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otteropera · 1 year

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Protector (Jon Snow x Reader)

A/N - This doesn't really take place at any specific time in GOT, I kinda got the idea and went on a writing rampage all in one night lol. Its been almost two years since I've posted a fic on here, and I've found comfort in writing these silly little stories. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Warnings - violence, mentions of blood, attempted kidnapping(?)/adultnapping

Word count - 3.1k

My parents were almost assassinated in their sleep. I was only alive because of the guard who saw the assailant climbing up to my window. My father immediately demanded I go into hiding, and worked hard to find an able-bodied man he trusted to help me get somewhere safely.

The Starks of Winterfell had always been trusted by father, he’d known Eddard and Catelyn longer than I’d been alive. So it wasn't too much of a surprise when I found out who would be taking me to safety, and where I would be going. The journey from Barrowton to Winterfell is about eleven days, if you don't stop for any reason. If you do, then it's closer to fourteen. There are only a few inns and taverns on the way to Winterfell, and I’d only convinced Jon to stop at one of them.

The Riverside Inn was a small establishment in the middle of nowhere. There was a family that owned and ran it, who were very friendly to Jon Snow and I. We'd been on the road for the past few days and I was desperate to sit next to a warm fire and eat homemade stew, rather than biting off pieces of dried jerky and contemplating if my extremities had fallen off due to frostbite. The more we traveled, the farther north we were, and the colder it got. Jon had tied our horses up outside.

"Evenin' you two," the innkeeper smiled at us. The sun had just started settling below the trees. "What can I get ya?" His voice was brash, but welcoming.

"Two rooms and some food." Jon answered. "And whatever you've got that will keep us warm."

He chuckled. "I'll have your room ready right away. And what'll you have? Stew or soup?"

"Stew please," I said.

"Me as well."

He nodded. "You're lucky. It's really good tonight. I made it myself."

We both sat down at a table near the fireplace. It was nice to be sitting inside again. I took off my thick gloves and warmed my hands on the stones, I could have melted right there. I looked up at Jon who sat across from me, but his gaze was making its way around the room, like he was trying to study every inch, making sure it was safe. It was a quaint little inn, with wooden floors and furniture. A staircase led up to a lofted area, with a few doors that I assumed were the different bedrooms. The walls were decorated with tapestries and various antlers. The large hearth dominated the center of the common area. The innkeeper walked over with bowls of stew and some bread. The smell was heavenly, I had to hold back a smile on my face.

"How long has this place been here?" I asked the innkeeper. He put the food down in front of us as Jon fumbled in his pouch for some coins. He gave me a look that said 'Don't be too friendly, we don't know this man.'

"Oh, forever. This is my home," He laughed. "It's been here since before I was born. Me wife and son help run the place." He collected the coins from Jon. Thankfully, my fathers advisor had given us more than enough to get to Winterfell. The Innkeeper headed back to the front of the Inn.

I couldn't imagine it would ever get too busy here, we were in the middle of the woods, only a small dirt road led up to this place. I started digging into my stew, sopping up the bread with the hot liquid. I could eat this meal for the rest of my life. As I was shoveling scoops of stew into my mouth, I felt Jon staring at me. I looked up at him.

"What?" I asked, wiping my mouth.

"Nothing, My Lady," He shook his head. My stomach flipped. Gods, if he wasn't looking at me like that, this whole trip would be much less nerve-wracking.

"There's no need to call me that," I muttered.

He sighed. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I muttered, somehow even quieter.

He glanced at me. "Are you alright?"

I nodded. "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Just checking."

He stared at me for another moment and then turned back to his stew. I ate quietly for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the company of him. I devoured my stew, and finished the last piece of bread. I wiped my bowl clean with a crusty chunk of bread, and placed it on the table.

"That was delicious," I said, looking up at the Innkeeper. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

I noticed Jon looking at me again, trying to suppress a smile, or a laugh.

"What is it?" I asked incredulously.

"I've just never seen a Lady eat like that."

I rolled my eyes. I supposed I was being quite sloppy, but in my defense, we'd barely eaten all day. I was famished.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," I said, standing up, I grabbed my gloves and the pouch of coins Jon had set on the table and walked over to the Innkeeper.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to have any horse feed, would you?" I asked. He turned around, eyebrows raised. "We're riding out tomorrow morning, and our horses are getting hungry."

He smiled. "Of course, I'll be right back." He ran off towards the back of the inn. I heard him rummaging through the shelves. He returned with a sack full of grain.

"Here you go," He handed the sack to me. "Is this enough?"

"It should be," I replied, taking the bag. "Thank you," I handed him coins, which he seemed surprised at.

"No problem," He grinned. "Enjoy the rest of your stay."

I smiled at him softly and headed out the front of the Inn. The snow was starting to layer the ground, it crunched beneath my feet. I heard the same crunching a few paces behind me. It was Jon, not letting me out of his sight. I huffed.

"Do you mind?" I asked, turning around.

"Not at all," He said. "I just don't want you walking alone."

"Why?" I asked, feeling slightly offended.

"I was told to bring you to Winterfell, unharmed. That's what I plan on doing."

I bit my tongue. "You can't protect me from everything, Jon."

"I can try."

I gave up on the back and forth as we approached the horses, holding the bag of grain up to them one at a time. They sniffed curiously at the bag.

"They're pretty well fed," I commented, "I don't think they'll starve."

"I hope not," He chuckled.

The sun had gone down almost entirely, the sky darkening quickly.

"I know it'll be safer for me elsewhere, but I miss my home already," I commented.

"I'm sure you do," his voice was soft. I glanced up at him and saw him looking back gingerly. "But it will be safe there."

"How do you know?" I whispered.

"Because I'm going with you."

Once we finished feeding the horses, we went back inside and flocked to the hearth, but the Innkeeper wasn't anywhere to be seen. We sat by the fire for a while, listening to the crackling flames and talking about nothing important. I found that my eyelids were growing heavier, the warmth from the fire practically lulling me to sleep.

"You should probably get some sleep," Jon insisted.

"You as well. I am tired," I agreed, yawning. I stood up and made my way up the staircase, Jon following me. The rooms were small, but Jon and I each had our own. That was the most important thing.

"Good night, My Lady," he said, trying to suppress a smile. I let out a dry laugh.

"Good night, Jon Snow." I closed the door behind me, finally alone for a moment. I tore off my boots and stripped out of my clothes, leaving only my underclothes, and crawled into bed. I pulled the furs up to my chin and laid there, closing my eyes. I could hear Jon moving around in the room next to mine, the walls so thin. I found it comforting for some reason.

I drifted off to sleep, thinking of home.

***

I'd never been a particularly light sleeper, but this was something different. I'd been a bit on edge during the journey, less so with Jon Snow accompanying me, but still. This was more than I'd ever experienced before. I woke up suddenly, hearing a noise outside the window. I looked over at the wall, seeing nothing unusual. I listened carefully, hearing the sound again. There was definitely something outside the window. I got out of bed and crept over to it, peering out cautiously.

There was a figure standing by the horses. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it appeared to be a man. He was dressed in dark colors, and wore a hooded cloak, making it difficult to see his face, but I could tell he was staring straight at me. I held my breath, hoping he would leave soon.

He did not.

Instead, he began to walk towards the inn. I rushed as quickly as I could out of my room and one door over. I yanked it open.

"Jon-" I started, but the bed was empty. Was this the wrong room? No, I remembered hearing him last night before falling asleep. Before I had more time to think, a bag was thrusted over my head, and I felt a blade at my throat.

"Don't scream," A deep voice said. "Or I'll slit your throat."

I froze, terrified. The knife pressed against my neck was cold and sharp. I couldn't move, my heart racing wildly. His grip, wrapped around my shoulders, started forcing me down the steps. I would have tripped if he hadn't been holding me so tight. I tried to keep my breathing even, but my chest sputtered with every breath.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I was pushed forward through the common room, toward another pair of arms that grasped me. How many of them are there? Hands roughly grasped my wrists, securing them together with an itchy rope.

"Where is he?" One of the men demanded.

"We don't know sir."

"Well, bloody find him!" The man angrily demanded. I could feel his hands on my back, pushing me further along. I stumbled, and the man grabbed my arm tightly.

"Let go of me!" I yelled, struggling to free myself. "What do you want with me?"

"Shut up," The man growled, pulling me closer. "Keep walking."

