asked, a suspicious smirk on his face.

"I'm going home." You said firmly, not wanting to give him any ideas.

"Oh? A handsome young thing like you, going home all by themselves? Let me walk you, I promise I don't bite." He continued, clearly not getting the hint.

"I'm alright, but thank you for the off--"

"Stop being such a fucking tease! Wearing an outfit like that, you're begging for it." He pinned you against the wall despite your attempt to politely refuse any moves he tried to make. He caught your arms above your head and harshly shoved one of his legs between yours.

"Don't like to me, hon, you know you want this." He whispered huskily. You had fought countless hilichurls, abyss mages and monsters far more intimidating and dangerous than that man that day, but you couldn't seem to move. All you could manage was a fearful 'please, don't do this'. Struggling was futile, for some reason you couldn't escape his grasp. You had fought beasts ten times this man's size but violating you like this? It made you break.

He gripped you harshly and even managed to kiss your neck a couple times, making the tears stream down your face uncontrollably, until he heard some voices. You recognised them immediately: members of the Adventurer's Guild. He must be known it too because he stopped as soon as he heard, offering you a sickening grin and scuttling away before you could react.

"We'll finish this some other time, sweetheart. I promise."

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You didn't get any help from the Adventurer's Guild members who you heard, instead opting to rush home as soon as possible, trying to figure out what to do next.

The only solution in your mind was to crawl into your lover's arms and tell him what had happened. You didn't want anyone else to know - you know you could trust Scaramouche and you knew he would help you.

But he didn't.

You got home and wiped your tears before entering the house, hoping to look somewhat presentable despite having experienced such an impactful event. You dropped your belongings carelessly, not flinging at the loud sound they made as they hit the floor. You immediately made your way to the guest room Scaramouche had turned into an office of sorts, for him to work on Fatui business. The bedroom door was open and empty and he was nowhere to be found on the first floor, so that was the only other place he could've been. You were relieved to see him sitting at the desk, deep in thought with some maps and other sheets of paper laid out in front of him.

"Scar, I--"

"Not now, (Y/N), I'm busy." He said hot even bothering to look up at your frazzled and shattered state.

"I know but, please, Scar. While I was--"

"If you know that I'm busy, why enter in the first place? I'm working. Leave me alone." He said harshly. You didn't say anything, instead opting to nod silently and close the door. Since this was the first time you had experienced this pain and discomfort from being touched and defiled in such a way, you decided that maybe you should put it aside. After all, maybe it was something so jarring. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe Scaramouche's nonchalance was justified. In a twisted way, you blamed yourself for overreacting and decided to just forget about the incident. If it didn't mean enough for Scaramouche to even look at you, it clearly wasn't something worth fretting over. You were just exaggerating, right?

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You tried you absolute hardest not to let the incident bother you, but you unknowingly started changing your habits to prevent what had occurred from happening to you again.

"Wearing an outfit like that, you're begging for it..."

You started wearing less revealing clothing, going as far as wearing gloves at some point and covering your neck with collars and scarves through the hot weather.

"We'll finish this some other time, sweetheart. I promise."

Initially, you just avoided dark or secluded places, even when you were with other people, but eventually, you were too scared to leave home at all. You didn't leave the confines of your small garden and if someone passed by, you would quickly hide yourself away. When Scaramouche had unknown guests and colleagues over, you would hide in your bedroom and make him promise not to mention you or acknowledge your existence in the slightest.

You even started taking longer showers and refused to bathe with Scaramouche, confusing him since you used to enjoy it so much. But you wouldn't let him see you in such a vulnerable state now that you were contaminated. You didn't want him to know that you had been tarnished in such a vulgar way, and you spent long moments scrubbing at the parts the stranger had touched. You were worried that Scaramouche would blame you for being assaulted - because in a sick way you thought it was your fault, despite having been nothing wrong. You had twisted the story in your mind to make it seem like you were responsible for the crime committed against you.

Eventually, Childe had to visit for business purposes, but you had become good friends with the eleventh Fatui Harbinger since he was friends with-- well, he and Scaramouche had a relationship, to say the least.

"So where's (Y/N)? Normally they're all over you and making you as embarrassed at possible." Childs grinned, and Scaramouche just frowned and narrowed his eyes.

"They're in our room. They don't really want to see anyone right now." Scaramouche said. Even though you told him not to mention you anymore, since you were so hellbent on avoiding all human interaction, he thought it would be okay to tell Childe. He was your friend too, after all.

"Is something wrong? What happened?" Childe asked, concern in his eyes.

"I don't know. They've been avoiding everyone, including me. They barely talk to me and insist on sleeping downstairs." Scaramouche confessed.

"Let me talk to them."

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Childe exited your room after hearing what to had to say, and he was disturbed and sympathetic, at the very least. Scaramouche saw his wide-eyed, grim expression when he exited the room and immediately had questions.

"What?" Scaramouche asked.

"I'll come back tomorrow to continue our work." Childs said, referring to the business he originally came for.

"But we have to--"

"Scar?" Scaramouche stopped all his trains of thought and turned to the sound of your voice. It was hoarse but still as beautiful as ever. He knew you had been crying from your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

"I think you have other matters to take care of." Childe winked, before giving Scaramouche an informal two-fingered salute and showing himself out.

As soon as the door closed, Scaramouche turned his attention to you, not coming too close in case you didn't want to be near him.

"Yes, Love?" He asked, more concerned than you had ever seen him.

"Can I talk to you? If you're busy, that's okay, it's not that impor--"

"I'm not busy." He shook his head, and you offered him a sad and grateful smile before sitting on the edge of the bed while he took a seat on a nearby chair.

"So, uhm, a couple of days ago I was walking home and I kind of got lost...so I tried taking this alleyway and--" You stopped yourself, meeting Scaramouche's attentive gaze before continuing.

"There was a guy. And he-- he t-touched me. I-- I didn't know what to do. I could've easily fought back but I just got scared and froze up because that's never happened to me before and he kept saying that I wanted him-- but I didn't! I swear, I didn't. I know it sounds bad since I didn't stop him but I really tried, I just couldn't. And he started k-kissing me...here," You gestured to the spots on your neck that you could still feel being violated.

"And I felt so horrible and he didn't go any further because some people were coming, so I ran home. I-I...I didn't know what to do but I felt like I should tell you because I thought you would help me, but you said you were busy so I just-- It-tried to brush it off but I just couldn't get it out of my head! And before I got away, he told me that he'd come back and finish me off and so I didn't want to go outside anymore in case I ran into him. And I started to cover up since he said I was asking for it because of what I was wearing and then I just got scared and I felt dirty. I tried so hard to forget and clean myself but it kept coming back-- I can still feel him on me! I hated it, I still hated it! You have to believe me, I wasn't trying to get him to notice me, I just..." You broke down after finishing what you had to say. You had already been crying since you told Childe, but now you were choking out sobs and your face was drenched. Scaramouche stood up from his chair and sat next to you on the bed, a safe distance away just in case you still weren't comfortable with being touched.

"I believe you. I know you're not like that." Scarsmocuhe started calmly. In all honesty, he wanted to interrupt you as soon as you said that this man approached you. His blood was boiling and he was ready to murder this man for you but kept himself in check because you didn't need senseless violence or revenge right now, you needed comfort. What hurt him the most was that you were blaming yourself because he didn't bother listening to what you had to say on what was probably the worst day of your life.

"It's not your fault you were touched like that. You are not to blame, at all. I-- I should've listened to you when you came to me - as soon as I turned you say I thought something was wrong but I didn't bother asking about it. That's entirely my fault." He admitted, which surprised you. It took Scaramouche a lot to admit his mistakes, but for you? He didn't care. You constantly put up with his sour attitude, he can definitely listen to you and admit he was wrong.

"You sure? Because I still--"

"I'm sure." He said simply.

"But why did you start avoiding me?" He asked, wanting to understand the situation entirely.

"Well, because..." You started, unsure if he would get angry if you told him. While you were contemplating, he offered you an encouraging expression. It wasn't a smile, but it was more than enough to put you at ease.

"I didn't want you to think I was tainted. Of course, you wouldn't want to be near me after that had happened." You sighed, wiping up the last of your tears.

"You really are an idiot, you know?" He said, but after seeing the clueless and almost hurt look on your face, he immediately wanted to take it back. He didn't mean to be insensitive, he just...well, he often explained positive emotions with his very wide negative vocabulary.

"No, I didn't-- uhm..." He mentally cursed himself for not knowing what to say, but you didn't interrupt him and made a small gesture for him to keep going.

"What I mean to say was, I don't think that you're tainted or anything like that. And I still...want to be...near you-- eugh!" He pretended to be grossed out at his own words in true Scaramouche fashion, but he knew you knew he didn't really mean it and was beyond delighted when he saw you giggle at his facial expression.

He sighed and acted angry as he opened his arms ever so slightly. You noticed the movement and quirked an eyebrow when he hesitated.

"Is it okay if I come closer?" Scaramouche asked, unsure if you wanted to be touched after the incident.

Your heart swelled at his care and then you slowly watched as he stiffly wrapped his arms around you comfortingly. Although you had hugged and cuddled on countless occasions, he still wouldn't stop being so robotic unless you did something. It made you laugh and he pulled away slightly to glare at you, so you decided to just pull him back in and hug back.

And when you relished in the touch of another human being, the touch of the person you love, you began to cry. The last time anyone willingly touched you was in that alleyway, and so to have someone be so gentle with you and have no bad intentions, you were overwhelmed with emotion.

Scaramouche must've felt your tears staining his clothing and skin, and quickly pulled away with poorly hidden concern in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked, but you just continued to sob and nod.

"I love you!" You choked out. He sighed and gently patted your back.

"I...love you too." He said, before making another expression of mock disgust. He slowly moved to hold both your wrists in his hand and kiss down to your neck, pulling you into his lap with your legs straddling one of his.

You soon realised that he was covering up the placed the stranger had touched you with his own ministrations, effectively replacing the grime you felt you gained after the incident. After you came to that conclusion and Scaramouche was done, he didn't meet your eye, blushing profusely. It was justified since he didn't usually initiate any kind of affection acts, but you just cupped his jaw and kissed his cheek, smiiling at him with purity and a newfound confidence in the both of you.

"Thank you, Scar."

