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triptuckers · 3 years

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Fix her - Kaz Brekker

Request: nope Pairing: kaz brekker x reader Summary: kaz sent you out to gather information, and you always return on time with the intel he needs. well, maybe not always. Warnings: angst, language, mentions of BLOOD, BRUISES, INJURIES, typical soc stuff, slight six of crows and crooked kingdom spoilers Word count: 2.2K A/N: hello my darlings it is I and I have read almost every book leigh bardugo has written in the past month. I am now hopelessly in love with jesper, kaz and nikolai. I'll be updating my character list soon! I still have a few wips but I don’t have any motivation / inspiration for those. so have my first kaz brekker x reader instead! enjoy reading :)

It was a rather easy job, really. Kaz had received word that the Dime Lions had an important meeting coming up. Because he always wanted to know what exactly was going on in the Barrel and with its gangs, he wanted someone to listen in on said meeting.

Normally, he would send Inej. She was the obvious choice when it came to gathering information. But she was still recovering from a rather nasty cut in her side, and so you had offered to go.

Inej insisted she could go. But all it took was you raising your eyebrows when she moved to sit up, only to wince and flop back down onto the bed. Though he didn’t quite like it, Kaz had assigned you to the job.

No one said it out loud, but everyone knew there was something between you and Kaz. Neither of you had spoken about it. There were just a lot of lingering glances, smiles from you and what you think was almost a smile from Kaz, and you even had stolen his coat once when you had lost your own. He didn’t seem to mind though.

When you had left that evening to listen to the Dime Lions meeting from the shadows, Kaz had sent you a look that you knew all too well. He reserved it only for you. It was him telling you to be safe. You’d respond with a wink that basically meant always am.

The rest of the crows started a card game to pass the time as they waited for you to come back. They didn’t worry, you were always careful and are considered one of the most dangerous criminals in Ketterdam. They knew whatever happened, you could handle yourself.

But after Jesper had lost four rounds of card games, the tension began to rise between them. Most meetings typically didn’t last this long. Still, no one said anything as they started their fifth game. You would show up eventually, probably bringing valuable insight with you.

After two more games, there was still no sign of you. Nina was the first one to speak up.

‘She should have been back by now.’ she says, absently looking out the window into the dark street.

‘Have a little faith, Zenik.’ says Kaz, though on the inside he was filled with worry. He shook it off and focused on the game again.

More than once he’d scolded himself for allowing you to get this close to him. For putting so much trust in you, especially after what happened the last time he’d really trusted someone. But he couldn’t help it. It was like he was drawn to you like Jespers trigger finger was to his revolvers. He couldn’t help it.

Still, he knew your skills. He knew you were smart, and a fighter. Whatever was going on with you out there, he had no doubt you’d show up at the door in a few moments, cheerfully announcing what good intel you’d gathered and wondering how many card games you’d missed.

But you still didn’t show. And one by one, they all lost their interest in the card game. They fell silent and looked out the window or fiddled with their empty glasses. The tension in the room grew. Until Kaz suddenly stood.

‘Finish the game.’ he says. ‘I’ll go and look for her.’

‘I’ll come with you.’ says Jesper, getting up as well.

‘No.’ says Kaz, earning a frown from Jesper. ‘Just me.’ he says. And with that, he pulled on his coat, grabbed his cane and was out the door.

‘Right.’ says Jesper, sitting back down. ‘Anyone fancy another game? I have a feeling I’m gonna win this one.’

They played three more games. They were tired, and it was well past midnight. Still, none of them went upstairs to their rooms. Too anxious to play any more cards or to even have a normal conversation, they settled for silence and more drinks.

Jesper was fiddling with his rings and bouncing his leg. Nina had her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. Matthias was trying to not look at Nina. And Wylan was attempting to build a house out of the cards.

Finally, they heard the sound of the door opening. All of their heads shot up and turned to look who it was.

Kaz stumbles awkwardly through the door, carrying you in his arms. Nina gasps softly and Jesper murmurs ‘Saints’ as their eyes land on your body.

It’s bruised and bloody, and your eyes are shut. Was Kaz too late?

‘Clear the table!’ says Kaz loudly, limping toward it with you in his arms.

Instantly, Matthias and Jesper seize the glasses and cards off the table as Wylan pulls some of the chairs back to make room. Kaz lays your beaten up body on the table and turns to Nina.

‘Help her.’ says Kaz.

But Nina is looking at you body, bruised and bloodied, nothing like the cheerful girl that buys her waffles and laughs as she teases Matthias. It’s almost impossible to find a spot on your body that doesn’t have a wound on it. There’s slashes from knives everywhere, bruising around your neck and the side of your face, and to top it off, blood is slowly leaking out of a bullet wound in your leg.

An expression of horror is written across Nina’s face, her hands pressed against her mouth.

‘Nina.’ Kaz presses on. ‘I said help her.’

‘Kaz, I don’t think-’ stammers Nina. ‘Come on, fix her!’ says Kaz loudly, surprised of how much anxiety can be heard in his voice. Fix her, he thinks, because I need her to fix me.

‘I can try but-’ ‘Do it.’ says Kaz and then he turns away, he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Memories of Jordie flood over him, mingled with memories of you. Your laugh, how he fights his own smile every time you wink at him or send a flirty comment his way, the way you smell. How you look at him when he catches your eyes.

Kaz shuts his eyes, attempting to drown the memories out. Taking deep breaths, he tries to focus on the voices behind him.

‘Jesper get the bullet out of her leg.’ says Nina.

‘Just pull it out?’ questions Jesper.

‘Saints, you’re Grisha, Jesper, pull the fucking bullet out!’ says Nina in a loud voice laced with fear.

After a while of listening to Nina’s murmuring and instructions to others, Kaz finally turns back around to look at you. A wave of nausea hits him unexpectedly and he swallows hard.

Nina had treated most of the wounds, with Jesper’s help. But your entire body is still covered in bruises, and now bandages as well. Nina’s cleaned the dried blood off of your face, but your arms and legs are still covered with it.

They’re all nervously looking at Kaz.

‘I don’t know if she’s going to-’

‘Don’t.’ says Kaz, interrupting her. He needed to think straight. He needed someone to help him focus. Normally, you’d be the one to do so. But you’re in no condition to softly talk to him to reassure him everything is going to be alright. He needed to be his own soothing voice tonight.

‘Matthias.’ he says. ‘Bring her up to my room. Nina, go with him, see if there’s anything else you can do for her. Jesper, get Inej up to speed. Wylan, clean this mess up before someone notices.’

Without waiting for their reactions, Kaz walks up the stairs to his floor. Several moments later, followed by Matthias, who is carrying you, and Nina and Jesper. Jesper disappears into Inej’ room, while Matthias and Nina continue to walk the stairs to get to Kaz’ floor.

When they arrive, Matthias carefully places you on Kaz’ bed as he was instructed. For a while, the three of them look at you. Until Matthias and Nina go to their rooms as well, leaving Kaz alone with you.

None of them had questioned why he insisted Matthias brought you to his room and not your own. Of course, they were dying to find out exactly what was going on between you and Kaz, but they all knew tonight was not the night to push him.

As he looks at you, Kaz feels the strong urge to touch you. Lay his hand on your cheek, to see if it’s still warm. But he can’t. Instead, he merely pulls out a chair and sits down next to the bed. He lets his eyes travel over your body, wondering how much pain you’re in, and who the hell was responsible for it.

He needed you to wake up. He needed you to tell him who did this so he could send his biggest most muscular members of the Dregs to them. Kaz wanted them to hurt the way they had hurt you.

His mind is running at an alarming speed. But eventually, even Kaz can’t fight his tired body anymore, and he falls asleep in an uncomfortable position in his chair.

From that night on, he instructed that you shouldn’t be left alone. He doesn’t want you to wake up and realise you’re on your own. The next day, it’s business as usual. The members of the Dregs are coming and going like they always do. The familiar flow of people helps to take everyone’s mind off things, but as soon as they’re by your side, they remember.

Nina had tried her best to heal you, but it still took you almost a week to wake up.

When you wake up, your first thought is that your entire body feels way heavier than it’s supposed to. You try to open your eyes but it’s like your eyelids are made of lead. After a couple more tries, you finally open them.

You take in the room, and realise it’s not your own. Kaz.

Why would you be in Kaz’ room? Why aren’t you in your own room? And why does your body feel so damn heavy?

And then all of the memories flood back. Like a tsunami, they catch your breath in your throat, making it hard to breathe. You try to inhale deeply, but it’s like your throat is sealed shut. You start to panic when you notice you can’t breathe.

Then a pair of hands land on your shoulders and gently push you back onto the bed. Whoever it is, is talking softly to you. You close your eyes and try to steady your breathing.

Then the voice yells out, but from much farther away, like they’re standing in the doorway, and not next to the bed.

‘Kaz! Nina! Get up here!’

It’s Jesper.

You try to ask him what’s going on, but it’s still hard to breath normally. You try to focus on something else. Jesper’s voice trying to calm you down, his eyes looking into yours, but nothing’s helping.

Then you hear a sound you know all too well. A familiar stumbling, of someone walking up the stairs with a cane.

Seconds later, Kaz rushes into the room and roughly shoves Jesper away, taking his place next to the bed.

‘Who did this to you?’ he says.

His voice is that familiar rasp, and normally you love it. But now it just makes your head hurt. You shut your eyes and softly shake your head, trying to drown the sound out.

‘Y/N, who did this to you?’ says Kaz, more firmly this time.

‘Kaz.’ says Nina’s voice. ‘Let her rest. You can talk later.’ Nina’s voice is softer, more gentle than Kaz’. You try to focus on it as you open your eyes again.

Kaz is close. He looks down at you and you’re surprised by the look in his eyes. Was that a hint of worry you detected? You open your mouth to say something, but Kaz is faster.

‘Y/N, tell me who did this to you.’ says Kaz.

‘Couldn’t see their faces.’ you manage to say in a hoarse voice. Your throat feels dry and you start to cough. Immediately, Nina moves to get you a glass of water and helps you to drink it.

‘Did you notice the way they moved? How they walked? Were they Dime Lions? Could you see any tattoos? What about scars? Clothing? Voices?’

Kaz keeps on firing questions at you, but you can’t focus on his words. Your head feels heavy and you feel your eyelids slowly closing again.

‘Kaz.’ you say softly. ‘Tomorrow.’

You expect him to press on, to find out who did this to you. But instead, he looks at you and holds your gaze. He doesn’t say anything, he merely nods at you. You know what it means. Despite his harsh voice and the million questions, he’s glad you’re safe. And the ones who did this to you will pay for it. He’ll make sure of it.

You offer a weak smile before closing your eyes, already drifting off. You hear two pairs of footsteps leave the room, and assume Nina stayed behind to check on you.

The chair next to you gets moved back and you hear how someone sits down in it. When you feel something brush against your fingers, you assume it’s Nina checking your pulse.

But then you feel a gloved thumb on the back of your hand. It slowly rubs over your skin. To most people it wouldn’t mean anything. But to you, it meant the world. A tiny smile reaches the corners of your mouth, as you fall asleep.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Jo

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omniscientwreck · 3 years

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Let me combine both of your favorite things! I would love a little thing about Caduceus (in his infinite wisdom and questionable intelligence) trying to give either Essek or Caleb relationship advice that may or may not be actually helpful. Those two wizards are probably too much in their own heads to see what's right in front of them and could use a little nudge. Just imagine both of them going to Caduceus for advice on how they're attracted to the other and Caduceus just sitting there trying to fight to urge to facepalm.

Hello! Thank you for combining my two favourite things into this fic that took way too long but I'm quite pleased with! I hope you enjoy!

In which Caduceus has three conversations with two wizards fighting against a force bigger than either of them.

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The first of these conversations Caduceus had was expected. Gardening alongside Essek, teaching him how to sow beauty where destruction had laid waste had been therapeutic for both of them. Caduceus had never given up on the war criminal. It’s difficult to feel no sympathy for someone whose story was written across their face in blank but pleasant stares and a mask of platitudes.

The state he’d been in when they met him at the outpost had filled Caduceus with determination. He’d been as close to a wreck as they’d ever seen him and now kneeling alongside him and looking over to see a small self-satisfied smile as he observed the work they’d done, it feels like they’ve done something right. This second chance had been well earned and he has faith that Essek will continue to earn it for the rest of his days.

This Essek is determined to right wrongs, and he’s started with the garden. He pays careful attention to the plants, always asking if he’s unsure about the compatibility of certain species, and making sure to put them exactly where they tell him. When they work past the point when the sun disappears behind emerald leaves he takes off the gloves Jester had made him and digs his hands into the ground. It seems to bring him peace, it’s good that he’s found any.

Most of the time when they work it’s silent, creases pressed into Essek’s forehead. He sweats through the layers that serve to keep him safe from the heat overhead and always has to be cajoled into taking breaks or drinking water. It reminds him a bit of Yasha.

On the third day, when he’d nearly gone faint Caduceus has to intervene, “You don’t need to hurt yourself to repent you know.”

Essek takes great care to swallow and not choke on the water he’d been sipping, bad timing. The mask comes up again, “I don’t know what you mean.” he states flatly. He knows that Caduceus is smarter than that and it shows.

“Hurting yourself doesn’t change anything. It’s the creation of beauty here that tips your scales, not the destruction of yourself.”

He nods slowly, indigo eyes downcast. “I suppose you’re correct. I have much to atone for Caduceus. There is much work to be done before I will deserve any of the kindness you foist upon me.”

“Hey now, I decide who deserves my kindness. We all do.”

