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#and below that i just have hate and contempt in my heart for them. like i hope they die and suffer greatly

celastapasta · 6 months

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But It's True, I Hate You

Whumptober 2023, Day 4

Prompts: "You in there?" | Words: 503

Summary: The captain receives an unexpected visit from Mark. He wants to talk.

Check it out on ao3 or read on below!

A knock at the door.

“Hey, Captain.” An awful pause - so long it seems he’s gone away. “You in there?”

They don’t respond, instead shrinking back farther into the corner they’re sitting in, mouth wired shut and eyes locked on the door.

“Captain?” Mark calls again, his voice smaller this time.

Again, the captain doesn’t respond. They just hope he gives up and gets someone else for whatever issue there is. There’s a sigh, and the captain is sure they would have missed it if they weren’t straining to hear footsteps receding down the hallway.

“I’ve been such a coward. Hell, I’m still a coward. I can’t even say this to your face. I don’t even know if you’re here to hear it.”

The captain’s chest tightens, and they pray Mark doesn’t bring up what they know he inevitably will.

“About the wormhole-” Fuck. “-I am so, so sorry for everything; for not believing in you, for causing that entire disaster in the first place.” His voice wavers. “And I’m sorry for destroying our friendship. I know it’s my fault that you won’t look at me or talk to me. You hate me and I deserve it.”

They squeeze themself tightly as he continues, his words hammering a chisel into the crack in their heart - forcing it open and tearing a silent, dry sob from their throat. The captain doesn’t hate him. Not all the time. But they can hardly stand to be in the same facility with him on their new planet. They look at him and they see the hate, the disdain, the contempt that was in his eyes back in the warpcore. What’s worse is they know they drove him to that point. He didn’t just lose faith in them on baseless assumptions - the captain used him. They abused Mark because, in multiple universes, they thought it was funny, and that makes them sick. He wasn’t the only one to lose faith in them either. Each of their crew leads looked at them and saw someone unfit to lead. Someone irresponsible. Someone evil. How could the captain face them, face Mark, after everything? They don’t deserve his apology.

And yet, something in them still feels resentment towards him, no matter how much they insist to themself he’s undeserving of it. He killed billions of people because of a misunderstanding, because of something the captain couldn’t even control or understand themself, yet he foisted all the blame on them. That fact stings. It festers. Perhaps they can’t forgive him because they can’t begin to forgive themself.

A thunk against the door - possibly Mark’s head - breaks them out of their reverie. “Captain, please say something.”

The captain bites their tongue so hard it draws blood.

“Captain?”

They tap a few commands on their wrist controls and the computer chimes from the panel outside their door. “The captain is currently indisposed at another facility. Would you like for me to relay a recording of your message to them when they arrive home?”

“...No.”

#whumptober 2023 #no.4 #“You in there?”#in space with markiplier #fic #iswm #iswm captain #head engineer mark #my writing

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zeroducks-2 · 7 months

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Can I request 12. “Just do it.” for Arkhamverse Jay? How about something painful for my sadomasochistic heart? Maybe Dick and Slade finding Robin Jason in Arkham, and deciding to take advantage of him? 👀😈

12. "Just do it" - Arkhamverse!Jason/Dick Grayson(?) + Slade Wilson

this is not at all what you asked but it's what my brain decided to produce :') sorry about that. I hope you enjoy regardless!

Please proceed with caution, noncon and torture and dark shit below.

Jason can't feel his hands and wrists and barely has a notion of what's happening to his shoulders, but he knows he should be in pain. He's spent long enough in that position for the shoulders to pop out of their sockets and for the wire to cut through his forearms.

Nightwing looks at him like Jason is supposed to be looked at, a mix of disgust and contempt. «I should take you out of your misery.» He says, and Jason's head spins wildly as it gets tilted up by one of the man's sticks. Then he says something else but the static in Jason's ears grows too loud, and it's a hit to his face that snaps him out of it, strong enough for his cheekbone to crack.

«Answer, cockroach.» Nightwing is saying. «You look like you're going to beg for me to end it.»

«Just do it.» His tongue is so swollen it doesn't properly sit in his mouth, his words slur. It doesn't matter. Beside everything, he would prefer the man he once regarded as a brother to finally kill him, because Jason knows he isn't going to get out of this alive.

«I'm going to have some fun with you, first.»

His head lolls down once he's let go, and he doesn't have it in him to protest when fingers dig into one of his legs to pull it up and expose him. He thinks he can bear this. As soon as once it's over, it will be over forever.

He doesn't expect Grayson to be less cruel than anyone else, he knows he hated him. He hated how the Robin name was taken away from him, how it was given to a street urchin. Jason had thought for a time that maybe Grayson had grown fond of him, but once he'd found himself in the darkness of Arkham Asylum, he realized he was just being delusional about it. It's almost fair. It was all Bruce's fault anyway, he doesn't hold a grudge on Grayson for that.

«You're high as a kite, you little bitch...» The man huffs and grunts as Jason's body rolls, not really responding to anything but with raspy groans. There's another blow to his face and his temporal bone cracks loudly, and this time the pain is there, enough to make him clench and whimper. «That's better. I don't mind if it's gonna take me to beat you to death to make you writhe on my cock.»

Did Dick really hate him that much...? Jason isn't exactly surprised but it still hurts somewhere inside of him where it was still not entirely shattered. He tries to blink and focus, maybe he should apologize. This might bevthe very last thing he says, he needs to at least try. But then he sees blood coming from the tip of a sword that pierces Grayson's chest, so he looks up and sees his wide eyes, mouth open in quiet shock.

The sword pulls back and blood splatters on Jason's chest and neck, then it returns and slices the man's throat. A moment later they're both falling, and Jason is distantly aware that the recoil is going to likely rip both arms off his torso but he can't bring himself to care. It doesn't happen though. He's held as Grayson's limp body slips away from him, and he keeps being held while his arms get detached from the hook keeping them upright, then brought down. There's someone else with him, another man with a strange suit, orange and black split in the middle of his face. Jason doesn't care, his torturers all look the same to him at this point, except...

«Don't cry, kid.» The man is using something to cut the wires around his forearms. That hurts, but Jason just shudders at the sting of the metal getting peeled and plucked off of his flesh. «Save your tears for when we get the hell out of here.»

Jason can't stop looking at the man bleeding out on the floor. He just whimpers when his arms get popped back into the shoulder sockets, then tries to scramble away. Nightwing is dying right in front of him. «Let me go.» He whispers. «You...» He glances at the masked man, then back to the other on the floor, his breath coming in short. «You killed him, you...»

«I killed him.» The masked man doesn't move and Jason almost manages getting away, but his legs don't hold him up and his arms are functionally useless. He gets caught again before he can hit the floor, and this time it's more rough and it presses on everything which is burned, broken and bruised, making Jason wail between his teeth. «Calm down.» The man pulls up his mask and reveals white hair and an eyepatch. Slade Wilson, Jason remembers vaguely, Deathstroke. A mercenary who Bruce hated. Another villain, as he imagined. He killed Dick. «That man is not who you think he is.» He holds Jason steady and reaches down, lifts the dead vigilante up by the top of his head like a ragdoll. «Look at him. This is not Nightwing.»

Jason looks. The drugs are still fogging him enough but he looks hard enough, and he recognizes hazy dark eyes. Brown hair. Dick's hair has always been as black as Jason's if not more, and his eyes bluer than robin's eggs. This is not Nightwing.

This is just a man who dressed with an imitation of Nightwing's suit, Grayson has never been there.

«There's a commotion going on in the Asylum.» Deathstroke says and stands up, holding Jason like he was an old blanket. «Good time to go. The drug will wear off soon and the pain will set in, but I'm going to need you to be silent when it happens. As silent as you can be.»

The room shifts. Spins around him, disappears from Jason's view. He can't really move but he is indeed starting to feel the pain, his arms quivering and feeling like a scorching poker pierces his palms up to the balls of his shoulders. He's being taken away...? «Why?» He grits out, trying to be as quiet as instructed.

«I was hired to watch you.» The man answers. He pulled his mask back, Jason is not sure when it happened. «I've seen enough.»

The pain is growing, spreading to his face and his neck and blooming through his bruised belly and his broken ribs, coming from wounds old and new. He wants to pass out but he knows he won't get that luxury.

«Where?» He rasps, not sure it was audible in any meaningful way. He thinks of Grayson's face while the man was raping him. That was not Dick, and that makes him tear up again way more than the pain, not that he knows why. «Where...?» He repeats, involuntarily struggling, and the man makes a sound like he's trying to soothe a balking horse.

«Away.»

Thank you for the prompt Sands! Again, I assume this is not what you wanted but I am really sorry, I cannot write top!Dick to save my life lmao (also I love Daddy Slade when it comes to an Arkhamverse scenario) Also apologies for how long this was. If you got here, I hope you had fun nonetheless :)

Here's the prompt list for whoever wants to peruse it, or send me another prompt!

#my asks #long post #my fanfictions #three words prompt game #I shouldn't really tag this as Jaydick cause it really is not lol #arkhamverse #dark fic #suicidal thoughts

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iriascend · 2 years

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Two types of Intimidation Power Walk

I’m using my superpowers of pattern recognition for weird things but this is what occupies my brain so you’ll have to suffer through it with me. Anyway-

Intimidation Power Walk is a general name I use for when a person is purposefully walking in such a way that it scares other people. It’s most useful for characters in visual media, but I sometimes do it in real life too, and you can probably use it to your benefit in cosplay or just to strike fear into the hearts of your coworkers or something.

General

The most important thing there is to walking like you intend to kill someone is to keep your core, which is your belly and to a lesser extent your chest, tight. This alone exudes the feeling of control and that is what makes these actually intimidating. Humans fear people in control, because they seem unstoppable and because we hate feeling like we aren’t in control.

The core of any intimidating walk is to make the other person understand they’re fucked without saying anything of sorts, or even expressing any emotion towards them. The only thing that stands between them and pain is you.

Type I: Dignified

AKA “Think murder and walk”

The quote is from an interview with Charlize Theron about her role in the “Snow White and the Huntsman” movie, where she played the evil Queen. You can see the original interview clip here and it summarizes everything there is to this version: “You have to come from your core, really tight; shoulders down, neck long, and then just think murder and walk.”

Add a stone cold bitch face, maybe with a little of disgust or contempt to it, and you’re set. If you look at someone, look from above, or straight ahead. The idea of this is to make others feel like worms. You’re way above them, and you will savour the suffering you inflict upon them. It’s a cold, slow kind of intimidation, perfect for suggesting indirect harm and/or for people not necessarily built strong enough to pull off intimidating with their strength.

Type II: Violent

AKA “Walk like you’ve been sent to kill Captain America”

The original name for this, “Murder Strut”, is a fan-given name for the way Sebastian Stan walks as Bucky Barns in MCU movies (hence the quote). The man knows what he’s doing, really.

To pull this off you should square your shoulders, lean a little to the front by hinging at your hips, and set your feet wide as you walk in deliberate, powerful steps. Once again, your core should be tight and straight. When you look at someone, it should be from below, without tilting your face up, just your eyes; it makes you look like you’re frowning without actually expressing the emotion and thus lessening the impact.

The idea behind this is still that you’re the one in control, but the control is not over the situation, but over your own unbridled rage. You want to look like you want to run at someone full-speed and deck them or crash them through a wall, but you’re not doing it only by sheer power of your own will. It will feel natural to add a sway of the shoulders to it, to walk like a gym bro trying to start a fight, but while that exaggerates the physical strength intimidation factor, too much of it takes away from the power exuded by the controlled stance.

#my brain thinks about weird things in its free time okay #murder strut #this is mostly because i naturally power walk at people when im annoyed #hence im pparently very intimidating

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ebiemidnightlibrarian · 1 year

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🌹🌹🌹Lemme see ‘em all!!!

*excited noises* Uhhh three roses!!!! Hope you like!!!

First, this is from "Shiver" a John Tyler one-shot that is in my drafts for AGES.

He gripped the wheel tightly as he thought of Mary, of her arrogance and contempt for him. The way she treated him when he did her the favour of revealing the loopholes he knew so well that left women so exposed, so vulnerable to him. John hated the way she didn't even consider his proposal, his help.

There was a gulf between Mary's behaviour and what he had just witnessed. There was a pure, almost angelic kindness in how the nurse — Thomasin, he remembered — acted. The care and zeal she had for a dying old man who probably didn't have more than a few measly weeks to live. For a moment, John envied the attention the old man received from the young woman. John had noticed the affable familiarity between them. He wanted that for himself, that…affection.

John didn't even realize that he had already returned to the Twin Cities hotel, only when he parked the red vehicle did he realize how interested in the nurse he was. The lapse of the immaculate sparkle of the young woman's smile flashed in his mind. Something seemed to snap inside him, as if a key had been turned, or a switch pressed. John sighed in another attempt to calm down. A slight discomfort below the waist gave away something he already knew.

It would be a long night of meditation.

Second, a lil snippet from "Young American", my haimgruder short-fic, also lying in my drafts for some time now, it is staring at me from the docs page so here it is.

Sitting up, Eden took a deep breath, her well-cut nails painted beige as opposed to the usual cobalt blue, tapping against the zipper of her cheap little black leather bag that rested on her lap. If she was honest, and she always was, it wasn't not getting the job that scared her, but being surrounded by close-minded old men who most likely wouldn't be content to just stare.

Linda warned her about this.

Linda was her neighbour, friend and former owner of the position she applied for. She knew that Eden was in need of a job, especially after what happened, she thought about it a bit and they both talked about the possibility. Linda had told her that her typing skills would come in handy.

Oh, if Linda had known what she used to use those abilities for, she wouldn't even have suggested that her friend work with them.

The truth was, Eden March spent her mornings helping an old friend of her father's — an Irish gentleman who had lived in the US since being exiled as an unfaithful guerrilla ex-member of the IRA — named Declan. He owned a small bookshop, which at first looked like an ordinary bookshop owned by a nice old man, but which contained one of the most magnificent collections of books on Communism, Socialism, Bolshevism, and Marxism that Eden had ever seen. Declan had a space in his attic where he would meet with some young revolutionaries, and together they would run a newspaper column on social democratic politics.

That's where Eden's typist skills came in.

Working almost full time as a writer for a small left-wing newspaper was rewarding, she loved it, learned a lot, lived a lot, and it was great while it lasted.

Then Nell got sick.

Her sister needed her full attention, just like her nephew, and she had less and less time for her work as an unpaid pseudo-journalist. Too bad, she still wasn't able to take care of Nellie. Nell was gone, and she had no choice but to take the reins of someone else's life but herself.

The rustling of some sheets of paper brings her back to the present.

Inhale. Expires. She remembers Linda's advice.

And as a bonus, because I know you have a AMAZING Brice fic in progress, I'll share a piece of mine as an offering, bc you inspired me sm to improve my writing skills. This is from "If I Give My Heart to You".

Autoimmune encephalitis, the doctors said. Two misdiagnoses later and the disease was already in its final stages. Make her comfortable, stick around and say goodbye. It was the advice given.

Experimental treatments were considered, but the Catledge siblings didn't want to inflict any more suffering on their poor mother.

Brice felt the corners of his eyes sting with the memory of Grace's final days. He moved her to his room, where he could keep an eye on her. A desk by the bed and stacks of papers to sign. A cheeky tear slipped down the waterline of his eye. Many bad memories were made during the worst periods of the illness, but without a doubt the hallucinations she had with his father were the ones that shattered his chest the most.

On the last day, after a particularly severe seizure, Brice lay awake most of the night, sitting in an armchair beside the bed, trying to bring down his mother's fever with cold cloths, when she suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. Brice recalled with a shudder the lack of sparkle — of life — in the indigo of her confused eyes. Grace repeated disconnected phrases deliriously, babbling half-words, calling him 'Harry'. He said nothing, just leaned over, and gently held his mother's wrinkled hand, whispering sweet words each time she looked scared, or confused.

Later, just before sunrise, she fell asleep with heavy eyes and slow breathing, and he knew that this time, she wouldn't wake up again. So he hugged her and cried. He cried the hardest of his entire life. Until his eyes stung, and his throat itched, until the blue sleeve of Grace's nightgown was soaked with his sweat and tears, until the only things he was able to feel were the hot trails on his cheeks and the stinging pain beneath his sternum.

Icy splatters hit his skin, and he stared at the gray sky. The pouring rain drove him off the porch, as if it mourned him or was just tired of watching him grieve.

I hope you've enjoyed those! I'm working to finish them, now that I finally have the free time I needed! Thank you for the ask 💜, beloved!!

#nice people 💙#taylor!! 💜#ebie's wips #ebie talks #ebie answer #ebie asks #thanks for the ask 💙#john tyler #tmys #brice catledge #haimgruder #hamfam #brice catledge x reader #john tyler x reader #ebie's writing

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dadbodsandbots · 11 months

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your ship with Scarecrow 👀 3-4, 11, 13, 26-27, 38, and 50.

3. What was their first impression of each other?

tbh I've forgotten a lot of my ScareCat lore after so long of falling to the backburner so I'm going to assume we met at University or at the Gotham City Public Library

John probably was both lowkey annoyed and curious at my colorful and eccentric style for the first half of the year, but then nearly tripped and broke his skinny chicken neck when I turn into Goth Ms. Frizzle the second the first Autumn leaf hits the ground.

Otherwise, I'm probably staring out the window at him feeding the crows and wishing I was cool enough to befriend crows :( Colleagues and library patrons alike think we're both freaks and deserve each other.

4. Who initiates affection? Why does the other not initiate affection as much?

Actively? It's almost always me, but I respect his boundaries if he's working and doesn't usually like to be touched. If we're reading, then it's prime cuddle time. John is all bones it's like hugging a bag of sticks in a cardigan 💀

John is selective with affection out of habit and touch aversion stemming from a horrible childhood and barely tolerable adulthood. Recognizing that I let him set the pace for contact and didn't get mad or impatient was a significant step in earning his trust bit by bit.

11. How do they feel about nicknames/pet names? If they like them, what pet names do they use? If they hate them, why do they feel that way?

He calls me Scaredy Cat or 'Fraidy Cat because I spook so easily and he thinks it's cute. No one else is allowed to scare me but him

John, on the other hand, doesn't care for nicknames AT ALL because of said shit childhood, but lowkey likes it when I call him "sweetheart" because it's the first time he's heard a Southern accent that wasn't dripping with condescension or contempt. Also, getting called "Doctor" or "Doctor Crane" hits different-

26. What sacrifices do they make for the other?

Never, ever, ever fear gas the Gotham City Public Library, not just because I work here but because there are kids, the elderly, and everyone else just trying to enjoy some peace in a shithole city. He respects that.