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact fatui #fatui x reader #fatui #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #angst #angst with a happy ending #comfort #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche oneshots #gender neutral reader #x reader

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desiredmalfoy · 3 years

Text

Overprotective

Pairing: Draco x Ravenclaw Reader

Genre: fluff with very (I mean very) light angst.

Note: No Voldemort Universe. Seventh Year.

Word Count: 1.1k

Since I couldn’t post my Fred fic, here is a Draco one I wrote today. I honestly wrote this during my break after a random idea popped into my head. So I’m sorry if it’s not my best work.

Masterlist

(Not my gif. Credit to the owner)

Draco protects his secret girlfriend in front of everyone after someone is mean to you. Ravenclaw reader x Draco

Your relationship with Draco was unconventional. You had been secretly dating him for a couple of months now. Both of you had decided it was best to keep it secret for the time being due to both of you running in very much different friend groups. You both wanted to make sure you were hundred percent serious before letting your friends in on your relationship.

Plus the both of you loved the adrenaline and risk of seeing each other is secret. The nights you spent together, bodies intertwined together just like your souls were now. Nights pressed against the walls of the corridors as you both attempted to not get caught in the dark of the night. Hair disheveled, breathing hitched, eyes glossed over with lust.

You were everything and more to him as he loved every detail about you. Completely infatuated with your intelligence and beauty. Intoxicated every time he got to hold you close. He wasn’t perfect, but you didn’t need him to be when you loved every aspect of him.

The rush of being with him was never ending. Your love for each other is indescribable.

It was no secret within your house that you shared a rivalry with a fellow Ravenclaw named Ethan Jacobs. The two of you could not agree on anything or even have a civil discussion. Always looking to outdo each other in any way. Better grades, better marks on exams, being in a professor's good graces. The two of you made anything into a competition against each other. Your conversations were always filled with snarky remarks. Just recently, you had beaten him out for top of your Divination class, which completely enraged him.

He had always known which buttons to hit to irritate you. Although you did your best to ignore him. As well as assure your boyfriend later that you were fine and you can handle an idiot like him. You had been dealing with him with him for years. Which usually stopped Draco from doing something drastic. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t send Goyle and Crabbe after him every once in awhile.

Until one day he took it too far.

This year, Ravenclaw shared Potions class with Slytherin. Which meant you were luckily placed in the same class as Draco. The two of you sent each other secret looks throughout the lesson. Or your hands would brush together when you accidentally grabbed the same ingredients.

“Who can explain to me the ingredients needed to brew amortentia”, Professor Slughorn addressed his class as he paced the room. “How about you Miss (y/l/n)?”

“To brew amortentia the ingredients to add are powdered moonstone, pear dust, peppermint, ashwinder egg, and rose thorn”, you responded with a proud smile.

“Very good Miss (y/l/n)! Prepared as always I see.” Professor Slughorn enthusiastically responded to you. You could hear Ethan mumble something incoherent at the remark. “Now who can tell me what it does? How about you Mr. Jacobs?”

“It’s a love potion that creates a powerful obsession but it doesn’t create true love.”

“Very good.”

“Which is the only way (y/n) could ever get anyone to even look her way.” Ethan added quietly as Slughorn walked away from him. That earned a snicker from one of his annoying friends. It was just low enough to be out of earshot of the Professor but enough for you to hear.

“Can you ever shut your mouth”, you turned around with an eye roll. “You know the rest of us are simply trying to learn here.”

“It’s true though. I mean look at you. Who would ever willingly love someone…no...something like you?”

The room grew uncomfortably silent. This argument was different from the rest.

“That’s enough”, Professor Slughorn finally spoke up.

“Merlin, anyone who would willingly love you must be under some sort of spell. Poor bloke. “ Ethan continued to speak, completely ignoring Professor Slughorn’s direction to stop.

“I know an annoying prat like you isn’t talking.” Draco sneered as he came closer to you and Ethan. Directly placing himself in front of you. You didn’t even have a chance to speak up.

“Stay out of it Malfoy. This doesn’t concern you.”

Draco was now properly mad at the situation. He wasn’t about to let some idiot speak to you like that.

“I’m not going to stay out of it if it’s in regards to my girlfriend.” A shocked expression graced your features. This isn’t how you imagined the school finding out about your boyfriend. But here he was defending you in front of everyone. Your heart swelled with pride and love for him. You grabbed his hand and gave it a slight squeeze.

“I reckon she has you under a love spell mate. Don’t worry, there are antidotes for it.” Ethan’s attempt at a joke only triggered Draco further. For him to even insinuate something so outrageous about you angered him.

Without warning, Draco let go of your hand and grabbed Ethan by his collar and lightly lifted him off the ground.

“If I so much here you’re still bothering her, I will make sure your life is miserable for the rest of your pathetic excuse of an existence.” Draco spoke quietly so the thrashing Ravenclaw was the only one able to hear the threat. Everyone knew Draco Malfoy kept his word. Especially if it was to protect someone he loved.

Draco let go of him, causing him to fall to the ground. Ethan scrambled to scout away from Draco while still on the floor. Fear coursing through his body and that same fear evident in his eyes.

Draco could only smirk and find joy in this. Someone so inferior learning their place brought an unexplainable satisfaction to him.

The class completely enthralled with the scene unfolding before their eyes.

“I apologize Professor for what you have witnessed. You’ll have to excuse us.” Draco didn’t even wait for the shocked Professor to even respond. He grabbed your hand once again and pulled you out of the classroom. He dragged you into another unused classroom.

“Are you okay”, he asked with worry lacing his voice. He grabbed your cheeks and tilted your head up so you were staring directly at him.

“Of course I am. How couldn’t I be when I have someone like you to protect me.” You reached for his cheek as your thumb lightly grazed his jaw. He leaned in and placed a sweet and delicate kiss on your lips.

“I think it’s safe to say everyone knows about us now.” He said as he pulled away from you. Hands long gone from your cheeks as he pulled you in close to his body.

“Doesn’t matter. Now they know who my amazing overprotective boyfriend is. They should be afraid.” You joked as a laugh escaped your lips. The vibrations of your joy jolting his entire body.

“They should be. I’m sure they’ll know what’s coming to them if they do.” He kissed the crown of your head and held you a bit tighter.

“You know I love you right?” You pulled away slightly from his body to look into his eyes.

“You tell me everyday darling.”

“Good. Never forget it.” You placed your head back on his chest. His embrace felt like home to you.

Taglist: @daisyyy2516 @id-kill-to-be-an-assassin @slytherinambitious @bonkybabe @phatcrackdad @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @instabull @gwlvr

Reminder: None of my work can be reposted anywhere. It doesn’t matter if you give credit, please do not repost!

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Return to Me

Characters: Albedo, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,538

Warnings: Violence, Minor villain death

Premise: What is it like when the one you most adore becomes a stranger? And how’re you supposed to pick up the pieces?

In which the reader loses their memory.

Author’s Note: Just a note that this is not how actual amnesia works, and if you’re experiencing memory loss please contact your doctor.

That being said the amnesia is really good for angst and pining so how could I resist? It’s one of those guilty pleasure tropes I like to read and think of so I hope I did it justice.

Albedo

Albedo loved two things in this world, alchemy and you. They were what kept him centered, what kept him sharp and curious and full of life. So how could it be that one of those things should cause him such great unhappiness, and that said unhappiness should be the other’s suffering?

It had been a dangerous experiment, from the beginning Albedo was well aware of that. Testing whether or not elemental energy contained traces of elements via water could yield incredibly useful results about magic’s interaction with the ordinary world. But it could also backfire massively. Noxious gases, explosions, anything was possible.

But he’d thought he was prepared. After all you two had hiked all the way to the edges of Windrise specifically so no one would be around, and Albedo had even put up a barrier with the express intention of keeping anyone from getting hurt. It should’ve been fine, everything should’ve been fine, and yet when the Electro Slime condensate hit the water and the explosion knocked you both off your feet, slamming into the ground three meters from where you’d originated, he could only wonder how things had gone so wrong.

Picking himself up after a few agonizing seconds, every bone and muscle in his body stiff and aching from the sudden impact, Albedo crawled over to where you lay. To his horror you appeared to have hit a rock, and your head was bleeding slightly. Cupping your face in his hands the alchemist rasped out your name. The relief he felt when you opened your eyes was only momentary, replaced by shock and a sense of utter emptiness when you made out a groggy: “Who are you?”

Electro slime elements appear to contain no small amount of Chlorine, which, combined with only the hydrogen as a result of the electricity splitting the water molecules apart, caused an explosion. Although normally Albedo might’ve been thrilled by the discovery of an element only found mixed in the natural world, now he could only look upon that experiment with a raw sort of hatred that he hadn’t known he’d possessed. The ice around the alchemist’s heart had been burned away, and now all that remained was a burnt and shriveled up little thing, determined to make up for the lack of emotions by throwing its owner into the pits of despair.

Albedo spent all his time at first in the hospital and then in the apartment you two shared. You’d made an offhanded remark about how empty it looked, and Albedo had smiled awkwardly, not having the heart to tell you he could barely look at a piece of science equipment without a deep sense of loss. The doctors had said the effects should fade with time, but Albedo knew that there had been magic in the air, and a sick, twisted part of himself jeered that he was holding onto false hope.

It didn’t help that Albedo had been absolutely unprepared for the reality in which you couldn’t remember a thing about him, or your relationship. Never again would you rush up to him as you had before, excitement in your eyes and questions in your head. Memories of gathering crystal flies in the sunset and staying up all night, notes on old ruins swapped with sweet kisses and phrases that meant nothing at all, the beach where Albedo had sketched you for the first time and you had given him your first gift, all that was nothing to you, the stories of a stranger told by another.

“The first gift you gave me was a flower preserved in a solution of Cryo.” You said, words awkward and unsure in your mouth. Albedo knew that you weren’t really remembering it.

“That’s right,” he replied, voice light and calm, trying desperately to keep the despair from showing on his face. “It was a Cecilia. You said that it looked as if it was made of snow.”

“It sounds beautiful,” you replied, speaking more to yourself than to him, “I wish I could remember it.”

“You will someday, I’m sure of it.” He smiled, but the movement felt like too much effort to keep up and soon his face collapsed once more into an expression of melancholy. As if noticing this you smiled slightly in turn.

“Does it still exist?”