Essek nods again, running a dirt stained hand through his silver hair. It leaves streaks of dirt, Caduceus says nothing.

“It’s difficult to be made aware of your stark moral failings, to learn what it means to truly care for someone again. It’s difficult to care more than you expect and to know what is enough, if anything is.”

His eyes flick behind Caduceus, where he can hear Caleb explaining something to Luc and he understands more than Essek probably wants him to. “You’ll find enough.” Essek looks at him, eyes full of a delicate hope, easily shattered, “He’ll tell you when it’s enough.”

His eyes widen just slightly and a deep blush spreads across his face alongside a smile so small it’s like he doesn’t want to let himself accept the barrage of feelings it holds back. “If.” His voice is small but the weight is heavy in the tone.

Caduceus reaches a hand to cover one of his, “When. Remember, I see things the rest of you don’t.”

Essek smiles wryly at that, voice full of mirth, “Of course Mr. Clay the ever observing.”

They go in for dinner and Essek speaks up a little more, he’s a little more alive. The change is small, but Caduceus notices.

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The second conversation is less expected, completely unexpected if he’s being honest. Caleb arrives at the doorstep of the grove one evening around 8 months after they’d last seen each other. “Hallo friend, I hope I am not intruding.”

His smile is easier now, though still restrained by sadness. “Not at all Mr. Caleb you are always welcome here. There should be left overs from dinner, fix yourself a plate.”

Caleb allows himself to be ushered in and fussed over. He tells a few stories of the trial but Caduceus tries to steer away from that particular vein of conversation. It’s raw and it doesn’t look like he’s fully healed. There’s still one catch somewhere that he needs to loose himself from before the smile will be easy and free, before he can walk away from his past and toward the future.

“I am going to Aeor next.”

Ah.

When Caduceus doesn’t say anything he continues, voice laced with trepidation, “I am going to ask Essek to join me.” he wants Caduceus to convince him of something.

“Well, two wizards is better than one.” He eyes Caleb knowingly and the wizard squirms a bit under his gaze.

“It is just, a little strange isn’t it? The directions we are led in.” He trails off again, maybe he’s hoping for wisdom. Caduceus decides he can probably dispense something.

“You’ve never seemed like someone who wanted much to be herded into decisions to me.”

“It’s been a journey.”

Caduceus clears his dish and sets down a teapot, “It’s a journey you’re still on. One that might not have a definite end. Is it worth it to deny yourself happiness because you’re worried about whether you deserve it?”

That caught him a little off guard, copper hair shook a bit as he’d clearly gone a little further than Caleb was expecting. He likes to talk in metaphors so that he can hide from truths later, or at least pretend everything can have multiple meanings. It’s time for Caduceus to stop letting him twist words around in that expansive brain of his until the original meaning is obscured by hypotheticals.

“I cannot tell you what’s right Caleb, but if you came here for a reasonable perspective listen to the one I’m giving you.” He pours the tea and offers honey, “You will never know if you don’t go and I know you better than you think. You don’t like loose ends, not as long as there’s something to learn.”

He nods, staring into tea, they’re so similar and so stubborn that Caduceus can feel the loving annoyance usually directed at his siblings creeping in. “Caleb, stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.” Caleb nearly interrupts but Caduceus keeps barrelling through, “Self-flagellation won’t get you anywhere, you’ll just end up with regrets and what ifs. Go explore Aeor, forget everything else for a bit. Do that thing the two of you do where you’re finishing each other’s sentences and nobody knows why you’re bothering to speak out loud because it’s obvious you’re thinking the same things.”

Caleb’s smile is smaller now, but lighter. “Ja mein Freunde, I think you will. Thank you for tolerating questions I don’t know how to ask out loud.”

Caduceus smiles back, “I think this will be good. If you need anything while you’re there don’t hesitate to reach out. Stock up on healing, you’ll need it.”

Caleb laughs at that and spends the night, before heading to Zadash the next morning, undoubtedly to clear out Pumat’s stock of healing potions.

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The third time this conversation is had it’s his fault. He doesn’t mean to start it, but honestly the situation is getting ridiculous and the sibling feelings Caduceus has to both the wizards are firmly cemented.

They decide to get everyone together maybe a year after the last conversation. It’s his first time seeing any of them since then and as soon as they’re all in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all. Essek had come to get him while Caleb gathered the rest at Beau and Yasha’s home in Rexxentrum. Jester wraps him in a crushing and loving hug, Beau gives him a punch that’s soft for her but still stings, Yasha offers clippings of flowers immediately, and Fjord’s hug is warm. Veth’s family is here and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Caleb greets him with the warmth that’s always burned behind eyes that hold less and less sorrow every time he sees him. He hopes they’ll drop it all together one day.

When they pop back into existence from the way Caleb and Essek look at each other Caduceus expects something to happen. He doesn’t know what exactly but they hold each other’s eyes in a profound way. There’s gravity to them and everyone can feel it, he’s getting tired of watching them fight it.

It seems so simple even though he doesn’t feel that kind of pull, to see where this is going. It’s feels like the days before a big storm, when everyone knows what’s coming and it’s getting a little ridiculous that you’re still waiting for lightning to strike.

Everyone else drinks, they cook and eat and tell stories. Caleb and Essek sit apart but spend the entire time stealing glances across the table when they don’t think the other is looking. Nearly always they catch each other.

Yasha plays on the bone harp, she’s gotten very good and Jester swings Veth around into a dance. Kingsley, three sheets to the wind, grabs Beau and whips her into a reluctant dance and her initial protests eventually bubble into laughter. Caleb sits beside Caduceus and Jester has switched to twirling a flustered Essek across the floor of the livingroom. It often turns to dancing with these people and he loves that they love it so much.

“As I recall you’re an excellent dancer Mr. Caleb, go cut in.”

He shakes his head, “Ah- I couldn’t. Yasha is playing and I don’t think you’re much of a dancer.” He looks over with a quirk of a brow.

“I’m sure Jester won’t mind a break.”

He coughs at that, “I ah-”

Caduceus shakes his head, “No, talking is done, this is getting ridiculous.” He puts a hand square on his back and guides Caleb to stand, “You two will weave circles of metaphor around each other until one of you drops. Go Caleb, follow gravity.”

He seems to understand, seems to accept Cadcueus’ words and as soon as he stands to full height, Essek is watching over Jester’s shoulder. She, thankfully, understands the same way Caduceus does and even sends a wink as she loudly proclaims, “Oh my gosh Essek I’m so tired, I think Caleb needs someone to dance with, go to him.” She extends her arm, releasing him, and his levitation doesn’t allow him to stumble at the abrupt change in momentum.

Essek and Caleb meet and Essek steps to the ground gracefully as Caleb holds his hand out and pulls him in.

Nobody says anything for fear of spooking the delicate peace that settles over both of them as they gently turn, but Yasha slows the music she’s playing a bit and a quiet celebration is shared in the eyes of the rest of the Nein.

Caduceus breathes a sigh of relief and Jester sits herself beside him, bringing an overly sweet juice she’d found on her travels for him to try. She tells him stories into the night, and the wizards never let each other’s hands go.

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #caduceus clay #critical role #the mighty nein #cr fanfic #critical role fanfiction #tm9 #my writing #omni writes #my fic #a little worried this is ooc for Cad but also I think he's just treating them like he'd treat his siblings #eventually you just gotta push people in the direction they're heading

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lavaffair · 2 years

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Begin Again - Rated T

It's been a while since I've written anything, and it just so happens that I'm not writing a one-shot. It's a story with 9 (ish) chapters!!!

It's my first one ever so I hope you guys enjoy it if you decide to join me on this new journey.

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There is beauty in starting over when you get to let go of what happened and who you were in the past.

Kagome has moved into a new apartment, and she looks forward to a brighter future where she leaves the baggage of a toxic relationship behind. Rooming with her best cat Buyo, Kagome starts to experience the fun of living alone. Although, she didn't count on her neighbor being a cute half-demon.

She also didn't expect to develop a crush on him either.

you can find it on AO3! (Multi Chaptered)

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Chapter One

After unloading the last box into her new and empty apartment, Kagome felt like she could finally take a deep breath and begin analyzing the situation. She still needs to unpack her belongings and place them where they belong, and with her best friend's help, it will be done faster and efficiently. Her apartment complex was decently sized with multiple three-story buildings swarming the land. Rent was a decent price, one that she could definitely afford and live comfortably on her own, and the layout of the unit itself was really nice. Bunking with Sango and Miroku for eight months helped her to save up for the new move, and she was excited for this new phase in her life.

Moving into this place was like a breath of fresh air, so clean and free of the pollutants that once claimed her life. With this, Kagome was ready to leave her ex-boyfriend and all the pain he left her behind. The way the relationship had ended could be compared to a work of fiction, even to the point where she had to move in with her two best friends until she got back on her feet. The first two months had been terrible as she dealt with an aching heart and a broken spirit. Insecurity and doubt etched into her mind, haunting her while she continuously blamed herself for not being enough for him to stay faithful to her.

‘If he cheated on me, it’s clearly because there is something wrong with me.’

Although she had convinced herself that those words held true, with time and patience she began to heal. After days and nights of consistent crying, emotional breakdowns, and girls' night-outs for distraction, Kagome was beginning to glow differently. As weeks dragged on, she faced the trauma and pain head-on and allowed herself to feel it. Processing what had happened gave her a new, outsider point of view of the relationship. Journaling became a new hobby, giving her a canvas to write about any thought that crossed her mind.

Pros and cons lists were made, and Sango would scream with her in large, empty parking lots that were far from civilization with Miroku tagging along as their designated driver. Therapy sessions with her mother and hanging out with her brother Sota helped too. If it hadn’t been for her best friends and family; Kagome would have lost herself months ago. The days were rough, and it felt like the tears she cried would never cease, but they did. Just like that, all the love she carried for this man vanished as fast as he had turned into a stranger.

Kagome had learned her lessons, and now she could see the red flags that she once ignored. While focusing on herself, she landed a position as lead editor for the publishing company she worked for. It was a fantastic opportunity, and it made really good money.

The confidence that was ripped apart had returned, the self-doubt had disappeared, and she realized that what he did was not a reflection of her but a reflection of who he is. Truthfully, she’s not too sure if she’s ready for something new; there is still fear latched to her heart about trusting someone and falling in love all over again.

She shook her head to brush away that thought clouding her mind. Focus on the present!

“Okay, that’s the last of it.” Miroku declared. He locked the door behind him and observed the empty apartment.

“Don’t you think it’s cute?” Kagome asked, her voice filled with nervous excitement.

“Yeah, I really like the naked white walls and hardwood floors. Reminds me of our guest bathroom at home. ” He sarcastically replied.

“Ha-ha,” Kagome replied dryly. “Give me a few weeks to make this place mine and you’ll see.”

“I think it’s got a lot of potential.” Sango chimed in. “Plus, you’re great at decorating. Unlike Miroku when he was in charge of the said guest bathroom.” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, I never agreed to decorate the bathroom,” He retorted, “You told me to do it.”

“Because it’s next to your man cave.” The girls replied in unison.

He pouted, clearly in defeat. “I like things simple.”

Kagome clapped her hands. “Perfect! So then we can all agree, my apartment is cute, especially when it looks like Miroku's guest bathroom.” Kagome cheered.

“Just like you.” Sango complimented.

Miroku chuckled at the scene before him, admiring the way the girls enjoyed each other's presence. “Alright. While you guys flirt with each other I'm gonna go ahead and order us some pizza.”

Kagome looked around at the unopened boxes and sighed. “While we wait for the pizza, wanna help me unload some of my stuff?”

Sango smiled softly at her best friend. “If I don’t help you, you’ll do it by yourself, and you’re clumsy enough to break something.”

Miroku put his hand over his cell phone's speaker and loudly whispered, “You may even break you!”

Kagome sent Miroku a mock glare, failing to conceal the grin on her face, and swiftly turned on her heel towards the kitchen with a huff. “Fine, then come help Miss Clumsy unload her dishes first!”

Carefully, the girls began unloading the boxes with Kagome’s fragile items one by one. Together they cleaned the cabinets and drawers before adding her dishes, pots, and pans. Miroku joined after placing the pizza orders and helped unload her cooking and eating utensils. Since she will be living alone, she didn’t have a lot of dinnerware, but she fell in love with a glazed set and she is very capable of dropping them all.

Once they completed unloading the kitchen items the pizzas had finally arrived, and they happily plopped down on the dusty floor to eat.

“Your next move is to get some furniture in here.” Miroku managed to say with his mouth full. He thought it was a good idea to add extra cheese to the pies, but now it’s so cheesy that he is having a hard time with it.

Kagome nodded before taking a bite. “I won’t have any for another week. My pick-up orders have been delayed, so I’ll be eating on the floor for the time being.”

Sango shrugged her shoulders and grinned. “Good thing you had your own bed. The floor is comfortable, but use a pillow if your butt starts to go numb.”

“Oh no, not my butt!” Kagome giggled, “My most prized possession!”

The group was quick to eat the large pizza, the quick meal helping them tremendously. It gave them enough fuel to continue unboxing as many of Kagome’s possessions as possible, as long as there was a place to put them. Together they built her bed and put her clothes away in her closet, as well as loaded her bathroom with all of her hygiene products and various soaps. The number of boxes left was manageable for Kagome to unload by herself, and all the heavy-duty items were already in their spots.

Sango dusted off her hands and exhaled, looking around the little empty apartment that will now be her best friend's home. “Guess that’s it.”