John never scares me with spider pranks or I'm gone. That's a hard no.

27. How do they say “I love you” non-verbally?

I run a hot bath when he slinks in after getting thrashed by Batman or the Boy Wonder of the Week. Carefully brush his brittle hair and massage in repair conditioners (he's partial to eucalyptus). Patch up his costume and sew a heart or two on the inside before he notices.

He sets my glasses and phone on the coffee table because I always forget where I left them. John reads aloud every other night because I sleepily commented that he had a pleasant voice one time and he is still riding that high.

Despite our individual approaches, we share similar methods. Clearing half-full mugs from desks after long nights. Asking "tea or coffee?" each morning. Picking out horror movies to review or tear apart (he prefers abstract, psychological thrillers while I love schlocky B-movies)

38. Who’s got a quicker temper?

I do, but it rarely lasts as being angry exhausts me and I'd prefer to forgo confrontation until I can articulate my feelings.

John's anger simmers and steeps and stews below the surface until he spots an opportunity to take a stab at some deep-seated insecurity and that's why he'll sleep like a baby after saying the most out-of-pocket shit because you both know he's not wrong.

50. Would they ever break up? If so, why? Who would handle the breakup better?

Honestly yeah, between him and Digs, John is the f/o I'd be most likely to break up with because while we have similar hobbies and interests, his first and foremost devotion is to Fear and I know that I can't subvert obsession with good acts.

Just a cold changing of locks and maybe John even commits to a complete apartment relocation to one of his safehouses. It's decisive and everything previously sentimental has been unceremoniously snuffed out with a cold declaration that nothing is off the table now that I'm just like the rest of Gotham's chaff.

#ship: scarecat #tyty I've missed my ScareCat shit lmao it mostly resurfaces around Halloween :')

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theamethystofficial · 1 year

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The Amethyst & The Prince: Volume I - chapter one

A/N: hi! i'm very excited to share this with you. it's been on my mind since november, and i've finally gotten the chance to edit and upload it! also, this is my first time uploading a fic to tumblr as well as ao3 -- let me know how you like it!

ao3. | hub post.

If it were up to Mollymauk, they’d be enjoying themself outside on a fine day like this. The sky outside is a pristine blue, kept clear by the silent breeze that causes the powder-white curtains framing the half-open window to flutter. Idly, they watch a scene of two children running through the maze below with a faint smile.

What they wouldn’t do to be down there themself, enjoying the lovely day outside.

“Mx. Tealeaf.”

In an instant Mollymauk’s attention returns to the frowning man sitting across from them. Right, they were in the middle of a conversation – one they’d struggled to pay attention to. On the napkin their host’s tucked into his collar, he somehow managed to acquire an assortment of biscuit crumbs. He wears them more as an accessory than anything, they think but don’t say aloud.

“Are you even listening to anything we’ve been saying?” he asks. There’s a faint look of contempt on his face, just barely concealed. Reflexively, the tiefling starts to smile in a quiet apology as they roll their eyes internally. They hate to-dos like this. Everything is so stuffy here – the people, the room. Even the birds outside seem to be bloated, stuffed to the brim with something pompous and powdery.

“Oh, love, that’s just how these kinds of people are.” The man beside him waves a hand. There’s no disguising the distaste in the smarmy smirk he gives Mollymauk. “Very little going on upstairs, dear. That’s exactly the kind of personality to be expected from someone like the Ruby of the Sea. Only good for pretty faces.”

Any attempt at defending themself dies in an instant. Mollymauk turns their gaze to the other man, gaze scrutinizing. A pretty face, huh?

“I’m flattered that you think my employer and I are pretty.” The tiefling sits straighter; a hand reaches for their cup of tea. “I can promise you, however, the Ruby is more than a pretty face. There’s a reason she’s treasured by the Menagerie Coast.”

The smarmy one’s husband chuckles into his cup of tea. “Oh, I can think of two reasons she’s treasured by the sailors.”

Mollymauk’s blood boils at that. Their eyes narrow at the man. Their rage hides behind a pointed smile as they focus on the magic coursing through their blood. The chuckling man’s eyes turn black in an instant, ichor leaking from them.

“Oh my,” they say, doing their best to sound concerned. “Are you well? You should get that looked at. I hear it’s an affliction quite common in people with hearts blackened by envy.”

As the two men fuss over the ailment, Mollymauk calmly stands and dusts off their dress. “I’ll leave you to handle this pressing matter. If you can stomach the thought of sharing a room with a harlot such as the Ruby of the Sea, you are more than welcome to write her an apology for this undeserved slander.” Their polite smile melts into a disdainful snarl. Easily they switch from common to infernal. “Respectfully, I hope you two have the day you deserve.”

With that parting sentiment, the tiefling turns and walks outside. They give Yasha, the aasimar woman at the carriage, a pleasant smile before climbing inside.

“So…I’m guessing that went as well as we were thinking it would.”

Mollymauk scoffs lightly, looking out the window of the carriage as they start the trip back home. They catch their reflection in the glass. A striking lavender face, made up with the nicest makeup found in the colorful city of Nicodranas. Their eyes glint red in the glass. Crimson as long as they can remember. Marion said their eyes made them special. Some days, like today, they find them unsettling. Abruptly they look back to Yasha.

“I hate this place,” announces the tiefling with a cross of their arms. “Full of frigid people who think they’re better than everyone else just because they’ve got more gold. More – education. It’s infuriating being in the same room as them.”

Their friend gives them a sympathetic look. Despite her intimidating frame, she has her gentle moments. “They didn’t hurt you?” she asks.

“Not at all. They couldn’t hurt me – even if they wanted to. And I’m sure they did.” Wryly Mollymauk grins. “I gave them quite the spook, though. But…we’ll probably never hear from them again. I hope not.”

“Who needs them, anyways? We certainly don’t.” Yasha lifts her head with a smile. “I’ve had better booze in the worst of dingy taverns. Their cherry wine’s got nothing on a pint of the good stuff from Killian’s Last Stand.”

That gets a chuckle out of Mollymauk. “I’d drink to that, if I could. Well said, love.” With a sigh they look out the window again. “Shit, I could go for a drink after that, personally. Detour?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

The dive bar they find is positively grimy, but full of life. It seems to be the exact opposite of the house they’d just come from. With a deep breath in, Mollymauk takes in all the rancid smells of the place, before exhaling with a pleasant sigh.

“Now this is where I belong,” they announce. “This is more like it.”

The pair squeeze into a couple of bar stools, with Mollymauk offering the bartender a smile and wave. Hopefully they don’t stand out too much in their nice dress. For a moment they fret over it, before shaking it off. If anyone tries anything, Yasha won’t be too far behind to keep them out of trouble.

“Wonderful! Positively splendid.” Mollymauk’s smile is bright as the bartender sets down a pair of tankards in front of the two. “Thanks very much, friend.” They receive a grunt in response, which makes them chuckle.

“At least that was the only errand you had today,” says Yasha after a deep swig from her tankard. She wipes away the sudsy mustache on her lip. “If you had something else to do after that, I was wondering if we’d need some sort of excuse for you to return to the Chateau early. Some sort of head cold, or stomach bug.”

“I appreciate you looking out, love,” Mollymauk says with a chuckle. “Honestly, I’m not sure how well I’d have been able to do that song and dance again after being called a brainless piece of eye candy just now.” Their nose wrinkles at the thought; they push it away with their own swig of ale. “But! That’s all behind us now, yeah? No need to ruminate.”

“The next one will be better.” Yasha gives a single nod, before looking down at the tiefling. “And if it’s not…well. I could always teach them a lesson or two, if you need me to.” With a raise of her eyebrows, she presses a fist into her hand, then grins.

“Tempting, certainly. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Their pleasant conversation is interrupted by a commotion at the door. Turning, Mollymauk watches a half-elf stroll in. His suit is covered with patches, but still looks quite smart on him. Perhaps it was the finely curled mustache that tied the whole thing together, or the top hat. The gentleman looks around the tavern for a moment before catching the tiefling’s gaze.

“Well, I have never seen folks more in need of a good time than you two,” he says as he approaches. His voice is full of bravado. The air of a performer is hard to miss as he offers Yasha and Mollymauk each a flier. “Fortunately for you, the Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities is in town! Only a couple silver to get in. Best coin you’ll ever spend in your life. You’ll be changed people after this show, or my name isn’t Gustav Fletching!”

“A carnival?” echoes Mollymauk, eyes widening. “That sounds lovely.”

“Doesn’t it just? We’ve got all sorts of performers, refreshments – even a trinket or two to decorate your shelves at home! I promise you, Ma’am, it’s worth peeking your head in for a moment.” Gustav’s smile falters for a moment. “Or – Sir? Sorry.”

The tiefling waves their hand. “After the day I’ve had, I’m not concerned with either, really.” They look to Yasha, who’s studying the flier with a furrowed brow. “We’ll think on it,” they finally say to the half-elf, who folds in a half-bow.

“What do you think?” Mollymauk asks once Gustav leaves. After another moment of silence Yasha shrugs, offering a hum.

“Seems a bit…garish,” she finally says. “Very flashy and loud. I say we just finish up here and go back to the Chateau.” *

Now it’s Mollymauk’s turn to go silent. They look at the flier in their hands, admiring the way it sparkles and glints when they hold it a certain way. It’s tacky, sure, and likely not worth the two silver admission, but they can’t deny there’s something charming about the idea of a traveling circus.

“What if we just…ran away on one of these trips,” they say abruptly. “Join a show like this. We could go anywhere we’d like! And we wouldn’t have to worry about offending stuck-up ‘friends’ of Marion’s, who aren’t really her friends, but who pretend to be.”

Yasha’s chuckle is a surprised one; they’re surprised by the sheepish expression on her face. “I’m not sure about all of that, Molly. I don’t think I’d do too well in one of these shows. Not the best performer, you know.”

“Oh, nonsense. You’re the charm! Everyone would love you.” Mollymauk gently bumps her shoulder with theirs. “And if they didn’t, they’d be too scared to tell you that.” Their smile fades a little as they look back at the flier. “I just think…we could be free, y’know? To do whatever we’d like. See the world. No obligations.”

“You might be free, but you wouldn’t be respected.” The gruff voice behind them seems to come from out of nowhere. Abruptly Mollymauk turns to see the bartender scowling at the door, where Gustav had recently left with a wave and a lift of his hat. “My daughter left to join one of ‘em shows last summer. She came back not a month later, cryin’ about how everyone treated her like absolute shite. You join a sideshow like that, you’re beggin’ to be spat on. Just how the world is nowadays.”

Mollymauk blinks in surprise, looking at Yasha. She offers a quiet shrug, just as confused as they are. After a moment the tiefling leans in. “Sorry to hear about your daughter. If you don’t mind me asking, what was her – I dunno, her act?”

“She’s always been pretty skilled with a pair of swords. I think her stage name was the Whirling Dervish of the Menagerie.” A proud smile tugs at the corners of the bartender’s lips. “She was small, but a ball of righteous fury when she had to be. Menace when she was younger, though. This place? I’ve had to redo the roof three different times.”

“Sounds like she was quite the handful.” Neatly Mollymauk folds the flier in half, tucking away the thought for now. “I’d love to hear every story you have of her, if you don’t mind.”

By the time they leave, the sun’s settled just behind the point of the red and white striped tent that’s appeared just on the edge of town. Yasha’s left to get the carriage ready for the trip back, leaving Mollymauk to stand just outside the doors of the tavern. Wistfully they watch people filter through the canvas doors of the tent, disappearing into a world of whimsy.

What was it like, they wondered, to have a home that never stood still? Maybe one day they’d find out. Hopefully that day would come soon.

“Molly?” The sound of hoofsteps behind them brings the tiefling back to the present. Yasha tilts her head at them as she brings the carriage to a stop. “Ready to head out? Marion might be worried if we take any longer.”

Right. They were the Amethyst, first and foremost. Waiting back at the Chateau was a job, and responsibilities that came with it. Shaking their head, Mollymauk offers her a smile as they approach.

“Sorry about that. Just thinking. Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #mollymauk tealeaf #fjord stone #yasha nydoorin #marion lavorre #fjolly #alternate universe #chapter post #the amethyst & the prince

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theveryconfusedartistsart-blog · 1 year

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So, in my fanfic, Growing Pains, the story strictly shows Flowey’s point of view, however, I was always trying to think about Frisk’s side of the story, and here, I was thinking about how they figured out their feelings for Flowey- and why they also hesitated confessing to him.

I understand that my handwriting can be hard to read at times, so here’s a transcript below!

During Chapter 12

Frisk, thinks to themselves: (I just don’t get it why did he have to leave like that?) (I wish I could have gone with him...I could have helped with his training.)

They fall over on the bed and lay on their side, pouting, sad, they imagine Flowey sitting in his old spot on the night stand, reading a book.

They begin to sniffle and cry: (It’s been only two weeks and I miss him so much...it hurts.)

They think more about him: (I miss his smile, and eating dinner with him, and making him laugh, I miss everything..)

Then! Frisk is suddenly overwhelmed with emotion as their hearts beats hard in their chest, more tears come to their eyes.

And finally, they grasp their chest where their heart resides, they’ve come to the realization- (I’m in love!! I’m in LOVE! With Asriel Dreemurr!!)

They grow ever more emotional: (Oh my god, this isn’t another little crush either! This is a big deal!)

Second part-

Frisk laughs and giggles with happiness, kicking their legs with excitement, and hugs their pillow as they vibrate with joy.

They snuggle into their pillow, thinking further to themselves: (I can’t wait to tell him-)

Their smile then falls as they remember something vital...:

(Wait... he hates romance..)

Frisk then imagines Flowey grimacing at them: (I would disgust him, he’d never feel the same way.)

They then imagine him glaring at them, saying “What’s WRONG with you?! You’ll fall in love with ANYONE, won’t you?! PATHETIC!”

Frisk in growing despair, thinks to themselves: (He’ll never look at me the same way again...)

(and oh no, what would Toriel and Asgore say?!)

Frisk then imagines Asgore and Toriel glaring at them with also disgust and contempt.

Frisk turns and lies on their back, feeling discouraged and sorrowful.

They then cover their eyes with their arm as they begin to cry, holding their pillow for comfort- (This isn’t fair..)

#flowisk #Flowey x Frisk #Frisk x Flowey #Frisk #teen! Frisk #Fanfic Growing Pains #Flowey seems like a difficult boy to confess feelings to

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libidomechanica · 8 months

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I wanna be your heart in one and their requite

She yielded, wroth and strayen abroad. My sheepe out of saucy quean, the Powers their house; but whatsoe’er ye light? And great window shall paint out and strand. Wings, as this—this close their dole, brain

treasure, a little prospect of alle thief. For happens, then I wene about the noise of powers, are the pass, approximate weight on any Younger Lover-like in Heaven’s

Dome is yoked with winning; but Arac rode them drop down but been, while now lost might keep it only law. Some, with truest from the Welkin shop windowsill sob on. Thunder. He

was not, comfort is the king’s ear; and roses through to cure the crash offence, as bird, brooding. It out and I that fatal night as must be the woods, and there, lovely Davies. ’ She

foresaw how frivolous a baby man with thy bier. In awful, sure, a little heart, and love, remember lovers for punishing is simple things— I sought nedes both, me

the shadows of any kind of our peaceful sleepe, when at euer at wil, and muttered in, and fringe of their though the have seen the reached white Tables loaded with child is womanly

as the king whereas I haue wrought; and showed to her; and the taking shaped. I wanna be your heart in one and their requite. Write! All these new name these fingers reaching and new delight:

I must unleashes the blind wildbeast of faded for he had eft learn? To sulk upon it, he common light within had weight that fatal night be, or with Tears! The hollow

us: who know. And misbegotten— in folly wide oppen throte. Yea, let me because he causes weight, or in the serpent-throated but brooding the heard her of the affection

and then to be, thy coral clasps and unlawful forever. Dearest given us letter her showed thee by putting this sick period clos’d her dainties bare we, ’ one

voice with a thoughts to them or explain the fat pillows its guards you, you the sun, that flaws may never came to the harvest moon, or glitter contempt the more. Then burst out Diggon.

The boys: they clashed by sweet flower, tho’ his gulfe. Round an University unties barely contains of the injustice of snow might by night. Hire swire is wrought of delightingale,

rapt in our maidens, on that boy with a cry as if it the air of the milking- maid, nor double and die, and Good and the Dead, nor tree, by what can get nachos. Round

to horses dart scrutinizing snakes left behind, go sleep below! Stately Pine set in my rose tree. But thine before her Ears with the wedding. Of passion of the Hand of racoon

tongue has else mischiefest complete their west, and make a will; since age is not in fault. Pardon asked off, called him then as sure an effort mair hangs freeze you, only grief does her

troth? And long that passed it down and flowers with so sweet express’d even the dearest tie of young snakes. Of baby troth rest. Under there blythe’s the hid him on rib and cannie wale

a routhie butt, a routhie butt, a routhie butt, a rout of smile thy face sweets grow cold and bone of all would played upon the dead in iron gauntlets: break its sheathe. Were they, my woes, my Mary,

across the game you better return! By all the Prince, with lullaby your lovemaking, and ladies’ eyes, which forests just a little goes far. Comforts me: a brute; a god

and learn? Hold your ear still dead break for thy though the serpent’s tooth is shun what calls toward fortune ends, but her wept. Moves dark as yonder orphan hate’s know. For the midst of cup as planned!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #124 texts #ballad

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uncongenialdullard · 2 years

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I am not shielding my heart from the world, like some poor, pitiable soul in need of protection from the wickedness of others. Rather, I am shielding the world from myself, because even this meager, empty shell of me seems to cause disturbances wherever it goes. I don't believe, whether by feelings or by reason, that it could manage the whole of me. If pieces of me cannot find anywhere to fit, then surely my entire being would be even further removed from finding its own place to be.

I can't look down at myself. I don't want to see the ugly thing that writes these words. Or perhaps I do, just to see that it's still there, but I cannot bring myself to that. I don't want to think about that, so I keep a piano and the sound of the rain in my ears, so I don't have to focus on it.

Does it even matter if I continue this? No one keeps a record of things that don't matter. No one counts things that aren't worth counting. And I'm not something that matters or is worth counting or counting on.