“Yes,” Albedo gazed out the window that faced you two. Beyond the buildings, only a few streets away lay his laboratory, locked away and gathering dust, “it does, but I cannot get it right now.”

“Oh,” you seemed at a loss for words, glancing down towards your hands, “that’s alright. I’d rather remember it on my own anyways.”

Albedo said nothing to this. Moving to place his hand on yours he paused. He was a stranger to you. This little act of comfort, all the little gestures he’d gotten so used to were now impossible. Dropping his hand to his side he moved to get you a glass of water, desperately trying to ignore the pain burning in his chest and in his heart.

_____

“Are these yours?”

Albedo placed the bag of groceries he’d just gotten on the floor. Moving over to where you were sitting, you were taking a break from adventuring until you remembered more, a decision made by the doctors for fear you’d forgotten how to control your vision. You had recently moved on from mostly sleeping to exploring your once familiar home, and now you sat curled on the couch; in your lap was a familiar book. Leaning over Albedo glanced at the page you were on.

“Yes, they’re mine. I like to sketch in my free time.”

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, running your hand reverently over the slightly stained page, “I can see the different shades in the mountain, even if it’s only a pencil drawing.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Albedo smiled to himself, the memory of that day offering him some solace, “it was quite a difficult thing to draw.”

“It had an odd name.” You scrunched your nose slightly in concentration, an expression so cute Albedo could help but let out a huff of bittersweet laughter.

“Dragonspine. That’s the name of the mountain.” Turning to put the groceries away he paused when you spoke once more.

“No. That wasn’t it. It was something else. V-Vida something.” Albedo watched, incoherent thoughts and emotions clouding his mind as you retraced the circles you’d been making on the page beforehand. Suddenly your fingers stopped and you looked up. “Vindagnyr, yes that’s it! There’s a fortress up there, a, what did you tell me they were called, a domain. And that’s the name of it.” You closed your eyes once more. “Something happened there, something to do with you. I can’t remember it, if I was there or if you told me about it before, but something’s there. Something important.”

Albedo felt as if he must’ve been dreaming. The same sort of emptiness that had filled him at the beginning of this catastrophe was there, but this time there was something else, the bitter feeling of a hope that he couldn’t be sure of filling his lungs and his mouth. He turned back towards you, teetering forward as he tried to grasp the situation.

“Yes. That’s right. Vindagnyr. The name it had before it was essentially destroyed by Durin. I met the Traveler there, a week before I met you.” He sat down on the chair adjacent to where you were sitting, memories filling his mind. “It was also the first place we performed an experiment together.”

“I’d like to go there again then.” Your face was one of open triumph and excitement, and there was something in your eyes that Albedo thought he might never see again, a sort of recognition that he thought had been lost, “I know you haven’t been to your work once. I suppose it would make sense, considering what happened, but would you take me there?”

“Of course.” Albedo’s voice was sure and solid.

“Even though I might not remember more.”

“Even then.”

You reached your hand out to the alchemist, and after a second Albedo took it. He ran his thumb over the back of your hand slightly, and you made no move to withdraw, instead squeezing his palm slightly.

You had remembered something. It wasn’t everything of course, and there was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be heartbreak up ahead, wouldn’t be frustration and sorrow and moments when hope seemed very far away. But as long as moments like this existed, Albedo could hang on. The anger and despair that had burned inside him remained, but now something stronger resided there.

And that was hope.

Scaramouche

“Do you see them?” You whispered, raising your head slightly above the rock you were hiding under. Scowling Scaramouche made a cutting gesture with his hand.

“Yes I see them. And get back down!”

Although his tone of voice was harsher than usual you smiled a smile of understanding as you lowered yourself once more out of sight. Scarmouche took a deep breath in response, trying to control the coiling tension that sat in his stomach. Today’s mission was an unenviable one, made only worse by your presence, for Scaramouche knew these were no ordinary enemies, and though you could take care of yourself just fine there was a nagging in his head that refused to be silenced.

Your targets sat encamped up ahead, completely nondescript in appearance, although that was hardly surprising of deserters of the Fatui, especially ones of such high caliber as them.

Scaramouche’s expression twisted into a scowl of concentration once more as he thought about the moment when you two had received your orders to get rid of those who knew of the dealings of the army of the Tsaritsa, and who were certainly willing to dispose of said secrets for the right price. Although they were no doubt traitors of the worst sort and worth less than dirt, there was still something unpleasant about fighting people who had once been comrades. You’d mused it was because of the bonds of mutual struggle and culture, but Scaramouche suspected for himself it was more the annoyance of fighting people who were at least somewhat trained.

Scaramouche gave the signal and you crept once more out from behind your hiding spot. Manifesting your polearm Scaramouche could already see the well worn metal steaming. This battle was going to be bloody.

At first everything had gone well enough, being hidden on a ledge about the camp you’d managed to do a great deal of damage, made easier by their surprise and ill planned position. However things quickly began to turn sour. The ex-Fatui might not’ve had the equipment of their army days, but they retained the ruthlessness that had once made them so efficient and now made them so dangerous.

There was an odd smell running through the valley, the smell of electricity and something burning. Scaramouche stood in front of a man who had certainly once been a vanguard and a woman who appeared to have been a Cryo mage. Sweat coated their faces but Scarmouche felt cold with the thrill of battle. Electricity crackled to life in his hands and already bits of electricity were dancing on the charred and dinky armor of his enemies. What were they thinking sending a Harbinger against a pathetic group such as this? It was laughable, really.

“Such a pity that members of such an elite force are going to die like dogs.” He drawled. The woman in front of him gritted her teeth, summoning a trail of icicles which Scaramouche easily leapt over. “Is that truly your worth?” He laughed, before the calm that always came with killing washed over him. “Your best is hardly worth my worst.” Gathering electricity, Scaramouche prepared for the final, searing strike.

The man in front of him smiled a sickening sort of smile, the kind that one made only when they knew that it was the end, and then it all went wrong.

The sound of your voice was muffled by the energy approaching Scaramouche from behind, as the outline of a transparent sort of figure clipped his vision. Quickly whirling around Scaramouche was unprepared for the third ex-Fatui member, an agent who had apparently learned his skills well, bearing down on him. Raising his hands, the Harbinger was suddenly thrown aside by an unknown force. Fire made contact with lightning and the ground exploded.

Fighting to retain consciousness Scaramouche was aware of the sickly smell of burning flesh. Blinking away the confusion he glanced at the carnage around him. The agent lay haphazardly, face half obscured by a mass of flesh that must’ve once made him up but now seemed out of place. Behind him the other agents had hardly feared better, and the charred visage of mangled flesh replace what had once been arms, legs, necks. It was an unsettling view, and though Scaramouche couldn’t say it was the worst thing he’d ever seen it still left a vile taste in his mouth. How quickly a fragile little human could come undone, made into that which was unrecognizable.

Finally he fixed his gaze towards you, relieved to find that there was no apparent wounds, although that perspective shifted slightly when viewing your hands, which were covered with welts. Your fire must’ve mixed with his electricity, causing an overload of energy, and you two lying in the eye of the storm. Scaramouche looked at his own hands, and realized they were similarly reddened. Ignoring the pain he shook your shoulder. “Get up.” He let out when you finally opened your eyes.

However it was apparent very quickly that something was wrong. You eyes held no recognition in them, instead they seemed as blank and transparent as a mirror. Looking at him you furrowed your brow slightly.

“Where…” your gaze drifted towards the scraps of humanity around you and then there was nothing but screaming and a wetness on Scaramouche’s cheeks that felt suspiciously like tears.

“You need to get back to work.” Signora’s voice betrayed no sense of pity. Scaramouche was glad for it, he wouldn’t’ve been able to forgive her if there had been.

“I doubt those imbeciles need me for something as simple as the daily regime. If they do it’s their fault, not mine. I owe them nothing.”

“You owe them your work, it’s your duty as a Harbinger,” Signora’s eyes narrowed, “or have you forgotten that in your folly.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing!” Scaramouche snapped, eyes boring into those across from him. “I am well aware of what my obligations are and what they aren’t. As I said there is nothing of importance fir me right now, and I don’t wish to waste away my time with trivial matters.”

“What would our dear Tsarina think of such words,” Signora let out a dramatic sigh. Raising the glass she was drinking from to your lips she paused, “you best be careful. I cannot shelter you from your folly forever. Either you learn how to deal with this… unfortunate incident and your work, or I shall have that person thrown out into the snow.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Scaramouche’s tone was like acid and he felt for the moment as if letting go of himself wasn’t such a crime, for now there was no one to chastise him about it anymore.

“I’m warning you. Don’t forget what happens to those who cannot fulfill their duty to the Tsarina,” Signora paused, a cruel smile gracing her face, “or have you forgotten who caused this in the first place.”

It was all Scaramouche could do not to set the tent ablaze.

“Get. Out.” He commanded. Signora sighed, shaking her head and downing her drink in one go before walking out and leaving Scaramouche with the feeling of falling apart.

_______

“Do you sing?”

Scaramouche lifted his head at the sound of your voice, surprised by the question. You hadn’t said much since the aftermath of the incident, and Scaramouche hadn’t forced you to. After all it was one of the things he’d first appreciated in regards to you, you’d never forced him to talk when he didn’t want to. Now he felt the need to afford you the same courtesy, knowing that intelligence still lay behind those eyes even if recognition had disappeared. Now he put down the document he was reading, smiling wryly and shaking his head.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what you’re called isn’t it? Your name, one of your names. The… the Balladeer?” You said it as if it was a question, and perhaps it was. Scaramouche couldn’t think however, couldn’t think over the rushing in his ears.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I don’t know. I just heard it. Or I remembered it. But that’s who you are, isn’t it?” You smiled, and for a moment Scaramouche could almost imagine life was as it was before. “Can you sing for me?”

“No.” This conversation had happened before.

“Fine,” you shook your head, “but one day I want you to sing for me, when I remember everything, then I want you to sing for me.”

“Fine.” Scaramouche managed to get out, afraid of the rising emotions he felt, afraid they might break through his voice.

“You’re missing work, aren’t you.” You continued on, gaze piercing through him. “I can tell, I can hear people whispering about it when I go out. I’m not supposed to be here, and you’re supposed to be working. If what you told me really is what happened, you should work.”