“Yeah.” Kagome breathed, joining her in taking in the empty living room.

Miroku shook his head and laughed, “You guys are acting like we don’t live five minutes down the road.”

The girls rolled their eyes and scoffed, “You just don’t get it.” They said in unison.

His eyebrows shot up, his eyes averting their gaze. “Well,” he laughed as he patted their heads. “Call us if you ever need anything. I won’t miss watching you eating my snacks while you binge watch movies on the couch.”

“Your Doritos are now safe once again.” She laughed.

“Nah, my oreos are safe. His Doritos were always your second choice.” Sango chimed in with a smirk. She pulled Kagome into a hug, squeezing her tightly in her arms. “I’ll miss seeing your grumpy face every morning.”

Kagome laughed, squeezing her back with the same vigor. “I’m down the street, you can come to see my grumpy face whenever you want.”

Sango squeezed her harder, “Call me whenever. We’ll run right over if you need us.”

“Babe, you’re gonna pop her like a balloon if you hug her any harder.”

They let each other go, laughter echoing around the empty apartment. They made their way to the front door, giggles still leaving their mouths as the reality set in that this would be the first night that they don’t live under the same roof together. Kagome opened the door and leaned on it, a sad smile now decorating her features.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Her hands fiddled with the doorknob, turning it back and forth within her hand. “Text me when you get home.”

Their car’s lights blinked twice as Miroku unlocked the doors, the finality of the day beginning to set in between them.

“We will.” He held Sango’s hand with his and pulled it to his chest, a common thing he does whenever he knows she needs comfort. They said their final goodbyes, and Kagome silently watched them open their doors and climb inside.

“Don’t talk to strangers!” She heard Sango’s voice yell from the window, her boisterous laugh reverberating in the parking lot.

She waved goodbye as their car pulled out of the spot, happy little giggles leaving her mouth for no one but herself to hear.

_____

Two weeks had already passed since Kagome moved into her new apartment, and in those fourteen days, she had already made it into a home. She surprised herself when she successfully built her new furniture without any extra help, being convinced she would have to call Sango to come over to be her second pair of arms. Her dining table and chairs, couch, and lounge chair had already come assembled; but her coffee table, dresser, and nightstands were easy to puzzle together with her small toolbox and little knowledge of assembly.

She padded herself on the back for her skills in interior decorating, thanks to the internet, she had already bought everything she needed before moving in and added them into their designated spaces once the furniture was added. With her home office now set up, and all the other rooms organized; she could finally lay around comfortably in her own home.

Work has been eating up all of her time, no thanks to the move, and she felt like she had been drowning in paperwork. Playing catch-up would never be easy for Kagome, as she usually sucks at staying level-headed under pressure. Luckily, she’s getting the hang of it thanks to her promotion, the mountainous piles of paperwork and tasks were slowly becoming no match for her quick thinking.

Her stomach grumbled loudly in the silent room, telling her that it was going to shrivel up and die if it isn’t fed soon. Again, she had prioritized her job over her hunger and now her body was complaining. Exhausted, she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Guess I need to go eat before my stomach decides to eat itself.

The chair pushed back with resistance against the floor; a piercing squeal followed the movement, and it made her body shiver in reaction. “That can’t be good for the floor, but right now, I’m too hungry to care.”

She sauntered to her little kitchen and pulled out some leftover dinner from the night before, along with an extra helping of rice because she deserved it, and threw it into the microwave.

“Buyo!” She called for her cat, “Come for dinner!” Her foot tapped on the hardwood floor, an old habit she picked up from her mother to summon the cats back home, and filled his little bowl with his favorite food.

While she set it back down to the ground, the microwave beeped, and she excitedly grabbed the plate full of food and set it on the counter. Her stomach flipped as it continued to growl and complain, her hunger was really starting to set in the longer she waited to eat.

Without caring about whether or not she burned her tongue, Kagome scooped the salmon rice into her mouth and hummed happily. She danced where she stood, too happy to take a seat at her dinner table to eat like a normal person, and stuffed her face faster than usual. The hours she had gone without any food, even a snack; had been a terrible idea and as she took her last bite she promised herself to never do that again.

A promise she had been breaking the last two weeks.

“Dinner was good huh, Buyo?” She asked her cat, the fullness in her stomach finally settling in.

Looking down towards the food bowl, she realized it was still filled to the brim, with no chunky Calico cat in sight.

“Buyo?” She called a second time, her voice raised with concern. “Where are ya bud?”

Kagome checked every corner, nook, and cranny in the hope she would find her cat hiding somewhere he couldn’t get out. She looked in his favorite spots, under her bed, and even in the bathtub, but she could not find her cat.

In a last-minute attempt as panic set inside of her, she decided to look for him outside of her unit. Buyo was an inside cat, and if he managed to escape somehow, she was convinced she was never going to see the beloved feline ever again.

His little bell is attached to his collar, I just need to be really quiet and focus on hearing it. With her two bunny slippers and oversized cardigan thrown onto her shoulders, she fought a heart attack and stepped outside.

“Buyo!” She cried out, her voice echoing in the parking lot. “Buyo, baby, come here!”

There was no sound, not even a little jingle or a pitter-patter of tiny paws on the concrete to alert her that he was around. Cars were searched underneath, flowers and shrubs were moved around, and she even crouched on the ground to look in between small areas.

“This your cat?” A male's voice called out to her, gruff and deep, yet welcoming.

In her crouched position she looked over to find that the owner of the voice was her neighbor, although this is the first time she has ever seen him in person, she was finally able to connect his voice to his face.

Kagome had to squint to make sure the giant, round fluffball in his hands was indeed her cat, but as soon as he loudly meowed in his arms it was confirmed from there.

“Oh my god, Buyo!” Legs wobbling from anxiety, she ran right over to the man and hugged him. The impulsive action hit her immediately upon feeling just how big and muscular the man she randomly hugged was.

“I-I’m sorry!” She stuttered, pushing herself off his chest. “I’m just so happy you found my cat.”

“You hug every person you meet?” His voice sounded rough as he asked her, but the flush on his face told a different story. This girl was cute, and he had definitely not expected to get hugged by his pretty neighbor.

“N-no! I’m just really thankful.” She repeated. “He’s my first cat, and I’ve never lost him before.”

The color of her cheeks matched his own, and it wasn’t just because she decided to hug a stranger, it is also because this stranger was the most attractive person she’s ever seen and it had her internally spiraling. With his long, white hair and piercing gold eyes, it was no surprise she was a blushing mess.

“I-It was nothin’.” The man replied, the cat in his arms becoming more interesting than the girl in front of him. He gently scooped him out of his arms and into hers, the furry cat nesting himself comfortably into her chest. “Ya gotta lay him off the cat food.”

“Hey!” She guffawed, “Take that back! Buyo’s shy.”

Her handsome neighbor chuckled, the sight before him was a lot cuter than he’d like to admit. “Shy enough to walk into my apartment while I’m making lunch? That’s even bold for me.”

Kagome couldn’t keep her smile back, the action causing his cheeks to redden deeper. “If Buyo likes your food, I’d take that as a compliment.”

Something about her smile had him reeling, it was inexplicable how this girl he just met could have such a strange effect on him. The same girl who just moved in two weeks prior, who he could hear singing songs to herself while she did her chores and babbled about things to her cat. The new sounds and smells that came out of her apartment were definitely welcomed, especially because he found her entertaining and new.

“What’s your name?” He found himself asking before he could stop himself. He already knew her name, but he wanted to hear her confirm it.

Her finger stopped wiggling around Buyo’s face at the sound of his curious voice, the feline deciding to paw at the finger to make her start moving it again. “My name’s Kagome. And yours?”

Kagome. He thought to himself, her name reverberated in his head. “Inuyasha.”

“Inuyasha.” Kagome smiled again, his name coming off like honey out of her throat. “And you’re a dog demon, right?”

Normally, that question would have turned him off and he would tune out the rest of the conversation because it usually never ends well; his minuscule amount of friends is proof of that. Although, with the way she asks it, he feels the need not to turn a cold shoulder towards her, because the tone in her voice is filled with innocent curiosity instead of malice.

“I’m half. Why do ya ask?”

“No particular reason,” she readjusted the now sleeping cat in her arms. “I just really like your ears.”

Heat flared up in his face again, the innocent compliment catching him totally off guard. The only people who verbally compliment his ears are his mother, the little old ladies he sees at the grocery store, and kids. Besides those experiences, he’s never received something so genuine.

He cleared his throat to play it cool, a smirk painting his face. “Flattery will get you nowhere, but I’ll take it since I saved your cat and all.”

Kagome rolled her eyes, playing along. “Technically, all he did was walk into your apartment to eat your food. He was safe the entire time”

“What if he wasn’t.”

“But he was.”

“I could have kicked him out into the street.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But the option was there.”

“But yet,” she grinned, “You didn’t.” Her gaze stayed glued to his own, the smirk on his face now dimming into an annoyed frown. She knew she won the little game, because instead of sending her cat into danger, he probably let Buyo sleep on his floors instead.

“I’m going back into my apartment. I’ve been out here long enough, and your chunky cat is back where he belongs.” He announced, knowing he wasn’t going to win against the raven haired beauty. He briefly opened the door and stepped inside, and decided to lean on it; knowing he wouldn’t go inside his home until he knew she went into hers first. It’s something he learned from his mom when he was a kid, and he always followed it, especially with girls.

From what Kagome could manage to see from his entryway, his apartment was simply decorated and dark, something she would completely expect from him even though they had only just met.

“Don’t hate on the chunky, Inuyasha!” She giggled at his unamused expression staring back at her. “Chunky cats have more to love.”

“Yeah yeah, go back inside your apartment.” He waved her off, closing the door.

Kagome smiled at his unit number, 200, before turning swiftly on her ankle to enter her house. With Buyo snuggled in her arms, his little body rising and falling with every breath he took, she suddenly felt sleepy as well and decided to turn in for the night.

What Kagome didn’t know was that her unamused, half-demon neighbor had quietly watched and waited for her own door to shut close, followed by the click of the locks to signal that she was safe.

#inukag #inukag fan fic #inukag fan fiction #inuyasha and kagome #inuyasha x kagome #fan fiction #fan fic #inuysha #kagome #ao3 #lavaffair #neighbors au #inukag neighbors au #inukag au #fluff #pining #neighbors to lovers

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thatfanficstuff · 3 years

Text

Impossible - 19

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: canon typical

A/N: I'm lazy so a gif instead of a header and no editing. Course I'm lazy cuz I'm writing a bunch of stuff behind the scenes, so...

***

“How long has it been since you fed?” Eric asked Godric.

“I require very little blood anymore,” he responded, looking rather annoyed. “You sent a human to rescue me?”

Eric wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his side. “I had little choice. These savages mean to destroy you.”

“I know what they had planned.” Again, that little voice spoke up in the back of your brain that they couldn’t have taken Godric and held him without him allowing it.

“You should eat,” you told him and nudged Gabe’s leg with your foot.

He simply looked at you with a bored expression. “He would have raped your mate and the human,” he said without even turning to Eric.

A second later, Eric broke Gabe’s neck then proceeded to glare at the body in fury. Suddenly, an annoying alarm and a flashing blue light caused you to jump as it startled you. “Shit.”

“Get them out of here,” Godric demanded of his progeny.

“I’m not going anywhere until—”

“Now. I can take care of myself. Spill no blood on your way out.”

“Why do you always have to ruin all my fun?” you pouted. You managed to catch his smirk before Eric herded you and Sookie toward the stairs. When you reached the top, you and Eric peered around the doorframe while Sookie hung back. Several men were rushing around mostly armed with stakes. “Where the fuck did they all come from? They’re like cockroaches.”

Eric huffed a laugh. “I could have us out in seconds.”

“Not without killing someone you can’t. You heard Godric.”

He growled low in his throat. “Stay here.”

“What’s he doing?” Sookie asked as she came out to stand with you.

You shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

He slumped forward trying to make himself look more human, less intimidating. You snorted. Like that was even possible. “Um…excuse me, sirs, but uh, Steve sent me over to uh man the exit here so I’ve got it from here.”

What even was that accent? You laughed again knowing Eric would hear though the humans would not.

“By yourself? I mean, you’re big and all but there’s a vampire running around,” one of them said, looking uncertain. “Where’s your stake?”

“Oh, golly. I knew I forgot something. Could I, uh, borrow yours?” Eric asked. You prepared to sprint to his aid at the first sign of trouble.

“I don’t think so, man. Get your own.”

As Eric prepared to glamour the man into handing over his weapon, one of the others moved around him. It was obvious he didn’t trust a word coming from Eric’s mouth. “Stake!” you yelled as you moved from the doorway.

Eric turned too quick for your eye to follow and knocked away the man trying to kill him. He did the same to one of the others, while you shoved the third into the wall with a hand on his chest. His friends ran off when you did so. So brave. Eric snatched the stake from his hand and tossed it aside. He cracked open the front door to see a mass of men headed in your direction.

“Those arrows are wood, you’ll never make it through,” the man you had pinned said.

“The sanctuary,” Sookie said.

Eric glanced to you and you shrugged. You had no idea if you could get out that way or not. You were guessing not but you sure as hell weren’t getting out the front. The three of you moved into the sanctuary, your hand firmly ensnared in Eric’s. “Where’s the exit?” he asked.

“Back there,” Sookie said, hurrying a bit so she could show you the way.

Then Steve Newlin appeared with a smug smile. “There are several exits, but the easiest one takes you straight to hell.” As if he’d coordinated it, the door behind you opened at that exact moment to admit some of his ‘holy’ army.