I could tell we exited the Inn by the sudden drop in temperature and remembered I was still only in my underclothes, suddenly feeling exposed. It must have been snowing still because the cold powdery substance stuck to my feet and sent a chill up my spine. The man shoved me to the ground. I nearly face planted, but rolled onto my back. I wish I hadn't because the man put his foot down on my chest to keep me from getting away. He made it much harder to breathe. The bag over my head forced me to use other senses to interpret my surroundings, but all I heard was the crunching of snow beneath my feet. And then shouts coming from the Inn.

"Stop! Stop right there!" I recognized the voice as the Innkeeper's.

The man released his foot from me, and I rolled over onto my stomach, gasping for air. I tried to push myself up, but the man kicked me in the ribs. Hard.

"Stay down," He commanded.

I struggled to sit up, but the man kicked me again, this time in the stomach. I cried out in pain, collapsing back to the ground.

"I said stay down!" The man screamed.

I heard the commotion of the men battling with the innkeeper, and from the sounds of it, it wasn't going too well. I took advantage of their distraction and scrambled to my feet, bringing my tied hands to my head and ripping off the bag, running as fast as I could. I didn't get very far before I was tackled to the ground, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of me. I felt hands grabbing my arms and legs, pinning me to the ground. My vision blurred, and I couldn't focus.

"No," I gasped, trying desperately to pull away.

The man threw me to the side, and I landed hard on my shoulder. I grunted, wincing in pain.

"You're no good to us dead, girl." The man laughed. "So you better behave yourself." I lay on the ground, unable to move. No more than twenty feet away was the Inn, with the Innkeeper lying lifelessly on the ground. I could hear the sounds of fighting coming from inside. One of the men seemed to notice the commotion as well and headed inside. I tried to stand on my feet with what power I had left, but the man who tackled me to the ground took notice and slapped me across the face. I fell back into the snow. I could hardly breathe. I wanted to cry. I wanted to see my parents one last time.

Jon Snow came barreling out of the Inn. He was covered in blood. I could see the red splatter on his armor, and he looked furious. The man next to me looked terrified.

"Get away from her," Jon roared.

The man hesitated. He seemed unable to decide whether he should stick to his plan or save his life. He turned to run, but Jon caught him. He held him close, slamming his fist into the man's gut. The man doubled over and Jon punched him again, this time in the head. Hard. The man dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Jon stood catching his breath. His head turned to me and his eyes immediately softened. He knelt beside me, pulling apart the rope that tied my hands together.

"Are you okay?" Jon asked quickly, looking at me worriedly.

"I'm alive," I said shakily. He raised his hand and grazed where the man had slapped me. No doubt the skin was red, it felt tender.

"I'm so sorry. I heard them and went out to see what was going on but there were more than I expected and-"

"Jon," I cut off his rambling. His eyes locked with mine. "It's okay. I'm okay." I wrapped my arms around myself. The snow plus my lack of clothing wasn't helping. He immediately noticed this and took off his cloak, wrapping it around me. It was bloodied but I didn't care.

"Come on," He said, helping me to my feet. "We need to get out of here." He wrapped an arm around my waist, but I hissed at the contact. He'd touched where the man had kicked me.

"I'm sorry," he said with sad eyes.

He led me to the Inn door, which was now open. I could see the fight inside was over. I counted six men in total who laid lifeless on the floor. There was blood everywhere. I couldn't believe Jon had taken them all by himself. He helped me sit down next to the fire, which was now only embers.

"I'll grab your things." He swiftly went up the stairs and into the room I had slept in. I was thankful he didn't have me try to climb the stairs. He came back down after less than a minute with the rest of my clothes, my boots, and the small satchel I had brought with me. I started dressing myself back up, and I could tell Jon was unsure about trying to help me or not.

“I-I’ll get the horses ready.” I almost groaned at the thought of riding a horse right now. Jon started making his way towards the door but stopped himself. “Are you alright? … Doing that?” It was almost funny to me, how he just murdered half a dozen folks with no problem but felt embarrassed asking me if I needed help getting dressed.

“Yes,” I replied quietly. He nodded curtly and was out the door. He came back after a minute or two, just as I was finishing lacing up my boots.

“The horse is ready, we should get going before anyone else shows up.” Jon held out his hand for me which I graciously took.

“Horse? As in one?” I asked, feeling a nervous pit in my stomach.

“They um… killed the other ones.” My brows furrowed in confusion. Why would they kill the horses? So we couldn’t escape? Why didn’t they kill me either? They had plenty of chances to.

We walked out the front of the inn for the last time, and I took one last glance at the Innkeeper, who was splayed on the ground, his blood turning the snow red. The horse sighed as we walked over to it. I wondered if it knew that it almost lost its life. Jon got up onto the horse first and I felt my cheeks redden as I further realized our situation. It was a bit awkward trying to get my leg over it, trying to stifle my whimper from the injuries I was aggravating. Did Jon get hurt at all? Did he even have a scratch? If so, he sure was good at hiding it.

Jon reached down and gently grabbed my waist, pulling me close to him. I tried to ignore the way his hands graced my sides. He pulled me tight to his body and I felt the warmth of his chest even through his thick cloak. This saddle definitely wasn't made for two people.

"How are you always so warm?" I asked as he brought his arms around me to grab the reins on the horse. Jon chuckled, his mouth so close to my ear I could feel his warm breath. Goosebumps prickled up my back and down my arms. He whistled and the horse started clopping away from the Inn.

"Maybe you're always cold."

We fell into a comfortable silence, and I felt myself relaxing up against Jon more and more. He didn't seem to mind. This was probably the warmest I'd been while traveling yet. I won't complain.

"Thank you," I whispered, "you saved my life."

"You don't need to thank me, I did what any man would do."

"No, really," I insisted. "You risked your own life for me. You could've run off when you first saw them. You could've left me there."

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you."

#jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow fanfiction #jon snow imagine #got fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #asoif/got

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talesofmetalandmagic · 1 year

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Hathor – Unconditional Love

Hathor is a Poro. All Poros are kind of the same: soft, innocent, loving, affectionate, huggable and joyful. They have a range of emotions and specific differences, but no Poro can be any other way.

Hathor specifically was chosen by Nasus for being a very sociable pet who loves being cuddled and gives off easy affection, because she's meant as a comfort pet for Azir to cuddle up with and feel less alone.

She's low-maintenance, as she doesn't require much to spend time with her master. She enjoys cuddles, a place to snuggle into and snackies. Azir sometimes smears his long birb fingers with spices or sweets – anything but milk or honey – and lets Hathor lick them. It's a pleasant, grounding tickling sensation, and Hathor looks so fulfilled.

Hathor teaches Azir one thing – unconditional love.

Nasus loves Azir too, but he also has expectations for him. Help me save my brother, defeat Xerath, give me peace of mind. Sivir, Taliyah and the other members of his entourage learn to love Azir once he himself changes his behavior and becomes humbler and kinder, but it takes time. Zeina, Ibrahim and Imani loved him a lot, and he loved them, but their love was also conditioned by Azir's state as the Emperor. They were a queen, a prince, and a princess, and that didn't count on nothing. They'd not have stopped loving him if he wasn't Emperor anymore, but things would have been different.

As for the others... his parents? Renekton? Goddamn Xerath?

Hathor loves Azir because he's Azir, and she claimed him.

Azir could be anything, an Aspect to the lowliest of beggars, a warrior or a peasant, even an actual tyrant, and she'd love him anyway.

Because he is just... Azir. And the rest doesn't matter.

. . .

"I'm abdicating tomorrow, Hathor", Azir tells her.

They're back home, back at the Royal palace. All his advisors are there. His followers. His entourage. Even some of Renekton's rogues, which he took in after the fall of their leader. Azir is back in his old room, the one he'd share with his Zeina. The one where his children would snuggle up whenever they had night terrors. The one that belonged to his parents before himself, and his father's parent before that.

The one where it all began.

He claims a magnificent round bed, like a blooming sun, wreathed in delicate lace sheets that feel and look like clouds. This time, he sleeps alone. No lover by his side, because both romance and lust – like many joyful things – are of the past. Hathor is his only company, and she cuddles up to Azir's chest to receive pets and lick his fingers in their known ritual. Azir dips his hand in a nearby cup of orange juice and brings it to Hathor's tongue. She licks it until the tip.

"From tomorrow onward, I'll no longer be Emperor Azir. I'll just be... Azir."

Walk back from your folly, child of shame, his father's ghost hisses in his ear. The world itself will be the rod that canes you, and every blow will be deserved.

That old geezer has a script as old as himself. But it's always as effective.

"And you'll just be Hathor, the Poro. They'll love us, and thank us. Maybe they'll let me sit by their side, and claim a slice of my old power. If my advice has any meaning left."

Hathor brushes her face onto Azir's chest and licks it once again. She's so tender he almost doesn't understand.