“Ridiculous,” Scaramouche scoffed, “I can manage my own affairs. Besides,” his voice grew softer, as if he didn’t want to reveal himself to you. You were too familiar, but still a stranger, and a part of him hid behind the walls he built up around everyone else, the walls only you could climb over. “Besides, who would look after you.”

“I can look after myself.” Your answer was as confident as it had always been. “I have to, since I trust what you’ve told me about myself, about this work, this world.”

“It was you not looking after yourself that lost you your memory!” He was shouting by now, he was shouting but he couldn’t stop because if he stopped shouting he’d be crying.

“Perhaps. But it’s not looking after me to end up like the people we fought. So go to your work. And maybe one day when you come back, I’ll remember.”

He couldn’t say no to you, eventually you won. It had been that way since the beginning, you tearing down his bluffing and his empty promises. Perhaps it was what he appreciated most about you.

Every moment Scaramouche was away from you felt like he was betraying a part of himself, a part he had hid for so long. But you were right, just like before, and just like before you’d won him over with your honesty, your refusal to back down, and your view of the Harbinger for what he truly was, someone who was deep down truly afraid. That part of you remained, somehow without memory and without certainty it remained.

And if that part of you remained, well maybe some day the rest would return.

Xiao

“Xiao look!” You let out a cry of delight as you threw yourself off the tall stone mountain, glider unfurling in a vibrant waves of color as you began circling in the air. Xiao scowled from the tree in which he was perched, unwilling to humor you in your folly.

“You’re going to be injured.” Although he hadn’t meant for you to hear that you still laughed at the comment, shaking your head as you once more carved shapes into the sky.

“It’s a lovely day for gliding! The air is so fresh and the breeze is just enough to keep you upright!”

“It’s too windy.” Xiao’s voice was flat. This was foolish, what you were doing was foolish. He could feel the currents, feel their laughter, their excitement. They were surely up to no good.

But you weren’t paying attention to that, instead you were gliding about as if you were born to fly. It was a beautiful sight, Xiao had to admit. The beauty of those immersed in what they loved. And what Xiao loved was you.

“Come on Xiao!” You called out. “Come fly with me!”

“No.”

“Oh c’mon, I know you can do it!” Screwing your face into a pout when the adeptus once more shook his head you shrugged. “Your loss.”

Xiao knew you were disappointed, but he couldn’t help it. It seemed somehow out of place for him to join you in whatever you were doing. Besides, he needed to keep track of the currents, just in case.

You dove down for a moment, and Xiao felt his stomach clench, knowing full well what you were doing, but unable to keep the worry out of his mind. And yet then you were flying up, up, up, up and though Xiao wanted to scold you, wanted to tell you to come down once more, he was rapt, in awe. You were too beautiful, and it stole his breath away.

A gust of wind came blowing through the stone monoliths and as your wings buckled and you plummeted towards the ground Xiao found that he was truly unable to breathe at all.

Perhaps it was a blessing that you were unconscious. Then you didn’t have to feel the way Xiao held onto your shoulders as if he’d never let you go, the way he gasped for the air he was supposed to be in charge of, the way his eyes were devoid of everything but fear. You hadn’t fallen so far, he told himself, you hadn’t fallen so far it was fatal. You were breathing, you were going to be fine. But he found himself unable to believe those words. If you had said them he would’ve, but there you were, a crumpled mess and he barely able to process the world around him.

Crashing onto the Inn balcony, not caring about the odd looks thrown his way, Xiao made his way upstairs. You were going to be fine. You were.

If only he could believe himself.

“They’re out of danger now.” Verr Goldet’s voice was calm, unnaturally so, and Xiao only softened a little at the knowledge, sure something had gone wrong. “But…” the innkeeper continued, confirming all of the fears Xiao had been secretly nursing.

“But.”

“But there seems to be a problem with their memory. They were very confused at first, unable to remember things such as Liyue, their duty as adventurer, this place, things like that. At first we thought it would clear, but now it seems that isn’t so. Their memory might be affected for quite a while.”

“I want to see them.” Xiao brushed past Goldet, determined to help you if this was to be your fate. But Goldet’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Xiao, they can’t remember you.”

At first there was the feeling of falling. And then, as Xiao vanished, there was nothing.

______

At first Xiao was determined to stay away completely. It hurt too much, hurt to think about what had happened. At first he’d managed to survive on anger, anger at the world, at you not listening to him, at himself for letting it happen. But quickly the anger faded and what replaced it was a loneliness so vast he couldn’t believe that he had managed to survive in such a way before he met you.

Still he didn’t want to go, didn’t want to see you as you were now, unaware of him and perhaps destined to remain so. How cruel fate was. It took everything he knew from him and just when he began to live again it took that to. It took away your memory, your livelihood, and for what? To punish him? It seemed unfair, so unfair.

So he’d stayed away, afraid that something would happened again to you if he were to show himself again. But the knowledge of such emotions as love is something that doesn’t fade, and Xiao found himself unable to continue on as before, finding the pain too great. He had to see you. At least to say goodbye, he had to see you. It would be unfair not to do so.

The moon was full, casting a silvery light on the landscape. Xiao drifted over towards the roof of the Inn, thankful that he was invisible, so as to not have to experience the moment your eyes reached him but you didn’t.

Your silhouette appeared quickly enough in the darkness. You seemed somewhat preoccupied, and yet there was a purpose to your step, made all the more evident by the Qingxin grasped firmly in your hand, a brethren of the other flowers which lay scattered on the railing.

“I know you’re there.” At first Xiao jumped, thinking perhaps you’d somehow managed to sense him. However he calmed down once you continued, it appeared you weren’t truly talking to him.

“I know you’re there. And I wish you’d come back,” You continued, gazing out on the landscape around you. “I don’t remember your name you see. They told me your name of course, but I wish they hadn’t, I wanted to remember it myself. It must be why you left, of course you didn’t want to see me like this. If what they said was true…” you shook your head, “I know it was true. I know that it had to have been true, that I cared for you, that you cared for me. I know because I miss you.” Xiao felt his heart pound in his chest, so loud he could barely hear you.

“I miss you so much. Isn’t that odd? I don’t know you anymore and yet I miss you. It’s as if something is missing. I mean, of course something is missing but it’s more than just the memories themselves. It’s the feeling. Like going outside without a coat on. I miss you, even if I can’t miss you because I can’t remember you I do, I miss you dearly.”

You paused, placing the flower on the railing next to the rest.

“I hope you see the flowers before they fade,” you called out softly to the dark, “and I hope one day I can look at you again. I remember you had such lovely eyes. I’d like to see them again to be sure.”

For a moment Xiao didn’t move, frozen by all he’d heard. But the minute you turned to leave he was already there, bound by the feelings he had for you, by the knowledge that continuing as he had been would kill him, would only hurt you.

“Do you remember me?” It was a silly question to ask, but he had nothing else to say. You turned towards him and smiled softly. It was true, your eyes didn’t recognize him. But there was something in your gaze nonetheless.

“Xiao.” You whispered, and the yaksha knew that he’d never be able to leave again.

#Don’t ask me why Albedo is mixing hydrogen with something that contains a halogen he and I are both just stupid like that #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #requested #albedo #scaramouche #xiao #albedo x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #scenarios #mine

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neon--nightmare · 2 years

Note

I want to send you another ask so that you will share more of ur somehow increasingly correct Fresh opinions with me but idk what to ask because my brain has melted into incoherent screaming of agreement! Please keep talking? Oh! Thoughts on hosts/that whole deal? Whether just in general or in relation to the existential crisis!!!!

YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FRESH W EMOTIONS ACCEPTIN OTHER PEOPLE BEIN AS REAL AND MATTERIN (not as much as he does but more than zero) MEANS. that he has to ACCEPT that hes causing people incredible pain. the most traumatic moments of their lives. watching a monster puppet their bodies, say words they'd never say, do things they'd never do, forced to watch. unable to even blink by themselves. as this creature crawls around inside their chest, feeding off the very FABRIC of their being, devouring their souls. feeling each little crack get wider and wider, like every bone in your body being slowly torn apart from the inside. just for fresh to exist, and keep existing. and theres NO way around that. nothing he can do. because that's how he was designed. how do you heal and become a better person when causing others unbearable amounts of pain is unavoidable and constant? if fresh could feel guilt, how could he live with himself?

and his friends, his support group, his lifelines in this scenario, the ones he needs to function... they'd have to live with that, too. that someone you love physically, genuinely can't exist without causing others unceasing agony. who do you put first, the life of your friend or the lives of countless strangers? the 'right' thing to do would be to incapacitate him while his guard is down, kill the monster, end the horrible, unavoidable path of destruction, but he's like your family. you care about him so much. what can you do? especially for a pacifist, how do you come to terms with that?

GOT LONG READMORE

AND LIKE. it hurts the host less if they don't fight back. it'll always cause pain, but at least it won't be boneshattering agony. but who wouldn't fight back in this situation? even if you think you can handle being a host in theory, when it's happening, when you can't even move your eyes on your own without excruciating hurt, feeling your very life force devoured, who wouldn't be afraid? who wouldn't struggle, and scream, and fight back? it's so terrifying to be completely helpless, it changes you, and fresh knows that, but there's nothing he can do.

he's spent his whole life helpless, only telling himself he was control, grabbing desperately on to bravado, trying to convince himself he's independent, making his own choices, but ever since he was aware, he's been a puppet for forces beyond his comprehension. that see him as a toy, a little game to play with, poke and prod at until he breaks or they get bored, then that was it. nothingness. and even before the tiniest speck of emotion, before he couldn't even feel anything besides anger and fear, the idea of nothingness terrified him. survival is his deepest motivation. it was programmed into him, to survive at any cost. he can't even think about the idea of his death without spiraling, plummeting, so he just... doesn't think about it. he's good at that. pushing away everything that upsets him, burying it under layers of denial and apathy. if i can't see it, it can't see me!!!

but... just by existing, he puts others through that fear, every agonizing millisecond of every day, of every week, of every year. he makes others confront his worst nightmare, and he used to laugh, he used to think it was the funniest thing in the world, but now... thinking about it puts the heaviest weight on his chest. and he can't avoid it, because they're always screaming inside his mind, begging, cursing, pleading. he was created from the pain of others, and that's what he is, it's what he has to do, what other option is there?