“Fuck,” you spat.

“You’re in God’s house,” one of the men in the group behind you said.

“Whatever you got to tell yourself, buddy,” came your easy reply. God had nothing to do with what they had planned.

“Let us go,” Sookie cried. “Save yourselves.”

You glanced at her. You had a lot of faith in Eric and yourself, but you were surrounded by about thirty men at the moment. There were limits. And you had no idea if Godric would help at this point. “She’s right, you know. You really should let us go.”

“The war has begun you evil whore of Satan,” Newlin said, stretching his arms out. “And the vampires started it by killing my father.”

This guy was such an asshole. “I’m going to have to stop you right there, reverend. I’m the evil whore of Eric, not Satan. Just thought I should clarify.”

“Really?” Eric muttered beside you.

You shrugged. You might as well go out laughing.

“Well then, you won’t mind dying beside him,” Steve snapped, that creepy smile still in place. You didn’t bother to tell him you didn’t intend to go out any other way.

“The vampire you were holding got away,” Sookie said in an effort to save you. “He’ll send help.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t care about Godric. Any vampire will do and we have one right here.”

Eric tried to release your hand, but you were stronger than you looked and kept hold of him as he stepped forward. He looked up at your captor.

“We will have a holy bonfire at dawn,” he announced.

Eric turned his attention to you as you gripped his hand harder. He reached down and pried your hand from his. “I will be fine.”

You clenched your teeth as he stepped forward, every instinct you possessed telling you not to let him go. You hated this, but the only way you could escape was to wait for the right moment and this wasn’t it. So, you let him go.

You stood your ground while he laid on the altar and allowed them to lay silver chains across him pinning him down as you kept from crying out at the echoing pain in your own body. You ignored Sookie while she yelled at you and asked why you weren’t doing anything. You swallowed your protests when Eric offered himself in exchange for you, Sookie, and Godric. And you ignored Newlin announcing you would be tied to the stake to burn with Eric because you were a traitor to the human race.

Then your salvation came in the unlikely form of Jason Stackhouse and a paintball gun. Just the distraction you needed. He shot Steve in the head, a green splatter coloring his pale skin. His ‘solidiers’ fell back, confused. They apparently couldn’t function without Newlin telling them precisely what to do. “I’m not human, asshole,” you said as you hurried past him to take the chains off Eric.

Eric grabbed Steve by the throat and slammed him into the floor. Sookie was yelling, telling him not to kill the reverend while Jason was telling him to do it. Your gaze found the male Stackhouse to find him being held by several men. What the hell was he even doing here? You really missed your gun.

Then Steve himself starting in, encouraging Eric to kill him and make him a martyr. You rolled your eyes and kicked him in the temple to knock his ass out. Eric released him and stood. Before either of you could say anything to the crowd around you, you heard the distinct sound of vampires moving. You exchanged a glance with your mate as you reached out and pulled Sookie into your side.

The sanctuary doors flung open to reveal Stan fucking Baker flanked by several vampires who quickly moved into position around the room. “Steve Newlin, you have pushed us too far,” he announced.

He was such a fucking drama king. “He can’t hear you, jackass. I knocked his ass out.”

“Be that as it may, we’re not going to sit around while he plans to kill us. We’ll kill them first. Just like we killed his father,” Stan said, shifting his weight like he was in an old Western prepping for a gunfight. He dressed like it, too. “Kill them all,” he ordered.

The vampires swarmed forward to select their victims. Just before you could take control on behalf of the Authority, a voice rang through the room. “Enough.” Everyone stopped and looked up to see Godric standing on the wall of the balcony above you. You could almost see the irritation and disappointment rolling off Stan.

Steve stirred beside you and pushed himself up on his elbows. Godric looked down at him. “Reverend Newlin, we do not have to be at odds. I will make the first move by promising there will be no violence against you and yours. Will you join me and make the same promise?”

“I will not make deals with sub-humans,” he announced as he got to his knees. He looked up at Eric. “Kill me. Do it. Jesus will protect me.”

“Shut up or I’ll kill you,” you told him. “Then you won’t be a martyr. You’ll just be an asshole that pissed off the wrong person.”

Eric chuckled then you both turned as Godric flashed between you and picked the reverend up by the back of his neck. “Good people, who of you is willing to die for this madman’s ideals?” No one stepped forward. “That’s what I thought.” He released Steve and let him fall to the floor. “There will be no bloodshed here. Go home.”

Once the humans dispersed, Godric stepped forward and glanced at the vampires. “Come.” Stan stepped forward trying to push his agenda and Godric just stared at him. “I said come.”

Jason ran over to hug Sookie while Eric turned you to look you over. “Are you okay?”

You nodded and held up your wrist. “Better than you. Drink.”

He didn’t even bother to protest and accepted your offering to heal him from the silver. The Reverend Newlin was still crumpled on the floor beside you crying for everyone to come back and not leave him. Idiot. You glanced from him to Jason. “Jason, thank you for the rescue, but the Fellowship of the Sun are not good company to keep.”

“Yeah, I know. I see that now. I promise.”

You studied him for a minute before giving him a nod. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” you said as you grabbed your mate’s hand to drag him out the door.

#eric northman x reader #eric northman fanfiction #true blood fanfiction #eric northman x you #series #impossible

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

Text

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 25: Riding a Bike

Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Jamie was simultaneously in Heaven and in Hell.

The Heaven part was Claire Beauchamp’s hand laced in his, walking from the parking meter to the restaurant on the water, down port in Port Jefferson. If dinner was as long as he’d planned for, the timing would be perfect for them to be walking around just as the sun was setting so that the colors would dance on her skin, in her curls, in her eyes. She was so much more relaxed than she was on that first date, so much more comfortable in the restaurant this time, one by the name of Old Fields. She loved that they could see the water, loved the flowers and wee plants around them at their outdoor table (he knew she would), loved the string of lights crisscrossing back and forth above their heads. She was illuminated like an angel.

The Hell part was what he’d committed to doing after this.

Not that it would be Hell, not at all. Christ, the thought of giving himself to her that way, the thought of her being his first (and only, if he had anything to say about it, though he couldn’t exactly say that this early without sounding like a nutter), the thought of finally giving in to those urges he’d felt since the first time she’d pressed her body against his in that bloody office…

That too, was Heaven.

But the waiting. The anticipation.

Christ, he was nervous.

He wanted to do it right, wanted to please her, wanted her to like it. He wanted her to like it as much as he already knew he would. He didn’t want to lose his head, or lose it too soon. He’d heard his friends ribbing each other as teenagers, how they’d lost it nearly the second they were inside for their first time. Claire deserved better than that.

Then he remembered she hadn’t been pleasured as such in years, and his throat went dry. He couldn’t disappoint her. He just couldn’t. It was not an option.

“Jamie?”

“Hm?”

He was pulled from his whirling thoughts by that reminder of Heaven, her gentle voice, warm, soft fingertips on his wrist; on his pulse, he realized. He looked up into her face when he realized she was not going to say anything else, and saw her gazing softly at him, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“You’re very loud without saying a word,” she said.

Jamie chuckled nervously, feeling himself blush. “Aye, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she tightened her grip on his wrist. “That’s not why I said that.” He wet his lips, nodding. “Are you…nervous? About…later.”

Throat dry, causing pain when he swallowed, he nodded. “Feels foolish, but aye.”

“It’s not.” Her thumb rubbed calming circles over his pulse, and it felt like she was literally soothing his heartbeat back to a steady rhythm. That was her affect, her healing touch, her magic. “It’s normal. I’m…I am, too.” He watched a beautiful blush begin at her sternum and creep its way up her neck and into her face, like watching flowers bloom up and down a vine.

“But I…” she went on, breathing shakily. “I really, really want to, Jamie.”

Jamie thought he might just die.

Her voice was low and husky in a way he’d never heard, and she did not break eye contact. He nodded, his jaw agape.

“Aye,” he somehow managed to stutter. “I…I do, too.”

She brought his fingers to her lips, and he prayed she would not feel how clammy his hand was.

“Worrying about it now won’t change anything that happens later,” she whispered, causing the hairs on his hand and wrist to stand on end, tickled by her breath. “It’ll be okay.”

And though he still felt like he might vomit, or faint, or keel over, he knew she was right.

He tried to focus instead on the menu, on the bread basket in between them, on watching Claire break the bread into pieces before putting it in her mouth, not biting it. He tried to think of those hands, delicately breaking bread, holding surgical equipment, of those fingers tying stitches, stroking the brow of a frightened child on a stretcher. And then the bread was popped between her lips, and he could think of nothing but those lips, doing…well…

The waiter thankfully interrupted that next train of thought, and they each ordered. Jamie ordered the buttermilk fried chicken, which came with cornbread, coleslaw, and french fries, which he swapped for sweet potato fries. He caught a glint in Claire’s eye when he asked for the substitution, and he immediately knew she’d be having quite a few of those fries. Claire ordered butternut squash ravioli, and Jamie smiled as he handed the waiter their menus. He’d have to make that for her sometime; he wasn’t too bad at ravioli and other pasta dishes if he did say so himself.

The more rounds of drinks they got, the more relaxed they both felt, and the more Jamie could look at the lights dancing on Claire’s skin without thinking of the terror of the rest of her skin being bared to him.

Well, not entirely.

It was always there, in the back of his mind, but Claire’s melodic laugh, her pensive gaze as she stared over the water, the way she jumped when the ferry horn blared, and that damned healing touch of hers always pulled him back out of his head. She talked about patients and incidents at work, about Joe saving her sanity nearly once an hour, about Faith’s new habit of laying out every one of her barbies on the coffee table in the morning and leaving them there untouched until it was bedtime, only to repeat the process every morning, about how Faith arranged the furniture in her dollhouse. Jamie talked about his own clients, about how great Faith was doing with Jessica, and he told a particularly long anecdote about his one client with Down Syndrome, Holly.

“I dinna ken what to do about that one,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “She’s making braw progress, just great. Her fine motor is getting so much better, her strength is improving, she communicates great wi’ the horse and wi’ us. But she…Christ, how do I say it…”

“She has a crush on you,” Claire said, putting her chin in her hands and smiling.

“Aye! How d’ye know?”

“I’ve seen her at the events. She’s the sweetest thing, but she’s especially sweet to you,” Claire said, her eyes bright with mirth. “How old is she again?”

“Eleven,” Jamie said. “The problem is, she does so well wi’ me, right? But I dinna ken if it’s just because she’s, well, sweet on me. And is that ethical? For her to progress so well because she’s sweet on a grown man more’n twice her age?”

Claire laughed. “Well, it isn’t your fault. You do what you can for her and you keep it professional. She’ll outgrow it, I’m sure.”

“I’m no’ so sure,” Jamie said. “Doesna help that her mam encourages her.”

“Perhaps she has her own crush and she’s living vicariously through Holly.” Claire took a cheeky sip of wine, and Jamie barked with laughter.

“Shameless, Sassenach.”

“What? It’s quite difficult for a woman to resist someone like you. And good with kids, and animals?” She put down her wine glass. “You’re a dreamboat, darling. I’m quite aware how lucky I am. And I would be even if the other moms weren’t constantly reminding me.”

The thought made Jamie blush; all the mothers ogling at him from where he couldn’t see, telling Claire about said ogling.

Claire suddenly shook her head, mouth and eyes wide with disbelief.

“What?”

“It’s like…you don’t even know.” She rested an arm on the table, leaning her chin in her other hand.

“Dinna ken what?”

She bit her lip, perhaps stifling a laugh, or trying to stop herself from saying it. “I’ll…I’ll tell you later.”

His stomach flipped.

When dinner arrived, Claire did steal quite a few of his sweet potato fries, and he didn’t have it in him to tease her for it. She thoroughly enjoyed her own meal, and he catalogued that knowledge away, along with the knowledge of her love of sweet potato. They skipped dessert, Jamie promising her well-priced ice cream instead.

Said ice cream was obtained at a little shop tucked away at the corner of a narrow pedestrian cobblestone walkway. Claire was completely enamored with every little shop and cafe they passed, remarking how “sweet” or how “darling” everything looked, and Jamie wanted to kiss her senseless.

He ordered moose-tracks, which Claire had apparently never had, and Claire got her usual soft-serve vanilla with rainbow sprinkles on a cone. Jamie gave her a bite of his, and she nodded in approval, saying she might actually get that next time.

Next time.

The thought of an endless future of holding Claire’s hand at sunset with ice cream on her tongue was making him dizzy.

They strolled closer and closer to the water, chatting and eating. Claire insisted Jamie have a lick of her ice cream since she’d tried his, but Jamie was certain she just wanted to watch him make a mess of his face with the quickly melting mess. She got her wish, if that was her intention.

When they reached the beach, Jamie asked Claire to hand him her shoes; the wedges she was wearing were not conducive to walking in the sand. She obliged, and they walked on. They walked along the shoreline, passing groups of young people with grilles, families or couples with dogs. There was even a lone swimmer, stroking valiantly in the near still water.

Claire was looking out over the harbor, at the boats, the birds, the colors in the sky. “This really is so beautiful, Jamie.”

“I’m glad ye like it,” he said. “I used to come here by myself just to think. I come wi’ Toni to get food and people watch. It’s very fine to have you here.”

She bit into her cone, and he smiled, finally giving into the urge to kiss her cheek, even as she chewed.