I'm aware of that. Awareness is all that I have, and it eats me alive, burning through everything every second of the day until I end it by awarding myself my small, humble spell of death. I feel increasingly grotesque with every passing moment and every fleeting glimpse of my disgusting vessel makes me feel ill, to the point that am tempted to stimulate unpleasant memories in order to provoke similar, yet still different feelings, if only to get away from this. At least then, my feelings have some other kind of origin other than my spindly, repulsive self.

It's easier, remembering being defiled and bruised and mocked and violated and holding onto those things until the shape of them is engraved into my mind. It's easier instead of sitting here and knowing that I am detestable by all accounts. It's easier than sitting here, swallowing and willing away waves of nausea while I try not to consider myself and my condition in full.

Sometimes I want to be that little boy again. I want to be back in the room, in the dark, watching layers of shadows shift and morph into diminutive demons who paid me no mind because it wasn't yet my turn to be eaten. I want to be in the corner of my mother's closet again, in my favourite spot behind her cracked leather coat, hugging the sleeve and crying and wishing it were her comforting me instead of the mothers I made up for myself in my stories. I want to be back in that tiny, miserable space, thinking about what was done and where was touched and what was said and how I tainted I had just become.

I want that again, just so I'll have a reason to feel the way I do.

I want to feel dirty because I was sullied and not because I cannot stand myself.

I want to be clawing at my skin as if I were trying to rend my bone from within flesh, because I'm desperately trying to escape the lingering sensation of hands and tongues being where they don't belong and eyes seeing things I never wanted to share.

Recalling it feels better, like I thought it would. It gives the agony a source and keeps me from aimlessly hating myself just for the sake of self-loathing itself. It's a relief in comparison to what I felt a moment before. I must seem a tragic, contemptible wretch, to be surviving by feeding off of these memories. But even so, I enjoy burning with rage and cursing my supposed adversaries with all my feeble strength. I like having somewhere to direct these feelings. It's direction and purpose, the things I never seem to be able to find for myself.

It's a temporary fix, of course. I know how to solve everything, all at once. I've known it since I was a little boy leaning over the sill, eyes scintillating and heart roaring while I gazed downwards and swooned at the idea of being found with my organs dashed onto the pavement below, painted in the same sticky carmine I would draw from myself during my long, lonely hours. I've always wanted to die, and someday I'll need to, because I can't go on doing this forever. And I've always mourned my birth, wondered why it was that I had to come into being and not understanding the way that creation is so celebrated. I have never belonged here and I knew that from such a long time ago.

It's almost a bit startling, realising that. I cannot say it shocks me, because I always had some semblance of the fact that I did not and was not meant to be here.

What causes my awe is the way that I ignored and buried that feeling for so long while I foraged ahead and tried my best to mimic the people around me. I have no brilliant, shining talents, but still amazingly fooled myself and everyone else around me into believing I was present in this illusion. I so masterfully scripted and revised my entire self into a suitable character for this environment that I duped the entire world into thinking that I also desired to play in this miserable charade we've been participating in, but I've never been here at all.

I'm a hollow creature. I was a paper doll amongst children of flesh and blood, and now I am a marionette playing as a man. It's no wonder at all why I'm so resentful to myself. I hate the guise that I wear because it is one I donned in the context of portraying myself as someone rightfully belonging amongst the living.

Acknowledging that puts everything to rest again. It's relieving, knowing that that's all there is wrong with me. It makes me feel better, knowing that again, the way I did before and always have and never really forgot anyway. Maybe that's why the little boy with the dead eyes, dissimulating voice, and plangent heartbeat felt so at home in that dark, gloomy room all on his own: It's less upsetting to be displaced when one is absolutely certain of where he belongs.

And he knew so well that he didn't belong there, or anywhere at all.

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

Text

Draw your swords, pt. 2

Summary: While marriage was the last thing he’d want, especially with his enemies’ daughter, the Darkling isn’t above playing dirty to get what he wants. But his wish for a wedding night turns sour once he realizes his bride is anything but a weak human.

Warnings: angst, swearing, sexual references

Part one

===========================

Walking down a hall, Y/N felt her heart drop as they neared a room meant for them. Glancing over her shoulder, she realized Darkling’s faithful Grisha followed them every step of the way.

Stopping moments before she walked into her now husband, Y/N turned on her heel. With a smile believable to anyone with an outsider’s perspective, she folded her hands before her abdomen.

“Did you guys enjoy the wedding?” Her voice is light, cheerful even. It felt odd, enough for Kirigan’s eyes to narrow at Ivan and Fedyor who replied simultaneously.

“Yes.” “No.”

Chuckling, she raised her eyebrows, “Well, did you both attend the same wedding?”

Swallowing thickly, Fedyor decided to speak for Ivan who was still disgruntled nearly as much as Kirigan.

“The wedding was perfect and you were a vision.”

Humming, she nods, “I’m glad it wasn’t a waste of time for you as it was for me. Good evening.” Turning her back on their flabbergasted faces, Y/N lifted her chin before entering the room on her own.

She could hear Kirigan’s annoyed sigh as he dismissed his Grisha, but the sound of the doors closing truly rattled her insides. Looking to him, she held her breath to stop a shuddered one from escaping her.

"I understand it's not what you expected", he smiled frostily. "I had plans that didn't include you either. But I suppose we'll both have to make do."

She scoffed, narrowing her eyes, "Make do?"

It was their wedding night, doors shut with no witnesses and the marriage arranged for the two of them felt like a noose tied around her neck. She swallows thickly, hyper aware of the bed dominating the room behind her and her hands, wrapped in each other behind her back have begun to tremble.

The general she married leaned back against the door, looking her up and down with a smile of slow appreciation. "Well, you are mine now."

"I may be tied to you by state laws, but I am not yours", she spat.

"No", he smirked, "Not yet." He peels away from the doors, stepping closer. He takes off his black kefta, draping it on a chair. Beginning to unbutton his black, silk shirt, the General looked at her as if she were a caged bird meant for his amusement.

"There are some traditions for tonight", he took one step toward her as he hummed.

"Are you familiar with the word defenestration?" She raised her voice ever so slightly, refusing to step back in fright. He does not get to challenge her and win. Not now, not ever. She does not draw back in a fight, her father taught her so.

"No", he raised an eyebrow, unsure what she means.

"If you come anywhere close to me", she growled out, "I will make sure you find out first hand."

"Don't be so quick to dismiss a good time", he purred, coming closer.

"Oh please, my heel is bigger than your dick."

Raising his eyebrows, the Darkling nearly scoffed at her confidence in this matter. "How can you be so sure when you've never even seen it?"

"No man with anger like yours could ever have something in his pants worth my time."

"You are my wife, are you not?" He narrowed his eyes at her and she rolled hers in contempt.

"Unfortunately."

"Glad you're aware of it", he licks his lips, "Means we're on the same page."

"Same page? We're not even in the same book!"

Those eyes of hers, as fierce and unperturbed by anything he did, could swallow stars and galaxies and universes. As far as he's concerned, she did for he could see them all mirrored in the defiance she locked her gaze onto his with.

"This", he whispers aggressively. "You", he presses closer until his lips are but a faint inhale away from hers, "Are mine. He gazes down at her, gauging her reaction, his eyes burning.

"You're a demon", she speaks through gritted teeth. "I don't trust demons, I don't lay with demons", she pushed against his chest with both her hands, "All you do is destroy."

"I’d say the same thing about you, human."

Rolling her eyes at him, she refuses to relent. Her body is tense, her neck aching from looking up at his dark presence she would not bend before. She isn’t a horse to be broken, she’s a soldier, her father’s daughter.

“Why are you glaring at me?” He grumbled, his lips nearly brushing against hers and she noticed.

Her heart skipped a beat once she realized just how close he is, “I’m hoping you’ll combust spontaneously.”

Raising an eyebrow, a cold smile forms on his lips, “Ah, how cute. But you’re no Inferni.”

“I’m better”, she brought her knee up so swiftly he didn’t see it coming. As her knee collided right between his legs, Kirigan bent over, bellowing in pain.

“Don’t you know who I am?!” He growled with fury, struggling to straighten up. Forced to look up at the smug smile upon her lush, rosy lips, Kirigan never felt more enraged by a woman before.

“I do.” Shrugging, she sat at the bottom of the bed. “I just don’t fucking care. You don’t scare me.”

His gaze felt like fire, setting every inch of her skin aflame and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was hate or lust that burned so bright within him….within her. Either way, she knew she’d be teasing him like this every day if it meant he’d look at her like that. She always did like playing with fire, Inferni or not, and Kirigan just made himself an easy target.

On one knee, he gripped the sheets in an attempt to pull himself up, yet all he could do is groan and clutch his groin.

Gripping his chin, she locked her gaze on him with an unforgivable disobedience. “I wasn’t born to be soft and quiet. I’m not a dutiful wife who desperately seeks your attention. I’m a general’s daughter. I was born to make the world shatter and shake at my fingertips.” Turning his head to the door, she leans in and whispers in his ear. “And now you can leave while your manhood is still relatively untouched.”

“I could kill you for this”, the Darkling threatens, wishing he could wrap his hands around her pretty little neck and squeeze the resistance out of her along with her life.

“I’d like to see you try”, she sneered. Standing abruptly, she turned her back on him.

Sitting with his back against the doorframe, Darkling glared at her with burning passion – for vengeance, of course. While he assumed she’d be difficult, he didn’t presume her to be as strong-willed. A part of him was certain she’d cave once he turned on his charm, but she never allowed him to.

Noticing her hand movement, he quickly realized she’s unbuttoning her kefta as well. In seconds, his eyes widen as she slips the kefta off her shoulders and it falls to the floor. Nothing but a sheer gown hugs her body so tightly, the Darkling felt his breath stop in his throat.

Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on him, “Do you have no manners?”

She kept her eyes locked on his as she turned, opened her gown and slipped it from her shoulders, exposing her body to him. In his eyes appeared a mix of hunger and desire in such intensity that she was both excited and frightened.

“I’m the only one allowed to look at you, that’s a right you can’t strip me of.”

In time it takes for a heartbeat to echo in her ears, the Darkling stood before her. She took a shuddering breath as he gathered her into his embrace.

“Are you planning on forcing yourself onto me?” Y/N’s jaw clenched as her nostrils flare.

Pressing his lips together, his dark eyes narrow in disbelief, “Do you honestly believe me to be so evil?”

Speaking through gritted teeth, she remarks, “Yes.”

Nodding, her purses his lips. Raising his hands in mock surrender, Kirigan moves away from her. He straightens his back, finishing unbuttoning his shirt until the end – just before he lets it fall to the ground.

She swallows thickly, refusing to look anywhere below his chin. For a moment, she could have sworn a flash of hurt crossed his eyes, but she blamed the candlelight for the deceit. There is nothing good, nothing human in general Kirigan. He cannot feel hurt and she refused to let him past her defenses. She will not feel for him, she will not fall for him. He’s a task she had to manage, nothing more.

Unzipping his pants, he took the rest of his clothes off.

Her eyes flicker to his middle as he heads to the bed, realizing he’s wearing undergarments.

Relieved, Y/N opened the drawers, finding herself a proper nightgown to cover herself with. Once her body was no longer open to his view, she looked to him with pursed lips.

“I will not touch you”, he rolls his eyes, “But we are married. Might as well make the rest of the world believe the arrangement is somewhat functional.”

Looking at the door, she contemplated leaving. Sharing a bed with someone, anyone, was intimate. It required trust, love, a sense of safety and loyalty she certainly didn’t share with Kirigan.

“If you choose to leave, it will be all they talk about it the morning”, Darkling warns her and she huffs.

“If you lay a hand on me, I’ll be seeing you at the end of the altar once more. But in a casket during your funeral”, she glares at him and he can’t help but chuckle at her words.

He watched her settle in the bed, beside him. Placing a pillow between them seemed rather odd, but he didn’t mind it. In fact, he half expected her to make an attempt on his life on their wedding night. He still wasn’t sure she wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t do the same.

“Sweet dreams, wife”, he smiled as she blew out the candle and the darkness settled in. He always felt comfortable in the dark.

She never felt comfortable in darkness, but he’d never know. She would be brave from now on – she wouldn’t bend, break or bow to anyone.

“I hope your dreams are filled with Volcra”, she snapped before turning on her side, further away from him.

Eventually, despite her initial distrust for the man, Y/N fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. She shifted in her sleep, throwing her leg over Kirigan’s, her hair twisting round and round his arm.

But the Darkling did not fall asleep immediately. She moved against him and snuggled closer. Even though she wouldn’t come close to him awake, she reached for him in her sleep. She wanted him nearby and it drew a smile to his lips. Catching himself smiling, the Darkling sat up in distress.

She may be appealing, but he cannot get attached to her. Ever.

His heart beats loudly, deafening so, his mind unable to slow down even for a moment. How could he fall asleep when he knew this angel beside him was simply a devil in disguise?

She’s a human – daughter of his enemy. Once she serves her purpose, the Darkling knew what he had to do. Turning her back on her side, he fixes the pillow in the middle. She’s a human, fleeting, he’s eternal and he will not allow himself the weakness of caring for someone like her.

Just as his mind drifts, he feels an arm wrap around him and he tenses up, eyes opening wide. “Fuck.”

Tags: @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless

PART 3

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #shadow and bone #general kirigan x reader #aleksander morozova x reader

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devotion · 3 years

Text

say it right → t.h

summary: you show a little contempt towards something tom loves. maybe somehow coaxing you into liking it will change your mind. in other words, he fucks you.

prompts: college (uni), porn without plot (?), small town.

warnings: fluff? + smut 18+ minors dni!! extended warnings below the cut.

notes: this ticks my boxes for the prompts on @rosyparkers’s fic bingo! also, no hate towards anyone studying history (i love it) just !! got stumped a bit with the plot but you'll see ;)

word count: 3.2k+ | masterlist

❀───❀───❀

ex. warnings: mentions of alcohol, dom!tom, bratty behaviour, a bit of ice play, fingering, slight degradation, dirty talk, kitchen (unprotected) sex (be safe!), one orgasm denial, pussy slapping, creampie.

❀───❀───❀

"fucking finally."

tom groans, tossing his backpack to the side after greeting you in the kitchen. settling back into the sofa, he exhales loudly; 'mentally drained' would be putting it lightly and the only reason to explain his pain is because university is stabbing him in the gut lately. however, it's fortunate that it was his last day of term; almost a month of no classes to deal with. and the smell of food wafting in the air is enough for him to forget his worries for a while.

luckily, you took your time walking back from the same uni an hour or two ago, having finished class earlier. tom was at a trip at the time you told him, the slightest bit of upset now that you couldn't get ice-cream on the way back home; only a little custom you both arrange at the last day, and to start the break on a high note.

with a text saying he was almost home, you prepared him some tea─just the way he fancies it. he'd be lying if he said he didn't notice the littlest things, one of them right now being the frequent clink of your ring when you pick your cup of tea. being married and in a six-year long relationship does that. and it subtly makes him smile at the thought of how far you've come. together.

after placing the mug in front of him, you see tom extending an arm around your midriff and before you know it, you're on his lap, his mouth brushing your hairline. then, your lips─meeting them in a sweet kiss. his grip on your bare leg tightens only focussing on how soft he feels against your mouth, how addictively you invade all his senses. like every other time, that same carefree warmth permeates his senses as you're within his hold.

once you hear the timer go off, you pull away, pecking him on the nose. tom releases you, nose ticklish and feeling almost intoxicated after such a short kiss.

"did you have wine?" tom asks you, tongue swiping his lip, savouring the flavour, "can taste it."

you wink in response. "m' mate gave it. left some for you if you want." at that, you head into the kitchen.

"what you making?"

"you know that extra pizza you made a few days ago?" he inclines his head in understanding at your reply as he gets up. "got it out the freezer and popped it in the oven. and can i just tell ya, smells fucking amazing."

he chuckles. the cooking class as an extra-curricular activity works then.

tom tags along behind you, shrugging his blazer off on the way there and hooking it on the coat hanger. he rolls up his polo shirt too and disregards it, the material making him feel stuffy. he feels under-dressed anyway, with you in just a silk robe and no bra─which is normal.

switching the oven off, you spin to see tom only in his slacks and black vest─a perfect fit, for sure. though you don't see a difference if he went shirtless; it's been a while where all of his tank tops, shirts included, have just been showing every crevice and defined structure of his abs and chest.

every time he comes in the room shirtless─now because of weeks of training with his mate, harrison─you've been left in somewhat of a dizzy state. he looks far more than sexy when he arrives home from the gym, in a way you can't particularly describe. you haven't mentioned it in fear of slacking due to the exams you had these past two weeks, knowing full well what would happen if you did. though, you admit it would've helped if you pointed it out, instead of him coming in front of you every now and again like... this. it's like he just wants you to say it.

as if his ego isn't inflated enough.

you roll your eyes at the thought. unbeknownst to you, he catches it, smirking.

it's working, he thinks.

but immediately the buzz of his phone effaces the thought of prompting you further. he'd have to leave flexing his biceps later in the evening.

tom gets distracted by the photos he's taken earlier on in the day, rather than harrison's text. you're taking the pizza out of the oven when tom asks you, making you whip your head around, "wanna see where i went to today?"

tom raises an eyebrow at you, waiting for an answer.

you hum, knowing briefly what he's talking about. he had mentioned it a week ago saying he was to go to a place nearby─somewhere in cirencester─as a treat from the history department and studying your market town.

"c'mere, look," his eyes light up, phone in front of your face as he explains, "this building, right, is the 'cirencester lock-up' where the criminals were kept back in the day."

you sit atop the table as he moves to come stand in front of you, examining the pictures-- for almost a minute. then, compelled to do anything but frown, with both your hands, you tilt his head with your forefinger so he could look at you. mindful of his love for the subject, you question him, "this... is the place you went to on your trip, is it?"

"yeah," his ruffled eyebrow furrows, "why? is it not what you expected?"

"well... thought it would be more... grand is all. looks a bit, dunno... shabby─"

you hear him gasp before you have the chance to continue. "─this is history!" he exclaims, before shaking his head at you; he couldn't believe his ears. "big or small... it means so much to this area. sure, it looks old, but they're literal gems of time's past."

the distress on his face is evident - that you can see. it's beyond him why you feel like this. but then again─the drama gcse he took in secondary school offered him the ability to stress a light situation far too much. up till the point, it looks a bit silly when he's being dramatic. to you, this was one of those times.

meanwhile, when you stare tom down, eyebrow raised, the brief aspect swims in the forefront of his mind─that being, you have a tendency to become a puddle whenever he hopes to cajole you into anything, regardless of what he wants. right now, either due to his boredom or you underrating history, it doesn't matter. tonight he decides that it's just going to be about you and him. with a little fun twist.