he can try to find willing hosts, though they're so few and far between, though any one could be a lure, a set-up by one of the hundreds of thousands of people who want him dead. he apologizes profusely, he keeps apologizing, he tries to explain, it's all he can do. apologies are second nature to him now, aren't they? when he misses a social cue, when he says something that upsets someone he loves without realizing, when he slips back to his old self, when he gets so angry it consumes him, it's all he is and he yells, lashes out, pushes away those closest to him.

when all he feels is hollow, he isolates himself. he can barely move off the floor. all he can think about is how none of it was ever in his control. he was always doomed to be the person he became, the monster, right? and he wishes he could go back to being that monster, uncaring, an eternally grinning husk. he's still just as helpless as he was then, though now it's because he's at the mercy of his own mind, everything he can't escape, and he longs to just be numb again. and he knows that he still had enjoyed what he did. he still made all of those choices, said all of those things himself, manipulated, lied, drew people in close and betrayed them just for the thrill, for the curiosity, to see what would happen. he hates himself. but when he's happy, truly happy, now, it's the happiest he's ever been.

he tries to drain less energy, though it's irrational, it weakens him for no benefit only than to dull his host's agony, and only prolongs their suffering for longer until he moves on to the next one. and if he had the introspection, he would feel even more guilty that he's making himself seem like the victim, but he doesn't let himself think about it long enough. being outside a host isn't an option. even though he'd be able to last a few days before fully turning to dust, he hates being outside a body more than anything in the world. he's so small, he's so vulnerable, all he can do is screech. unable to communicate, a pitiful, fragile, pathetic little thing. and that's not who he is. that's not who he WANTS to be. it's a living hell. but that's by design too, isn't it? he was created to be perfect, wasn't he? he was never meant to be more. he was never meant to be worse.

there's no easy solution. it's all just harm reduction, punishing others for his continued existence. but he has to keep living, he has to keep surviving. keep going. because, really... the alternative was never an option. so he lives on.

#freshposting #my writing #fresh sans #SORRY FOR MAINTAGGING AGAIN i swear ill only do it w actual writin like this #ask 2 tag #We project a little here #AGSHDJVSAHJDHCJVBSVDSVBDN #THIS WAS SUCH SUCH A GOOD QUESTION IM GONNA YELL!!!!!#fresh sans can be something so personal i think #AUGH HE MEANS SO MUCH TO ME DUDE IM FERAL #fresh and spamton would get along. theyve both been a heart on a chain their whole lives #asks #starstruckbookworm #IM NOT GONNA APOLOGIZE FOR THIS TURNIN OUT SUPER ANGSTY BRO FRESH DESERVES IT MY MANS CURSED #pic of rage comic fresh w an arrow to him that says Bearer of the curse #also no proofreading we die like men

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zackcollins · 3 years

Text

speechless || bo bichette

masterlist

Author’s Note: Hello! Everyone gets a treat of a second fic today because I was in a mood to write. Hope that’s okay. Idk man. When you’re in the mood to write, you write. And sometimes, you just wanna post right away because you’re too impatient to wait. Ya know? Anyways. GIF credit to glasnow!

Warnings: An anxiety attack. That’s probably it??? I don’t think there’s anything else. Feel free to let me know otherwise and I’ll fix this warnings section for you.

Word Count: 1.9k+

Title: Speechless by Dan + Shay

Additional: The reader should be gender neutral again! I don’t think I used any identifying language or pronouns or anything. If I did, it was accidental because I was hella distracted watching my dog while my grandparents went grocery shopping. As always, let me know how I did because constructive criticism is always welcomed!

Tagging: @whimsical-daydreams @donttelltheelf-x

You had suffered from severe anxiety; it had been a part of your life for as long as you could remember. At this point, it had totally consumed you. You could hardly do anything anymore without your anxiety trying to take over in some form or another. It was the worst feeling in the world.

That's why it was like all your prayers had been answered when Bo waltzed into your life. For the first time in your life, you were able to open up about your anxiety with someone. There was just something about Bo that made you feel safe, secure, and like nothing would ever hurt you again.

You had been dating for about two and a half years before your relationship changed. It changed on what had otherwise been a quiet day in the middle of February. Snow was falling outside of your house, blowing around peacefully in the evening breeze. You were sitting on the window seat of the living room window, staring out onto the street while idly sipping on a mug of hot chocolate.

Somewhere outside, you heard a dog distantly barking. You found it odd because to the best of your knowledge, nobody in the housing community you and Bo lived in had a dog. Most of them had cats because they were easier for their housekeepers to look after when they were away on business trips or vacation. You quickly shook it out of your mind, though, thinking it only to be a dog that had wandered in from somewhere nearby. It wasn't entirely unlikely for that to happen because some of the people in the housing communities on either side had been known to let their dogs roam freely from time to time.

A couple of minutes later, you heard the front door to the house open. That snapped you out of thinking about the barking dog because you needed to know who walked in. Turning around, you heaved a relieved sign when you saw Bo standing in the entryway. You felt a little anxious, however, when you saw that he had placed a rather large box at his feet. Placing your hot chocolate on the windowsill, you walked over to Bo.

"What's this, sweetie?" You asked, walking all the way around the box. You wanted to see if it had some sort of label or marking on it that would hint at what was inside; it did not. All it had was a pink ribbon embossed with white hearts tied around it.

Bo smiled as he was undressing from his winter apparel. He tossed his hat into the closet. He unzipped his coat and carefully placed it on one of the coat hooks beside the door. Lastly came his boots. He slipped out of those and tossed them haphazardly onto the plastic boot mat you had bought specifically for the winter so snow wouldn’t be tracked all over your house. He ended up bowling over your boots and a spare pair of boots you kept in case of emergencies. You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Bo raised his arms in surrender as he stepped forward and gave you a quick kiss. You relaxed, kissing him back as you wrapped your arms around his back. When you pulled apart, Bo stepped aside and motioned to the box.

"If you wanna know what’s inside,” Bo produced a pocket knife seemingly out of nowhere because you didn’t know him to carry one. He handed it to you and motioned to the box a second time. “All you have to do is open it.”

You walked forward and leaned over, carefully cutting the ribbon a couple of times so that it was easier to untangle from the box. Once you had all of the ribbon untangled and balled up, you placed it along with the knife on the console table next to you. When you looked back at Bo, he gave you an encouraging nod and a soft smile. You bit your lip nervously as you carefully lifted the lid off of the box. What was inside made you blink in surprise. Staring back at you was a beagle puppy. You had to blink a couple of more times, just to make sure that truly weren't imagining this. When you surmised that this was, in fact, a real dog sitting in the box, you lifted them out, cradling them in your arms. They even kissed you on the chin a couple of times. That was also all it took for you to be absolutely smitten with this puppy.

Just as you went to put the puppy down, the light from the chandelier made something on their collar glisten. At first, you thought it was name tags or the city registration tags. But, when you examined it, you discovered that it was an engagement ring. You turned to ask Bo about it. Much to your surprise, he was down on one knee, holding his hands out. You handed him the dog (who you could now see was a boy), thinking that was what he wanted. Bo chuckled as he scritched the dog behind the ears. The dog sighed, jackrabbitting his back foot in satisfaction. You huffed an amused breath, rolling your eyes and chuckling.

Bo carefully put the dog down and took the ring off of his collar. He gave him a few more ear scritches which made the dog flop on the floor and curl in a ball. Bo rolled his eyes before he looked up at you, holding the ring in your direction.

"Since I know I'm the best thing to happen to you and you're the best thing to happen to me," Bo paused, wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes, "I was wondering if you'd marry me?"

You clammed up. You felt your anxiety wash over you like a giant wave crashing into the surf. You fell to the floor, chanting a bunch of incoherent nonsense as you curled into a ball and clutched your knees tightly to your chest. You rocked back and forth, tears streaming down your face as you continued to death-grip your knees. It was then that you felt Bo wrap you in his arms. He cradled you, rocking you in time with how you were rocking yourself. Only, he was doing it softer, gentler. He was also mumbling some of his stats from last season, the stats from the hockey game you watched yesterday. Hell, he even started mumbling what you needed to buy when you went grocery shopping the next time. Anything mundane and boring because he knew that was what generally helped you out of anxiety episodes. The more boring the better. It gave a sense of normalcy and order that helped your brain to focus on the everyday parts of life as opposed to the falsehoods of meaningless compliments that people only said to you when you were in the middle of an anxiety episode.

Hearing about baseball and hockey stats as well as what groceries you needed to buy helped remarkably well. You calmed down relatively quickly given how badly this attack had started. You tilted your head, looking Bo in the eyes. Your eyes were full of a question that didn’t need to be asked but probably should be anyways. Bo, knowing how to read you by now, simply nodded. He met you halfway as you connected your lips. You shared a brief, albeit meaningful kiss.

When you broke your lips apart, you held your hand out. "Of course I'll marry you."

You smiled, though it was a little awkward because you were still recovering from your anxiety attack, as Bo placed the ring on your finger. You moved your hand around, looking at the ring from every angle. It was a gorgeous ring. It was also simple and not very flashy. Which is something you had told Bo you wanted when the time came for him to finally propose. You weren’t a flashy or extravagant person so there was no need to have a flashy or extravagant ring. The thought of having an expensive or flashy ring made you really anxious. You were afraid that somebody would break in and steal it from you. And you didn’t want to live the entire rest of your life in fear that someone was going to break into your house to steal something from you. You had told Bo that that was no way to live. That’s why you were content with a small, simple ring. You didn’t have to live in a constant state of anxiety that some schmuck off the street was going to get the wise idea to break in one night and rob you of it. And the ring Bo had picked was exactly the ring you had been eyeing the last time you were in a jewellery store. So, it worked out even better.

Bo snapped you out of your thought by grabbing you by the chin with his thumb and forefinger. He tilted your face up so that you were looking at each other directly. Bo’s eyes flitted down to your lips and then quickly back up to look at you. You nodded as best you could with Bo holding onto your chin, a soft smile breaking out across your lips. Bo smiled back, dropping his hand away from your chin. He, instead, grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers. You huffed softly before you leaned forward and connected your lips with Bo’s. Bo smirked into the kiss, bringing his other hand up and resting it against your shoulder. The kiss was far more passionate than the first and you swore it could’ve gone on forever and ever. The only reason you stopped was because the puppy weaseled his way in between you and licked both of your noses. Bo laughed and booped the puppy on his nose. You made an amused noise and scritched the puppy's chest.