"Or, if need be... I'll pack my bag, pull up my cloak, and walk off into banishment. Nasus swears he'll come with me, but we both know he's needed here. But you'd follow me, wouldn't you? I'd find ways to feed you"

He pets the Poro's fur and pulls up the covers, because he feels colder yet.

"I'm scared, Hathor. I'm terrified. I know what has to be done, but I've never not been royalty.

Except when Xerath took him, and humiliated him. Are you the Emperor, Azir? No, I'm not. I'm not. I'm not.

I won't be.

"I know it's the right thing. That doesn't make it hurt less." He sighs, rubbing his face with his palm. Hathor just snuggles closer, searching for bird warmth. "I will lose everything. They will remember me this way. Azir the Abdicator."

"But you don't mind, do you?"

After his return to his old chambers, Azir had found the remains of a doll that used to belong to Imani. Iris was her name, and despite the ages – she's lost an arm, most of her woolen dreadlocks, and her dress is tattered – she's still soft enough. He washed it himself and gave it to Hathor, who cherishes it as if she was new. She'd have loved you. I miss you so much, little princess. If only you knew what your father has endured...

"I wish the world was more like you, and less like..."

Xerath. My father.

Me.

Azir kisses the Poros' fur, wraps himself and Hathor in the sheets and keeps petting her as sleeps overtakes him. Tomorrow will be a grand day, for better or worse. But whatever happens, someone will be there.

#lol #league of legends #azir #omah azir #emperor azir #Hathor the poro #azir’s new groove #your emperor has learned of poros

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roguelibrarian · 1 year

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First sentences game!

tagged by @altschmerzes (thanks bro!!!)

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

I've decided to steal altschmerzes' idea and only use WIPs that I haven't posted because I think that's more fun. Also keep in mind, these are all unpublished WIPs, so almost none of what you're about to see has been edited.

As for tagging...hoo boy, do I even know 10 fic writers anymore who Gav didn't also tag? I'm not sure I do, so if you see this and want to participate, you can go ahead and say I tagged you.

Putting the rest of this under a cut so it doesn't eat up anyone's entire dash.

1. untitled Kept from the Light sequel/finale

Obi-Wan drained the last dregs of caf from his cup before setting it down with a heavy sigh. Weariness tugging at his eyelids, he poured himself another cup and drained nearly half of it in one gulp. Sleep hadn’t come back easily after he’d woken in a cold sweat from a dream about Anakin. About the massacre. It was a string of images and memories. Caleb Dume’s terrified face as he told the Council what he’d seen. Anakin’s eyes, wild with anger, as he fought to the bitter end against the Jedi tasked with bringing him in. The twelve bodies laid out, awaiting their funerals. Six of them impossibly small. Caf wasn’t going to fix this.

2. untitled main fic in my Across the Stars series, also known as the Starkiller Leia AU

Starkiller was bored. In theory, she was above things like boredom. In theory, she spent every waking moment training, preparing for her next mission. In theory. In practice, she was kriffing bored.

3. Duel of the Dads, my "crack treated seriously" fic in which Kanan and Ezra need to team up with both Maul and Hondo and it's about as stressful as you would expect

Warmth and softness surrounded him on all sides, a cocoon of safety and love. It felt like…home. Smelled like it, too, now that he thought about it. And the soft hum floating to his ears sounded almost like his parents’ voices when they were too far away for him to hear exactly what they were saying. Ezra opened his eyes, blinking in confusion as he took in his surroundings. He was home. This was his parents’ house, his childhood bedroom, looking exactly as it had the last morning he woke up here. Before everything fell apart. Slowly, he stood, his throat tightening as he got a better look at the room. Deep down, he knew this shouldn’t be possible, but for a moment, he let himself not care. He’d thought he would never see this place again, and he was going to let himself bask in it as long as he could. No sooner had the thought entered his mind when something shifted. The air suddenly felt colder, and the drone of his parents’ voices vanished. There was something wrong; some sticky, clinging feeling that crawled up his spine and burrowed its way into his bones.

4. the untitled deep cover agent AU, also known as extreme gaslighting: amnesia edition

A-wing interceptors had long since become synonymous with the Rebellion. Each and every one of them may as well have had the Starbird painted on their hulls. Those who piloted them were feared, admired, avoided, or shot down on sight depending on the planet. And so, as the small ship dropped out of hyperspace above Coruscant’s atmosphere, Ezra knew it wouldn’t be long before Imperial forces moved to intercept him.

5. untitled Emperor Maul AU fic

(so you know how in my "Maul finds Ezra first" AUs, Maul is raising Ezra with this idea that one day they'll defeat Palpatine? yeah, this is the AU where they actually manage to do that, leading to Maul accidentally-on-purpose ruling the galaxy.)

Ezra’s heart pounded in his throat as the lift descended. He clung to his lightsaber so tightly that his fingers ached. Even though his Master stood right beside him, he was alone, as if the rest of the galaxy outside his own head had just dropped away. Control your fear. The voice in Ezra’s head was somewhere between his own and his master’s. Ezra gripped his weapon even tighter, letting his anger well up within him and drown out the fear. He was more than ready for this. This was the purpose he’d been raised for. Sidious had tortured his Master, used him, and then thrown him away. And today, he would finally pay for it.

6. untitled Sith Sabine AU, in which Maul stays in power on Mandalore and Sabine is both Force sensitive and Maul's apprentice

Sabine’s eyes snapped open at the barely audible sound of a vent sliding open. She stayed still, her muscles relaxed, feigning sleep. Quiet metallic steps crawled down the wall, the pattern indicating at least six legs. All at once, the clanking of metal against stone stopped. Still Sabine didn’t move, keeping her breath steady and even as she waited. Any second now… There was a soft scraping noise and Sabine could sense the droid hurtling through the air toward her.

7. yet another untitled fic that I've been referring to as the Malachor AU

(this one I started writing/planning at the same time as Lost and Found. it's another AU where Maul kidnapped Ezra as a small child, but in this one Ezra and Kanan meet on Malachor)

Ezra had never felt so small in his life. Here on Malachor, surrounded on all sides by the Force, the Temple towering above him, he was a meaningless speck in thousands of years of history and power. He wasn’t afraid. Intimidated, maybe, but not afraid. The knowledge that was hidden within the Temple was his birthright. And this time, he would finally claim it.

8. another "Order 66 didn't happen" AU, in which Ezra is kidnapped by Maul as a kid, but in this one Maul doesn't kill his parents, and angst ensues

The dream had mostly faded already by the time Ezra figured out how to move. He drew his knees up to his chest as he huddled in the corner, his stomach doing backflips. What little he did remember made him feel like hundreds of tiny bugs were crawling across his skin. Shadows surrounding him. Barely being able to breathe. Struggling against something that wouldn’t let go. He stiffened, all thoughts of the dream vanishing from his mind, at the sound of footsteps in the corridor. He shrank back into the corner as the door slid open to reveal his Master. Ezra lowered his gaze, blinking rapidly. Even the dim light in the corridor was nearly blinding in the complete darkness of his cell.

9. an upcoming "In the Shadows" fic, in which Kanan and Ezra finally escape the Inquisitors...by getting themselves captured by the Rebellion

He and Kanan were the only ones in the room, so Ezra let himself slouch as he leaned against the wall. The other Inquisitors expected more decorum from him, but Kanan still let him get away with it. Not that Ezra had much capacity to care right now. After spending all day reaching into the minds of stormtroopers and officers, Ezra’s own head was filling with pressure and static. Something was grating against the inside of his skin, which felt like it had been stuck onto his body all wrong.

10. the next (again, untitled) "In the Blood" fic, in which Ezra stares at that holo of himself and his parents for too long and has a small nervous breakdown

Ezra had been staring at the image so long that his eyes were starting to ache, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. In the holo, he and his parents all looked so happy. So normal. His father had no idea that the little boy in front of him wasn’t his. That he was a monster born out of darkness.

also, I know it said 10, but I'm gonna add on an 11th one as a bonus. this is from a fic that I don't know if I'll ever post because I've been considering reworking it as original fiction but I've been kicking this idea around for like, years and I low-key really want to share it

11. untitled modern AU in which Maul is a serial killer and also Ezra's dad via kidnapping, because I am a parody of myself but I'm leaning into it now

“The body found in the Cowen Forest Preserve has now been identified as nineteen-year-old Hannah Walsh. Police are attributing this death to the serial killer known as the Mauler, making this the killer’s twenty-seventh known victim. The public is advised to –” Ezra slammed the button to shut off the radio. Up until now, it had been doing its job as background noise, keeping him from getting distracted by his own thoughts. But the news about the body found a few days ago had driven him right back to the things he wanted to avoid.