They eventually found their way to a dock, and they sat on the edge, dangling their feet, Claire’s shoes sitting behind them. The sun was mere minutes from setting now, and Jamie’s heart could have burst. He’d calculated the timing just right; he’d gotten to see all of nature’s glowing colors in various states of sunset reflected on Claire’s skin, her hair, her eyes. He could swear that her eyes literally changed color depending on the color of the light around them. She was truly ethereal, so much so that his stomach settled for the first time all night.

They sat swinging their feet, Claire resting her head on Jamie’s shoulder, Jamie holding her against him. It was perfect. The scent of her was driving him mad, that sweet perfume, lemongrass, and that deep herbal essence that always permeated her, likely from her garden. Then they were kissing, madly and deeply, and someone could have docked their boat right next to them and Jamie wouldn’t have noticed.

——

When Jamie opened the back door of his car to retrieve Claire’s overnight bag for her, she noticed that he wiped his hands on his trousers before actually picking up the bag.

He was sweating.

She wanted to tell him that it was going to be alright, that it was not going to be as terrifying as he dreaded, that she’d be happy no matter how he performed.

Not that she wasn’t thinking about how he would perform.

It was perhaps a bit unfair to place such high expectations on him. He was virginal after all. But God, there was something about him that had Claire convinced that she wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. And she eagerly awaited it.

She’d wanted him, very badly, for a long, long time. Longer than she cared to admit. And she very well might finish at the first contact and then he’d have nothing to worry about.

Before Claire could reveal her horrendously mortifying train of thought, Jamie was unlocking the front door. He lived on the bottom floor of his building, and there were outdoor entrances like there were at her building.

“It’s no’ much,” he said sheepishly, turning on the lights. “Bachelor pad, after all.”

Claire looked around the living room they stepped into, her chest warming. “It’s lovely.”

There was a gray couch facing a not-too-big tellie, a coffee table in the center of a woven blue area rug that matched the tartan blanket draped over the back of the couch. There were burgundy-red throw pillows that matched the red on the tartan.

“Fraser tartan,” Claire said, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “Right?”

“Aye,” Jamie said eagerly, beaming. “Ye remembered.”

“Remembered?” Claire snorted. “I have been entirely unable to forget the sight.”

She moved on to examine photos on the wall behind the couch, and she saw him blush out of the corner of her eye. She recognized Jenny and Ian from pictures on Jamie’s phone; there were photos from their wedding with Jamie in them, photos of the children, with and without Jamie. There was a photo of three cheesy grins on eager children, two of them redheaded little boys. The one in the middle leaned heavily on his sister and brother, grinning the brightest of all. Willie.

Above them was a photo of them with their parents. Ellen was beautiful. Like a Goddess or an Amazon. Her jawline could cut ice, and her high cheekbones gave way to cat-like eyes.

“You look so much like her,” Claire said softly. She felt him come up closer behind her.

“Thank you.”

She turned to offer him a sad but loving smile, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her head on his shoulder. Her eyes wandered over Ellen and Brian’s wedding photo, both of them elegant and regal, Brian in his full Fraser regalia, Ellen in a gorgeous, very eighties gown.

“Your family is so beautiful, Jamie.” Claire gave him a squeeze. “Just looking at these I can tell how much love there is between all of you.”

Claire had always wondered what it was like to have family like that. Of course Lamb had been her family, and she loved him endlessly. She always would. But family like this, family to fill a wall with and look at similarities between…she’d never had such a thing. So she always wondered.

“I can’t wait to meet them someday.”

She said it softly, so softly that she might be able to take it back if she needed. But Jamie squeezed her back and kissed the top of her head.

“I canna wait either, mo ghraidh.”

They took off their shoes and moved into the kitchen, the counters empty and spotless save his coffee maker and a blender, quite unlike the ever-present mess in her kitchen. There were white roses in the center of the table, and Claire got the distinct feeling that he didn’t always have such a thing.

“For you, Milady.” He gallantly offered her a rose from the bunch, and she deeply inhaled its fresh scent, looking up at him through her lashes. The whisky came next, and then they were on the couch, glasses in hand, rose tucked behind Claire’s ear. They would go back and forth between talking animatedly, laughing, teasing, and then utter silence, sipping their glasses uncomfortably, sweat pooling at the base of Claire’s back. And probably under her arms. This went on for far too long before Claire decided to say something.

“So — ”

“Listen, I —”

They both snapped their mouths shut, blushing fiercely. They stumbled apologies over each other, but then Claire stopped it all.

“You first,” she insisted.

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “I was ehm…gonna…well…” He ran a hand through his hair, and Claire’s heart strained to see it was trembling. “I dinna ken what to do right about now. I mean, I ken what to do!” he corrected quickly, but he hadn’t needed to. Claire knew what he meant. “It’s just — ”

“No, I know. I know what you mean.” Claire took another sip of her drink. “I don’t…know what’s next either.”

Jamie laughed, a shaky, nervous sound. Claire wanted to take him in her arms and soothe him, kiss away all his fear. Yet she also wanted to pounce him right there, make him spill his whisky all over that beautiful carpet and drag him to the bed and leave it there until morning.

Though that didn’t seem very productive.

“I was going to say that you don’t have to worry about condoms,” Claire said, nodding curtly. “I mean, I know you don’t have anything, and I don’t. Unless you want — ”

He shook his head. “I trust ye.”

Claire nodded. “And well, I’m on the pill. So.”

He nodded thoughtfully, sipping his drink again. She saw the unasked question in his eye. She didn’t need to prove to him that she wasn’t just ready to start sleeping around at any given moment, but she wanted to.

“I took it even before I started having sex,” she explained. “Bad periods. Really bad.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” Claire waved it off. “It was convenient when I started having sex. Then Frank wanted kids right after getting married even though I was still in medical school, so I went off it. Went right back on it as soon as I could after Faith was born.”

“Frank wanted kids?”

She saw the regret as soon as he said it, flashing in his eyes like a storm.

“Exactly,” Claire said. “I don’t need to tell you of all people that Faith is my joy and blessing and…everything to me,” she said, her chest aching. “But…I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to even start trying until the age I am now. Pregnancy and infancy during med school was really hard.”

“I canna imagine.” He put a hand on her knee, squeezing. “Ye’re brave, Claire. And strong.”

She smiled weakly. “I didn’t feel like it at the time. I couldn’t even say no to him. Even though I knew why he was doing it.”

He didn’t want to ask, she could tell. He squeezed her knee harder and rubbed his thumb over her kneecap.

“He thought I’d give it up,” she said simply, shrugging. “Being a doctor. If I had children. Thought I’d resign myself to barefoot and pregnant.”

Jamie’s every feature darkened. Claire covered his hand with hers on her knee.

“I’m sorry we got into that tonight. I didn’t mean…at all…”

Unprompted and unexpectedly, Jamie’s lips met hers, harder than they had all night. He pulled away, and Claire felt breathless.

“What was that for…? I didn’t exactly set the mood…” Claire rolled her eyes in admonishment of herself.

“I admire the hell out of you, Sassenach.”

Overwhelmed with affection, Claire kissed him back.

When they pulled apart, Claire took note of the time from the digital clock on the cable box.

“I need to call Gail, get the updates, make sure Faith went down okay,” Claire said, reaching for her phone. Gail and Delia were spending the whole night at the apartment rather than Faith sleeping at their house; Claire had been worried that Faith would panic if nighttime routine was not at home.

“Do you want to…” Claire put her drink down on the coffee table as she pulled out her phone. “Meet me in the bedroom?”

She thought he might drop his drink; she almost jerked her hand forward to catch it.

“Ah — yes, aye, that’s fine,” he stammered. He set his glass down beside hers and stood up. “I’ll just…do that.”

She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. If she hadn't already had three overtly sexual encounters with this man, these interactions would convince her that she was in for a rough night.

Gail gave a glowing report for Faith’s behavior and informed Claire that she and Delia were fast asleep, Delia in her sleeping bag next to Faith’s bed. Claire thanked her for the millionth time in just that one phone call, and then she hung up. She suddenly got the urge to wipe her palms on her dress. Now she was sweaty.

Christ.

She took a deep breath, in the nose, and out the mouth.

It’s just sex, Beauchamp. It’s like riding a bike.

Just sex…

It couldn’t ever be just sex with someone like Jamie. Not when she was his first, not when she felt…the way she did about him.

Christ.

She forced herself off the couch, swaying only slightly when she stood, and not from the alcohol.

She made sure she was breathing as she headed in the direction that Jamie had gone and into the room. His head popped up from his task. He was turning down the comforter, having already put the throw pillows on the floor in the corner.

“Yer bag is on the dresser,” he gestured to the dresser where there was, indeed, her overnight bag. She briefly wondered if she’d even bother sleeping in pajamas, then the image of her naked body pressed tightly against his seared her mind, and she thought she might fall over.

“Faith alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, she’s asleep, Gail said she was great. Stubborn about dinner, wanted to eat Delia’s food instead of her own, but Gail was able to get it straightened.”

Please, do keep drawling on about your five year old while Jamie Fucking Fraser turns down his bed to fuck you in.

“Good, glad to hear it.” He flashed her a grin, then straightened up. “The bathroom is an ensuite. Right through there.” He gestured, and Claire nodded in acknowledgement.

Then there they stood, six feet apart from one another, no excuses left. Jamie wiped his palms on his pants, and Claire fought the urge to do the same on her dress. It was yellow, another high-low dress with flowing cap sleeves. How she hadn’t managed to sweat through it yet was beyond her.

Jamie took a step forward, hesitantly. “I’d like to kiss ye now, Sassenach. If that’s alright.”

Claire inhaled on a gasp, then exhaled tremulously. She nodded without words, taking her own step forward.

Like riding a bike.

He closed the gap between them, cupping her face sweetly.

Like riding a bike with someone that makes your heart feel like it’s going to explode from beneath your sternum.

He dipped down and kissed her, gentle as ever. In the back of her mind, in a place that she wished would shut up, she prayed that he wouldn’t be that gentle all night.

She could feel the sweat on his palms that he’d tried so desperately to be rid of, clammy on her face, but she focused instead on the feel of his lips, on the gentle probing of his tongue, mingling with hers. Her hands had been resting absently on his chest, but she snaked them up now, wrapping them around his neck. She wanted to be closer, needed to be. Her heartbeat was erratic, and she wanted to feel his thrumming in desperate time with hers, right up against her.

His hands moved too, threading through her hair, tugging gently so he could tip her back for better access. She sighed with contentment, smiling against him and reaching her hands under his collar to scratch his neck. He groaned as she raked her nails down, tugging harder on her hair. She’d apparently unleashed something, because he redoubled his efforts, flipping them around so he could push her to the bed. They crashed down together, and before Claire could blink, Jamie was lying perpendicular to the headboard, legs dangling off the bed, and she was hovering over him, kissing him senseless.

Something that had been simmering in her all night began rising, steaming. If she was sweaty before, she was melting now. She ran her hands all over his chest, his arms; he peppered kisses all over her neck and collarbones and even the swell of her breasts. His hands alternated between running up and down her back and squeezing her arse over her dress. She needed more. Nerves were gone, and she was ready to throw a leg over him and straddle him now. Hell, if she finished fully clothed she could still be ready for more. She moaned loudly as Jamie bit her bottom lip, sinking her nails into his neck. She was about to throw her leg over him, but then he abruptly sat up, digging his own nails into her shoulders and clawing down her arms, no doubt leaving already fading streaks of red. Claire began kissing his neck, biting, nibbling, licking, then —

“What were ye gonna say?”

She barely registered that he’d even talked. She picked up her head and looked at him blearily, her chest heaving.

“What…?”

“At dinner…when ye said, ‘I’ll yell ye later’…”

“Oh.” It came flooding back, the way he’d looked when she mentioned all the mothers lusting after him, what that look did to her.

She smiled widely at him, at first genuine and sweet, and then it morphed into something wickeder. No, she would not straddle him just yet.

She slowly, torturously slowly, ran her tongue along his bottom lip, and then nipped at it with her teeth. “You don’t even know…” She trailed her fingers down his neck, stopping at the buttons of his shirt to start undoing them. “How God damn,” another button, “bloody,” another button, “beautiful you are.” She pushed the fabric of his shirt apart, four buttons open now, and kissed his sternum. “How…” another button, another kiss, “fucking…” another button, another kiss, “hot you are, Jamie.”

His shirt was entirely undone now, and she yanked it out of his pants and over his shoulders. She moaned in appreciation of his body, beautiful indeed, sculpted from fine marble. She ran her hands down his chest, his stomach, then back up.

“God, Jamie…” She was completely breathless, and he was barely even touching her. “The first time I saw these muscles, under that wet t-shirt…I was ready to bloody have you on that counter.”

He growled then, finally moving, capturing her lips with his with an aggression she didn’t know he was capable of. She whimpered in surprised appreciation, running her hands back up his perfect torso to thread her arms around his neck as his snaked around her waist.

“Christ, Sassenach,” Jamie groaned, kissing her neck fiercely. “I wanted ye…I wanted ye so badly that day I could scarcely breathe…”

She laughed, a throaty, wanton sound. “I know you did…” She ran a hand down the planes of his torso again and then walked her fingers down, down, down…until Jamie cried out, jerking into her hand. “I could feel it.” She palmed him gently over his pants, and Jamie sounded like he was choking on something. Claire chuckled darkly and continued kissing him sloppily as she rubbed him, becoming less and less gentle.

“What did you do?” she panted, nibbling his earlobe. “That day? What did you do with…this?” She gave a particularly hard squeeze, and he cried out again against her neck, latching his teeth there, and she whimpered.

“I…” She felt him swallow, hard. “I tried not to, Sassenach, I didna…” He hissed; she did not stop touching him, “want to dishonor ye.”