Bo turned back to you after you both spent a few moments playing with the puppy. "Sorry for surprising you. I know how you hate surprises."

"It's alright, Bo. It would've defeated the whole purpose if you told me," you responded, moving in closer to Bo.

At that moment, the puppy plopped himself down in between the two of you. You both scratched him behind either ear. He made a soft groan of appreciation, before falling fast asleep. He was snoring softly after a few moments which made both you and Bo chuckle bemusedly.

"What do we name him?" Bo asked, picking him up and placing him in your lap.

"Biscuit!" You replied with excitement. The dog responded to that, briefly opening his eyes and snuffling before he went back to sleep. "See! He likes that name."

Your smile grew wider as your leaned down and gave Biscuit a kiss on the head. He snuffled again, his tail wagging against your knee. You lit up significantly, almost forgetting that you had had an anxiety attack a few minutes ago.

“Scratch that,” you said, a smile beaming on your face. “He loves that name.”

Bo just shook his head, chuckled, and waved a dismissive hand at you. "You're such a huge dork. You know that, right?"

"But I’m your huge dork," you replied, pointing to the ring on your finger as proof of that claim.

"Yes, yes you are."

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rocorambles · 3 years

Note

hello! I don’t know if you remember someone called Honey Anon, but that’s me!

one of the most rare yandere pairs I don’t see is Kuroo and Tendou, like THE POWER THEY WOULD HOLD PLEASE-

Kuroo and Tendou would probably meet you at a training camp, let’s just say that the next day after meeting the two, you woke up somewhere other than the training camp. Kuroo and Tendou love seeing you cry over a over again, they could get off from just you begging them to let you go and they’d always have the greatest fun giving you false hope, of course Kuroo’s the more responsible out of you three, he takes care of the dirty work, he’s also the one responsible for most of the punishments bc god knows Tendou’s punishments are too much for you to handle.

Tendou loves to play around with you, he’s got his own collar that he customized just for you, he makes you wear it whenever it’s his turn for reasonable punishments and makes you wear it out in public, with a leash, if you were good enough for him, it’s only the collar.

Kuroo loves touching you, 24/7, there’s not a minute that passes by without his arm around your waist or his hands pulling at your hair, he’s very frequent with his punishments because it always leaves you begging for him and he loves knowing that you’re so vulnerable without him. You deny his touch? That’s a punishment, you speak when you’re not being spoken to? Another punishment.

Although the most favourite thing they love seeing from you is the way you act when you finally cave in, they broke you down and finally you’re letting them stuff you full, they love it when your bratty attitude just dissolves as you beg them to make you feel good, when you run your nails down their backs, the love the sting that comes after it, they love the way you look being choked out, the way your hands just reach for them as they pull away just before your orgasm, they love seeing submit to them.

you’re their good little kitten and you’ve accepted that title.

I- I have never once thought of these two together and now I am SEEING.

Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Non-Con Pet Play, Non-Con/Dub-Con, Overstimulation, Implied Abuse/Violence, Mind Break, Degradation, Humiliation

Kuroo Tetsurou and Tendou Satori? Other than both being middle blockers, there’s nothing that connects the two.

Or so you had thought.

But now you’re learning firsthand just how similar their sadistic natures are.

Tendou’s never been shy about publicly showing just how much he loves humiliating his opponents, taking gleeful pleasure in tears and hopelessness. And although Kuroo is more subtle, more playful about his taunts and provocation, he’s not any less thrilled by downcast looks and crushed souls.

And both men can confirm that it’s just that much more enjoyable when it’s you that’s breaking to pieces because of them.

Most of your days are spent with Tendou and you’re not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. He’s arguably meaner than Kuroo, more cruel, more physical, but...it’s expected, predictable and you take comfort in the growing rage and hate you feel burning inside of you as he mockingly tugs on the leash that’s connected to your collar. None of this is right and as he humiliatingly sprays you with a water bottle when you misbehave and locks you in the large cage in the corner of the bedroom as punishment for scratching him, forcing a muzzle around your head, you take comfort in the hate that festers inside of you, the clarity of your mind to distinguish what’s right and wrong.

The world is a lot less black and white when Kuroo is in it and you scramble as far as you can from him when the muzzle is lifted from your eyes and face, revealing messy black hair and hazel eyes. Not that you can get very far when you’re still tucked away in this damn cage and you sob when the tall man easily grabs your flailing legs and drags you out.

Whereas Tendou thrives in inflicting agonizing pain, Kuroo relishes drowning you in even more agonizing pleasure. And you hate how human you are, hate how the lessons you’ve learned growing up are being used against you. Pain is bad. Pleasure is good. Except now more than ever, you wish pleasure wasn’t good.

Kuroo lets his mind wander as he patiently holds the vibrator to your abused and oversensitized clit, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist as you writhe and scream on his lap as orgasm after orgasm is ripped from you, a messy puddle forming on his pants and on the floor as your arousal just keeps on leaking. You really are nothing more than a kitten in heat now, aren’t you?

He grimaces when he remembers the early days when the three of you had began your little relationship, remembers how fear had lanced through him when he came home to your motionless figure, remembers the delicious relief that had blazed through him when he felt your fluttering pulse. Needless to say, Tendou was never allowed to truly discipline you ever again.

And although the red-haired athlete had grumbled about it at first, he has to admit that as much as he loves seeing the fiery spark in your eyes as you swipe your claws and hiss at him, you’re absolutely breathtaking when he can literally see your mind shatter to pieces in front of him, despair and denial dancing with the embers of your defeat as you’re conquered over and over again by the pleasure Kuroo controls you with.

“Tet-tetsurou?”

A pleased smile dances across Kuroo’s face when he hears the sweet melody of your voice wrapping around his first name between breathy moans and gasps.

“I- I feel empty.”

It’s adorable how shyly you whisper the sentence, as if your pussy isn’t already a sopping wet mess on full display for both men and Kuroo can’t help teasing you, painstakingly slowly dragging his long fingers up and down your slick hole, dipping in just a bit before pulling back and toying with your outer lips, not stopping until you’re just babbling incoherent desperate pleas for more, more, more.

Kuroo’s tempted to just slam you on his twitching cock, but this is still a punishment after all and he roughly shoves you off his lap, smiling down at you when you land in a heap on the floor, drenched in your own mess you had dripped all over the floor. Really, kitten, you should know better by now and he sighs as he brings one of his feet to the top of your head that you’re trying to raise up off the floor, firmly increasing the pressure until your face is forcefully pressed into the puddle of your own arousal, back arched, ass high in the air.

“Since you misbehaved with Tendou, you’re going to make it up to him by letting him use your pretty pussy while you lick up the mess you made all over the floor, understood?”

Kuroo looks on in amusement as you eagerly nod your head, the little bell around your collar ringing with every movement, your cute tongue already obediently lapping away at every droplet, hips lewdly shaking as Tendou comes up from behind you. And as you wantonly moan, letting them know just how good you feel, thanking them for making you their kitten while Tendou brutally hammers in and out of you, both men can’t help but think that you are their sweetest victory yet.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere tendou #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere tendou x reader #kuroo x reader #tendou x reader #haikyuu smut #tw: abuse #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: yandere

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 2: The Way ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2500>

Warnings: Domestic!Din comes with his own warning.

Series Masterlist **reblogs appreciated!

Din pulled up the throttle and exited hyperspace, thankful that he was now in the perimeter of the hot and arid world of Mandalore. He'd never been to Mandalore before, only heard talks and folklore from the creed who raised him. He had thought that, since the war, Mandalore had become inhospitable. He'd thought a lot of things— but now, as it turned out, not everything was as it seemed.

When the Imperials took over Mandalore, it was said that they slaughtered the monarchy, ruthlessly, and showed no remorse. Whilst no body of yours was ever discovered, the absence in communication from you, the princess, was enough to assume that you had passed away alongside the other Mandalorians. Kriff— even a memorial had been held for you.

Din didn't know how to feel… he was being sent out to protect and marry a princess. Him, out of all people. Din sighed, leaning into the plushness of his leather pilot chair. "I don't understand kid," he hummed, shaking his head as his ship glided through the stars. He watched as he neared your planet, anxiety nesting in his tummy. "Why couldn't she assign Paz to marry her? Or one of the other Mandalorians."

Grogu, Din Djarin's little green bean of a son, garbled something incoherent, blinking his big black eyes innocently. "Hey! Speak for yourself!" Din chastised, wiggling his finger. Grogu giggled and Din rolled his eyes under his beskar helmet. He had no idea how this would possibly go, but as long as he had Grogu by his side, he knew he'd be okay.

As he approached Mandalore, he set the ship for landing. He apprehended some Imp infiltrating the comms system, requesting Din to state his business; although strangely, nothing of that nature occurred. He wasn't going to argue over it. It just meant he'd spent the last four hours making up excuses as to why he was going to Mandalore for no good reason.

"I could say we're going to Mandalore for…. a farmer's market. Do you think they have a farmer's market?" Din quizzed. Grogu spluttered in disagreement. "What about… sourberry picking?" Din shrugged helplessly and Grogu made another sound of dismay. "Well I don't see you having any bright ideas!"

The child reached over to a lever on the ship and groaned wantonly, his little claws flexing as he yearned to grab the ball his father would always let him play with. Din sighed in defeat, unable to resist his son, and unscrewed the silver ball from the lever. Grogu squealed excitedly and immediately used his special powers to lift the ball in the air. He watched it float around the cockpit with a curious glint in his eyes and Din let out another deep exhale.

"No doing the magic hand thing on Mandalore either, especially not in front of the princess. You heard what the Armorer said about you guys… the Jedi. If there was a war between the Jedi and the Mandalorians then the chances are she's not going to take a liking to you lifting up rocks at your own free will. Just please be on your best behaviour. Please?" Din asked. Grogu curled his large ears in understanding and Din smiled. "Thank you. Now, I'm going to make some bone broth before we land. Want some?"

Grogu grinned happily in affirmation, his two little teeth pointing over his lips and the corners of his round eyes crinkling with delight. Bone broth sounded yummy right now.

"Your highness, The Razor Crest has requested permission to land in docking bay 94 of the palace. Do you accept or deny?" An Imperial soldier asked you.

You blinked momentarily. Razor Crest? That ship was pre-Empire. "Yes, that's fine." you nodded casually, looking down at your hands until the guard had left your quarters.