#boy this sure took a while didn't it???#thanks for the tag gav this was super fun #and seriously i mean it if you want to be tagged then consider yourself tagged #rogue writes

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staygolddindjarin · 3 years

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Grief

Chapter two: Rebellion

Din Djarin x Reader x Cassian Andor

Series Summary: Raised on Mandalore, born into a bloodline of warriors, no one ever expected for the daughter of a Clan leader to go rogue. Leaving the life of security and making the journey to fight in the war against the empire meant many things... giving up the way of the Mandalore, and giving up a solid future. A future that involves an arranged marriage to a foundling from another clan.

Chapter warnings: some brief angst, this ones pretty mellow ngl

Words: 3.3k

A/n: i was not expecting such a good response from the first chapter but bruh you guys are amazing- anyway here's part two of my brain's misery

Part 2/?

The trip from Mandalore to the planet of Dantooine was long, and still ongoing. We all took turns, watching to see if we were any closer. After each jump from hyperspace, the transport would stop at a space refueling tank, before slowly going onward toward the destination. We must have been traveling several systems across the galaxy. We had a few laughs, mainly while watching Gander try and steal Shyloh's food from his knapsack while he was sleeping. Most of the other time we all just sat in silence, up until this point.

"What do you think we're all going to do once we get to the rebel base?" Merc raised his voice slightly, barely capturing our attentions as we had all been dozing off, and Shyloh was taking watch at the view point.

"What do you mean?" I had asked, not quite sure of what he was getting at. I sat up straighter against the wall, showing my interest in the newfound conversation.

"What branch do you think you'll end up in?" He was in a daze as he spoke, almost unsure of his intentions of bringing it up. His dark eyes were nearly emotionless under his furrowed brow.

"I hadn't really thought about it. I would say maybe something like mechanics," I said, thinking of the best possible use of my talents. I'm sure there's plenty of mechanical help already assisting the rebels, but with the galactic empire growing it's forces by the day, they needed all the help they could get.

"What about flying?" Shyloh perked up from his seat at the window.

"What about it?" I asked, curious as to why he suddenly thought of the new topic.

"You could do it of you wanted to. Be a pilot, I mean. You have the skills," He told me, but I scoffed. He wasn't in any way shape or form was making an ounce of sense at all.

"Speeder control races are a bit different from piloting fighters against the imperial troops don't you think?" I laughed at the idea, but he rolled his eyes, persistent with his opinion.

"It's less different than you think it is. Also mind you, I never saw you lose a race," He objected, but I wasn't having any of it.

"That's because when I raced, my own credits were on the line," I joked, seeing what he would try and come up with next, only to be met with a cold hard stare, before an answer that would shake me to my core.

"Well, now the freedom of the galaxy is on the line."

My smile dropped from my face and I turned to face the other two, who were looking back at me. They didn't expect that answer either. Shyloh was well known to be a boy of few words, and only really spoke to his friends and family. He was a founding just like the rest of them, but he had been with ths clan longer, due to having been saved from a war infested home as a baby.

He could sometimes be very wise, even if he didn't think he was being so. We weren't sure what it was, but he had this sort of presense that was so powerful. We knew when he would walk in a room, or walk out of it. It's like the air would change. Much like it changed now, with his words rendering us all speechless.

The silence was uncomfortable, and I was the one who left it unresloved, so I spoke up in favor of my crewmates to not keep quiet any longer.

"Perhaps I shall see where I am needed first."

"Perhaps you shouldn't be so afraid to explore an option you would excel in," He again rendered me speechless, and I did not have anything else to say this time. I was young, but my mind was not. I could comprehend thoughts the same way that an adult could. I could handle things just as well and if not better than some, too. He was right. I was simply afraid.

"I think we're finally here," Shyloh said, turning back to look out of the view port again.

"Its about time," Gander stood up, slinging his knapsack over his shoulder and standing at the transport door waiting for it to slide up.

We all followed suit, but Shyloh stopped us and held up a warning finger to stay still.

"There's manding droids, we gotta sneak off carefully. They don't look like bulk but they could be armed," He suggested. We were not yet at the rebel base, meaning these were probably droids of the land, and belonged to whoever oversees the exports on this planet.

When the panel opened, we were all careful to first peek out of the transport. This planet was nothing at all like Mandalore, which was dry and hot. This planet was lush with plants. And the air was slightly humid. It was a very welcome contrast from where I spent most of my life.

We all sneakily bolted out of the transport, ducking down behind one of the cargo units placed outside. We saw an opening in what looked like some sort of forrest patch.

There was a chill in the air on this planet, even in the middle of the day. Mandalore only ever got colder at night, when the sun was down and the moons were shining.

"That was close." Merc mumbled as we began to turn around and head into the grasslands, trying to find the rebel base.

We made sure no one was behind us, and were careful to check if any droids had caught sight of us.

We all went to turn around, but as soon as I did, I collided with someone's chest, rather hard might I add, sending me to the ground on my bottom. I didn't even collide that hard with the person, it was just the shock that sent me backwards.

"Need a hand?" I looked up to see a man, a sly smirk on his face as he held his hand out towards me. I took it without question, heaving myself up from the grassy, and somewhat muddy ground beneath me.

"You must be our contact," Merc smiled, and the man nodded, turning and begining to lead us to a speader that was hovering nearby behind a large set of trees.

"We must be careful not to use names outside of the base. I would be more than happy to formally introduce myself once we reach our final destination," He chuckled. It was only now that I realized he had an accent, a thick one. Probably left over from his native tongue that spilled out his mouth when he spoke galactic basic.

I know that sometimes my accent slips in when i speak. I never had to worry about using Mando'a around my fellow crewmates. They were foundlings, and hadn't been raised to speak it. Shyloh was, but he prefered to use galactic basic anyways because he had forgotten so much of it.

We all boarded the speader, Gander and I sitting on the back, our legs hanging off as we held onto the side bars.

"This might be a bumpy ride for you two," The man said, looking at both of us before giving me a wink. I scrunched my face up, not sure how else to react to it. The man was definitely on the younger side, but I wasn't sure how he could possibly see an interest in me.

Maybe he did and I just didn't want him to. Maybe I was still hinged to the idea that I would go back to Mandalore someday and marry my betrothed. I was so young, and hadn't the slightest idea of what feelings I could possibly be harboring, if any at all.

I couldn't deny I found him appealing. Anyone would, at least any human with eyes that is.

His hair was dark, and so were his eyes. He had a bit of stubble along his jaw and above his lip. He was somewhat scruffy looking, but in a good way.

As the speeder went through the forresty stretch of pathway, I kept turning around to catch a glimpse of him. Each time I did I had to look away fast because Gander would give me weird stares.

I would play it off like I was simply taking in the view of the green planet around me, and he wouldn't seem to notice.

After a while, with quite a few twists and turns, and Gander and I nearly falling off the speeder twice, we arrived to our destination.

We all hopped out of the transport, following the man into a giant cargo port. As soon as I looked to my left I could see an X-wing fighter in all it's glory. I had never seen a real one before, just heard stories and viewed holograms.

"Alright. We have about twelve other recruits arriving on this base today, so you will all be attending orientation this evening. As for right now, you look beat, and should rest. PX-74 will assign you to your bunks," He said, gesturing to the droid before beginning to walk away with a nod, but I stopped him before he could take a step.

"Wait a minute... I believe I recall something about a formal introduction," I crossed my arms over my chest and shifted my weight, trying to give off the look of having as much confidence as I could muster. I was putting on a facade, possibly to make me seem more mature. I didn't know the real reason.

He smirked, raising an eyebrow as he scanned me up and down with his dark eyes.

"Cassian Andor," He smiled, then looking right back at me with questioning eyes. "And how about you... you got a name?"

"Y/n from clan Maldrix," I said, my confidence wavering a little when he looked at me the way that he did.

"She's a Mandalorian," Shyloh perked up, and I sent him a warning glare.

"Yeah, sixth generation," Merc added, his cocky smile pasted on his face for all to see and be annoyed by.

"A mandalorian? I've heard the stories but I haven't ever met one. Are you-?"

"I'm not," I cut him off before this got twisted into one big lie. "My mother and father are."

"Doesn't that make you one too?" Cassian furrowed his brow but his tone was somewhat joking and humorous.

"No, it does not," I wasn't harsh with the way my voice came out, but I was firm. Though I wasn't one of them, the mandalorians and all they stood for were very important to me.