“Tell me, Jamie,” she breathed. “And I’ll tell you what I did.”

He let out a soft moan at that, a beautiful, endlessly endearing sound. “Oh, Christ…” His voice was gravelly in a way that made Claire’s stomach turn to liquid. “I…I took myself in my hand, and I…” Claire was unable to suppress a moan at the thought of her sweet, shy lad touching himself for her. “I imagined this. Only it’s…” He kissed her deeply, lapping at her mouth with his tongue like he was desperately hungry. “It’s better than I could ever imagine.”

And we’re just getting started, my lad.

Claire kissed him back, finally letting her hand leave him so she could grasp both of his shoulders. “I…” she panted. “God, I touched myself too, Jamie.” She pushed his shoulders down. “I couldn’t help it.” She straddled him, and he hissed at the contact, gripping her hips. God, he felt huge under her like this, and it sent a shudder through her entire body at the thought of taking him inside her.

“Then I…” She braced herself on his shoulders and began rocking her hips, just as she’d done that night. “I did this, on a…a pillow.” She laughed through the words, even as she ground down harder on him. “And I imagined this.”

His grip on her hips tightened, and his hands moved under her dress, under her underwear to grab the flesh of her arse. She groaned as he dug his fingers into that flesh, continuing to seek her pleasure with her thrusts.

Not enough. More. More.

Claire stilled her hips and removed her hands from his shoulders so she could find the edge of her dress. Jamie’s grip on her arse became impossibly tighter; his whole body seemed to freeze up and stiffen beneath her. She smirked, feeling herself flush at the thought of letting him see her. And then the dress was off and discarded, leaving her in the lacy white matching set she’d worn just for the occasion. He raked his eyes over her frantically, as if he didn’t know where to look, where to settle his gaze. His eyes were practically bugging out of his head, and he looked like he might lose consciousness. Claire flipped her hair to one side and leaned down to kiss him, gently gripping both sides of his face. She did not move her hips again, just kissed him gently, sweetly.

It’s okay. Take your time.

After a few lingering, deep kisses, Jamie finally moved his hands away from her arse and up the length of her back, bracing her against him. He flipped her onto her back and began peppering kisses on her neck, the crook of her shoulder, her jawline, all while sculpting his fingertips over the length of her collarbones. Claire kept her fingers threaded through his curls, tugging gently on occasion. He latched onto that spot, just above her collarbone where her neck began, and Claire cried out, the pooling heat within her rising to a boiling point. His hand snaked down the length of her torso, sliding over her bra, her waist, then resting on the small of her back. She felt his lips curl into a smile against her skin, and he softly kissed the spot he'd just assaulted, before trailing his tongue up the length of her neck and her jawline before finally coming home to her mouth.

She moaned greedily into his mouth, sucking hard on his tongue, combining it with hers. She moved her hands to the sides of his face, as if to pull him impossibly closer. He kissed her urgently, and she could feel the hard proof of his arousal on her thigh, but his hands remained still. Picking up on his shyness, Claire removed a hand from his face and took hold of the hand that was still stationary on the small of her back. He either didn't notice or didn't care, far too occupied with devouring her lips and tongue, tasting her teeth. She brought his hand back up the length of her torso, stopping on the left cup of her bra. She flattened his hand and firmly pressed his palm into the soft flesh.

He stopped kissing her then, and she felt him grow even harder, if that were even possible. He looked into her eyes, the bright blue almost gone, darkened with desire. His lips were hanging open in aroused shock, and the sight of them, swollen and red from her own assault made her squirm.

She gave him a wicked grin and pressed his hand harder onto her breast, groaning through her teeth, her jaw jutting forward. Despite how obvious it was that this was enjoyable for her, and him for that matter, Jamie still hesitated to squeeze on his own, floundering when her hand left his.

"Jamie..." She somehow found enough breath to pant out his name. "Touch me, Jamie, please."

Jamie gulped, and she watched as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, having to bite her lip to stifle the moan it elicited from her. God, everything he did made her simply melt.

He repositioned himself slightly so that he could bring a second hand, trembling like mad, to her other, neglected breast. He took them in his hands with bated breath, and the sight of him, in awe of her like this was nearly enough to make her come without any stimulation at all. He ran his thumbs back and forth over the lacy material of her bra, and she groaned at the contact to her nipples, even through the fabric.

Still, he was hesitant.

"Don't be gentle," she blurted out, unable to stop herself. "Touch me, Jamie. Please."

Something finally seemed to click; something unleashed from within him. His hands roughly squeezed her breasts, and Claire arched her back as a strangled cry ripped through her.

"Yes, Jamie..." He reached one of his hands under the cup, and she gasped at the flesh-on-flesh contact. "Yes..."

Like a man possessed, he tugged at the straps of her bra, and without even thinking twice, she slipped her arms out of the straps as he reached underneath her to unhook it. Claire couldn't help but giggle; his fingers were practically vibrating with how fiercely he trembled; it took him far longer than it should have for him to unhook the bloody thing.

When he finally succeeded, and her breasts were free, she sighed with contentment. He unceremoniously discarded it behind him and returned to his former position, fueled even further by the full sight of them now. She swore she heard him growl as he took hold of her breasts again, and Claire moaned at the sensation. He kneaded roughly, pushing them together and apart, trapping her nipples between his fingers. He dipped his head to kiss her sternum, and Claire blushed, knowing full well there was a pool of sweat gathered there. He didn't seem to mind, however, as his lips and tongue devoured her there, and then trailed kisses up the mound of her breast.

Claire gasped raggedly as his lips latched onto the nipple, kissing it over and over before firmly sucking and circling his tongue around it rapidly, all while still kneading the other breast. Claire was becoming feral: her hands were pushing into his head with a force that was surely uncomfortable for him, her heavy panting had quickly morphed into repeated, loud keening noises, and she was bucking her hips into thin air. She briefly wondered if it was possible to come just from this, with her lower extremities completely untouched. She certainly felt like it was possible.

Evidently, she'd never get to find out.

He switched his mouth to her other breast and trailed his hand, flat, down the expanse of her stomach, and Claire groaned in anticipation of the oncoming sensation. He slid his hand over her underwear and palmed her, his hand completely covering the entire surface area. Claire moaned loudly; his hand was so warm and large, the heat pressing into her almost made her come undone on its own. Noticing how enthusiastically she responded to this, Jamie kept his hand flat and large as he could on her, kneading and squeezing almost like he had done to her breasts, only gentler. She rolled her hips, keening incessantly as he carried on. After a while, he slowed his hand to a stop and kept his fingers still, then began grinding the heel of his hand into her, pressing directly into that bundle of nerves that had so been craving his touch.

She loudly cried out at the sensation, but he only let it last briefly. He had other plans. All the while, his mouth had not left her breast, kissing the skin, the nipple, licking, sucking. Now, his mouth hovered over hers as his fingers tantalizingly teased the top of her underwear. He inched them underneath, slowly, so fucking slowly.

"Please, Jamie," she cried out, not even having the mental capacity to consider how wanton she sounded.

He chuckled against her mouth, kissing her hard again. She groaned into him as his fingers teased her entrance to gather her natural lubricant, and he chuckled again, his chest rumbling.

He's laughing at how you're dripping wet already, you sex-fiend.

Not wasting any more time, he began rubbing, up and down, side to side, circling…

“Jamie…Jamie…fuck…”

Claire was completely lost.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her back completely arched, her fingers threaded in his hair again. He knew exactly when he spent too long in a certain spot, and he moved, he knew exactly when he needed to slow down, when he needed to speed up. He was watching her face intently, listening to her body, and of course to those noises.

Claire had no concept of how loud she was being now; she couldn't even hear herself anymore. The only thing she could hear was his panting in her ear, the purring in his throat, the chuckling growls in his chest. The world narrowed down to his fingers, taking up a pace with a quickness she had never felt before. Every breath she inhaled was a ragged gasp, every breath she released was a tortured moan.

Jamie latched teeth onto her nipple, and she was undone.

She came with a ferocity she hadn’t thought possible, her mouth hanging open, as screams, practically sobs, erupted from her.

His fingers slowed, gently stroking her down from her high. She was seeing stars as he kissed her lips again, and she kissed him back with a fervor she didn’t even know she could muster after the numbing orgasm he’d just given her. She kissed him until she was sure she would faint, only pulling away to ensure she didn’t drop dead for lack of air. She panted heavily, her walls still clenching inside her, her thighs still twitching. His hand left her, gently stroking up and down her ribcage. He was grinning down at her like a fool, clearly quite pleased with himself.

“Where the bloody hell did you learn how to do that?” Claire panted, her eyes hardly able to focus her vision.

He smirked at her, cocking an eyebrow. “I said I was a virgin, Sassenach.” He chuckled lightly and kissed her again. “No’ a monk.”

Claire shook her head in disbelief, completely dumbfounded. Would he ever cease to amaze her?

“Was it really all that good?”

She could tell that he was trying to play it off as a joke, attempting sarcasm, playing up his cockiness. But she could see right through it, could tell that he needed the reassurance from her verbally.

To answer him, Claire firmly took hold of both sides of his face and kissed him hard. When she pulled away she looked into his eyes, whispering: “Unbelievable.”

His grin widened again, and he kissed her back, threading his fingers through her hair. They pulled apart again and settled in to lay down, facing each other, foreheads pressed together.

“Ye’re beautiful when ye fall apart, Claire,” he whispered reverently, pushing a stray curl out of her sweaty face.

She felt her face get hot, but not from arousal this time. “Really…? I found myself resembling nothing short of a wanton slut.”

She’d meant it as a joke, and looked at him as such, smiling sheepishly. But his eyes had darkened again, and his face was almost gravely serious.

“No, Sassenach,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Watching ye in the throes of yer passion is…is beyond description, Claire. I dinna want to ever forget it.”

Claire felt tears stinging her eyes, and she felt ridiculous. Am I really about to cry because my boyfriend thinks I’m pretty when I come…?

But it wasn’t as simple as that. Not really.

The truth of his words, the depth of their meaning sank in, and Claire felt her heart being pulled to his. She was unable to stop herself from kissing him again, overcome with tenderness. The kiss gradually deepened, and it wasn’t long before Claire found herself burning, wanting again. She moved her hands down the expanse of his bare chest as he continued kissing her, stopping at his hips, where his pants began. She tugged on his belt until she got it undone, and Jamie smirked against her lips as she pulled it through the belt loops, discarding it over her shoulder.

“You…” she breathed out between kisses. “Are wearing…” She undid his fly. “Far too much clothing.”

He growled in response, deepening the kiss even as he tugged on his slacks, breaking away only to get them over his knees and heels, finally kicking them onto the floor. He laid back down beside her again, thrusting his tongue back into her mouth with an urgency that made her moan. His hardness was pressing firmly into her as they continued their exploration of each other’s mouths, and Claire found herself unable to resist rocking her hips against him. He mirrored her actions, grinding against her thigh. Claire draped her leg over his hips to increase her own friction, and slid her other thigh between both of his to increase friction for him, pressing the top of her thigh into his erection.

He let out a shuddering groan, a sound that sent heat shooting to her center. They began madly rocking together, their lips never leaving one another’s. Claire groaned and grunted as she fought to maintain a steady rhythm that stimulated her just right on him, the ever-present reminder of his arousal on her thigh driving her mad. Jamie was panting and groaning, his thrusts becoming frantic.

“Claire…” Jamie choked out, finally releasing her mouth. “I canna…I’m gonnae…”

“No.” Claire immediately stopped rocking. “Not like this.”

Every vein in his face was popping out, and he was dripping with sweat. Claire unthreaded herself from him and tugged on his briefs, and he obliged, sitting up and sliding them all the way off. Claire gasped raggedly as he was unsheathed. She’d guessed the relative size of him through clothing far earlier in their friendship than she’d have liked to admit, but to fully see it was another matter entirely.

She had to have him. Now.

She sat up, reached out and grabbed him, and he cried out. She squeezed and stroked oh-so-gently, not wanting to accidentally set him off this way, but wanting very badly to feel him in her hands first. He let his head fall backward, his mouth stuck open, his eyes looking up to the ceiling.

“Christ, Sassenach…” he hissed.

Claire chuckled softly, enjoying her turn to have power over him. “Are you ready, Jamie?

Ready for me to take your virginity?

The thought sent another jet of heat to her center, and she felt herself growing impossibly wet.

“Are you?” he asked.

She smirked and made a show of removing her underwear, exposing that arse that she knew he adored, wiggling them down torturously slowly. She could feel her own wetness trailing down her thigh without the barrier to stop it from doing so. When they were finally discarded, she rose up on her knees and took his hand in hers, bringing it between her legs. They both gasped, she from the sensation, and he from the arousal of feeling how ready she really was.

Claire held his hand there, letting him soak in the moment. She looked him directly in the eye. “What do you think?” she said breathily.

He growled again and kissed her hungrily, both of them kneeling in the center of the bed.

Yes, they were both quite ready.

They kissed and kissed and kissed, and Claire didn’t even notice that Jamie was gradually, gently, pushing her back. She sat back and untucked her legs from beneath her, spreading them, until she was laying on the pillows, Jamie braced above her. Jamie stared into her face, eyes wide, mouth agape. Claire had to stifle the urge to laugh. But God, was he beautiful.

“I…” he stammered. “I’m sorry if I…”

Claire silenced him with a kiss, gripping both sides of his face. “It’s alright.” She kissed him again, dragging her teeth along his bottom lip until it popped out. “Do what you must.”