You had to play it cool. Nobody knew that you had sent out a distress call and nobody could know— it had to remain a secret, because if an Imp found out, they'd have no choice but to tell Moff Gideon. And if Moff Gideon found out that you were communicating with surviving Mandalorians, he'd have you done for treason. You may have been the princess, but he was still technically the Manda'lor, and not only that, he was a high ranking Imperial officer. You couldn't mess this up.

You pulled yourself out of your bed and slid your feet into your fluffy slippers, grabbing a silk robe and draping it over your body. They were here already. You couldn't believe it. Your protection. You wondered many things; would they be human or another far off species? How many eyes would they have— and what colour? Blue? Green? Brown? Pink? Would they have hair, and if so, is it long or short, curly or straight? So many questions.

Din held Grogu tight in one arm as he left the ship, and let a nervous hand drop his thigh holster just in case he encountered any trouble. He was thankful to be able to dock within the palace walls because it meant he didn't have to walk for miles in order to reach you. The anxiety was beginning to settle in. Mandalore was important to all Mandalorians, and the monarchy was something they respected very much. Din couldn't even think about marrying you and what that meant, even though the beskar wedding rings that the Armorer had forged were already weighing him down... all he could fixate on was how he was even going to talk to you. You were literally royalty. You came from the Kryze bloodline who were some of the greatest Mandalorian leaders. He'd read about you and your people in storybooks. Leaving Nevarro was one thing; because Din had left his home planet many times to do bounties and Guild Work. But this time, he wasn't even sure when he'd return or if he'd return. Mandalore could be his new home. If he were to marry you, this could be his new life, and Din wasn't sure if he was ready for such a commitment.

As he approached the palace, a cold chill hung over his shoulders and Grogu scowled at the onlookers. The Imperials who guarded your home watched as Din walked through the gardens, their own fingers feeling very trigger happy. A Mandalorian on Mandalore? What were the chances? It was said that the Mandalorians had been obliterated; wiped out and scattered amongst the galaxy to fend for themselves. Of course it would be ridiculous to assume that their entire creed had become extinct, but no Imperial would have ever expected to see a Mandalorian, suited up in full beskar armour, back on Mandalore. Especially since the princess had been announced dead by Moff Gideon after the great take-over. Immediately, the Imperial guards knew that something wasn't right. A Mandalorian had no reason to be on Mandalore— not after everything that had happened to their people.

As Din approached the gates, he couldn't help but feel the glares of his enemies grow colder, and their stares burned into his sheathed body. Grogu made a questioning noise and Din shushed him.

"I don't know…" Din mumbled, not wanting to cause too much fuss or bring too much attention to him and his son.

The point was; the princess had accepted the Mandalorian's request to land in the palace docking bay. The princess was apprehending his arrival. She knew about this.

The two troopers who manned the entrance of the palace did open the doors to Din, although begrudgingly. The strange feeling that surrounded the duo was not lost on Din. He wondered if it was in fact a trap. Maybe the plea the Armorer had received was an old holo recording of your voice that the Imperials had utilized to get a Mandalorian sent out. Either the Imperials were expecting Din, or they weren't expecting him at all. But Din had just assumed the princess had at least made it safe for him to come.

The lobby of the palace was enormous. Beautiful marble floor that must have been centuries old. Ornaments and flower arrangements stood erect on every corner and tall, gold pillars held the building together. Din wondered where he'd find you, but his pondering was cut short when he heard your delicate footsteps clicking against the floor. He turned around, his grip on his son tightening in anticipation, but the moment his eyes met yours, his whole body deflated.

There you were; the Princess of Mandalore.

Din couldn't find words. His whole body involuntarily tensed up as his gaze raked your body. It was perfect; you were shaped like a goddess, or perhaps one of the angels from the moon of Iego. Your hair was the most beautiful colour and Din admired the way it shone under the amber candlelight. Your eyes were doe-like and sparkling just like the stars, and your lips were simply the perfect plumpless.

But your heart was struck with fear when you saw the Mandalorian; fully dressed in beskar armour and a helmet. Not a single inch of skin was on sight, and your vision immediately turned red. There was only one Mandalorian tribe who never took off their helmet; and it was the tribe who was responsible for the death of your mother. It couldn't be…

Grogu's sweet little voice interrupted the silence, his garbles echoing throughout the extensively sized yet empty room.

Your lips curled into a smile as you approached the child, extending your arms and taking him out of Din's grip. "Hello friend." you cooed, and the little green bean giggled under your touch.

"He likes you," Din said, his voice modulated from under the helmet. "He doesn't like many people."

You ignored Din's comment, too busy fussing over the child. Grogu laughed and squeaked as you caressed his floppy ears. "Grogu, hm? You're a cutie."

Din furrowed his eyebrows together, perplexed. He wasn't the best at understanding Grogu, but how did you know his name already? Din hadn't told you.

"Oh, you like it?" You asked curiously, taking your earring out of your ear and placing it in Grogu's claw. "It's a ruby."

Wait— you were talking to him. You could understand him. The only person who could fluently communicate with Grogu was Ahsoka Tano, and that was because she was force sensitive. Of course Din could understand menial gestures and phrases, but here you were, the princess of Mandalore, having a full conversation with the little green bean. For a brief second, Din considered if you had any force-like abilities similar to what Grogu and Ahsoka had. But the thought passed fleetingly. There was no way a Mandalorian could have force powers. Not after the war between Mandalore and the Jedi sorcerers.

"His name is Din Djarin… I see." you nodded knowingly at Grogu before glancing up at the Mandalorian.

"Uh- yeah, that's me," Din said awkwardly, taking a step closer to you. "It's an honour to meet you, your highness. I must admit, I wasn't expecting to visit Mandalore tonight. Or ever- really." Din rambled, picking at his mustard coloured gloves.

"Do they still… do they still think I'm dead?" you asked uncertainly. Din nodded and you swallowed. The Imperials had really done a good job of covering up your existence then. You glanced back down at Grogu, and back up at the Mandalorian. "You walked through the palace gardens… dressed like that?" you asked him with a frown.

Din looked down at his armour in bewilderment— your comment suggesting that there was something wrong with what he was wearing. "Uh- yes?"

Your eyes went comically wide and you thrusted the child back into Din's chest. "Are you out of your mind?" you gasped, slapping your hands over your mouth in distress.

Din placed a hand on his hip. "Excuse me?"

"Take off your helmet." you demanded, your eyes stone cold.

"What? No!" Din gasped, taken aback. "Why aren't you wearing your helmet?"

You blinked. "Why would I? I'm not in battle!" you argued, raising your voice slightly. "Take off your helmet, that is an order from your Manda'lor."

"How could you ask me to do such a thing?" Din asked defensively, his fingers curling around his blaster pistol. "Are you really the Manda'lor— or are you an imposter? A true Mandalorian wouldn't ask me to remove my helmet."

No. You weren't the Manda'lor, you didn't have the darksaber anymore. But Din didn't need to know that.

"Are you… are you a Child of the Watch?" you whispered, feeling genuine fear wash over you.

"What?"

"What is your tribe's mantra?" you beckoned further, your eyes desperately trying to search for his through the visor of his helmet.

"Our secrecy is our survival. Our survival is our strength. This is the way." Din informed you.

You gulped and looked away. He was Death Watch. His people were the ones who teamed with Darth Maul and attacked Mandalore. They were the ones who killed your mother, and now, for the very first time, a Death Watch Mandalorian stood right before you.

You had sworn that, on the occasion you met a Child of the Watch, they wouldn't live to see the dawn of a new day. But this man… this man was a father. And killing him would orphan a child, just like you were orphaned as a young girl. You could never do that. You were not a fighter.

"I think you should go." you whispered, hating the way the words left your lips. You sounded weak.

You were struggling to hold it together. You didn't realise how much it would hurt, seeing a Child of the Watch. You didn't realise how it would bring to life a million memories of your beautiful mother.

"What? I just got here."

"I am sorry for bringing you out here, and I'm even more sorry for asking you to remove your helmet. But you need to go." You said more sternly. Din didn't move. "Go!" you shouted, and Grogu flinched slightly.

"No." Din insisted.

The tears were spilling from your eyes now, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You shuffled backwards until your ankles hit the first step of the grand staircase. You sunk down onto the steps and held your head in your hands, sobbing. You missed your mother so much; it was like every bone in your body ached for her touch. You missed the way she'd comfort you and hold you and whisper the Songs of Eon's Past to lull you to sleep. She was the greatest of leaders— a pacifist who would never hurt a single soul. She renounced all wars, even at the cost of her own life. She wouldn't want you to hurt Din. All these years you told yourself you'd kill the Children of the Watch for vengeance. But how could you now?

Hesitantly, Din placed Grogu on the ground, and padded towards you. He sat down next to you and wrapped a big arm around your body, pulling you into his beskar clad chest and hugging you. It was the first time in over a decade you'd had the pleasure of feeling human touch. You sunk into him and whimpered, letting your tears fall and dampen the black material under his chest plate. Din said nothing, only shushed you and rubbed comforting circles into your back.

He had no idea what caused the onset of your tears, but he knew better than to ask. There was no shame in crying. None at all. All Din knew was that he was not going to leave you. Not now, not ever. He was going to make you his wife.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #baby yoda #grogu #the mandalorian fic

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dinner-djarin · 3 years

Text

dar'manda (Mando x f!reader insert)

Prologue

(Inspired by this scene)

Summary: You've been working as a merchant on Nevarro for years now, only out of necessity. Life really wasn't going your way. At least until the Mandalorian came by your booth. Now he's all you think about, and soon he'll be even more.

Warnings: Probably some swearing (real and in universe), violence (eventually), smut (eventually), No use of Y/N, slowburn/fluff (for the first little while)

Notes: Takes place at the end of season 1, and will mostly take place between season one and two. I have been sitting on this for a while due to some fear about reception by the fandom, but honestly I just need to stop thinking about it so here we go. She's going out into the world, and I hope you enjoy. (Also I wrote this prologue like 2 months ago so it isn't quite where I'd like it to be but if you read this please just stick with me, I swear my writing gets better lol)

You don’t know how long it’s been since you last saw him. Weeks? Months? But you can’t get that damn tin can out of your head.