"Mandalorian is not a race, it's a creed. Some of the best Mandalorians I ever had the pleasure of knowing didn't even have a bloodline from Mandalore. They were foundlings, like these three," I explained, laying out the facts so that there was no longer any confusion lingering, but now there was a tension that was thicker than the trees on this planet.

"Even still, she can fight just as good as any soldier taken the creed," Merc jumped in, trying to clear the air, and thankfully, it seemed to be working.

"She flies even better," Shyloh mentioned, and I swore I could kill him. He was just so pushy sometimes, even with his massive sense of wisdom.

"You fly?" This peaked Andor's interest, and immediately he seemed more engaged towards me.

"I'm not as good as they say I am," I admitted, but he shook his head.

"No, really... if you can fly we could really use you. We're putting together a team for an air raid that's set to happen about one month's time from now," He came up closer to me and stared me in the eye.

"I'm just a kid, I might really let you down," I joked, trying not to get too caught up in his eye contact. His eyes were much darker when you could see them closely.

"I tell you what, I can arrange for you to have time in the flight simulator after orientation. If we feel you would be an asset, we can add you to the strike team," He said, nodding along to his words. I understood that they might need backup, and if push came to shove, I could maneuver faster than any pilot back on Mandalore. I never lost a race, nor did I ever lose a bet.

"Okay."

I could tell I was blushing from the extra attention I was receiving. I wasn't so sure what about me was so enticing that I deserved it.

"I have to go now to pick up the other recruits from a drop station. I leave you in the capable hands of PX-74," He said, returning to his speeder and letting us be lead off into the base.

"There are only so many open bunks left. Two of you will share one, and the other two will be placed with bunk mates." The metalized voice of the PX unit was strong in our ears, and we all followed after him as we ventured into the long hallway at the end of the cargo port.

The droid stopped at a door about midway through the hall and opened it using the side panel on the wall, revealing a young man that seemed almost younger than me even.

"One of you will be staying here. Which will it be?" The droid asked, turning towards our small group.

"I'll take this one," Shyloh said, stepping forward into the bunk to meet his new roomate.

The boy looked a bit frightened at first, but because of Shyloh's powerful yet calming energy, he seemed to relax almost immediately.

He turned and smiled back at us, waving before the IG unit closed the door and kept us going.

He walked us down passed several more doors, maybe more than twenty, before he stopped at another one and opened it up.

Inside sat a young woman, her legs crossed as she sharpened a knife with a smirk on her face. She looked up and made eye contact with me first.

"I wondered how long it would be before they got someone else in here." Her voice was somewhat low and raspy, but it was kind of soothing in a way.

"One of you-" the IG unit began again, but I stopped him, stepping into the bunk with the girl inside.

"I'll take this one." I smiled at the two boys left before the door closed on my new bunk.

I moved to set my knapsack down on the bottom bunk, but my roomate stopped me.

"Bottom one's mine." She said, looking up from her sharpened knife again to inform me of the sleeping arrangements.

I instead threw my knapsack on the top bunk, trying to climb up into it, but failing miserably.

"You need a hand?" She chuckled, watching my lame attempts to swing my leg up high enough. The fact that there was no ladder should have tipped me off.

"I'll be okay, thanks," I laughed, keeping my attitude loose and positive, though this bunk bed was already causing unnecessary problems for me.

"If you say so," She chuckled again, seeing as I finally managed to haul myself up and onto the bed.

"First try," I joked, and she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. I think that we would be getting along, because no one ever laughed at my lame sense of humor.

I laid back, resting my arms behind my head and staring blankly at the ceiling.

"So, where are you from?" She piped up, not taking her eyes away from her previous knife. That thing must mean a lot to her.

"Mandalore," I let out, trying to get comfortable on this lumpy pad that was under my head.

"Actually?" She seemed surprised. Everyone had heard of the planet that the mandalorian tribes had resided upon, and usually they understood what kind of people the place would breed.

"Yeah. Left just in time. Tomorrow's my birthday," I shut my eyes continuing our converastion with one less sense. It didn't matter, though. I was still fully awake.

"What would you have had to do?" She pondered curiously, finally looking up towards the bunk in interest.

"Well, to put it short... tomorrow I would have had to swear my freedom away. No living being would ever be able to see my face again till the day I died," I laid it out plain and simple, and she seemed to understand.

"How old are you?" She asked, her trail of questions getting longer and longer.

"Sixteen tomorrow," I answered, feeling a bit more tired now that my eyes had been closed, and the lights in the bunk rooms were dim.

"You're just a baby," She scoffed. "How could they possibly expect you to make that choice so young?"

"It's just the way it's always been there. This is the way," I remembered. Those words used to be said to me nearly ten times a day, and now they only rung in my mind as a memory.

"That's insane. The people on your planet must be crazy to take an oath like that," She muttered.

"You would think so... the strangest part about it is that there are kids brought back as foundlings that take the creed without hesitation. They don't even belong to a bloodline, they just feel as though they have right to the creed as much as anyone else," I silently remembered Din for a moment. He was the bravest, strongest, most loyal Mandalorian I'd ever known. A foundling.

I began to get bitter at the thought of leaving him. He could have made things better for me if I had just given him a chance. I had to let my head get in the way. I needed to think about something else.

"What about you, huh? Where you from?" I asked, changing the subject as quickly and painlessly as possible.

"Alderaan. Born and raised," She said, getting up from the floor and dropping herself on the bottom bunk.

"You been a lot of places since then?" I asked, but she first let out a heavy sigh before speaking.

"Only too many to count," She said, settling herself on the bunk like I had done.

"Must be nice..." I muttered. Finally able to relax on this pathetic excuse for a bed pad. Of course I couldn't complain. I'm the one who chose the life of the rebellion, including their miserable bedding. "I've never been anywhere outside my home planet until now. I haven't even seen the entirety of my own planet."

"Most new comers are the same. They haven't been anywhere else, then they come here and its like we're moving non stop. Base to base, on just about every planet in this galaxy," She reassured. At least now I didn't feel so out of place.

"How long have you been stationed here?" I asked, unsure of how long I would get to adjust to things.

"A few months. It's likely we'll have to leave soon. There's rumors of the imperials knowing our location," She answered, rolling her eyes, thought I couldn't see from the top bunk.

"You're kidding," I scoffed. After just getting here, I might have to up and leave again. I'll have to learn to accept this new life, it's what I wanted.

"I wish I was, kid," She added.

"I have a name," I retorted back, not a fan of the nickname 'kid'. I waited for her to ask me what it was, but when she stayed silent I sighed. "It's Y/n."

"I'll call you what you are... now get some rest, they'll come pounding on that door in a few hours for orientation," She said, as though she somehow had grown to a habit of mothering me only five minutes after we met. I dropped the conversation and drifted off to sleep, my eyes were too heavy to keep open anymore anyway.

Tags open

A/n: okay so like i wrote this a while before everything with gina carano happened and i do not in any way condone her whatsoever so let's pretend she's been recast already...

#din dijarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #din djarin fic #reader insert #din djarin x jedi!reader #din djarin x oc #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando x you #the mandalorion spoilers #siege of mandalore #cara dune #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #cassian andor #cassian andor x reader

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samatedeansbroccoli · 2 years

Text

Ночь (Night)

Congrats @softcallofdutyimagines , you've played me and I've written a Makarov x Roach reader insert. I tried my best to write as well as you but I don't think I made the cut. Regardless, enjoy!

For those that don’t know, go read Sarah’s Makarov x Roach/Readerfanfic Over You! It’s a wonderful read and the reason I’m even writing this ficlet XD.

This story takes between chapters 3 and 4. There are a few Russian phrases but context should help figure out what they mean. The translations are at the very bottom of the story.

Warnings: Angst (what a surprise /s)

Sleep never comes easy to the trouble-minded. It's a proven fact; the older one becomes, the less sleep they partake in. Some of it's maturity. Some of it's anxiety. Right now, however, sleep isn't coming because the very person who wants you dead is locked in the same shackles as you, occasionally shifting in his slumber as he lay on the ground of the cave.

How did this all happen? A series of misfortunes, to be brief, and the type that would never find their way onto paper. Once a prisoner, now you’re an escapee on the run with none other than the man who could ruin it all.

Still, he's the only one in close proximity that's trustworthy, his silver tongue not known for lying, but for the brutal truth he hisses. Not trusty enough to allow you greatly needed shut-eye, but enough to chip away at your usual line of defenses until sleep begins to win over your mind and heart. It'll be a long time before it truly happens, however, months of training having taught you how to properly function on a loss of sleep. If luck remains, the sun will rise before that exhaustion kicks in full, and by then it's too late to sleep.