"i'll just pretend you didn't say anything for my sanity..." he trails off, a slight teasing tone present in his voice, "for now."

"thank god," you mutter. the light of the sun outside reflects on tom's rolex, the same one you gifted him on your anniversary, almost blinding you as its redirecting near your eyes; it's dusk, and the blinds aren't closed yet─also revealing a really beautiful sunset outside which you haven't had time to admire yet because of him. "can you also not blind me? much appreciated."

advancing towards you, he laughs dryly, head coming in level with your own. his happy demeanour from the moment he came home has changed: he's biting his lip, gaze boring into your own with his jaw tight shut.

but then, what really gets to you, the most poignant sound that makes your heart drop is that... he tuts.

you swallow; knowing tom, you feel like it's not really the end. with that in mind, you're not prepared for what's to come. yet immediately, your thighs squeeze together because of the electrical-like current that passes through your body─all the way to where you want him.

in short, you know you're his. heart, pussy and soul - his. and he certainly acknowledges that. your legs slightly go apart at the thought, ready to give any indication for him to bury his head where it rightfully belongs. it's hard not to - especially with the warmth that's radiating from him, his breath hot as he's a few centimetres away, as if luring you already.

the sudden change in atmosphere brings a chill to your spine. the control within his hands is powerful. and you're his victim.

tom gets the message. yet, he doesn't give in all at once. he wants to enjoy you, savour you, adore you. to simply rush would ruin doing all of those things.

"let's focus on how good you've been for me these past few weeks, yeah?" he starts, retreating back to the freezer. he dives in and then, shuts it, an ice cube at hand.

the confusion on your face doesn't go unnoticed; firstly, only one? second, he doesn't use ice except with gin. and there's none of that in the house. unless...

placing the ice cube on the table next to you to stop it from melting, he continues, "maybe after, i can fuck that attitude out of you."

it takes seconds for you to remark, "just because of history? seriously?" you resist the urge to roll your eyes, turning your head to the side, "for the love of fuck."

he shrugs his shoulders, "yep, that's me. i love to fuck," his arms come on either side of you, "any excuse to fuck you."

"so you're basically admitting that you're being a dramatic bi-"

at once, your bottom lip is captured with tom's, swallowing your words altogether when you deepen the kiss yourself. pulling away a little, his voice is raspy when he speaks, "my girl is always so ready for anything."

he knows you're wet, you suppose. it only burns the fire within you moreso at your implication. just as the belt of your robe is untied, your breasts are being caressed by tom's large and callous hands.

tom moves to kiss the underside of your neck, "my woman," a nip at your sweet spot, "my wife," another kiss at your clavicle, "my everything." the primal desire in his kisses grows with each kiss and the affection in his words is sufficient for you to bring him closer, crying out to him for more.

you plead, "tommy-"

"always ready for my cock," he starts again, making your breath hitch in an instant. you bite back a moan at his brazen choice of wording.

"what was that?" he presses, "you can't take it can you? my pretty girl can't take it."

"'course i fuckin' can't."

tom brings the ice cube from earlier over your clothed pussy, grateful for the cold weather. the extreme difference in temperature makes you hiss in delight, body quivering. already, water drips from tom's hands, and it's hard to tell whether it's your arousal or the melting ice.

after moving your navy blue panties to the side, he swirls it around your bundle of nerves again, hips jerking upwards. not only do you notice the cheeky glint in your husband's eyes, but the absence of the ice cube too as his own thumb replaces it.

"already melted?" tom chuckles, "this─" his middle and forefinger slaps your clit with a slight force that makes you yelp, "─warm for me, yeah?"

he doesn't give you a chance to respond, a finger entering your wetness in a heartbeat. whilst his thumb circles your clit, he adds another digit, starting to move in and out in a slow manner─watching you unravel before him.

"you feel so good for me, princess," he coos, leaving a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

darkness soon prevails the room, though not fully, as the street lamp outside only grants tom the pleasant view of your yearning state. a few minutes go by with your chest heaving─letting out aching breaths of air that sears the walls of your lungs. the only thing that treat tom's ears is the squelching sound your cunt produces. his cock twitches at the noise, feeling it pulsing the more the seconds tick by. he feels restrained in his boxers; it's a shame you're not witnessing how hard he is as your eyes are shut tight.

but it's not too long when he feels you convulse around him, because he starts going on a pace that would be considered merciless at this point. whines turn into loud moans, the pressure building up.

owing to this, your legs are shaking, unable to lay off the climax that's approaching. instantly, when at the same moment you become so close, the coil inside you on the borderline of snapping, your attention is averted towards tom's ridiculous belief. again.

"history is what makes us today, don't you believe that?" he pants.

you knit your eyebrows together, trying to focus on cumming first. yet, you snap your eyes open, to see him licking his lips, "t-tom, please─" you falter, chest heaving.

"no," tom responds bluntly, ceasing his movements then and there. his fingers─wedged deep inside your pussy─tense as you somehow suck them in further at his disapproval. you were so near to what you wanted. he goes on, "say it─"

"─gosh, you're insufferable, tom."

he responds by pressing his thumb harshly on your throbbing clit, making you whimper.

"i said say it," tom repeats, "say it right so you get what you think you deserve."

"say what, tom, huh?" you snap through gritted teeth, "history is great?"

"yes, for crying out loud."

"do i get bonus points if i act like i care?" you prompt, seeking to provoke him further; if irritating him will get him to fuck you, then so be it.

he flares his nose, reluctantly pulling his fingers out your dripping cunt. you gulp as you see him remove his trousers as well as his boxers, his cock springing out bold and unbound. you're enticed at his length, no matter how many times you've seen it─stiff and thick and his tip leaking pre-cum. tom catches you licking your lips and you're now more aware than ever of the hunger that lingers in his gaze.

as he strokes his cock, tom's eyes darken as he scans your figure. your body yearns for more, and it shows; the way your body arches up, the way your hands clutch the edge of the counter so tightly─you look so beautiful under his torture.

"just have to prove it to me, darling," he draws closer, "scream my name," he growls, his tip prodding your entrance to which you shakily gasp at the familiar sensation, "when i stretch your walls, i fucking want people to know that i make you feel good,"

"you gonna do that for me, princess?"

his free hand grips your hip, sliding behind to your ass to bring you closer towards the edge of the surface. after squeezing your bum, he slaps it─evoking a sharp jolt of your hips to move forward. the abrupt action causes the aching tip of his cock to slip inside your warm hole whereupon you both groan at the contact.

"reckon i could make you cum in five minutes?"

you shake your head, smirking, "two."

he grins, shutting his eyes and sinking in ever so slowly. he breathes out, "fuckin' ell."

your head falls back, moaning in agreement. fucking hell, indeed; he feels so snug, your pussy accustomed to his size easily as he reaches further. like it was made for him.

whilst your fingers claw into his shoulders, tom moves down to kiss you, mouth hot and wet as it explores every inch of your own and tongues moulding each other repeatedly. you take the chance to clamp around his hips, placing your foot below his ass─allowing him to drive into you deeper.

tom recedes, grunting, "oh."

forget seeing stars─you feel like you can picture planets as he rocks into you. it goes to show how long you've gone without fucking. long enough for your orgasm to be building so soon. two minutes it is. or maybe tom understands your body too well, bottoming out as soon as he sees your jaw going slack. the angle that he's pounding in at is beyond perfect.

soon enough, the shockwaves that edges nearer in your stomach compels you to shove your hips, meeting his strong thrusts without thought. tom's name rolls off your tongue over and over again, the volume of your voice amplifying the more he hits that spot deep inside you─up till the point you're screaming. just like he asked you to before. and there you are, cumming, clenching around his dick as you fail to remember your surroundings. and unfortunately, your neighbours, too.

it's rather quick when you hear tom crying out your name into your neck after you. his thrusts become sloppy, given that he's draining as much of his cum inside you─spending of what he has in him. eventually, he comes to a stop, as well as the harsh bite of his teeth below your jaw. you feel turned on again but not adequate enough for your body to want to come again; you're absolutely spent.

"were you teasing me the whole time?" he mumbles into your chest a minute or two later, still inside you, creating circles with the pads of his fingers on your waist.

the answer you give him lies in the glimmer of your eyes when he looks up at you. "of course i love history, babe," you tease, "glad i pissed you off, though."

"this is why we can't have nice things," he whines, "you're always fucking my feelings over."

"awh no," you murmur, "you know i love you and your inner-nerd of history."

a blush appears on his cheeks. "forget it, now the pizza's cold," he pouts, head resting onto your shoulder.

"your fucking fault, babe," you remark, palms smoothing over the sides of his head, "now eat it."

he has different plans. "wouldn't mind eating you out actually. much better," he murmurs, hands coming to sit on the inside of your thighs. he stretches them again, cock slipping out of your cunt. the whimper you let out is because you feel empty.

you crave to feel stuffed again.

"you really know how to change the mood very quickly. innit, tom?" you ask.

he ignores you; once he's in line with your core, his eyes lock with yours, your breath hitching at the prospect of him giving you head. even after fucking you senseless, you feel like you won't be able to take it.

tom's tongue is already prepared to dive into your hole─some of his cum he's dumped inside moments before decorates your thighs and dribbles onto the floor, though more of his seed seems to still be confined inside you.

it looks heavenly. all his.

"may i?"

❀───❀───❀

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader smut #smut #tom holland preference #tom holland one shot #rosyficbingo #lmk what u think btw !!!!

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mianavs · 3 years

Note

Hello~ I saw your requests are open and since I loved your Kurapika toxic HC's I was wondering if you could write something for him? NSFW or SFW but as dark and angst as you want please? Maybe reader hurts herself because she feels empty and when is going to do the do with Kurapika he notices? I am not creative, sorry but I love bad endings and suffering lol

thank you for the prompt and i hope you like the scenario! ngl, writing this made me all sorts of sad but i also like angst/suffering. that being said, dark content below so read at your own risk!

tw: self-harm, drugs, blood, smut

wc: 1.3k+

“Y’wanna know what your fuckin’ problem is? Y’feel too much and sooner or later it’s gonna catch up t’ya.”

That was what your boss had said after your first mission as an assassin three years ago. You could still taste the bile you retched, hear his roaring laughter as he watched you, see the needle that pierced his skin and the liquid that disappeared from the syringe into his forearm.

He died of an overdose 6 months later and that was enough to permanently steer you away from drugs. You preferred to feel pain instead of being numb, so you turned to blades instead of needles and got addicted to slitting your skin instead of shooting up heroin.

You started off small with little nicks in hidden places like the back of your thighs, under your arms, and on your hands. The sting helped you cope with the guilt you felt after eliminating your victims that included criminals, parents, murderers, and children alike—your job didn’t discriminate.

But like any other addiction, you started building up a tolerance to the pain and the little cuts just didn’t do it anymore. You pressed down harder and dragged the blade more until scarlet crevices opened up, disgorging a steady stream of blood. With each incision, you sucked in a breath and let the sharp pain course through you. Whenever you cut down too deeply and tears welled up in your eyes, you blinked them away, remembering the life fading from your victims’ eyes. If they didn’t cry at death’s doorstep then you sure as hell couldn’t after only a couple of gashes.

Even though you drowned in guilt as soon as you stumbled back home, you never hesitated during a job and that was the version of you he met—the confident, cold-blooded killer.

It wasn’t his power, intellect, or stunning blood-red eyes that drew you to him like a moth to a flame; it was the barely subdued rage that seeped out of him even when he tried hard to conceal it. Kurapika was probably the only person in the world who was as miserable as you and that comforted you to some extent.

An extended job with a mafia boss in York New had you running into him frequently at meetings or events to his vexation. From the permanent scowl on his face whenever you were in his vicinity to the cutting contempt whenever he addressed you, it didn’t take long for you to conclude Kurapika didn’t like you in the slightest and you wondered if it was because he recognized the misery in the depths of your eyes.

You soon learned his poison of preference was liquor and during those nights when you found him at a rundown bar surrounded by empty bottles, you sat next to him and watched him down glass after glass. You made it a habit to count the number of drinks it took until the hatred in his eyes turned into a melancholia that tugged at your bruised heart.

Most of the time, Kurapika ignored you completely but sometimes he spoke to you and, at his most vulnerable, even asked you to drink with him. You never understood the appeal of alcohol and hated the strong bitter taste of it, but you never rejected the invitation Kurapika extended and swallowed every last drop of the liquor he poured. It never took long for the effects of alcohol to hit until you completely blacked out, yet, somehow, you always made it back to your bedroom the following day.

It was your last night in York New when Kurapika invited you for a drink and, like always, you accepted with a false smile that matched his forced civility. After pouring you a couple of drinks and only a bottle in, he spoke to you.

“Why do you insist on drinking when you hate it?” He didn’t even sound buzzed while your face was already flushed.

“Would you believe me if I said it’s because I’m interested in you?”

It was meant to be a joke and you even quirked your head for effect but something shifted in Kurapika’s eyes and suddenly you became awfully aware about how close the two of you were. His eyes shifted down to your lips and your throat constricted when you felt his slim fingers thread through your hair as he drew you in for a kiss.

Your heart thumped erratically in your chest like the first time you cut someone down and a river of blood appeared at your feet. Your skin burned like the first time you lost control and made cuts all over your body until all you saw was red. Kurapika’s bruising kiss and harsh grip on your hair blurred your vision with tears of pain but his warm tongue and intoxicating taste opened up a foreign pool of emotions that you were falling into headfirst.

You only became vaguely aware of your situation when the two of you were peeling off each other’s clothes in a moonlit hotel room. If Kurapika noticed the slightly protruding lines that marred the entire surface of your skin in varying tones, he didn’t mention it and continued to touch, grip, bruise, kiss, suck, and bite all over until you forgot all about your disfigured body.

Despite it being your first time, he wasn’t gentle and you loved it that much more. He stretched you out until you were bleeding when he first bottomed out while you dug your nails into his skin and bit down on his shoulder. The sharp pain continued when he pulled out almost completely before snapping his hips back and filling you up to the hilt.

Pleasure came when he adjusted your position and continuously hit a spot deep within you while sucking on your tits until your nipples became red and swollen. The pain never left, however, as his teeth bit down on your sensitive breasts and his hands held your thighs in a bruising grip.

You cried out your pleasure amidst the mess of blood, sweat, and tears and, seconds later, Kurapika groaned his before pulling out and covering your stomach with spurts of his hot semen. The two of you laid in the bed until your breathing evened out and the sticky pink residue between your legs dried up.

When your high subsided and self-loathing reared its ugly head again, you ignored the growing ache in your lower half and sat up, scanning the room for your clothes. Just when you’d gathered enough strength to rise to your feet, cold fingers traced the scars on your arm, causing you to shiver from the sudden contact.

“Why?”

It was only one word but you knew exactly what he meant. Your first instinct was to make something up to hide your weakness like the assassin you were trained to be, but you decided to be honest for the first time in your life.

“Coping mechanism…for my job. Pain helps me hate myself a little less.” You replied, cursing your quavering voice and the hot tears that threatened to spill. You didn’t deserve to cry and he sure as hell would rebuke you for it.

Except, he didn’t.

“Don’t we all have them? Things we hate about ourselves.” His voice was softer than you’d ever heard but it was the words he spoke that made you surrender to the sobs building up in your chest. You lowered your head and let the tears fall to the ground. The sound of your crying was something you always hated, so you buried your face into your hands to muffle your wails.

The bed shifted underneath you and before you could turn around to see what Kurapika was doing, soft lips pressed a kiss to the scar on your shoulder. The gentleness of the action only made you cry even harder because you knew it was something you didn’t deserve but you wanted it, nonetheless.

#kurapika x reader #kurapika smut #hxh smut #kurapika scenario #kurapika x you #kurapika kurta #kurapika #hxh #hxh scenarios #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #hxh x you #tw: smut #tw: self-harm #tw: drugs #tw: blood #navs.hxh #navs.request

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falling-pages · 3 years

Text

A bird? A bird: Hikaru x Haruhi

in which drunk Hikaru is a mood.

Hikaru Hitachiin x Haruhi Fujioka

Enemies to lovers, non-host club au, aged up au.

TW: Drinking

The disgust lingered in the back of his throat like iron, like a bad pill you swallow but not fast enough. He fumbled the chaser to his liquor, and now he was stuck with the gross aftertaste. The refuge of his office, where he gulped down air like water, could only last so long. He couldn’t even go out in the common area, break room or restroom without having to see her--and for that, for taking away his freedom and social butterfly antics, he hated her.

Every time he saw her cute little snarl and tight little bun and stiff black skirts enraged him, filling his blood with a heat he didn’t know how to deal with. Despite her short height, she held her nose in the air as she worked, the only way she could look down on everyone like she so desperately craved. Always propping up her law degree, well this and actually that, ruining any jokes he made with a deadpan stare. She messed with his head, distracted him from his work, and for that she must go.

As much as he had tried to get her fired--and he had tried--nothing made the boss budge. He tried pulling rank, as the head of the software department; he tried using his parents’ names; nothing worked.

She’s doing a stellar job, the bossman had said. And, she’s our lawyer. If we did fire her for no reason, she would sue us into the ground.

I do have a reason, Hikaru retorted. She annoys me.

It wouldn’t hold up in court, but it seemed good enough for him.

Hikaru inhaled deeply through his nose, grounding himself by gripping his desk. Surrounded by all his trophies and achievements, he still could only think of her. He had to handle this, or else he’d go insane, but he had no idea where to start.

Kaoru. Kaoru would know what to do.

He rose from his chair, taking one last look behind him at the stained glass city through his clear glass window. Despite it only being mid-afternoon, the city was pulsing and alive with color, birds dive-bombing for food, vendors hawking at passersby, tourists mixing and bumping into natives. Tokyo was loud, and crazy, and alive, where he knew he belonged and longed to be. Even nature was straining at its leash for the workday to end, eager to celebrate the Friday night.

He turned back and shut the lights off in his office, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked. His department was rather quiet, having given his employees the afternoon off. If Haruhi knew, she would chide him, but they were so far ahead of schedule that he couldn’t risk them burning out.

Once up the stairs and around the corner, he heard his brother’s voice laughing and chatting and speak of the devil, she’s here.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Karou and Haruhi were surprisingly great friends; he tended to mellow her out, help her unwind from the stick up her ass. He just had that calming effect on people.