Jamie let out a shuddering groan that had Claire arching her back, raising her hips for him. He took hold of himself, lining himself up. Claire could feel him, grazing every inch of sensitive flesh that he’d already given his attentions to, and then he was there, right against her.

Do it, Jamie. God, do it!

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she took in the question in his eyes, the bob of his Adam’s apple, still holding his face, and she nodded.

Then she did scream, or something akin to it at least. It was loud, whatever it was.

Her first thought was that she’d never been so completely filled by any other man she’d slept with. Her second thought was that that was a horrible thought to have. Her third thought was that she didn’t give a fuck.

He wasn’t moving; he was just staring at her with his hands braced on either side of her head. Claire was still catching her breath from his initial thrust, and she realized embarrassingly that she was white-knuckling the poor lad’s face. She eased her grip and brought his face down to hers, kissing him, swirling her tongue with his. She rose her hips up, thrusting against him herself, then he took the hint, beginning to move. Claire keened against his lips as he stirred inside her, and then she cried out again when he pulled back and slammed back in. Jamie made his own noise, choked and strangled. God, he was so fucking endearing, even as he hammered inside her.

He gave another thrust, and then he set a rhythm. Claire threaded an arm around his neck, pressing his head into the crook of her neck. He clearly didn’t have the brain capacity to do anything there but breathe, but that was enough. His panting, hot breath on her skin and his noises directly in her ear were a lovely sensation. With her other hand, she reached down to take purchase on his arse, smooth and firm. She held onto it as if for dear life, as if she could push him even deeper into her if she tried.

After not long at all, he began to speed up, and Claire knew he wouldn’t last much longer. She also knew she was going to die if she didn’t finish with him inside her. So she removed her hand from his arse and brought it between them, rubbing herself relentlessly. Eventually, she thought to herself, she’d bring his hand there while they fucked. For now, the lad could barely keep himself from crushing her. She didn’t blame him.

A new surge of pleasure coursed through her, an electric height only achieved by combining both pleasure points on her body, heightened further still when one was far larger than a few fingers. Claire’s moaning was unrestrained now; every thrust elicited yet another high-pitched cry. She tightened her arm around his neck, threading her fingers in his thick red curls. He began moaning against her skin with every breath, and Claire increased the pace of her fingers.

So close.

And then Jamie yelled against her, biting down on her shoulder. His body went rigid, freezing inside her. She felt the familiar warm rush of his seed filling her, and she kept rubbing herself.

“Jamie!”

A plea, a demand…it was anyone’s guess.

Whether he knew what she meant or not, he gave one final thrust, and it was enough. She screamed again, louder than she had all night, clenching tightly around him, yanking her hand away from herself out of pure overstimulation and then braced her hand on his arse again, squeezing tightly.

He remained still as she continued to grasp him tightly, pulse around him, spasm her hips erratically, shivering. He’d collapsed onto his elbows, and sweat dripped from his hair onto her forehead, disappearing into her own hair. They were both gasping for air, panting desperately against each other’s skin. Claire could taste her own sweat on her upper lip, could see and feel the sheen of sweat all over his body as well as hers. For a moment they stayed like that, panting and gasping, and then Jamie collapsed to the right, surely unable to hold himself up anymore. He slid out of her, collapsing onto his back, still breathing heavily.

Claire stared at the ceiling for a moment, feeling far too much like jell-o to be able to move, but before long, she missed his warmth above her, around her. She flopped over onto her stomach, landing bodily on his chest. The sound it made was rather horrid, and Claire snorted. Jamie had no reaction, and Claire propped her head on her hands atop his chest. She found him with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep.

“Don’t die on me now,” she said.

Jamie groaned unintelligibly, his eyes still closed.

“Well,” Claire said haughtily, folding her arms over his chest and laying her head on them. “At least you didn’t die a virgin.”

A loud slap filled the air, followed by a sharp sting, simultaneous with a loud shriek. Claire jolted, sitting up.

“You little bastard!”

Jamie was literally howling with laughter.

“I’m sorry lass!” he wheezed. “I didna realize it would be so loud!”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” she cried, swatting at his arm. Both of them had done this while they were fully clothed, teasing. But evidently, Jamie had never smacked a naked arse before. Which would make sense.

She erupted into giggles right with him, collapsing onto his chest again, where he readily wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head.

“Oh, Christ…” He was still laughing, rubbing her back.

“That’s what you get for almost falling asleep on me!” Claire said, still sputtering herself.

They calmed themselves down, still teasing and shuddering with laughter, Jamie rocking her in his arms unintentionally. They quieted, and a sense of contentment filled the air.

“Ye…ye liked it, then?”

Claire was unable to stifle another laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny…” She giggled again, then kissed his sternum. “I did. I did like it, Jamie. A lot.”

She could feel as well as hear his sigh of relief, his chest deflating, taking her with it. He kissed her head again. “So did I, Sassenach.”

She picked her head up, resting her chin on her hands again. “Was it like you thought it would be?”

Jamie grinned crookedly, and Claire was shocked by her desire to kiss every inch of that mouth, so soon after. “Better.”

She was unable to stop herself then, kissing him soundly. He kissed back with equal fervor until they were both breathless. Then he pulled away, and Claire looked at him questioningly.

“Would ye…” He gulped, blinking. “Maybe…would ye want to do it again?”

Claire cocked a brow at him, smiling wickedly and maintaining eye contact as her hand traveled further down until she found him, already hard.

“Hm,” she hummed, impressed. “Ready already.”

Before he could push her into the pillows again, she threw a leg over his hips to straddle him. She leaned down to kiss him, and he raked his nails down her back, then kneaded her arse roughly. She could feel a hot rush, and then he chuckled darkly.

“So are you.”

Proving him right, she lowered herself onto him with effortless ease, and Jamie’s face looked like he might explode in this new position. She sighed with ecstasy, biting her lip. God, he felt good.

“For the record,” Claire began before she could stop herself. “I didn’t…hate it.”

His brow furrowed, gulping, trying to maintain focus while he was inside her. “What…?”

She took one of his hands, previously kneading her breasts, and brought it down to her arse. Hard. Loud.

Jamie’s eyes blew impossibly wide, his mouth falling open. Claire almost regretted it, almost felt like a slut bringing a kink, even a mild one, into the equation on the first night. But then his eyes darkened, and he smacked the other side of her arse with his free hand, and she let out a gasp that ended with a groan. Claire bit her lip, smiling wickedly down at him.

“Fast learner.”

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wildlittlefoxsworld · 4 years

Text

My world crashed almost into pieces | The Old Guard | Andy x Fem!Reader

A/N: So, something new from me ;) I hope you like it and have fun. I think it's not easy to write Andy as a character, she has no many facettes and she is a strong and brave woman, but I try to protray his soft side mostly in my stories. So, that's for everyone who likes soft Andy ❤

Summary: You get injured on a mission and you doesn't wake up. Andy waits anixously for you come back. When you heal she doesn't leave your side and shows you all her love for you.

Warnings: tempory reader's death, major angst

TOG Masterlist

***

„Don’t you dare to leave me,“ she mumbled again and again while watching your body didn’t show any signs of healing. If she must bet, she would say fourty percent of your skin was burnt and from the impact of the explosion you were flung backwards, so you suffered a few broken and silvered bones that cut through skin.

Andy was full of your blood and the car seats were stained as well, but she didn’t care, all she wanted was you to come back and open your pretty eyes. Joe was driving like a mad-man to get away from the men that were following you in black jeeps and Nicky and Booker leaned out of the windows to fire back.

Andy took your injured hand in hers and was careful so she didn’t crash it. Your face was deep red and the raw flesh was stretched over your skull. Of course you died; no human body could survive an explosion, the injuries were too much. She was grateful that Joe handled fast enough and had lifted you in his arms, because all of you needed to get away there as fast as possible. The whole mission was a disaster and she hoped that you didn’t have to pay a price for that.

“Come, babe, wake up. Don’t leave me,” she begged you and felt the tears forming in her eyes. You were on her side for over two thousand years now and when her time hadn’t come yet, then it couldn’t be your time to die now. She wouldn’t know what to do when you wouldn’t revive. You were her whole world and to lose you would break her heart into pieces. Only the thought of a life without you made it hard for her to breathe. She blinked her tears away, but there came only more.

The car ride went chaotic, but Joe succeeded in leaving the jeeps behind them. He looked in the rear-view mirror and met Andy’s gaze. She shook the head slowly and Joe growled angrily. Andy knew that he would be by her side if you wouldn’t make it and she would take revenge, but she didn’t want to think about this scenario. She still had faith that you will come back to her.

The group arrived at one of their many safehouses, well it was just a small cabin, but better than nothing. Andy planned to go here after the mission one way or another, but she never thought that it would be the four of them and your dead body.

“How is she doing?” Nicky asked worriedly and opened the door to lean over your face. He hoped to find any signs of you starting healing. He could imagine how Andy felt in the moment, he wouldn't feel different if it would be Joe. Andy was focused on your face as well and stroked your unharmed right forearm.

“How long?” Joe whispered from the driver seat after he turned around.

“Too long,” Andy replied with trembling lips. “Maybe half an hour already. Why isn’t she healing?”

“She has probably inner injuries too. You know that big wounds need longer to heal. She will be fine,” Nicky assured her and Andy looked hopeful at him. Nicky always found the right words to calm her down, but the waiting stressed her immensely.

Your family waited impatiently that you started to heal. The seconds and minutes were crawling slowly and the silence was unbearable. Andy would give everything she had to hear your laugh again.

The noise when your bones began to crack back in their places and your skin grew back over the red flesh, let Andy flinch, but all of them let out a sigh of relief. Andy didn’t notice that she held her breath the whole time since Nicky spoke.

“Now it won’t take any longer, only a few seconds,” Joe said smiling slightly.

Andy nodded slowly, but never kept her eyes of you, she watched how your body healed in every place that was injured and she laughed weakly when you took your first breath. Your eyes flattered open and you tried to focus on anything. You looked directly at her.

Your whole body hurt when you came back to life. In one moment you killed a man who tried to attack Nicky from behind and in the next moment everything went black. You knew you had died, but you recognized that you lay with your head in Andy’s lap and she was watching you worriedly. You noticed tears on her cheeks and now you were really confused.

“Why are your eyes so red?” you asked confused and knitted your eyebrows together, but you received no answer and Andy’s arms wrapped around your upper body to pull her close to her chest. Your face was buried in the crook of her neck while Andy was rocking back and forward with you.

You were sure something went horribly wrong that made Andy so emotional, because she was hugging you desperately and caressed your hair tenderly. “You’re okay, you’re here,” she whispered again and again more to herself than to you.

“Yes, I’m good, Andy. What happened?” you asked and your voice was muffled. She didn’t let go and you decided to hug her back. You wrapped your arms around her waist and squeezed her gently, to let her know you were there and it would be okay whatever got her so sad and worried. But it seemed your words made it only worse, because Andy began to shake with sobs.

She laid a hand on your cheek and made you looking at her. “Don’t you ever do this again to me,” she said sternly and kissed your forehead for a long moment, she didn't care that there was blood everywhere on your new healed skin. Andy didn’t want to talk about what happened to you. All she wanted was holding you in her arms and listening to your frequent breathing and your steady heartbeat. Your body had been so cold, but now the warmth was spreading in your torso and limbs, but Andy still needed a few minutes to realize that you weren’t dead anymore.

A rock in the size of the Mount Everest fell from her heart the second you openend your eyes. She never felt so happy in her entire life and she would never let go of you again. Never keeping her of you again. Not ever letting anyone hurt again.

“We should go inside. The both of you need a hot bath,” you heard Nicky’s voice and you thought that you must sat in a car with Andy and the others. Slowly the whole situation made sense to you and you assumed that you took too long to revive from the death. But there would be no chance that Andy would explain everything to you, because she didn’t answer your question the first time and you knew her well enough that it meant she didn't want to talk about it.

“Nicky is right, Andromache,” you tried to get her attention and she shifted carefully with you in her arms. She went out of the car, but never let go of you and helped you to stand on your feet. She studied you intensely and wrapped an arm around your middle to push you gently in direction of the small cabin.

You didn't complain when she lead you straight into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. You walked over to the mirror and looked at yourself.

“I look awful,” you commented giggling your reflection, but Andy shook her head. She reached for your shoulders to peel off the rest of your remaining clothes. It stuck to your skin and you felt dirty and itchy. You needed a hot shower and Andy had the same idea in her mind, when she pushed you wordlessly under warn water. A few seconds later a pair of arms wrapped around your body and Andy nuzzled her face to your neck. You weren't used to so much affection from her. Naturally she showed affection when you were alone or when she had a very good day then in front of your family too, but now she was desperate to touch you, feeling you close to her.

“I'm fine, my heart.”

She hugged you harder and started to place kisses on the side of your neck. You turned around in her arms and dug your fingers in her upper arms. She watched you attentive and her eyes still showed worry, pain, sadness, but there was as well relief and her love for you. You understood that she almost lost you today.

“I'm fine,” you reassured her and you leaned your forehead against hers. “You won't lose me, ever, my heart belongs to you and I will be always by your side.”

Andy wasn't good with words, bur her actions showed more than thousand words. She raised a hand and her fingers traced over your eyebrows, cheeks, the soft curve of your lips, her thumb opened your mouth with gentle pressure and then she kissed your lips. Your mouths met from time to time in soft kisses until they moved slowly and sensual. Andy treated you like you could break from the slightest touch of her, but on the other side she wanted to caress all the parts that were injured, feeling only smooth and flawless skin.