A low sigh from Makarov catches your attention, bringing your mind back to the cave’s ground where the two of you lay. In this state, Makarov doesn't look like one of the best-known terrorists of Eastern Europe. Dreamland removes any stress creased into his face, and the only sign he's alive is his breath and the slight twitching of his eyelids. As far as you can tell, he’s not in his R3 sleep cycle yet, having laid down just a few minutes ago, but he's certainly no longer in his R1. His hands have dropped in slight temperature, though that could be just the stillness of his body mixing with the colder Siberian night.

He doesn't look like the man responsible for 31,000 and counting murders, putting him on par with some of the great dictators of the world. Nor does he act like it. Hardly have you spent more than a day chained to this man, and he's already shown his lowest points upon recalling a past plagued with emotional abandonment; a weakness that you add to your toolbox should you ever need to exploit them for your benefit.

In this state, he's defenseless. He'll wake if something happens, you don't doubt that. And yet, equally, the burden of defending him should the two of you be attacked weighs upon your shoulders.

Absurdity at its fine. And it hurts to think about.

Your last thought is quickly debunked when you shift to find a better position. Upon glancing at his face, you find his eyes are well open, staring into your soul with that cruelty so well etched into his face. No words cross his lips, but he doesn't need them to clarify he's merely observing, and not in a friendly way. He doesn't trust you either, and yet he knows he can let his guard down in your presence.

"Couldn't sleep?" You finally ask, watching for a reaction. He doesn't give one as he grumbles a no, which somehow renders understandable despite the genericness of the sound. "Wanna talk?"

This time, he doesn't make a noise, still watching. Only then does it dawn upon you. He hasn't forgotten yesterday when, in a last-ditch desperate attempt to keep himself together, he kissed you. He still fell apart shortly after, but the damage (Event? Occurrence?) had been done.

Now the dots connect. He remains dead—or so you describe it—expression ambiguous save for the gentleness that sits in his blue eye while his green eye continues to observe. Was it even possible to have two stories in two eyes? Then again, it's not like Makarov is known for achieving the possible and calling it a day.

With your free hand, you set it upon his chambered hand, giving it an assuring squeeze. To which he returns the favor by placing his hand upon your loose one.

"Come on, tell me what you're thinking, Makarov."

"I think you know."

"I don't think I do."

"No. You first."

Was he really going to play this game? Better yet, should you entertain it? There's a reason he's as much of a card shark as he is a terrorist, neither label leaving a good aftertaste in your mouth despite having never said so out loud. How strange one tumultuous event can change the words associated with a person from meaningful to defective.

"I'm thinking about you," is your response. He can't object to it, for quite literally, it's the truth. "How to guide you into a better future. Restart your life."

"Charming."

The stiff remark is only mildly annoying, and one that takes little effort to brush away. "Don't you want that?"

"And where would I go?"

Good question, and one you didn't have an answer for. Or at least, didn't have a solid answer. Certainly, options remained floating about your brain, hoping to be grasped and conveyed with sincerity to him. And yet, despite the many candidates that could have provided a better and more satisfying answer, the one you pick is the only one with the highest uncertainty.

"With me."

The answer doesn't seem like the one he wants, and he's quiet for a long time, eyes falling to the side and never returning to your face for the next minute or so. Once again, it's hard to get offended by his reaction when all it is is a logical response to distress and overstimulation, whatever that might be in Makarov's head.

It's him who breaks the ice after what felt like he might as well go back to sleep instead. "I was thinking of you. And..." he shifts your hands so the shackles jingle. "Our current predicament."

You want to know more. Why you? Was he upset with how you handled the situation? Maybe relieved? Pissed? Perhaps even exhilarated, the feeling of being free from a public eye finally leaving him to his own vices and quirks.

And it's that last part that keeps you from digging for information. In time, he'll say something. Now is not that time, the emotional instability of the Russian so blatantly obvious it's a wonder if he'll ever be able to speak about it. Resulting to humor is the safest bet to call, assuming the mood is right. "We'll find a way out of these. Else, you're stuck with me for good." You wink, though you doubt he can see it in the dark light. Unlike him, your eyes don’t have the brilliancy of glow-sticks in the night. “Not the worst thing that's happened to me."

"What is the worst?"

"That remains a secret."

Makarov scoffs but doesn't pressure. Rather, he slides a bit closer, maybe to adjust his cuffed hand into a more favorable position, but definitely to be closer to the only other source of warmth in the cave. In no way does he show any hints that his intentions are out of malice. Only then does your guard finally start to slip. You're quick to join his side closer, the two of you warding off the cold air together.

Now touched by the warmth of his body, sleep finally arrives to coax your eyes to shut the world into a comforting blanket of darkness. Here, there's nothing to fear, the good and bad twisting into one, neither overpowering one another enough to create a dream yet. Not that you're asleep to start with, but it won't be much longer until you finally doze off.

Only a few minutes pass before the sounds of nature start dimming as your body readies for rest. Your eyes have been shut for some time to help the body along, but one more gaze towards Makarov reveals he's still curious about you, eyes lazily blinking.

"What?" You hum, barely over a whisper.

"Nothing."

You nod. "OkayWake me if you're not alright, yeah? We'll work it out together."

He nods and you adjust to fall asleep, deciding he's too emotionally drained to do anything to you tonight. Besides, Makarov’s smart enough to know killing you implies he'd be dragging a handcuffed dead body alongside him.

"Sanderson," he suddenly said, making you look to him again. Makarov shifts slightly, eyes locked to you with clear embarrassment. It takes him time to find the right words. "Спасибо большое. I mean... thank you."

It’s hard not to smile. He's ridiculously adorable, falling back to his native language when being unable to show his gratitude, then backtracking when he thought you didn't understand him.

You can only give him a warm hum back. "Не стоит благодарности." His eyes widen, a strange gaze causing both of them to brighten ever so slightly. A rather familiar look—the kind one sees when their spouse falls in love with them again. You'd be lying if it didn't touch your heart, watching the one man whose life is far more complex than any dossier could record find a simple 'you're welcome' said in his native tongue worth expressing emotions over.

He seems like he wants to say more, but you never hear it. Rather, the few minutes he spends debating himself are the ones you spend caressing his knuckles until he's lured to drowsiness. This time, it's not a forced exhaustion he did previously to make himself sleep, but a genuine one. He keeps trying to wake himself up, likely to admire you one more time, though each time becomes less successful until his eyes finally fall shut for good.

"Спокойной ночи Макаров," you whisper, unsure if he's awake still.

He does hear you. "Good night, Sanderson." And it’s not long before he’s quiet for good, slow breaths having evened out.

Sleep doesn't come easy. Not to anyone with a lot on their mind. But tonight is different. Not just for you, but for him as well. For the first time that night, the sheer company of one another is enough to ensure neither of you would have to endure this journey all alone.

And that's something worth dreaming to.

Translations:

Спасибо большое — Thank you very much

Спокойной ночи Макаров— Good night, Makarov

Не стоит благодарности — You’re welcome/not a problem

#how did I write this in an hour #why did i write this in an hour #I don’t know #but enjoy #tried to write this as gender neutral as possible #Vladimir Makarov #Vladimir Makarov x reader #call of duty

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aleteia-ff · 5 years

Note

If you are still taking request, how about some angst with hiccup and Astrid witnessing zephyr death or if that's to dark they think she does but then she comes back to them later. Lol I've been watching to much game of thrones

Why!? Why do you want to read something so heartbreaking!? And why am I delivering?

I don’t know which circle of Hell you’ve come out of, and I don’t know which one I belong in for actually writing it. But I guess we’re in this together now.

Warning: Feels below the Keep Reading line.

May the Valkyries Welcome Her

They’d only just returned from visiting the dragons for the fourth time. They went once a year; the first time had been when Zephyr had just turned six. She’d been delighted to see them then, and she had been just as happy this time around. Smiling, cheering, spending all day with Toothless or one of the Night Lights, unable to let go of them even when they weren’t in the air. But they never should’ve gone to the Hidden World in the first place.

Hiccup had been in their kitchen, having breakfast while seeing to it that Nuffink didn’t break down the rest of their house. The boy had all of Astrid’s energy, but none of her sense of responsibility – something that would come with time, he hoped.

Astrid’s voice had alerted him. “Hiccup.”

It’d been short, yet urgent, the kind of tone she only used when something was wrong and she didn’t want the kids to notice. Anxious but trying not to be too concerned, he’d walked to his daughter’s room, where Astrid had been getting Zephyr ready for the day.

He’d found his wife looking at him with her big blue eyes, the shock and fear clear in them. Before he’d been able to open his mouth, Zephyr had escaped her mother’s hold, running into him and proudly showing him her arm.