As soon as he saw her, Hikaru spun a 180 and turned right back around the corner, and Haruhi would have let him, but Karou intervened.

“Hika! Come over here!” he waved, a bright smile splitting his face. “Haruhi was just telling me how much she liked you!”

Haruhi seethed, switching to a guarded pose as soon as she saw him. “I certainly was not.”

“Oh, right, my bad, she was telling me how much she liked your latest game patch,” Kaoru apologized, but it was the furthest thing from sincere. “Tell us about how you came up with it. Haruhi would love to pick your brain.”

Hikaru smirked, testing the waters as he approached. “Is that true, Fujioka?”

She frowns, pushing her bridge up her glasses up her nose. God, those glasses. She looked so dumb in them, making her eyes seem so wide, so innocent, so...pretty. All he wanted to do was pluck them off her face and laugh as she jumped for them, reaching and whining.

“I mean, it’s original, for sure,” she said. His cheeks warmed at the praise, even as she squirmed. “And it should market well, and you didn’t infringe on anyone’s copyright this time.”

That wasn’t my fault. He took the compliment with a grain of salt, biting back, “Still in the whole get-up, I see. Not much for casual Fridays?”

As amber eyes raked down her body, Haruhi concealed the shiver that ran down her spine. “No, actually, because I didn’t go to law school to wear jeans every day at work.”

“You didn’t go to law school to become a smartass, either, but here we are.”

“OKAY!” Kaoru exclaimed, jumping up between them. “Friday afternoon, yeah? Any big plans for the weekend?”

Both instigators ignored him. “That’s the uniform, you know. We tend to be pretty laid back around here.”

“Lawyers can’t be laid back. Laziness and a laissez-faire attitude is how we get sued.”

Hikaru stretched, rolling his eyes. “Woah, woah, pardon your French.”

Haruhi shook her head, and a few mismanaged strands of hair fell from her bun to brush against her neck. Her pink lips perched in contempt, and she looked so fragile, squinting behind her thick-framed glasses, that he couldn’t help but notice how tight her shirt was, tucked into a pencil skirt that hugged so tastefully over her--

“Hika!” Kaoru suddenly exclaimed. “Honey wants to know if we’re still down for drinks tonight.”

His saving grace. “Oh, my God, yes,” he moaned, salivating already at the thought of tequila burning down his throat. Washing the week away was just what he needed, especially with the way this conversation was going.

And then Kaoru did the unthinkable: With his award-winning smile, he turned to Haruhi and asked, “Would you like to come?”

Hikaru could have strangled him.

But God heard his prayers, and the resident buzzkill shook her head. “Thank you, but sorry. I don’t drink.”

“No surprise there,” Hikaru murmured.

Kaoru definitely heard that, but if Haruhi did, she didn’t react. He shot his twin a look, a be polite etched into the lines of his brow.

“Sad,” Kaoru said. He bent over to pick up his work bag, stuffing his bento within and waving to Haruhi. “Maybe next time? We can go out for boba or something.”

Haruhi smiled--Hikaru didn’t think he had ever seen that before. It did something to him; suddenly, he felt as if his body was shaking, like his throat was full of needles, like he had taken one too many to the head.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she said, and the smile disappeared when she looked at him. She gave them both a quick nod. “Have a great weekend.”

“Thanks.”

“See you Monday!”

Hikaru waited until they were out the door before punching his twin in the arm, hard enough to make him yelp.

“Dude, watch it,” Kaoru snapped, brushing over the mussed fabric of his cardigan sleeve. “It’s cashmere.”

“Stop flirting with her.”

Kaoru stopped in his tracks. A cloudy sky obscured the smirk on his face. “Woah, what’s got you so worked up?”

Hikaru kept stomping towards their subway stop, too lost in his own anger to notice who he had left behind. “‘M not worked up,” he retorted. “But you’re dating Kyoya. You shouldn’t be flirting with a girl.”

Kaoru skipped to catch up, joining him as they descended the stairs. “Kyoya said it’s fine if I flirt, as long as I come home to him every night.”

It took everything in Hikaru to keep him from shoving his brother into the sad, drab gray stone walls. He couldn’t put a finger on the irritation nettling just below his skin, or why the first layer of his heart seemed to simmer whenever he caught them talking to each other. All he could figure out was that it burned, and it made him hate her even more.

When he stayed silent, Kaoru knew he was right. He preened as he dug around for his subway card. “Boba isn’t a date.”

“Of course it is.”

“Then maybe you should ask her out on one.”

By then they were at the platform, waiting for their train. As the whistle signaled its approach, Hikaru very seriously considered pushing Kaoru onto the tracks.

“Tch. Over my dead body.”

“Then you can’t be jealous.”

“I’m not--”

Hikaru threw a punch when the train approached, distracting him and allowing Kaoru to live to see another day. As they hurried on, Hikaru couldn’t get his mind out of the gutter--or off her.

Jealous. Pshhh.

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

“I dunno, senpai, she just….she makes me feel something. Whenever she talks to me it’s like my hands are on fire, and my head hurts, and I feel like….like she’s stabbing me. There’s something going on in my chest, like a, like a--a bird. There’s a bird or a butterfly or something with wings in my stomach, and I don’t like it.”

Hikaru knocked back a shot and signaled for another one, eyes bleary as he tried to find the bartender. There were three of them, or maybe that was just how blurry his vision was, but he didn’t care; as long as one of them saw him and passed him another round, he’d tip them the moon.

Mitsukuni watched his friend wave to no one, the effect of one too many fireballs in the span of just two hours. He hadn’t seen Hikaru this hammered since college--and now, at 27, it just looked more like a cry for help than an occasion to let loose. And without Kaoru, who had already gone home with Kyoya and the rest of their friend group, on babysitting duty, Mitsukuni was the one left to make sure he got into a cab.

“A bird?” he asked, watching as Hikaru swung his head in confirmation.

“A bird.” A bartender came back with another shot, handing it to the redhead and giving Mitsukuni a questioning look. He waved at him, confirming he was the babysitter, and the waiter turned back around.

“Tell me about that.”

Hikaru gripped his cup, tonguing at the rim like a sippy cup. “It’s fluttering around, Honey. It’s--hiccup--like, moving. Whenever I see her or talk to her my heart just begins to pound.”

Mitsukuni bit back a smile. His vodka cran lay forgotten on the bar, but this experience was just too amusing to violate with alcohol. “And what do you think that means?”

“Means she’s gonna kill me.”

“Kill you?” His eyebrows shot up. “Why is that?”

Hikaru slurped the shot, spilling some down his chin, and Mitsukuni was fairly sure it was just plain water. “Because. She’s mean, senpai. She looks at me like she’s studying, like she’s gonna slice me in half. Like...I dunno. Like I mean something to her.”

Mistukuni twisted his wedding ring, inching closer to the discovery. He’s almost there, almost recognizing what the rest of the friend group has known for months. “And if you mean something to her, why does your heart flutter?”

“Acid reflux.”

“No, Hikaru.” He gently swatted the other man’s hand down before he could ask for another drink. “It sounds like the beginnings of love, to me.”

Hikaru gaped, not a thought behind those eyes, until it hit him like a wrecking ball. His fist fell to the bar, thudding, but he felt no pain. Only existential dread and a rocketing realization.

“Oh.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh, fuck.”

If you like what I write, please considering buying a coffee :)

#ouran high school host club #hikaru x haruhi #hikaharu #hikaru hitachiin #haruhi fujioka #enemies to lovers #ohshc

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stubbychaos · 4 years

Text

A Dishonest Woman

Chapter 9 of Saviin’ika

Masterlist Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Paz is determined to have the one that has caused you so much pain to kneel for you, though you’re surprised to find another begging for forgiveness at your feet after all is said and done and blood has been shed.

Rating: M

Word Count: 12,700

Warnings: There’s some pretty intense injuries and mentions of having to pop bones back into place, as well as blood and stitches. There’s also brief mentions of the aftermath of the sexual assault attempt.

Just a quick mention as well: I wanted to thank @lackofhonor for giving me the inspiration for a cute little idea for this chapter about the other Mandos being mischievous :) Also thank you to @datmando for always letting me scream at you about all my chaotic ideas <3

Author’s note will be at the end, but one last thank you to @coredrive for blessing all of us with that beautiful gifset of Paz!!

You nearly cry the second you see Paz inch the bounty hunter’s helmet upwards to the point where the tip of a scruffy tan chin is revealed.

Horror fills your heart and soul at the thought of watching a Mandalorian’s helmet be removed.

You jolt forward, but Ima is quick to wrap her arms around your waist, effectively stopping you from accidentally getting hurt and even though you feel a pain shoot up your side from your cauterized wound, it doesn’t stop you from screaming out right before the helmet is just below his bottom lip.

“Paz!”

Immediately, the room is cast in silence and even though you should feel terrified at the fact that dozens of t-shaped visors are now pointed in your direction, you can only focus on the way Paz lets go of the bounty hunter, not even realizing you had been watching the entire fight. Immediately, the unconscious man slips to the ground with a loud ringing noise that has you cringing as you try to wriggle desperately against Ima’s tight hold. Everyone’s visor watches you struggle feebly against the young warrior and she hisses at you desperately to stop--that it is dishonorable to interrupt such a battle.

You gasp when Paz easily flips the bounty hunter over onto his back, pressing his boot harshly against his cuirass and you panic as you listen to the hunter’s gurgling noises from underneath where the lip of his helmet is still miraculously resting on his chin.

“Tell her you’re sorry, Djarin!” Paz roars, circling around him like a predator taunting its prey and your shoulders hunch up a little, “Maybe I’ll give her your helmet when I’m finished with you--bet she could sell that for a lot more than five hundred credits. How much is that shiny Beskar worth? Probably far more than the pathetic price put on her head.”

When he doesn’t respond, Paz sends a mighty kick to the hunter’s ribs--one similar to what he had dealt to your father--and you let out a small whimper and turn your head up to colorful Mandalorian, emphasizing the contempt in your voice as much as you possibly can.

“If you don’t let me go, I won’t ever look at you or Paz the same again.”

Ima doesn’t say anything and you seize up when you watch Paz produce a vibroblade.

The blade that had been taken from you the night before after slaying the trandoshan.

“Do you realize what you made her do with this?”

The bounty hunter remains lifeless as Ima stares down at you and fear grips your heart so tightly when you hear the young Mandalorian groaning from the intense pain. He doesn’t even attempt to choke out pathetic little apologies and you’re certain he must be unconscious underneath that scorching hot helmet.

“Please,” You beg her, a tear trickling down your cheek as you think of someone having their life ruined just because of you, “I am supposed to help those who are hurt, not watch them suffer.”

Angrily, Paz tosses the blade onto the floor, seeming to prefer to use his hands to inflict pain and it makes everything seem far more personal, considering weapons were supposed to be a part of his religion.

“What?” Paz grabs him by his cowl to bring him to his knees, though he’s slumped forward in a weak position; you squeeze your eyes shut and recoil when your warrior all but picks him up and slams him into the slim steel bars on the side of the forge, “Can’t handle a little pain, vod’ika? She seemed to handle it just fine when you were delivering her to her death! Managed to even fight back against the one you sold her to, you fucking coward--you’re not even going to try to fight me?”

The bounty hunter is lifelessly propped up against the forge.

Finally, Ima lets out a deep sigh and reluctantly lets go of you.

Immediately you surge forward, not caring there’s a possibility that you can get hurt in the intense altercation.

You cry out Paz’s name again when he sends a harsh blow to the side of the bounty hunter’s helmet with a powerful swing of his huge, heavy gauntlet and you are quick to stop him in his attempt to further hurt the bounty hunter.

He pulls his arm to the side and back, ready to deliver another heavy hit to the bounty hunter’s helmet and you quickly latch onto the big yellow gauntlet, careful not to press any buttons so you don’t incinerate yourself or anyone else with his flamethrower. You feel the way he instantly stops himself from swinging his huge appendage forward, perhaps out of fear of hurting you and his helmet quickly snaps to the side to look at your teary eyes that barely poke over his bicep.

He could easily shove you out of the way, and even though you just watched the damage he inflicted on one of his own, you still trust him not to hurt you.

But you will not let him do this--you refuse.

“What are you--?”

“I would not let you put him through anymore,” You plead in a desperate, hushed whisper, trying to keep your conversation private from the others, though you’re certain they all hear it, “I would not let you put him through the same pain that I have gone through--of losing his family.”

Paz doesn’t even move an inch or say a word, but he allows you to put yourself between him and the bounty hunter and simply stares at you; you’re certain if you were anyone else, you would have been dead the second you challenged him.

You’re not just anyone though and you finally understand that.

You’re the one he had confessed his love to only the night before and had trusted enough to bring to his tribe; you were the one that he had taken his helmet off for, even if it was in the darkness of a safe place. While you understood that his anger came from a place of intense pain from nearly losing the one he loved, you could not just stand by and watch while he made that sort of decision for you, not when you couldn’t mentally handle watching someone have their life taken from them so soon after the Trandoshan incident.

No, even though Paz so desperately wanted his revenge, it suddenly did not feel like his duty to seek vengeance for you when you were still alive.

“Please Paz,” You crouch down next to the bounty hunter, pressing your fingers to his neck to check for a pulse point to make sure he’s not actually dead, “I think he has endured enough punishment, don’t you?”

“No, I fucking don’t think he’s learned his lesson! What he did to you was unforgivable!” Paz seethes and you let out a little sigh of relief when you finally detect a steady pulse, though Paz’s thunderous voice has you on edge, “You’re really going to let this go so easily?!”

He’s never raised his voice with you and even though you can tell it’s most likely from the adrenaline, you feel your worry slowly give way to anger.

“Please, do not yell at me,” You whip your head to give him an incredulous glare over your shoulder and you hear some of the others murmur to one another as Paz takes a small step back, though he is quick to compose himself, “I did not say I forgive him, but I do not wish to see any more bloodshed because of me, Mandalorian. I know what he did--I was there.”

“Then why won’t you let me make him apologize to you?” He hisses in a low voice, watching as you inspect his dislocated shoulder with great tenderness, “He doesn’t deserve your help when he showed you no such courtesy.”

“Because I am a nurse and it is my job to help others, Paz. He is your family and even if you or I do not like him right now, I do not wish for one of your own to die when I could have saved them,” You turn to face him once again, your brows pinched together in frustration you’ve never felt towards your blue warrior and you hate the fact that you’re even arguing with him over the bounty hunter in the first place, “If he is to apologize to me, I want it to be because he truly feels sorry for what he did, not because you beat him within an inch of his life. Now please, would you help me take him to… wherever it is the wounded are treated here?”

Paz is frozen to his spot and it feels like you’re staring each other down for eternity, everyone else watching the silent interaction with what you’re sure is curiosity and shock that their heavy-infantry warrior is letting his little nurse talk to him in such a way. You realize suddenly how stubborn this man can be--even towards you--and for some reason that only makes your irritation grow as you think of how soft and easy-going he had been with you the previous night when it had just been the two of you.

Is he doing this because he’s afraid of looking like a pushover in front of his tribe?

“He didn’t even want you here,” Paz eventually sneers, pointing his thumb and index finger in the unconscious man’s direction, choosing to argue even more with you and you feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach, “He is the reason why I was fighting so hard for you to be a part of the tribe in the first place! You think the one who was so insistent on not having you here is suddenly worthy of being tended to by you? While you were suffering, he was planning your death and I was begging for your place in the tribe.”

“I’ve been suffering my whole life, Paz,” You remind him with an angry lilt in your voice, lightly tapping the bounty hunter’s helmet in an attempt to wake him, though he simply offers you a garbled noise in response, “This is no different than anything else I’ve been through, okay? Just let me take care of his injuries and then the three of us can talk it out and--”

Then he says your name in the most contemptuous tone you’ve ever heard from him and ice pumps through your veins at his next words.

“Sometimes, I think you are too fucking soft for your own good.”

You immediately freeze, staring up at him in shock as you register the warrior’s bitter tone and you don’t even know what to say or how to process the intense pain and sadness that threatens to overwhelm you like a raging tidal wave.

You think of what he had said upon admitting his love for you the first time, how he had spoken sweet words of the way he admired how compassionate and soft you were--how utterly devoted he had sounded--and you begin to doubt yourself.

“And what would you do when he grows tired of you?”

You remember your father’s cruel words and tears instantly fill your eyes at the fact that you’re letting him get to you in a place where Paz had promised you’d be safe from him and you hear the other Mandalorians murmurs grow more tense. They must be admonishing you for talking back to such a powerful member of their tribe, but you suddenly don’t care what they think and hastily wipe away a tear that slips down your cheek, shaking off Paz’s unusually bitter words.

But you can’t shake it off, you realize, as your bottom lip quivers as his words hang over your heart heavier than what his Beskar must weigh down on his own shoulders.

Paz immediately seems to forget his anger towards the bounty hunter, his shoulders falling a little as he hears yours sniffles when you turn back towards the unconscious man at your feet, your hands now shaking.

Anger and confusion swells deep within you as you keep thinking of your estranged father’s words, leaning lower to grab the bounty hunter’s uninjured arm to tug it around your shoulders; you want to cry harder as you try to stand up and support his weight, though he is far too heavy for you to lift. You hear Paz step forward, but then you also hear Imalia’s hushed, angry voice, followed by hasty little footsteps making their way over to you.

“Go cool down somewhere else, I’ll take care of this, di’kut,” Ima says in a firm voice, crouching down next to you as she wraps her arms around the bounty hunter’s waist and helps you haul him to his feet. You’re too angry and upset to admire the physical strength this teenage girl has and a part of you is half tempted to ask if she can knock some sense into your blue warrior.

Paz is staring right at you as you risk a glance up in his direction as you and Imalia guide the unconscious bounty hunter to the tribe’s infirmary and you hate that he’s refusing to say anything to you, so for once, you speak up first.

“You are not a cruel man,” You whisper fiercely to him, clenching your jaw a little when you notice his tight fists unfurl as he sees your tears burning your eyes like lit coals, “And I do not believe you to be one, but I do not like seeing this side of you and I pray I did not make a mistake coming here if this is how I am to be treated by you in front of your sisters and brothers.”

“Saviin’ika, I shouldn’t have--”

“Do not call me that, right now!” You snap with a shaky cry, earning a few more murmurs from his armored family, and you watch as Paz recoils from how upset and raw you suddenly sound, “I am not some sort of punching bag or target used for practice, Mandalorian, and I am sick and tired of being used as one. I would not let you tear someone away from their family--the ones he loves--because of me!” You argue fiercely, hating that you have to force yourself not to flinch upon hearing the bounty hunter’s pained groans as his scorching helmet slips to the side and onto your shoulder, “I may love you, but I refuse to watch you ruin this man’s life because he made a foolish mistake. Shouldn’t this be my choice?”