You really have no reason to be this hung up on him. He’s barely spoken to you, you’ve never even seen his face, so it should be easy enough to move on from whatever childish infatuation you have over him. Right? Maker, what kind of person crushes on a mask and a suit of armour?

But there’s something about him, something that keeps him planted in your subconscious. You’ve tried to find the words to explain it, but nothing ever comes close. You can't even begin to understand how this man has completely overtaken your every waking thought.

He used to come by every couple of weeks, and you’d savour every delectable minute of the interaction, but that was all before shit hit the fan of course. You weren't there to see it but when you came back to work the next day it was all anyone could talk about.

“Apparently the metal man broke some Guild rule, and practically all of the other bounty hunters tried to kill him for it.” You heard over your shoulder. As much as you liked to keep to yourself, you couldn’t help form eavesdropping on a conversation between merchants. You did have a guilty pleasure for drama, probably to fill the uneventful void that your mundane life had now become.

“The Mandalorian? He broke their code then!” one exclaimed.

“I heard he went back for a bounty,” someone else whispered.

“What could make someone do something so stupid?” questioned a merchant lady you already didn’t particularly like.

“He doesn’t strike me as stupid,” you interrupt, trying to stick up for the man you were currently enamoured with. “If he did it, there must be a valid reason.”

“If he did it?” She sneered. “Do you not see the damage he left behind? People will be out of business for sure. It’ll take weeks to clean up the mess he made.”

“Then I guess I hope it was worth it. That it wasn't in vain.” You state, putting an end to the conversation. You hoped the man – that you already liked against your better judgement – wouldn’t cause so much harm without some justification.

In the wake of his rebellion, a covert of other masked hunters revealed themselves, shot up the town, and then vanished without a word. And so did your Mandalorian.

Woah hold on. Not yours. Just one random Mandalorian that you’ve said a handful of words to and have harboured a secret crush over.

From the second you saw him you pretty much knew you were screwed. Between the husky modulated voice, and the broad as hell shoulders, there was pretty much no way to quell the instant attraction that rose up in you. His presence alone was suffocating. Nothing could stop the way your vocal cords tightened to the point of forcing out a soft squeal at his sight. The whole time he talked to you, you could feel his visor latch onto your body – pinning you to the spot.

You thought you might find some relief when he left. Quite the opposite. You couldn't help but gawk at the way his body moved, like he knew he was hot shit. He took your damn breath away. And you were glad to know that he couldn't see your lips part to let out a soft moan, or the way they pursed back together as you unconsciously swallowed the suddenly copious amount of saliva pooling in your mouth. Fucking delicious, you thought, shamelessly.

Maybe it was the fact that you knew he could take anyone down in milliseconds. He was untouchable, and this latest defiance proved that. No one crossed the Guild. Well, no one crossed the Guild and got away with it. But if anyone could, it would be Mando.

And there’s another thing. You don’t even know his name. Which means that you’re forced to call him the colloquial slang that is commonly used by outsiders of the Mandalorian culture. “Mando”. You couldn’t help but think about how it almost sounded like an insult, especially when slurred from the mouth of other criminals. You hated the way people spat the word out at him, obviously trying to get him worked up; to see what he was made of. It made you desperately wish that you had a better name to call him, his real name. An intimate piece of knowledge that you could hold on to, something of him that no one else had.

Maybe that made you selfish. Even so, there was so much you wished you knew about him. He was a complete mystery.

To be fair, he probably didn’t even know your own name. You can't recall him asking for it, or if you ever introduced yourself. You were pretty much a bumbling mess the first time you met him. To the point where even if you had tried to say your name it probably would have sounded like you were speaking Huttese. Although, who could blame you. It wasn’t very conventional to introduce yourself to every customer. The people on Nevarro usually kept to themselves, especially the bounty hunters. There wasn’t much room for ‘customer service’. But damn you wish you had tried to make some sort of introduction. Even if it had come out as incoherent nonsense, you think it may have made talking to him later a bit easier.

However, none of that matters if he never comes back, and you bet he won’t. He’s smarter than that. To pull what he did, he’s probably on the other side of the galaxy right now.

Even so, you’ll miss the shared awkward silences and stolen glances that came with each of his visits. Whenever he’d come into the shop, he’d list off what he needed to stock up on, using the most deep and captivating voice you think you’d ever heard. If he hadn’t had that helmet covering his face, you’d swear he stared right into your soul as he did so. It almost made you weak in the knees every damn time. You’d then rummage through each supply crate and gather the best quality of every item, and finally – just to bring your humiliation to an all-time high – you’d give him a discount for absolutely no discernible reason. He took notice of the reduced price the first time and thanked you, only for you to be berated by your boss once he left. Eventually, to your dismay, the niceties came to a halt. Maybe he forgot what full price was, maybe he just couldn’t care less.

Either way, it looks like you’d risked your job for the last time. It’s a shame. For a planet full of bounty hunters and hardened criminals, there’s actually not a lot to entertain you. A shootout here, an escaped bounty there, but nothing that satisfied your desire for an exciting lifestyle.

The closest you got to that would be each time some wide-eyed, eager, wannabe-bounty-hunter strolled through town looking for a chance to weasel their way up the ladder of the Guild. They definitely thought they were more important than they actually were, and they always made a point of showing off for you. Not that you were anything special, just the closest thing with cleavage usually. They’d probably brag about their rank and their kill counts, things you could not care less about. A few of them actually had the balls to ask you out, but it usually only ended in a free meal or drink. To be fair though that was very intentional on your part. It was fun to play the part of a flirtatious girl from the market for a while, and almost exciting to think about how you were completely screwing over those assholes.

Over the time you’ve spent alone in the galaxy you learned exactly how to read those kinds of people. You knew just how far to go, just what to say or do until you got what you needed. As much as you weren’t a fan of physical affection, you often brushed your target's arm or thigh, played with their hair, or if the situation really demanded it – madeout with them behind the cantina. But you always made a point of stopping before things got too far. You may not be a complete saint, but you knew none of the scumbags you met were worth your time.

You wouldn’t have allowed things to go any further. Not with them. Going any further could only be a letdown, and you were fine to take those matters into your own hands…. literally. You may be a complete flirt, but only as a skill to survive in this grimy and dangerous galaxy. You learned early on that being young and female was a vulnerability. That was at least until you discovered how that vulnerability could be shaped into one of your most valuable strengths.

When you think about him though… well something about him made your entire badass facade disappear into thin air. You lost any cool you had the minute he walked past your vendor. Not to mention that there was something else about him that told you he’d see right through it anyway. Maybe it was the visor. Some special setting to read the level of bullshit.

As far as you’ve seen, he doesn’t take anyone’s shit. He definitely isn’t the type to make others feel comfortable in a conversation. He says precisely what he needs to get his point across, nothing more. Never once had you heard him use more than 10 words at a time.

On a few occasions you were lucky enough to end up in the cantina at the same time as him. Whether you were on a break or entertaining some dead-beat for free lunch, you remember how fast your heart would beat when the glint of his helmet met your vision. You wondered if he noticed your presence, or if he even recognized you away from your vendor at the market.

One time you were in the next booth over. Your spine straightened, and your whole body shivered when he slid into his seat and placed himself directly behind you. The proximity was electrifying. It made every neuron in your body fire rapidly and your blood vessels pump impossibly fast. You were probably supposed to be listening to the slimeball buying your drinks drone on about how impressive his last capture was, but the baritone emanating from behind ensnared every ounce of focus you had.

“I’ll take the highest pay” he muttered through the modulator.

“I do have other hunters, Mando. I can’t always guarantee you get the best of the lot.” replied his employer. A smile maintained on his face even when confronting an unforgiving barricade.

“I’m sure you do. But high price means high risk.” Mando responded. His employer’s confused silence forced him to continue. “Those skilled enough to take on the bounties know better than to do so.”

The Guild leaders' laughter bounced off the walls making many patrons turned their heads, while others continued their business, obviously being used to this behaviour.

You were left puzzled in that moment, completely baffled by this interaction. It wasn't until much later that night when it finally clicked. Although you didn’t know exactly how ranking in the Guild worked, you knew Mando was up there. He had the status to strike fear into almost every other bounty hunter he outranked. Mando had staked his claim long ago, and no one in the Guild was stupid enough to try and take a bounty from him. If he wanted something, he was going to get it.

You’d remember that interaction vividly. Not only because of how close you were to the Mandalorian as you overheard it, but also in service as a reminder to you, proving just how dominant he was in this world. He held power over every member of the Guild, including its leader, whether he wanted to admit it or not. You felt idiotic for not instantly understanding the control he wielded wherever he went. Sometimes it's a wonder how completely oblivious you could be.

Although you certainly were not oblivious to the drastic upgrade he got just before leaving. If you thought Mando was intimidating before, his new head to toe silver armour was sure to strike fear into any of his prey. You remember thinking you saw his reflection pass by earlier in the day, but he quickly dissolved into the shadows, as he often found a way of doing. However, later that night when you had just gotten off from work, he strolled back into the cantina for a new batch of bounties and all eyes were drawn to him. Most eyes were filled with jealousy since – as his employer made clear – he completed the job none of them could. They were probably even more enraged by the fact that he wore his reward back into the room, when most of them would have gladly taken that metal to the highest bidder and sold it for a hefty profit. However, you saw him differently than the rest. Your eyes were fixed on him in fear and in wonder. This metal man, already a force of nature, just became that much more impossible to defeat. As if anything could get to him before, it was clear now that no one could reach the Mandalorian.

But again – it doesn't matter. Not a single soul on Canto Bight would bet his shiny ass walks back into this sector. Not unless he has some kinda death wish…

Turns out he has some kinda death wish.

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Chapter 1 is up now!

More notes: Hello there! I hope you enjoyed this lovely mess. I'm not the most proud of it, but I do want to continue this story (which I know we've all read 100 iterations of by now). Either way, I'm having fun writing it, so I might as well post it!

I'd love a like or comment if you'd be willing to share, I'm very new to writing so I'd enjoy any constructive criticism (especially on the first few parts, I know they need work, but at this point I just want to stop thinking about it and continue on with the story). Also this will be ongoing, so if you wanna keep reading feel free to drop your @ in my inbox or in the comments and I can tag you when I update!

So long for now my fellow helmet whores!

#mando x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin #fanfic #pedro pascal #mando #din #the mandalorian s1 #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x you #din djarin x you

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