“Daddy, look! I have spots too, just like the dragons!”

Things had gone quickly after that. He’d taken Nuffink to Valka, with the specific instructions that he could not be in contact with his sister or any of the other children on the island. His mother was quite solitary regardless, and Nuffink loved to stay over at his grandma’s, so he’d figured he’d be safe there. In the meantime, Astrid had gotten Zephyr dressed and had called in New Berk’s healers. Who’d confirmed their worst fears.

Dragonpox. The illness had been with them on Berk for as long as dragons had raided them. Dragons were wild animals after all, carrying things with them that Vikings normally weren’t exposed to. It didn’t strike often; even during the raiding years, only those who were already very frail or sickly had been known to contract it. But with dragons coming to Berk and becoming a daily part of their lives, the combination of gradual exposure and immensely improved dragon hygiene had made it so that the disease was nothing more than a distant memory.

They’d forgotten it existed. It’d become a thing of their dragon-fighting past on Berk, and no one had been brought down by it since they’d settled on New Berk either. Until now. And now, he was forced to watch his little girl tremble and writhe underneath the covers as the rash continued to conquer her skin. Which was his fault.

Zephyr didn’t know that. She smiled at him whenever he entered the room, her blue eyes lighting up as they always did when she saw her father. But a little less so every day. She hadn’t noticed he’d started to wear gloves yet, as there were simply some responsibilities he couldn’t avoid, and he had not wanted to risk spreading her illness any further. He’d done his job, called a village meeting on the first night she’d gotten sick, warned everyone to watch themselves, their children and their elderly. Some had felt he was overreacting – the disease hadn’t claimed any lives on Berk for years, so why would it now? Surely, Zephyr wouldn’t be the first? That’s what he tried to believe as well.

But Astrid was with their daughter at all times. And every time he returned after he’d had to leave for some agonizing emergency, he’d ask her if Zephyr was doing better yet. And every time, she’d shaken her head.

Now, exactly two weeks after Astrid had first spotted the marks on Zephyr’s skin, Hiccup slumped back into their home. His metal foot sounded hollow on the wooden floor, the heavy cloak around his shoulders not quite measuring up the sense of guilt that rested on them. He was startled by the two women coming down the stairs, who almost froze in place at the sight of their chief.

All it took was a questioning look from him for them to shake their heads. There was nothing more they could do. He couldn’t blame them. They’d tried all they could to help, using Gothi’s old notes to the best of their ability. But with their old healer’s passing, a lot of dragon-related healing knowledge had faded as well.

No, the only person he could really blame was himself. For forcing a reunion with Toothless and the others. For refusing to stop chasing his lifelong dream of dragons and Vikings living together in peace. For wishing his children came to know that part of his life too. And now he was paying the ultimate price. With all he could do being praying to the gods not to take his little girl from him.

He walked up the stairs of their home, his every step heavy and loaded. The door to Zephyr’s bedroom was open and he found Astrid inside, sitting on a stool at the side of their daughter’s bed. Astrid looked exhausted, her cheeks hollow, her eyes red and swollen as she did her best to wipe her tears away. He crouched down next to her, letting her lean her against his shoulder as her own shuddered.

“We never should have taken them,” she told him, her voice so hoarse he almost couldn’t hear her. “Gods, Hiccup, why did we go?”

There was nothing he could say that would justify their decision. There were no words that could be said, no reason that could be given that would erase what they’d done. What they were now responsible for. No dragon that could cure this kind of pain. Watching the 10-year old girl he’d loved from the first moment he’d seen her, lying there, shaking in her bed as she fought against a fever that refused to release her from its hold.

All he could do was take off his gloves, wrapping his arm around Astrid’s shoulder as he reached out towards Zephyr with his other, taking the hand that laid on top of the covers in his. The sheer heat of her skin almost made him flinch, but he carefully enveloped her little fingers in his nevertheless.

Every now and then, she writhed, squeezing her eyes shut even more as her lips trembled. Her skin was flushed, the colour of the rash and blisters that’d covered her almost matching that of her reddish brown hair. He’d never seen her look this small, or this vulnerable. She was losing the battle inside of her. Which her father should’ve protected her from in the first place.

They sat there for what seemed like eternity. He tried to keep himself together as best as he could as Astrid continued to sob, the past two weeks which she’d solely spent taking care of her daughter taking its toll. Eventually however, he watched Zephyr’s tired eyelids open, a little touch of bright blue still left in them.

“Daddy?”

The weakness in her voice broke his heart as he watched her struggle to produce the words. He swallowed his own tears away before he spoke. “Yes, Zeffie?”

Zephyr shivered, her face wrinkling as she did. “I’m cold.”

He gave her the most reassuring smile he could as he unwrapped his cloak from his shoulders, reaching out to give it to her. But she latched onto the fabric of his tunic rather than that of his cloak, the look in her eyes pleading. “Daddy.”

He quickly wiped his eyes with his other sleeve before he got up, removing his prosthetic before he climbed into his daughter’s bed as he’d so often done. He held his arms open for Astrid to crawl into as he pulled Zephyr into his lap, wrapping his cloak and her blankets around her as her little hands buried themselves in his tunic as well as they still could.

Sitting there, leaning against the headboard with the two most important women in his life in his arms, he softly brushed Zephyr’s sticky bangs out of her face. “Is this better?”

She nodded against his chest, the heat from her little body almost warming his heart, which was growing colder and aching more by the minute. Zephyr stayed silent for a bit, until another question crossed her lips. “Where’s Nuff?”

Astrid answered before he could, softly rubbing Zephyr’s back. “He’s with grandma.”

“He’s not sick too, right?”

“No,” Astrid reassured her, her voice thick with tears. “Your brother’s fine.”

“G-good,” Zephyr nodded, shivering as she did.

She stopped talking for a while after that, curling up against Hiccup’s chest, shivers still wrecking her. When he was sure she was about to fade into sleep, she spoke up again.

“I’m scared.”

Zephyr’s eyes were closed as the words left her mouth, her voice as small as he’d ever heard it. Astrid looked up at him, biting her lower lip as tears started to flow down her face once more. He could only barely contain his own as he stroked Zephyr’s face, trying to put her at ease.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he told her. “It’ll pass. How about I tell you a story?”

Her head moved against his chest, the motions weak but her agreement clear.

“Any particular one you’d like?”

“About dragons.”

Dragons. Of course, he thought as a dagger slowly made its way into his heart. “But I’ve already told you so many!” he said, trying to fake a laugh. “Let me try to think of a new one.”

He searched his mind, trying to find a story he hadn’t told her yet. Eventually, he did. “Did I ever tell you about Vanaheim?”

Zephyr’s blue eyes opened slightly as she shook her head, too weak to form words.

“Well, then I’ll tell it. In the life of every dragon, there comes a point at which they can no longer stay with the rest of their pack, because they are getting old and fragile. So they take one last flight, all the way to the island of Vanaheim. It’s a sacred place, meant for dragons alone. But your mommy and I once had the honour of guiding a dragon there,” he lied.

“To die?”

“No, on the contrary,” he laughed, partly to suppress the tears that were becoming harder to hold back as he watched Astrid silently weep from the corner of his eyes. “It’s a place for all sick and tired dragons to go to, and there, they can live forever. Like they’re young again. They’re never in pain, never hungry and never ill. There’s no one to hurt them there, and they’d never hurt each other. They just live there, all dragon species together, without a sense of worry on their minds. For all eternity.”

“I want to go there,” Zephyr managed, trying to look up at him but failing to keep her eyes open.

“Then we’ll go,” he told her, pulling her closer against his chest. “Once you’re better, we’ll go find Toothless and Stormfly and mommy and I will take you there. And Nuffink too. We’ll go to Vanaheim, with just the four of us. No chiefing for your mom and dad. A long holiday, during which you will able to see more dragons than you’ve ever seen on the edge of the Hidden World. Cuddle them, play with them, fly on their backs. Anything you want.”

The kind of foolish fantasies that’d landed her on her deathbed in the first place. But she didn’t know that. And he wasn’t going to tell her. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” a soft voice told him.

“Then we’ll go,” he repeated, rocking her in his arms as he felt her shudder against him once more.

“Tell me more.”

And so he did. He made up all kind of stories about the version of Vanaheim he’d created for her. As she’d never get to see the real island. He used what little he’d seen in the Hidden World, and what he’d experienced on all his adventures throughout his years with Toothless. He thought about all the things he’d wished for in his life with dragons and described them to his daughter. All the long-lost dreams that’d never come true. But which filled her with wonder nevertheless.