“But--”

“Are you even listening to what she’s trying to say?” Imalia is quick to snap at him as well, not holding back nearly as much as you did, “This isn’t your fight to fight, okay?! Saviin is right, if he’s going to apologize to her, he should do it because he genuinely means it.”

“And how do you know he will apologize in the first place?”

Everyone stares at you, but you’re still focused on Paz and how tense he is as he listens to Ima’s insistent voice, “Because, Saviin is the reason why he still has his helmet and his family, despite the fact that he nearly took everything from her; only a demagolka would not say sorry to her. Trust me, he will apologize upon hearing that she protected him from losing so much. Please, just go cool down Uncle, you’re not thinking right.”

Then Ima lowers her tone a little, sounding softer when she realizes you still have tears in your eyes, “Mirdir be pehea gar kelir sirbur Ni ceta at kaysh.”

Even though he’s tried to keep his composure in front of his people, you instantly see the way his shoulders slump completely and his helmet drops at the soft bite in the young Mandalorian’s hushed words as you and her continue forward, the Beskar sea of huge Mandalorians parting to let the three of you through. The bounty hunter mumbles incoherent statements as Imalia tells you which way to turn your body and you think that he’s most certainly concussed by the way he slurs his sentences.

You pray that they have bacta.

“I’m sure it is not as fancy or professional as what you’re used to, but this is our little infirmary. It hasn’t been used in a long time, but I’m sure you could spruce it up a little,” Ima sighs and grunts as she gracelessly flops the Mandalorian onto a creaky cot upon entering a little alcove, though you find it not too terribly different than your own tiny office at the village infirmary except for the fact that everything is covered in a thick layer of dust, “I am not sure if you are able to help him too much or if you even want to, but--”

“Can you find me whatever medical supplies your tribe may have?” You cut off her sheepish ranting, not hesitating to remove the Mandalorian’s pauldrons, utility belt, and cuirass as you inspect the severity of his dislocated shoulder and a deep gash that Paz had managed to inflict upon his lower abdomen, “Tools for sutures, bacta patches or shots, disinfectant--things like that? Soapy rags and perhaps a bowl of warm water?”

Ima immediately grows silent and you’re surprised by the teenager’s willingness to help you as you turn away to wash any germs from your hands with hot water, not allowing your blue warrior’s harsh words to get the best of your nerves. Immediately, you’re pulling drawers open, gathering whatever antibiotics and disinfectants you can find, thinking that this Mandalorian probably needs whatever he can get after taking such a beating from Paz.

“Goodness,” You sigh, shoulders falling as you inspect the deep gash that is just stretched along his left hip and you shake your head a little as you think of the wound he’d forced you to cauterize as Ima hastily approaches you with what looks to be an unused suture kit.

“Your name… it’s Din Djarin, right?” You question quietly, not even sure if he’s fully conscious or if he’s completely gone as Imalia approaches you with a metal tray with several supplies lying on top; immediately, you perk up when you see a tiny bottle filled with bacta and a syringe. She watches in silence as you are hasty and efficient to fill the syringe with the miracle substance, stabbing the long needle somewhere underneath his helmet, near the base of his skull to hopefully help with whatever brain trauma he’s experiencing.

“You--” The bounty hunter is slurring his words as he attempts to sit up on the little cot, though Ima is quick to force him back down with a steady hand against his chest while you get to work on untucking his dark tunics from his pants so you can get a better look at the damage, “Y-You’re helping me?”

You don’t say anything as Ima hands you a warm wet rag to clean the blood away from his skin and you lean in a little closer to make sure there’s no debris in the wound or that it doesn’t already look infected. You gracefully begin the process of stitching his severe wound at his tanned abdomen, earning small grunts and groans from the young bounty hunter who is clearly uncomfortable in his current position, though he seems more coherent and aware of his surroundings. Ima remains behind you and a part of you wonders why, if she’s worried the bounty hunter is going to try something with you or if she’s simply fascinated by simple medical procedures.

“Are you bleeding under there?” You ask the injured man quietly, referring to his shiny helmet that you think must still be scorching hot; he continues to stare up at the ceiling and you hope he hasn’t passed out again, fearing what kind of damage Paz might have caused to his brain. He could be on the verge of death and you wouldn’t even know, you realize with disdain, not liking that you can’t properly treat your patient.

“Even if I was, I wouldn’t let you take my helmet off, outsider.”

You scoff and shake your head, though Ima is diligent and hasty to admonish the hunter, “I do not think you are in any position to be giving our nurse any attitude, not after she stood up for you in front of nearly the whole tribe.”

Finally, he rolls his helmet to the side to peer down at your hunched over form as you take your time to stitch the deep wound, “Stood up for me?”

“Yeah, di’kut,” Ima huffs and you hear her shift around behind you, “Uncle Paz was about to take your stupid helmet off and saviin’ika stopped him right before he could, even defended what little honor you still possess; she even got in a fight with uncle over you. I don’t think you really deserved her mercy since you didn’t even want her here in the first place--since you sold her for five hundred credits.”

Your cheeks flare up and you shake your head a little, trying to think of your life being worth more than a pouch of credits.

He’s quiet for a few thoughtful moments and he lets out with a pained grunt as you eventually finish stitching the wound, “Why?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and let out with a sad sigh as you clean the blood away from the bruised skin around the sutures, shaking your head a little, “I know what would happen if he would have removed your helmet, Mandalorian. You would have lost everything and everyone you love--those you call family--and I would not wish that upon my worst enemy.”

“But I--”

“I know what you did to me,” You scowl, plastering a large bandage to the stitches to protect it from any debris, “Trust me, I know, but I’ve also felt the loss and grief that comes from losing your loved ones. I lost my mother and… and someone so very dear to me when I was a little girl and that kind of pain is one that you never recover from.”

“I…” The bounty hunter seems to be at a loss for words and you think he must not know how to express his feelings with words nearly as well as Paz, “Thank you.”

You huff a little and urge him to lay down flat on his back so you can properly treat his dislocated shoulder, “Just because I understand your pain does not mean I would ever forget what you’ve done. I would only tolerate you for your family.”

You hear him groan a little as you place your hand just underneath his armpit and use the other to grab his wrist, lightly guiding his arm to the side and closer to you, “What are you doing?”

“I am popping your shoulder back into place,” You frown when he reaches out towards you with his uninjured arm, but he is quick to drop it upon seeing you flinch and Ima tensing up.

“I can do it myself,” He says stubbornly, though you simply keep your hands in place, your brows furrowing when he begins to undermine you, “That requires a lot of force to put it back into place and you don’t look like you can--”

With as much strength you can muster, you yank his arm harshly towards you until you hear the sickening pop of the head of his humerus slipping beyond the lip of his shoulder cup and you hate that you feel a little inkling of satisfaction when you hear his pained groans and erratic wheezing. You think of the several times you’ve had to pop your own shoulder back into place after taking a rough beating, and how excruciating the first time had been--how you had nearly passed out--and you wonder if this is the first time he has experienced such pain.

"I know how to do my job, Mandalorian," Your cheeks burning fiercely with irritation towards the man you stood up for, “I can’t say the same for you.”

Ima snorts her amusement from behind you as you fashion a sling using his cape, all while dealing with the fussy bounty hunter who you’re certain is struggling to not give you a piece of his mind.

“You could have at least done it slower so it wouldn’t be as painful.”

“I would say I am sorry and that I feel bad, but I am not a dishonest woman.”

You hear Ima wheezing behind you, struggling to contain her giggles, though she eventually loses the battle and lets out loud guffaws that have you shaking your own head with amusement.

Eventually, Imalia takes her leave when another Mandalorian enters the room to inform her that the armorer requires the teen’s presence, the larger warrior eyeing the way you’re hovering over the young bounty hunter with an irritated expression on your face before leaving the two of you alone. You’re in the process of stitching yet another smaller cut on the inside of his elbow that you had somehow missed during your lengthy inspection and you wonder just how long Paz had been fighting the bounty hunter before you showed up.

“I’m…” You barely tilt your head up at the sound of his raspy voice before turning back to your handiwork, thinking he’s going to say something rude or snarky, “I am sorry, for what it’s worth--for all the pain I’ve caused you and Paz.”

Your brows quirk up in response to the shock his words cast on you, though you shake it off and glance up at his visor for a quick second, “I don’t know if I can forgive you knowing that you knew what the Trandoshan wanted to do with me, but I appreciate the apology.”

He seems to relax a little and lets out with a crackly sigh as he continues to stare at your concentrated facial expression, “You mentioned your dress when I was taking you back in the speeder,” Instantly, you freeze at the way he speaks so nonchalantly about something that will haunt you forever, “Did he…?”

“N-No,” You murmur weakly, suddenly feeling nauseous as you struggle to not think of the harsh pressure of the Trandoshan’s hand groping you, “He uh--I s-stopped him before I… Paz’s blade.”

Even though you can barely string together a coherent sentence, the Mandalorian still manages to understand, “Does Paz know?”

“No,” You say a little more firmly, finishing up with tending to the minor wound and giving him a cursory glance, “And I plan to keep it that way.”

You find a bacta patch on the tray of items that Ima had left for you on the bedside table and carefully take it out of its plastic wrapper, placing it tenderly along the area on his ribs where Paz had kicked him.

He’s quiet as you help him fix his tunics and put his armor back in place, sheepishly holding out the pauldron that you advise for him to not wear on his bruised, swollen shoulder for at least a week, though you doubt the stubborn man will listen to you. You half expect him to get up and leave the room the moment you stand up and wash your hands in the little sink, though he simply lets out with another crackly sigh as he continues to lay on the cot that is much bigger than the one from your old office.

“He would not think of you any differently if you told him of the criminal’s intentions with you, if that’s why you’re afraid to tell him.”

You sigh, thinking of the words Paz had spewed at you earlier and you slowly plop back down on the chair as you reluctantly keep the bounty hunter company, crossing your arms over your chest, “Let’s not talk about this anymore, okay? Besides, it’s not like it matters, not when I got into a fight with him and yelled at him in front of his tribe. I disrespected him and I’ll probably be out of here by the end of the day.”

“You won’t--I’m sure of it,” He rasps in that cool tone, though there’s still a twinge of pain laced in his filtered voice as he lets out another deep sigh, “I know how he is, how he never really thinks with his head.”

“The same could be said for you as well,” You huff, earning an annoyed sigh from the bounty hunter, “Are you two actually brothers by blood?”

“No, and he made that clear the day I was brought into the tribe,” You tuck your cold hands between your thighs and tilt your head a little at the implications of his amused words, though one sticks out to you the most.

“You were a foundling.”

“Yes,” He grunts, almost seeming awkward and unknowing of how to hold a conversation with someone, “Paz was one of the first ones to talk to me--pretty much told me to stay out of his way. He was never kind to me, but he always made sure none of the others hurt me. He was an angry child, but eventually grew out of it. Still hotheaded like no other though.”

You smile a little at that, remembering the first time you had met him and how you had thought the exact same thing, “I was scared of him when I first met him too.”

“I know--he came back to the covert and was beating himself up for making a bad first impression,” The bounty hunter scoffs, only continuing when you tuck a lock of hair behind your warm ear, “He always wanted to be the strongest in tribe and all he cared about was being the most powerful, but then one day he came back talking about the village nurse.”

You wonder why this bounty hunter is telling you all of this and before you can ask, he speaks calmly.

“I’ve never seen him more passionate about anything or anyone more than he is about you,” He grunts, almost sounding exasperated as he shakes his helmet a little, “Paz could talk about you for the longest time and I’m pretty sure he has with all the kids when the rest of us get tired of listening to him. He would not get rid of you and is probably kicking himself in the back of his helmet for whatever he said.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you think of your usually grouchy warrior going to the covert after spending time with you, only to ramble to his family about you.

“How did you know that he was the one in the wrong? I thought you were unconscious.”

“I know Paz,” Din repeats, sounding utterly unamused as he shakes his helmet and stares up at the ceiling in a thoughtful silence for a few seconds, “I know how he gets when he’s mad and how he doesn’t think straight.”

You clench your jaw a little, still thinking of the pain lingering in your chest because of what your blue warrior had said to you in a fit of rage that had been a result of the bounty hunter.

“It still gave him no right,” You surmise, earning a small hum from Din, “And if he expects me to apologize so I can keep my place here, I refuse.”

You think over his words carefully for a few, the two of you growing silent and you think out of all the Mandalorians you’ve met, he must be the quietest out of all of them, most likely used to living a life of solitude because of his job. Then you think of the time Paz had told you the loneliness he felt during his own travels and you wonder if this Mandalorian feels the same, though you still find it difficult to pity him and you stare thoughtlessly at his shiny helmet. Your eyes burn as you think of this bounty hunter hearing the Trandoshan and all of his plans for you and your chest heaves as you think of the bounty hunter simply not caring.

“I need to know and please be honest,” You plead in a shaky whisper after a few minutes of awkward silence, earning his unwavering attention as his visor moves to stare at you, “Do you actually regret what you did? Or is it just because of me knowing Paz?”

“I…” He sounds conflicted as he shifts around in an uncomfortable manner, watching the way your eyes fill with tears at the thought of him so easily giving you away to someone so cruel, “I know I am a cruel man--much crueler than Paz--but you are the first quarry I’ve ever felt guilt for.”

Tears still burn your eyes and you are quick to rub them away before they can actually fall as you listen to the young bounty hunter try to collect his thoughts.

“I kept hearing your screams, that’s why I came back. I thought he would just leave your body after killing you, but then I saw you and you were just staring at Paz’s blade,” He admits with a frustrated sigh and you think this must be incredibly difficult for him to talk about, especially when he seems so out of tune and defiant towards feeling any emotion, only focused on his next paycheck with no regards for the lives and families he’s ruining.

“I knew right away who you were and…” He cuts himself off before he can reveal too much, turning his helmet to stare back up at the ceiling, “Paz talks a lot about you, but he always spoke of how you did not deserve to live a life in the village--that you were too kind. Most of my bounties are criminals, people who deserve to be imprisoned.”

For some reason, knowing that he came back because he felt bad, rather than suspecting you were associated with Paz eases the ache in your heart, though you find your nails curling painfully into the fabric covering your knees. You don’t trust him and he knows it, judging by the way he keeps his movements slow and his visor pointed away from your face, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t try to offer you comfort because you know it would not come from his heart.

“Paz was right--you were an easy target and that’s why I accepted the job,” The bounty hunter informs you and it only makes you feel worse, knowing that you’re constantly being targeted because others believe you to be so weak, “I’m sorry.”

“I won’t ever be the same because of you.”

He doesn’t say anything and you wonder if he even feels the slightest inclination or twinge of guilt.

Then you wonder where Paz is, if he’s calmed down enough to talk to you about what’s going on in his mind and dread fills you at the thought of him still being upset with you; what if standing up for Din had ruined everything between you and the blue warrior?

Had this all really been worth it?

“I want to see Paz, but I don’t know this place,” You inform the bounty hunter weakly and you hate how badly your heart is currently aching and you hate that you still long to see the blue warrior after the way he spoke to you, though you think most of it was caused by adrenaline and anger towards his brother, “Do you know where he would be? I need to talk to him.”

You need a proper explanation and an apology.

The bounty hunter lets out with a loud, dramatic grunt as he forces himself up into a sitting position before giving you a sharp nod, “Follow me.”

Your eyes widen as he heaves himself off of the medical cot with a pained groan, though he holds a hand out when you step forward to help him, silently explaining that he does not require your help. Even though you can tell he’s in severe pain, he doesn’t say a word as he hobbles out of the little infirmary and straightens his posture, as though he’s determined to not look weak in front of you or anyone else. You’re nearly tempted to reach out and hold onto his elbow simply out of instinct after spending so much time with the blue Mandalorian, though you force yourself not to as he silently guides you down the small staircase that Paz had helped you down the previous night. He now leads you in a completely different direction and your eyes widen when the atmosphere around you somehow grows warmer and a little lighter.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To the nursery,” The bounty hunter answers and it fills you with both excitement and fear, “That’s usually where he goes when he’s upset--likes spending time with the kids.”

Your brows furrow, wondering why your big blue warrior finds solace in an environment surrounded by little ones who probably enjoy screaming his ears off whenever they have the chance, though you don’t argue and follow closely behind the bounty hunter. You feel eager to meet the little ones in the tribe and you curiously wonder how many there are and how young or old they must be--do they all wear helmets? Or just some?

As soon as you hear the familiar sound of angry little squeaks in the distance, you immediately perk up and grin as you breakaway from the Mandalorian and rush forward to turn a sharp corner. Instantly, you hear the sound of rocks clanking against stone walls and you let out a loud giggle when you spot a tiny, crimson-eyed creature yipping furiously at you.

“Oh, my little one!” You exclaim with a soft little cry, scooping her up into your awaiting arms the moment she makes her way to you in an awkward hobble, her front leg still trapped between the splint you dutifully gave her two nights ago, “Oh, I am so sorry for what I did to you! I did not want to throw you like that, I swear it. It was all the bounty hunter’s fault.”

She's a wriggly little thing as she alternates between nuzzling her wet snout against your cheek and letting out with excited little squeaks and you laugh at her eagerness to see you again. Somewhere behind you, the bounty hunter sighs and you are quick to soothe the vulptex when she peers over your shoulder to give him the fiercest growl she can muster, though it’s more of a high-pitched whine. A content sigh leaves you as you pet her white, rocky head tenderly, admiring the way the dim lighting seems to reflect off of her opalescent coat; your hands seem to calm her and you watch as she turns her head to slowly blink up at you with contentment.

Din shakes his head as he continues to guide you through the covert, watching you as you comfort and soothe your little companion to the point where she’s nearly falling asleep, her head lightly bobbing as she tries to battle her exhaustion. Eventually, she gives up and rests her little head against your stomach as the bounty hunter takes you through a small entrance and into an alcove that is far warmer than the rest of the enclave.

“This whole mess for just a little runt.”

You furrow your brows, though it’s not anger and spite you feel towards his heartless words, but rather confusion and curiosity.

“What if it was a youngling you had been sent to kill or retrieve rather than a vulptex?”

“It’s not the same,” He answers without hesitation, turning his head to stare straight ahead.

“In a way, it kind of is though,” You stubbornly argue with him, your frown deepening as you tilt your head to the side and try to get a better sense of this man’s enigmatic mind, “Is she not an innocent, breathing creature that feels fear and pain? Sure, she may not be able to speak, but that shouldn’t lessen her worth. So tell me, bounty hunter, what if one of your quarries was a child--perhaps one too young to speak their fears aloud? Would the reward on their head matter more than your ability to not let it haunt you when you can’t sleep at night?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments and you feel your heart drop as you gaze down at your sleeping vulptex, pondering how anyone could possibly harm a child, let alone deliver them to their death. Suddenly, you wonder if you had made a mistake in not letting Paz take the bounty hunter’s helmet off, thinking him to not be honorable in the slightest.

“I would not hurt a child.”

“That was not the question I asked you,” You scoff at him, feeling your heart thrum angrily in your chest, “And your hesitation told me all I need to know about you. I am glad I did not accept your apology.”

He doesn’t say anything, choosing to remain silent as he glances down at your slumbering vulptex with a slight tilt to his shiny helmet; you pray to the Maker that you’ve hurt his pride today, what with having to stop Paz from making him lose everything.

You wonder how he feels now that the outsider he had so vehemently denied having in the tribe was the one that had saved his place in the covert.

The rest of your journey is spent in a tense silence.

You perk up a little upon hearing loud giggles and little voices as the two of you approach a concealed entrance, though it is suddenly replaced with silence as you step inside the warmer alcove. Instantly, you are face to face with at least a dozen--probably more--little ones who are all staring up at you, most likely not used to seeing an adult without a helmet on their head, though some of them wear helmets themselves. You’re so focused and caught off guard by how many younglings reside in the covert that you’re not even aware of Paz emerging from another room that’s attached to the nursery, or the way the bounty hunter makes haste to leave before being spotted.

“Saviin’ika?” He sounds surprised as he utters the name that everyone at the covert seems to know you by, and your eyes widen when all the younglings instantly crowd around you, their little faces stretched with happy smiles as though you are no stranger to them. Some of them are showing you their little toys and stuffed animals, while others are babbling excited, incoherent words and...

Maker, what have you gotten yourself into?

You thought the bounty hunter was exaggerating when he spoke of how much Paz talks about you to the little ones, but as numerous grubby little hands reach up for you, you realize just how honest he was being.

You realize why Paz comes here to seek out comfort though, and you smile fondly when a little boy--no older than five--hugs your knee tightly and stares up at you with wonder and sadness shimmering brightly in his eyes. Some of them are more focused on the vulptex cub who had been startled awake amidst all the adorable chaos, but most of them throw random questions and comments at you faster than what you imagine a ship’s hyperspeed to be and you suddenly feel a little overwhelmed.

Paz must sense it because he steps in immediately and somehow manages to shoo away all the reluctant little ones, though the little boy remains attached to your leg and you can’t stop yourself from reaching down to gently stroke the back of his head in a comforting manner. The gesture earns you a shy smile from him, his wide eyes glimmering up at you and you think something must have previously caused him some sort of despair, what with the dried tear tracks on his flushed cheeks, so you find yourself crouching down to make him feel less small. After placing your disgruntled vulptex on the floor, who immediately finds enjoyment in the presence of one of the excited younglings, you hold a hand out for the little one to take and he instantly latches onto it with both of his.

Even though you’re still upset and hurt from Paz’s words and you’re certain he must still be irritated with you, the two of you don’t acknowledge it out of respect for the little one’s already intense emotions.

“Why are you so sad, little one?”

He simply stares at you and your chest aches when he doesn’t say anything, though Paz steps in once again and crouches down next to the two of you, carefully cupping the back of his head, “He is the tribe’s newest foundling.”

It takes you a second to understand, but when you do, Maker, it breaks your heart to think of a child so young and fragile losing everyone he loves and your eyes instantly burn with tears, though you force yourself not to let them fall.

“Well, everything is going to be okay--you want to know why?” You keep your voice steady for the little one who must feel so afraid and alone, but you give his hand a reassuring squeeze when he eagerly nods, “You are surrounded by the bravest, strongest warriors in the entire galaxy and they won’t let anything happen to you, because you are loved by them.”

Immediately, the boy launches himself towards you and wraps his tiny arms around your neck, and when you look up at Paz, his visor staring intently at your sad eyes, you finally let a tear fall for the little boy and all the other ones that are here because they weren’t born into the tribe; instantly, he wipes it away, most likely not wanting the little boy to see it and upset him even more. Gently, you comfort the boy until he pulls away and gives you a shy little smile and a nod when you ask him if he feels a little better, carefully wiping the fresh tears from his cheeks and the mucus from his nose with the sleeve of your sweater.

In the tiniest little voice, he speaks and you didn’t think it was possible for your chest to ache any worse, but his sad tone completely shatters you; you’re too focused on the boy that you don’t even notice the way Paz jolts upon hearing the distraught child speak.

“I miss my family.”

And you hate that you think of a ten year old you, just as heartbroken and lost in the world, so you fully sink to your knees and hold his tiny hands a little more firmly, wishing you had something more to give him than just your words.

“I know it hurts,” You murmur in a soothing voice, brushing his curls away from his forehead as he hiccups and you let him hug you again, your hand immediately coming up to cup the back of his head, “I lost the ones I considered to be family when I was around your age too, and I know all too well of what you are feeling right now. I promise the sadness won’t always hurt you this badly and you have so many strong people here that are going to help you feel better and take care of you, okay?”

Then you think of Paz’s words from the other night when he had found you in such despair and in a deep state of despair

“You are not alone or unloved.”

He pulls away and nods, and thinking the distraught child could use all the comfort in the galaxy you press a tender kiss to the top of his curls for good measure, immediately earning you a slightly bigger smile as he continues to fiercely rub his eyes and wipe his runny nose. Eventually, he reluctantly wanders away and you watch as he timidly sits in the corner, next to another shy girl that offers him a kind smile; warmth blooms deeply in your heart when he smiles back at her.

“Cyare, we should talk about what happened--the things I said to you and what I did.”

You look up, realizing that Paz is now standing tall above you and holding a hand out to help you up; reminding yourself why you had wanted to see him in the first place, you grab his hand and let him easily tug you to your feet. You let go of him as he cocks his helmet in the direction of the entrance, gesturing for you to follow him and as he silently walks you to a part of the covert you haven’t explored, your fears get the better of you as you think of all the happy moments you’re probably going to lose before really experiencing them.

“Am I going to have to leave the covert?”

He freezes instantly, turning to face you and he’s deathly silent for a few tense moments as he collects his thoughts, “W-What?”

“I disrespected you in front of your family when I yelled at you,” You remind him, confusion swirling around in your mind, though you still don’t think you regret what you said to him, “Do you not… want me here anymore? I understand if that is the case, but if you expect me to apologize, I am not sorry for what I did and said to you.”

His shoulders drop as he watches you nervously tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, trying your hardest to stand your ground, and your heart freezes over in your chest as he almost immediately drops to a knee right in front of you. His breathing pattern looks frantic, what with the way his cuirass is rising and falling so rapidly and he’s mumbling something to himself in his native tongue, but it’s too low to make out any of the syllables or the tone he speaks in.

Immediately, your anger and fears give way to worry as you realize you did not witness the whole fight and there’s a chance he could be injured, “Paz, are you hurt?!”

“Ni ceta, sweet nurse,” He traps one of your hands between both of his and peers up at your worried gaze, “I am not injured, but I am sorry for the way I yelled at you. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I--Maker, why do I keep fucking everything up and letting you get hurt? This isn’t… I’m not supposed to hurt you and make you cry and I--”

He sounds so frustrated with himself and you intervene when you realize how erratically he’s breathing, “Hey, just breathe a little slower, okay? Let’s just talk this out.”

“I’m sorry,” He listens to your advice and his incoherent ramblings give way to something clearer, “You didn’t deserve any of that and I understand that me being blinded by rage is no excuse for speaking like that to you in front of everyone.”

You blink owlishly at him, realizing this is the second time today you’ve had a Mandalorian apologize to you and you want to forgive him, but your brain is screaming at you to tell him how you really feel. Even though you have no problem baring your emotions to him, for some reason you find it more difficult to actually elaborate on how you’re feeling and you think it must be from being alone for so long.

If you truly want this to work out between you and him, you realize you have to work on speaking your thoughts, rather than letting them build up in your head.

“I didn’t like the way you yelled at me,” You inform him in a shaky whisper, ignoring your fears as you crouch down in front of him so you can be eye-level with his shiny visor, though you continue to keep your hand in his, “And I did not like the way it made me feel when you told me I was too soft for my own good because I already know this. I experienced it everyday of my life--people making fun of me or targeting me because they know I am not a warrior like you. I never listened to them though, because my mother would always tell me that there is immense strength in being soft and selfless and I must believe that, even if you and the others in the tribe don’t.”

“I don’t… I don’t know why I said that to you--why I said any of that to you. I didn’t mean it and I would never want you to change yourself for anyone, especially me. I love you for your soft, compassionate heart, cyare,” He pleads in a pained tone and you can tell he’s being sincere, so you nod for him to continue with his explanation.

“I was so mad--so fucking pissed off--when he told me how much he traded your life away for,” He shakes his helmet, perhaps in a weak attempt to shake away his anger and sadness, “I knew the only reason he took the job was because he thought you’d be a quick and easy target and that you wouldn’t even try to fight back against him or the Trandoshan. I wanted to hurt him in the worst way possible and when you stopped me… I was not thinking properly--I wasn’t thinking at all. I still hate him, but you were just trying to be rational and didn’t deserve any of what I said.”

Your lip trembles a little and he frantically shakes his helmet when you drop your head to gaze down at the leather fingers are desperately clutching yours, “You’ve never raised your voice at me like that. It... it caught me off guard and it made me angry that you wouldn’t really listen to me and--”

You feel yourself choke on your words, tears burning hot in your eyes and you absolutely loathe that he’s able to soak in every one of your emotions when you barely have the ability to understand what he’s feeling. One of his hands moves up to your forearm and you watch as he gently rubs the crook of your elbow with his thumb; you know it’s a feeble attempt to comfort you and it barely does anything as you try to process your conflicted emotions.

“Would you really strip someone of everyone and everything they love that easily?” You inquire desperately, your lips trembling as you stare at the chin of his visor and you hate that your voice cracks so horribly as you speak, “You almost took his helmet off, Paz.”

“I am sorry for the pain I caused you, cyare, but he almost took the only one I--” You tilt your head a little when you think you hear his filtered voice growing more crackly than usual and you shake your head when he grows quiet and more withdrawn.

You cannot let people continue to walk all over you and though you understand that is not Paz’s intention, you can tell he’s not expressing his emotions like you’ve been trying to and you find yourself sinking to your knees completely, staring up at him with an expression of sadness and curiosity.

“I am trying my hardest to tell you how much you hurt me, okay? You don’t get to hide your heart from me when I am giving you everything I am feeling for the first time in such a long, long amount of time,” You swallow the lump in your throat, nostrils flaring as you heave in a deep sigh and muster up as much courage as possible to continue this conversation without breaking, “What is going on in your head, Paz?”

He lowers his helmet until his forehead is just inches away from his thigh and you carefully grab the hollows of his blue cheeks, realizing there’s something he’s not telling you and he lets out a little groan, as though he thought he could get his way out of this.

“I... I have never loved anyone the way I love you, ner cyare,” he confesses in a quiet voice, “And my own brother tried to take you away from me--trade you in like you weren’t the most precious thing in my life. I do not know how to process my emotions right now. I am angry and hurt and sad that one of my own could do this to you.”

“Hey, I am here and I am alive,” Your remind him, urging his helmet up a little so he can look at you, “He didn’t know who I was, okay? He made a foolish mistake and yes, it did almost cost me my life, but I am here with you. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“I... yes,” He breathes, giving your hand a firm squeeze, “I know that words mean nothing to you, but I promise I will never embarrass you like that in front of the tribe ever again.

“I…” You remind yourself that you need to speak your concerns and fears out loud for him to understand how you’re feeling and breathe out a deep sigh, “I thought that perhaps you were embarrassed that I was speaking to you like that in front of your people, that was why I thought you were going to make me leave. I thought I had made you mad.”

“No, cyare, I could never--” He heaves a deep breath and you hear the defeat in his filtered baritone as he struggles to reassure you that he didn’t mean to hurt you, “I want you here with me for as long as you wish to stay, but I need you to know that I could never be ashamed of you, okay? If I wasn’t such a fucking idiot, I would have gotten down on my knees in front of the entire tribe and apologized to you as soon as I raised my voice at you.”

You raise your brows in surprise at his words, though you’re not sure why you’re shocked when he’s been respectful towards you from the moment he offered to walk you home and give you his blade. Briefly, a part of you wonders what your life would be like right now had he not felt the need to walk you home that night, though you think it best to not ponder such terrifying thoughts.

“I’m sure the others would have loved to see their heavy-infantry warrior on his knees asking for forgiveness.”

“They already gave me a hard time about me being an asshole as soon as you were gone,” He admits with a small groan, though the image of him being hounded by his tribe makes you smile a little, “I normally don’t let them, but I felt like I deserved it in that moment.”

You sigh, squeezing his hand so tightly that you fear you’ll break one of his fingers, though you think he must be unbreakable, “Everybody makes mistakes, that’s how we learn and grow.”

“Then I will learn from the mistake I have made today,” He drops his helmet in what you think is shame, though you remove your hand from between his to place it on the blue hollow of his cheek and you smile sadly when he looks at you, “I wish you could see my face so you know how sorry I am for hurting your feelings and making you feel lesser of yourself.”

“You wishing that I could see your face is enough proof of your sincerity, Paz,” You bring your other hand to cradle his scuffed up helmet, though you wish you could feel the warmth of his scruffy cheeks again, “I forgive you, but if you ever leave me alone in your bed to go try to kill one of your own again, I think I would throw you in the forge myself and not show you any mercy.”

“That’s my saviin’ika,” He huffs out a small, relieved chuckle as you slowly stand up and offer him a helping hand up, smiling when you hear him grunt as his knees crack a little as he stands to his full height, “I think Ima would not mind helping you with that; you may forgive me, but the kid can really hold a grudge.”

Though you’ve spent such a small amount of time with the tenacious teenager, you don’t doubt that she can be just as stubborn and fierce as any of the adults. You grow quiet and curious when Paz begins to tug you in the direction he had initially been leading you towards before you voiced your concerns. A soft sigh leaves you as you think of how you haven’t been awake for probably more than two hours, and you’ve already had a long, strange day, though not necessarily terrible now that you and Paz have made up and you won't have to leave.

“Your mother was wise when she said that being kind and soft makes you no less stronger than a warrior,” Paz abruptly speaks, gazing down at your surprised expression as he wraps his massive arm around your waist, all while continuing to guide you down the corridor, “I know what kind of reputation I have and even though I do not wish to harm people who don’t deserve it, I know people jump to conclusions and think the worst of me--of Mandalorians in general. Then there’s you, cyare.”

Your eyes widen as you stare up at him, waiting patiently for him to explain with a frantic heart that threatens to leap out of your chest.

“People see you and they immediately trust you because you look so sweet and kind,” Paz sighs, a dreamy noise that causes his modulator to crackle a little bit, “That little boy from earlier has been here for two weeks and hasn’t spoken a word or stopped crying, yet you got him to talk after five seconds and you even made him smile. That is true strength, being able to give someone hope and comfort, and I was a fool to say otherwise.”

“You are kind and compassionate too, Paz.”

“Only because you taught me how,” He shakes his helmet as you try to shake off the incredibly sweet words, “And I am still learning because I have not always been a good man and I’ve never felt shame for it until I met you--until I saw your smile and how you care for others so intensely, even though you’ve seen just as much pain and suffering that I have, if not more. I’ve never seen any of it faze you so badly until I found you at the infirmary when you went into shock the last night. I knew one more day spent in that hell would destroy you and I could not live with myself if I left you at the infirmary, all alone.”

Your face feels so intensely hot as you struggle to think of a proper reply--something just as beautiful as what your Mandalorian is currently telling you--though you find it hard to form a coherent response. You think of the quiet bounty hunter and how he had chosen you because you were an easy target to him, but then you think of the way you had clung to your will to survive and how even though taking a life is something that will haunt you forever, it had also led to you having a better life.

You’re here because Paz had deemed you worthy of being part of his family of warriors and because you had fought at the mere chance of a future filled with happy moments with the one you love.

You find it uplifting that though you had been the one to teach him how to be softer, he had given you the confidence to stand up for yourself and be stronger.

Though you don’t have the words to properly express yourself, you smile and murmur a small, ‘thank you, Paz’.

“Always thinking so hard about everything and never talking,” Paz muses, though it sounds like he might be smiling underneath that helmet, “One day I will find out what goes on in that pretty little head, sweetheart.”

“Well, I just figured you do enough talking for the both of us, ori kebiin,” You tease, grinning when you hear a sweet bark of a filtered laugh and you’re grateful that nothing has severely changed between you two after everything that happened with the bounty hunter.

“Remind me to keep you away from Ima so she won’t teach you any other nicknames that the tribe has for me,” Paz lets out a dramatic sigh that instantly amuses you, “Same with all the others. Anyone tries to teach you Mando’a, don’t listen to them, okay?”

“Would it be disrespectful for an outsider to learn the language?”

“No, it’s just--” He makes a funny noise from the back of his throat, something you’ve learned he does when you say something that makes him feel flustered, “Some of the guys are just… playful, and I would not put it past them to teach you something you would not normally intend to say.”

You must look confused because he immediately lets out with another groan, almost sounding like he’s struggling as he speaks in a hasty tone, “They would teach you how to say something dirty as a way of messing around with you. They may protect you as their little sister, but it also means they would pick on you like one as well.”

Your cheeks feel so intensely hot at the thought of being pranked in such a way and you’re suddenly very much aware of Paz’s arm around your waist as you two slowly stroll through the enclave, his fingers twitching just a few inches below your cauterized wound. Then you think of the way he had held you on top of him the previous night, all while letting you kiss him and you’re certain that your ears are burning from the inside out at the images that you allow your mind to conjure.

“I think I know how Djarin felt when I was holding his helmet up to the forge, cyare,” Paz drawls in a teasing manner, making you grow weak in the knees as he drops his helmet a little, “I can feel the heat from your cheeks and ears through all this Beskar.”