It wasn’t until Zephyr eventually fell back asleep that he allowed himself to cry, tears streaming down his face as he tried to keep his body as steady as possible, so he wouldn’t disturb her. One of Astrid’s arms was around his neck while her other was in their daughter’s hair, softly stroking it as Zephyr’s chest heaved. Slowly, the time between her inhales seemed to increase, every muscle movement starting to cost more effort. Until her breathing stopped altogether.

“Zephyr?”

They’d known it was coming. But still, nothing could compare to the freefall his soul took right then, as he couldn’t do anything but shake the little girl’s body in his arms, somehow, somewhere expecting her to open her inquisitive blue eyes again. But she didn’t. No matter how hard he tried, or how often he called her name, she didn’t wake.

Astrid cried out, the sheer agony in the sound of her voice tearing him to shreds. He pulled Zephyr closer to him, looking for anything, any sign of life at all. But he found nothing. The fever she’d tried to fight off so desperately started to subside, her body growing cold. Too cold.

She was gone. His little girl. One of the three people he was supposed to protect above anything else. Dead. And it was his fault.

There was nothing he could do then but hold her frail shape to his chest as his shoulders shook, an indescribable pain and anguish flooding his entire existence, making him hope he’d drown in it so he’d have to feel it no more. Although he deserved to.

All that was left for him to do was to pray that the Valkyries would welcome her among them, taking her to Valhalla. Where he hoped, prayed, wished his father would take care of her. After he’d failed them both. Through his ‘love for dragons’, through his ‘good intentions’. Both of them, dead by his hands.

And this would be the last time. In that moment, he swore to himself that no one on New Berk would ever see a dragon again.

#httyd #zephyr haddock #hiccup #astrid #hiccstrid #post httyd3 #one shot #httyd3 #may the valkyries welcome her #angst #feels #dragonpox #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #death of a child #prompts #httyd fanfiction #fanfiction #hiccstrid kids

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highly-opinionated-nerd · 5 years

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Hi there, big fan here with a One Piece prompt! :) I've been really pushing this one lately, but I really, really want to read something where Gol D. Roger rises from Davy Jones' Locker to kick the Marines' (but especially Sengoku and Akainu's) behinds for trying to execute Ace and basically just throwing Marineford into chaos. XD I wish you the best of luck on your writing!

Hey!!! I love to see people reading and enjoying my work. It really means a lot to me, so thank you for all your support!

And boy oh boy, what a prompt! This is a really incredible idea, I’m so glad you sent it to me. I could go on and on and on with this…but unfortunately, I don’t have the time to do it justice right now. I hope you’ll forgive me for tweaking it a little just to make it easier to write, for myself.

Akainu considered the battle at Marineford to be, in the grand scheme of things, a victory for the marines. They had set out to make a statement by executing Firefist Ace, and they had done so. Whitebeard was dead, too, which had been an unexpected bonus. All told, they had achieved their goals, and that was what mattered in the long run.

In the short run, however, Marineford was a disaster. Everything was broken, and the infirmary was overflowing with wounded men, and their once-great defenses lay in shambles, leaving them vulnerable to another attack. Everyone in the base was on edge, left shaken by the battle. Akainu knew they couldn’t keep going like this for long.

The evening after the battle found him still in his office, working tirelessly through the stack of papers on his desk. He was determined to present a good example for his subordinates in this time of chaos. He was going to let them see him keeping a level head, and calmly taking care of what needed to be taken care of. And so he worked, oblivious to the hours passing and the sky outside the windows darkening to night.

He worked on, ceaselessly, into the small hours of the next day’s morning. He kept working, without pause, until his work was interrupted quite suddenly when all the lights in the room went out.

After a few moments, the backups kicked in. Akainu blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness, and dismissed the blackout as a power outage caused by damage to the base.

And then, just as suddenly as the lights had gone out, a cold gust of wind swept through the room, scattering the papers he’d been working on everywhere. Akainu whipped around and found that, somehow, the window behind him had opened of its own accord.

Ordinarily, he likely wouldn’t have thought much of it. A particularly strong burst of wind might have undone the old, weak latches. But, something told him that the lights going out and the window blowing open meant something more sinister was afoot.

He hastily got up and stuck his head out the window. Try as he might, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. So he pulled his head back inside and closed it, making sure to fasten the latches as securely as possible. He turned around, ready to head back to his work, and immediately found himself face-to-face with the figure of a ragged and blood-stained man.

“Ah!”

He instinctively dodged to the side and leapt backwards, planting his feet in a fighting stance.

The man, seemingly unfazed, merely turned to stare at him again, his dark eyes glaring out from behind a matted curtain of shaggy hair. The more Akainu looked, the more he realized that something was very, very wrong- there was a faint, greenish glow surrounding the figure, whose body seemed to be ever so slightly transparent. The blood dripping down the front of his chest flowed freely, and yet he hardly seemed to feel it.

“Do you know who I am?” the figure asked, and his voice was deep and rough and somehow hollow sounding, empty.

Akainu said nothing, his brain still struggling to catch up with the shock of what he was seeing.

“I asked you a question,” the man rasped, taking another step towards Akainu. “Do you know who I am?”

“Y-yes,” stammered Akainu, because he’d have known that voice anywhere, raspy or not. “You’re Gol D. Roger.”

“That’s right. And you know why I’m here.”

“N-no.” It was suddenly so much colder in the room than it had been. Akainu’s teeth were chattering. “No. I don’t understand. What is this?”

“‘What is this’?” Roger leaned in, sneering, and it took everything Akainu had to hold his ground. “This, you bastard, is consequences. Did you think you could just do whatever you wanted, and never have to face any consequences? Think again. Now you have me to deal with.”

Akainu took a shuddering breath, still not quite ready to accept that the ghost of the former pirate king was really in front of him. “I don’t think-”

“You never think!” Roger interrupted, and another blast of cold wind washed over Akainu, powerful enough to force him back a step or two. “All this time, I let you have your way. I let you say whatever you wanted about me. I let you and your ilk besmirch my name with all the filth you could throw at it. I don’t care what you say about me- the people that matter know the truth. But you could’t be satisfied with that. You had to go after my son.”

Akainu was not scared of much. But right now, he was more than scared. He was terrified. This was some kind of power he had never encountered before, and it had his heart racing in his chest, his breath coming quick and shallow.

“My only son,” Roger continued, his rough voice seething with malice. “My flesh and blood. That boy had the rest of his life to live, and you killed him, you son of a bitch.”

“Your son?”Akainu shook his head. “He renounced you as his father. He wanted nothing to do with you!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Roger snarled. “You think I care? It ain’t his fault I wasn’t able to be there to raise him. Ain’t none of it his fault. That doesn’t make him any less my son.”

Akainu balled his fists at his side. “Your son,” he spat, struggling to make himself heard, “was hardly innocent. A pirate, a criminal, like his father! An enemy of the law! And he got what he deserved!”

“Shut up!” Roger roared, and the wind surged, forcing Akainu back against the wall.

Roger closed the distance between them and shoved his face close to Akainu’s.

“There will be consequences,” he hissed. “You have been warned. I suggest you sleep with one eye open, from now on. Bastards like you always get what’s coming to them, in the end. Ace’s blood is on your hands, and sooner or later, you will pay for that.”

Suddenly, a tremendous noise filled the room. It sounded like the crashing of a strong wave on the shore, but magnified, deafening.

Akainu squeezed his eyes closed, and by the time the noise abated and he opened them again, Roger was gone.

“Sir?” came a tentative voice from the doorway- a young marine stood there, looking nervous and confused.

Akaiun straightened up, trying to compose himself. “What?” he snapped at the marine. “What do you want?”

“The damage assessment you requested, sir. I was trying to open the door, but it was stuck shut, and…” his eyes took in all the papers scattered on the floor. “What happened, sir? Is everything ok?”

“Leave the report on the desk and get out. Get out!” Akainu yelled when the marine lingered, still looking confused.

Long after he had hurried back out into the hall, Akainu stood still, breathing hard.

Marineford was a wreck, and his men were in disarray, and to top it all off, now he was seeing ghosts.

There was no way they could keep going like this.

Oooooh, I really enjoyed myself with this. It’s such a fun and compelling concept to play with. And it adds a layer to Akainu’s decision to move the marine headquarters out of Marineford, too, which is really cool!

Thanks again for the lovely prompt, and for your support of my writing!

#answered #one piece #my ficlet #how did you know I love writing Roger????#and to get the chance to make him a creepy bloody horror villain?#who terrifies the heck out of Akainu?#GOOD #seriously thank you so much #gol d roger #akainu #uh #ghost au

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