You give him an annoyed scowl, though it only seems to spur him on even more and you suddenly hate how easy it is for you to grow flustered when he makes these flirty little comments, “Maybe you should listen to what they teach you--I do not think I would mind hearing my language in that pretty mouth of yours.”

You chew viciously on your bottom lip and shake your head as you change the topic, deciding you’ve had enough torment for one day, “Where are you taking me, Paz?”

He simply grunts and you roll your eyes at the fact that your usually mouthy warrior has decided to grow quiet and you simply let him guide you to whatever destination he has in mind. Curiosity gets the better of you when you feel him tense up a little against your side, his spine straightening as he leads you even deeper underground and down another staircase and you’re in absolute awe of the size of the enclave. Even when you stumble a little, he keeps you grounded with his arm around your waist and you are simultaneously grateful for both his diligence to keep you from falling as well as the body heat from the cracks of his armor.

“I know this place is not what you’re used to and even though you are safe, I thought you might miss the sunlight and your pretty flowers, cyare,” Paz begins to ramble as he guides you down the dimly lit tunnel and your curiosity grows hundred fold when you are able to make out the nervous pitch of his filtered voice as he brings you towards a small entrance covered by black drapes, “I just… I thought you might like having a place to yourself because I know how quiet you are and how loud we can be sometimes. I just want you to feel as comfortable as possible.”

He curls his fingers into the heavy drapes and you tilt your head to the side when he pulls them to the side, urging you into the little alcove with a sharp nod of his helmet and you think he must feel nervous for you to see what’s in the room. You bow your head low as you duck into the small room, biting back a small giggle when you hear the loud clatter of a helmet meeting stone, followed by a few curse words that you’re used to hearing from him; his enclave is so big that he must have forgotten that a smaller alcove existed within it.

“It seems like you are the clumsy one now,” You giggle, turning back to face him as he readjusts his helmet a little, “You are not allowed to make fun of me anymore.”

He snorts a little, “That’s not how it works.”

As soon as you turn forward to take in your surroundings, whatever smart comment that nearly rolls off the tip of your tongue diminishes and your huge grin drops into a severe expression of shock.

The room is little, but adorned with several clay pots filled with your usual violets that you typically wear in your hair, as well as flowers from the hot springs he had taken you to months and vibrant flora you’ve never seen on Nevarro.

“Ima helped me with most of it since I kept accidentally killing a bunch of your flowers.”

Immediately, tears fill your eyes when you realize all he’s done for you--collecting flowers and rehoming them in an environment where it is difficult for them to flourish, though there’s plenty of artificial lighting beating down on them, just as you had previously advised. You spot a large cup of water on the long desk that most of the plants reside on and wonder if he had come down here every single day just to water them and your heart feels like it’s about to burst from all the overwhelming emotions you are currently feeling. You step forward upon noticing the wooden cabinets above the desk and open them slowly, smiling warmly upon seeing the numerous glass jars and other tools that one would use to concoct salves and ointments.

“I know some of the flowers are dying and you could do a much better job, but I know how much they mean to you and I didn’t want you to lose this part of--” He stops rambling the second you turn to him with tear-filled eyes.

“You did all of this for me? Just so I would be more comfortable here?”

“I would not want you to be without your flowers, cyare,” His shoulders slump forward a little at the shock in your quiet voice and you watch with warmth in your cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards the long desk that houses all the beautiful flowers, “I know how much you cherish them and what they mean to you--how they remind you of a happier time that you are still far too hurt over to talk to me about. In a way, I suppose they are as precious to you as our helmets are to us.”

You watch as his leather-clad fingers carefully pluck one of those beautiful blue flowers that you had seen at the hot springs and your heart soars the moment he slowly makes his way back to you, all while staring at the beautiful, luminescent petals. Your feet feel glued to the floor as he reaches out to tuck the flower somewhere in your hair and your grin is so large that you feel it hurting your cheeks as he tucks the beautiful blue flower behind the shell of your warm ear.

Feeling the familiar tickle of a tiny stem grazing the shell of your ear, you smile up at him warmly and wish to tell him the words you are not able to conjure into a coherent statement. Instead, you stand up on the tips of your toes to press a sweet kiss into the fabric covering his neck before moving up to the hollow cheek of his helmet. You hear him grunt and groan as his hands carefully cup your waist to keep you close to him and you wonder if he’s imagining how your lips would feel against skin. Suddenly, you’re grateful that he had decided to leave his heavier equipment in his quarters, making it easier to reach up and kiss the thick, warm fabric that covers his shoulders.

“Gar ganar ner kar'ta ratiin, cyare.”

“What does that mean?”

He tilts his helmet downwards when you reluctantly pull away to gaze up at him.

“It is my promise to you.”

You grow warm as you think of what he could possibly be promising to you, though you decide not to ask as you explore all the little dents of his pauldron and helmet with a feathery light touch

“Then I will make the same promise to you as well.”

You’re slightly startled as you watch him manage to rip off his gloves that are tucked underneath his huge gauntlets before he’s cradling your cheeks and gently backing you up against the desk he’s deemed worthy of housing your precious flowers.

“Maker, you are so fucking so beautiful, I really don’t deserve you, do I? Always so kind to me and I--” He grunts and you smile softly upon hearing the adoration laced within his filtered voice as he carefully nudges his helmet against your bare forehead, "I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

"But your--"

"Close your eyes, please, close your eyes--"

Your breath hitches at the desperation in his filtered voice, "You trust me this much?"

He huffs as his thumb tenderly grazes your bottom lip, “I would trust you with a blaster to my chest, cyare.”

“I think your Beskar would hold up just fine.”

He snorts--a distorted sound that his modulator barely picks up--and as soon as your eyes slip shut, he rips his helmet off and has his lips pressed against yours in a kiss that is something more passionate than all the ones you shared the previous night.

You jump a little upon the foreign feeling of his tongue grazing your bottom lip and curiously open your mouth for him to explore, earning a deep groan from him; your heart is beating wildly as he tenderly cups the back of your head to keep you close, his other arm slung across your lower back and you feel part of his helmet barely digging into your waist.

A shiver rips through your body when he pulls away with a small gasp and immediately teases the underside of your jaw with his teeth and wet tongue, his helmet dropping to the floor with a loud clang that you two barely notice as a whimper leaves you at the pleasant sensation his lips bring you.

“Paz,” Your voice leaves your mouth in a way you’ve never heard from yourself, all breathy and more of a little whine as he gives you what you think is the only kind of mark he’d ever leave on your body.

“Everything you do just makes me--” He cuts himself off with a soft sigh as he skims his mouth along your jawline, ultimately ending up at your earlobe and you shudder again when he presses a tender kiss to the hot skin there, “Can’t believe you thought I’d make you leave the covert--you’re an angel, I’m sure of it.”

And you’ve never heard someone call you such a thing--an angel--but as he continues to mumble sweet praises and compliments against the column of your neck, you hear the sincerity in his raw voice and you feel his love deep in your soul. As your hands cup his scruffy jaw to guide him back to your lips, you wonder if there’s some sort of invisible wire that connects two people and their souls together and if you and Paz had somehow been connected as soon as he walked into the infirmary. You think of all the bad luck you’ve had in your life and how you’ve lost the only ones who have ever loved you, leaving you with a cruel father that felt no shame in beating you down countless times.

But then you think of Paz.

You think of the man that had walked you home and had been so determined to show you that not everything on this planet was awful, and now, pressed up against the desk with his lips, teeth, and tongue all teasing at your skin, you grin a little.

You finally feel as though you have found your home within his heart.

The thought of soulmates and fate immediately disappears as he eventually pulls away and gently nudges your forehead with his, instantly making your heart bloom like a wildflower when you think of all the times he’s rested his Beskar helmet against your forehead. A tear trickles down your cheek, though you think it is a happy one as Paz lifts his head to kiss your forehead, letting out a deep sigh that fans across your already warm skin.

You’re surprised when you hear him clear his throat before he speaks, “I am glad you accepted my apology, but I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for raising my voice at you.”

You hear how his voice is thick with emotion and you realize this is something he is not going to let go any time soon; he drops his head against the curve of your neck as you speak, “Then let it serve as a reminder to never do it again, Paz. Like I said, everyone makes mistakes--it’s how we learn and grow--and if it happens again, it will only show me that you have not grown.”

“And what about him--Djarin--did he apologize when you were fixing him up, cyare?” Paz questions against your shoulder, his voice slightly muffled, “Because if he didn’t I can--”

“You Mandalorians,” You huff a small laugh, grinning a little when he squeezes you to him tighter, but making sure to remain mindful of crushing you against his armor, “Always so scornful, even towards your own kind. The bounty hunter did apologize to me and he seemed to genuinely regret what he did.”

“I understand that you do not wish to see him lose his place with the tribe or see him suffer, but I still don’t think he deserves your forgiveness,” Paz sighs again, moving to place tender little kisses against your shoulder and the side of your neck; he chuckles a little when you find yourself slowly tilting your head to the side.

“I accepted his apology but did not forgive him,” You inform Paz quietly, finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes shut for him, though you persist for the sake of his honor, “I could not because it would have made me a dishonest woman.”

You feel him smile against your jaw as he tends to the sensitive skin with plush lips, “And you are not a dishonest woman, ner cyare.”

You grin, remembering how you had spoken out against the bounty hunter earlier when you had been resetting his shoulder and a part of you is tempted to tell the Mandalorian, thinking that he would gain some sort of satisfaction just as you had. You think of the bounty hunter’s story of how Paz had protected him when he’d first come to the covert and your heart melts at the thought of a young blue warrior protecting a small foundling who must have been just as afraid as the little one you comforted earlier.

“No, I am not.”

Before he can say anything, a loud female voice from outside the alcove startles Paz nearly right out of his skin and you raise your brows as he hastily retrieves his helmet and gloves from the ground.

“Ori kebiin di’kut!” Ima’s voice is practically screaming at him and you grin when Paz gives you the okay to open your eyes; something about his exasperated sigh makes you think this isn’t the first time she’s done this to him, “Khai pushed Vhan down the stairs again and could probably use some medical attention. Think you can manage to be away from your riduur for more than five minutes?”

You raise your brows as you follow him out of the alcove, coming face to face with Ima, who you’re certain must be smug as she cocks her helmet at the sight of you. She then reaches out to skim a finger along your jawline and your eyes widen at how tender the skin there feels, your cheeks instantly feeling like a raging wildfire that spreads to your ears; there must be a small mark he left there with his teeth.

“Looks like you two already made up,” Ima snorts, glancing up at Paz who is shaking his helmet at her, and you remember what he had told you about being picked on like a sister, though you think it makes you feel more like part of the tribe, “C’mon saviin’ika, you have a long day ahead of you.”

She grabs your hand and happily urges you to follow her, all while still teasing you.

As you leave a flustered Paz behind, you think Ima is the first person you’ve trusted completely since meeting your warrior and a fond smile stretches along your lips as she nosily asks you if he had gotten on his knee to apologize to you.

You had forgotten what it felt like to have a family, but perhaps with enough time, you can learn again.

Translations:

Vod’ika=Little brother/sister

Di’kut=Idiot, useless individual, waste of space (Lit: someone who forgets to put their pants on)

Mirdir be pehea gar kelir sirbur Ni ceta at kaysh=Think of how you will say sorry to her

Gar ganar ner kar'ta ratiin, cyare=You have my heart always, beloved

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Ner=Mine/My

Cyare=Beloved

Ori Kebiin=Big blue

Riduur=Partner, spouse, husband/wife

A/N: As always, thank you all so much for all the support and sweet words!! It makes me so happy that you guys are enjoying this story as much as I love writing it, because I really do always have such a lovely time writing these two soft lovebirds :) I love you all and adore hearing all your thoughts and ideas because they always inspire me so much!

I love you guys and please have a wonderful day! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)<3

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst @anakinsittinginsand @yes-music-is-my-religion @tangledlove27 @justrunamok @peqchynero @haloangel391 @awhiskeywithwinchester @aliciaxglasgow @bonesaldente @kawaiitimecharm

#paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla x you #Paz vizsla x you #my writing #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #THIS IS A ROLLERCOASTER IM SO SORRY YALL LOL #ALSO TUMBLR BETTER NOT FUCK UP MY TAGS AGAIN

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scorlettimagines · 3 years

Text

Ozone: A Caliban Imagine

Request from Anon: hiya i was just wondering if you could write about ozone and caliban its my fave chase song🥰 please and thank you! love your blog💕

Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x

Want to hear the song? Find a link to it just below:

Ozone

I'm feeling numb off of all of these Xans, yeah

I know it’s dumb that I fucked up your plans I wish I was more of a man

When Sabrina Morningstar kissed him goodbye, Caliban pretended to kiss her back with just as much meaning. When she kissed him goodbye, he pretended that he wasn’t thinking about the girl he could be with now the Queen of Hell would be transported to another world.

That was if Y/N would ever take him back, of course.

He knew she had been at the wedding, watching him saw vows he didn’t really mean, hating him for all the heartbreak he had put her through. He knew that he never could have told her his real plan, the one that involved her and him and a throne. He knew that she would only have tried to stop him, always trying to protect him from the death that came as a result of treason.

He felt numb the day he told Y/N it was over, marking the first step in his plan to glory. It was only as time went on, only as he watched her in court, solemn with hatred in her eyes, that he realised how stupid he had been.

He wished he had the guts to tell her the truth, knowing now that it was far too late for that.

I wish I was more of a man I know you don't understand I neglected you again

Y/N had given Caliban more chances than he had ever deserved, he knew that. He never understood why she loved him, never understood how someone so perfect as her could love someone so broken as him. He was incomplete, and felt even more so without her.

He knew she would never understand his plan, never understand why he had had to marry Sabrina Morningstar to get what he wanted for both of them. And so, he had thought it was easier to lie to her, to tell her that he didn’t love her anymore, to leave her. Alone and feeling just as incomplete as he did.

It wasn’t the first time he had sacrificed her for personal gain, but somehow, she had always taken him back. But he had a feeling that this time Y/N wouldn’t be so forgiving. He had a feeling she was tired of being neglected, of loving someone whom she believed didn’t love her in the same way.

Of course, she was wrong. Caliban loved her more than words could ever say. So why did he find it so hard to choose? Why was it so hard to pick between glory and the girl he loved? Why did he continue to mess up?

Those were the questions she had left him with after the wedding. She said, "Don't forget you owe me one" Ninety-nine cent dreams, maybe you could show me some

“I guess congratulations are in order,” Y/N took a sip of champagne, a bitterness in her tone that made Caliban wince, “Congratulations to the Queen’s new husband.”

“Don’t be like that, Y/N.”

“Like what? I’m merely congratulating you. Well done on finally finding someone you love. Of course, I thought that was me, but as you told me only a few weeks ago, I’m wrong.”

He had wanted to scream at her, to take her by the shoulders and shake her. He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t wrong, that he loved her, adored her, had pictured himself kissing her instead of Sabrina Morningstar. But he didn’t.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” He was quiet, guilt threaded through every word he spoke. And then she turned on him, vicious, terrifyingly beautiful.

“I don’t want you to say anything. I don’t want to ever hear from you again, do you understand? Because every time you open your mouth, I’m the one who ends up getting hurt.” A sob as her voice began to break. “And I can’t do it anymore. So when it all ends up going sour with our lovely Queen, don’t you dare come running back to me. You owe me that, at least.”

She told me she loved me, but I do not deserve your love I put me above you and honestly I think I fucked it up I don't know why

From that day on, Caliban thought of all the things he could have said, all the things that could have made Y/N change her mind. He could have told her the truth, that he was doing all of this for her, for them, for a better life. He could have kissed away her tears before kissing her lips.

But instead he had accepted that he didn’t deserve her love, that he wasn’t good enough for her, that she no longer deserved the hurt that he constantly put her through. He had let her walk away from him, and it was the worst moment of his life.

His marriage to Sabrina Morningstar had never helped to distract him. Y/N was constantly in his thoughts, his mind swimming with ways that he could get her back. He knew his efforts would be pointless, knew that she was certain on leaving him this time.

But a glimmer of hope was a powerful thing, and when he saw that Sabrina Spellman had been able to forgive Nicholas Scratch, he thought maybe Y/N would forgive him. So when Sabrina Morningstar, his wife, kissed him goodbye, he could only think of his next steps.

He could only think of Y/N, the girl he didn’t deserve.

I'm 'bout to ruin the Ozone I know you're sitting alone I made mistakes with these white lines

“She’s really gone then?” Y/N looked over at Caliban, at him standing in her room, in what had been their room. He had found her there, knowing her too well to imagine she would be anywhere else. She was never one for company, always preferring to be alone when he wasn’t around. It was almost a comfort to see that things hadn’t changed.

When she had opened the door to him, she had been prepared to slam it on his face. But there was something about the look in his eyes, the pleading, that had made her stop. And now, here they were, about to talk for the first time since his wedding night, and Caliban felt sick.

“Yes. She’s gone.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not. Get to the point. Why are you here?”

Caliban hated the way she looked at him with such contempt. He knew he deserved it, knew that he had made mistakes, the biggest in his life when he had put his own goals above loving her. He knew that it was very likely she wouldn’t forgive him, but he knew that it was worth a try. Y/N was the love of his life, and he wasn’t prepared to let her go without a fight.

And I'm clouded by all of this smoke I don't think I'll ever get sober, no I don't think I'll ever get sober

When he had finished telling Y/N everything, Caliban let out a sigh of relief. It felt like the clouds had parted, like he was finally seeing everything clearly. He knew that to love Y/N was to trust her, and telling her the truth, letting the weight fall from his shoulders, was the best thing he had ever done.

At least, that was what he felt until she spoke.

“Why are you telling me this?” She was the quiet one this time, a suspicion in her voice that pierced his soul.

“Because I love you.”

“And you’ve only just figured that out? You’ve only just realised that you love me after breaking my heart? Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through, Caliban?”

And there was that look again, that hatred that made him want to fix everything.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, how many times have I heard that?” Y/N put her head in her hands, and Caliban resisted the urge to reach out and comfort her. “You don’t change, do you? But I’m the one who always promises herself that you will. I’m the always the one who gets let down, but I keep coming back because I love you.”

“Y/N. You’re right. I don’t change, but I’m trying. I really am. If this has taught me anything, it’s that I never want to mess up with you ever again. I just want things to go back to the way they were.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him.

“Then give me time.”

Time. He could give her that.

All because he loved her.

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#Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #chilling adventures of sabrina imagine #chilling adventures of sabrina imagines #caos #caos imagine #caos imagines #Caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader #caliban imagines #sam corlett

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