Your spine tingled in anticipation when you pulled back and saw Andy's eyes were a few shades darker. The worry was replaced with lust and adoration, her kisses grew deeper and passionately, her hand in the small of your back made you upper body aching and her tongue find the way in your mouth. You will give her everything that she needed and she could take everything that she wanted.

“I was barely so scared in my entire life,” she muttered and the confession took her a lot of bravery, but it didn't matter, she didn't need to be brave or strong in the moment, not here with you.

You didn't answer anything, you simply hugged her with your arms around her shoulders and stood in silence with water raining down on you that turned pink on the way down.

Clean from the dirt and blood you went in the small bedroom that you shared everytime you came to the cabin. She tugged you under the blankets and cuddled you from behind in a firm grip like she thought you could disappear when she fell asleep.

You found sleep while listening to her breathing. You felt secure and happy to be with the woman that meant… well, there wasn't existing any words to describe your love for Andy. She was your other half and the constant in your life. Your feelings grew over the centuries for her into a love so deep that no ocean was big enough to contain it.

Andy whispered lovely words and sweet nothings in your ear what woke you up slowly and you felt the kisses on your face, neck, clevage and chest. Her hands caressed your heated skin from under the blankets and pressed to her hot body so long.

“I need you,” she stated clearly with authority in her voice. You were surprised for a moment, but the worry was back in her eyes and you nodded in agrerment.

“You got a bad dream?” you asked softly. She kissed you desperately as an answer to show you her need to be close to you.

“I'm here. We're both safe here,” you reassured her, whispering against her lips and Andy claimed your mouth again and again. You knew she didn't want to talk, only touch and feel you.

***

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#the old guard #the old guard fanfic #the old guard x reader #andy x reader #andromache the scythian x reader #nicolo di genova #yusuf x nicolo #andromache the scythian

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whimperwoods · 3 years

Text

Part 9 of Gozukk and Anna

Anna has a doctor’s appointment. Gozukk turns down an offer to join the church. Jak helps out.

[Note: One of the d&d canon things I particularly don’t like is that the ‘evil races’ have their own separate evil gods particular to their race. I’m aware that there are halfling and elf and dwarf pantheons also, but the thing is that those generally have deities of multiple alignments (rather than only evil ones) and those communities seem to be allowed to serve any gods they want, in practice. In my d&d world, orcs can too, and this particular tribe, to the extent to which they’re religious, is affiliated with Kelemvor. Not everyone worships him, and there are some individuals with other faiths, but he’s the god they have a shrine and a cleric for/from. (I’m not sure it matters that much from a worldbuilding standpoint, but I’ve taken an overall position of “no-race-specific deities,” which does also throw Moradin and the like out with the bathwater, but that’s probably alright.)]

The masterpost is here and includes a cheat sheet with character names, since the list of people she’s met in the community just keeps getting bigger.

tw: slavery (past), tw: PTSD, tw: past rape/noncon (barely referenced), tw: past abuse, tw: fantasy religion (no religious trauma), tw: panic attack, tw: drug reference (past), tw: date rape drug (past)

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Tag list: @redwingedwhump, @nine-tailed-whump, @thehurtsandthecomfurts @kixngiggles, @bluebadgerwhump, @dragonheart905, @carolinethedragon, @whumpzone, @newbornwhumperfly, @cupcakes-and-pain, @much-ado-about-whumping

****

Anna’s legs shook faintly as the healer shouted for her and her master to enter, but she tried to keep her face steady as she ducked under Gozukk’s arm and in through the flap of the tent.

The space was small but comfortable, the furnishings generally not quite as nice as Gozukk’s, with the exception of a smallish but very fine altar, richly carved from solid wood. A set of heavy brass scales sat on it, held up by a skeletal hand, the same image that was carved along its sides, and that she recognized from the box in Gozukk’s room, and a small collection of candles sat around it.

Gozukk knelt briefly in front of the altar, going down on one knee with a quick bow and then rising to his feet again before turning to the healer, Mukzod. “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty about our newest guest,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t paused at all. Anna felt certain she should kneel, too, but somehow she found herself frozen, unable to move farther into the tent, or to do anything at all.

Mukzod was dressed in dark grey robes, well-made and clean, with the same skeleton-arm scales embroidered carefully across his chest, but looked fresh-faced, too young for such serious, formal vestments. He was a half head shorter than Gozukk but just as wide, with dark messy hair that flopped into his eyes as he nodded toward her and made her shudder and freeze up. He looked almost nothing like Master Kir, but that hair, the length of it, the little flick of his head to get it out of his eyes - her chest tightened with fear, her breath shortening.

The healer’s smile was warm, but she couldn’t slow her racing heart.

“Hello, guest. Anna, is it? Did I hear correctly?”

Her mouth was dry and she couldn’t answer. Gozukk reached a hand halfway toward her, but then stopped and she suddenly, desperately wished he hadn’t, wished she could bury her face in his chest and not see this new stranger, with his new hair, and his new tent. But that was a foolish thing to wish, wasn’t it?

“Yes,” Gozukk answered, his voice softer now, as if to put her at ease even though he was talking to the healer. “You’ve heard right. I already know she’s wounded, but I want to make sure she isn’t also cursed or marked or being tracked.”

“You know, if you just gave a little bit more of yourself to Kelemvor, you could do it yourself,” Mukzod said jovially. “We all know your piety is genuine.”

Gozukk laughed. “For the last time, cleric, a paladin oath is out of the question. The tribe has to come first. You know that. A holy life is not in my cards.”

Mukzod held his hands up, “I know, I know! I only ask because I know you’d be good at it.”

Anna watched the exchange, trying to follow. Kelemvor was - was a god of - of something. Scales. Justice? But no, that was Tyr, everybody knew that. The skeleton, though - the skeleton - her eyes widened, and her body began to shake.

“I - I didn’t realize you worshipped - umm -” Her voice was thin, tense, and surely one of them would bark at her to speak up. She tensed, awaiting a slap for interrupting, or for doing it poorly, or both. Instead, both men turned slowly to look at her, their posture open, hands away from her.

“It’s alright, Anna,” Gozukk said, “He’s not a god of death. He’s a god of the dead, which is something else.”

Mukzod had his hands up, the palms out toward her. “The chief is right. We don’t kill, not unless we have to. Not unless we’re fighting undead things. I’m more about healing. And curing diseases. And burying bodies we find unattended in the desert, which happens a little more often than one would hope.”

She shivered. She’d seen a body like that, had watched the men in the caravan dragging another man’s corpse away from the hooves and wheels that had crushed him to death, only to leave him lying in a heap alongside their caravan route and keep moving at Master Kir’s orders.

She opened her mouth to ask if they’d found the man from the caravan, if they’d buried him properly, but then she couldn’t. What if they thought she’d had something to do with it? She still remembered the beating she’d gotten after they stopped that night, how unsure she’d been whether her master thought she’d done something to distract the dead man, or whether he was just frustrated. She’d known her place. She hadn’t needed to be reminded. She didn’t need to be reminded now.

She sank onto her knees and felt both safer and less safe, in over her head and drowning in uncertainty.

Gozukk knelt beside her again, taking her hands gently in his own, so gently she could have pulled away, but she knew her place, and maybe soon he would realize she knew it and she wouldn’t have to be so scared.

“It’s alright, Anna,” he said, running his thumb gently over her knuckles. “You don’t have to worship him. Plenty of folks don’t. But I do, and Mukzod does, and he’s got some magic that can help you, if that man did anything that’s lingering.” He scowled, but over her shoulder, not at her. “Anything magical, anyway.”

The cleric placed one hand on her shoulder and the other on Gozukk’s and she flinched heavily before she could stop herself.

“Is it alright if I do a quick magic detection spell? If all is well, I’ll won’t see anything, and we’ll know the human doesn’t have any magical hooks into you. If there is something, I’ll have to do some tests, but we can fix that, too.”

His voice was soothing, but she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t look at the hair falling into his eyes, scraping his shoulders around the back of his neck. She was shaking, and she couldn’t stop. She gripped Gozukk’s hands tighter, hoping he would allow her nearer. He squeezed back gently and she scooted forward on her knees until she was close enough to whisper into his ear.

“Please, Sir -” she flinched, but decided not to correct herself and maybe he wouldn’t notice, “I - can I -” He let go of one of her hands and then reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear, a gesture that was increasingly becoming a familiar one. She steeled herself and caught her breath. “May I put my head on your shoulder again, please? Like yesterday, when I was -” she didn’t have a word for what she was, “Please, Gozukk, I’m sorry I’m weak, I just - I can - I can do this. I can be good, please, I just - I need - please.” Her breath gave out, her body shaking even harder.

Yesterday, she’d leaned into him with both of their hands between them, his pressing hers to his chest. Now, he wrapped one arm around her carefully, keeping hold of her hand with his other one and drawing her just slightly closer. “Is this alright?” he whispered into the space between them, “Does this help?”

She shook, and wasn’t sure how to answer, but she knew what she’d wanted at first, knew what she’d wanted, and thought she still wanted it. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, her breath coming in deep gasps, and he removed his arm from the small of her back as she kept fighting for air, tracing his fingers through her hair at the temple instead.

“It’s alright,” he said, “I’m here to help.”

After a moment of his arm hovering beside her, he let it fall to his side, not touching her as she knelt up against him, watching him breathe and trying to time her breaths to his.

“Are you ready for the spell?” he asked.

She nodded against his shoulder.

“We’re ready, Mukzod.”

Nothing happened. The cleric said a few words in a language she didn’t understand, and then he fell silent, the air in the room unchanged.

“Nope, all clear,” he said after a moment. “Your pendant’s lighting up like a candle, Chief, and the altar, and some of my stuff, so the spell’s working, but she’s not got any magic on her. Not that lingers, anyway. I can try a dispulsion anyway, but as far as I can tell, there’s nothing there to dispel.”

Gozukk leaned his cheek against her temple, sighing in relief. “There we go. You’re safe. Now we know it for sure.”

“I -” Mukzod cleared his throat. “Can I be of any other service? I’d thought you might have come for healing. Or perhaps a calming spell?”

A calming spell? Anna had never heard of that, but as soon as she thought too hard about it, she found herself remembering the times Master Kir had - what had that been - he’d put something in the wine, she’d known there was something in the wine, but he’d made her drink it anyway, made her drink it, made her choke trying to swallow as he forced it down her throat and then he’d - and then he’d -”

She sobbed, her head suddenly spinning, her entire body tingling like there were bees buzzing just inside her skin, and her head on Gozukk’s shoulder wasn’t enough to keep it at bay, wasn’t enough to keep anything at bay, wasn’t - wasn’t -

She grabbed desperately for the front of his shirt, closing her hand into a fist around the fabric and forcing herself to keep breathing. His free hand came up alongside her head, but he didn’t quite touch her, just kept it hovering there, like he was shielding her from the sun. As another wrenching sob tore itself from her throat, she pulled herself closer to him, into that protection, and everything else be damned.

“We’re done for the day,” Gozukk said, his voice rough-edged with anger, like it never was when he talked to her, and she flinched but didn’t dare pull away, couldn’t afford it when he was the only thing steadying her spinning head, couldn’t afford it when it might make him angry, couldn’t - couldn’t - she couldn’t breathe. She gasped for air.

"She’s allowed to feel what she feels,” he snapped at the cleric, “She’s doing fine.”

His own breathing wasn’t quite as steady as she knew it could be, deepening as if he were holding himself together, holding back the snarl she could hear at the edge of his voice.

But then the snarl was gone, and his voice was velvet-gentle again, his hand stroking carefully through her hair. “It’s alright, Anna. You did well. It’s been a stressful day. You don’t have to do anything more. Mukzod just wants you safe, same as me.”

The gentleness was for her. It was just for her, and she was a fool, and she believed it, and she knew she was a fool, but she could feel herself starting to shake apart, could feel the way the buzz under her skin threatened to become the way she felt in the dark, at night, like a fire burning itself out, like she was dying a piece at a time, reducing herself to ash as she went, and she couldn’t. She couldn’t die now, not while she was in a place she was fool enough to half-believe might be better.

“Do you want me to carry you back home?” he asked, his voice still soft, rumbling through his chest and under her cheek, and when had she twisted her head sideways like this, resting more fully on his shoulder? “Or do you want to wait it out here and then we can walk back together? I think you need some quiet for a little bit. You can take another nap, like yesterday. You’re still healing.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting go of the front of his shirt, and he took it as an answer, rearranging immediately to gather her up in his arms and cradle her against his chest.

When he rose to his feet still holding her, she didn’t shudder this time, but she wondered if that was only because to shake any more than she was already shaking might be to shake herself to pieces.

The softness in his voice was gone as he looked up at the cleric and ordered, “Open the flap for me,” all of a sudden in control again, the chief whose feet she had been thrown down in front of. But then he was bending his neck to speak softly in her ear again, the gentleness returned to his voice. “Squeeze my neck when you’re ready for me to walk, and we’ll go. Just tell me when you’re steady.”

She squeezed his neck, desperate to be away from here, as if the bees in her skin would leave her alone out in the sun.

They didn’t, but Gozukk let her bury her face in the side of his neck and kept holding her, his arms solid around her and his breath steady, now, soothing.

Halfway back to the tent, small footsteps joined them, a voice she didn’t recognize piping up from below. “Whoa, Uncle Gozukk, is something wrong?”

“Get the flap when we get to my tent, Jak,” he said, the imperiousness gone again, as if it had never been, his voice warm and normal, but without the particular softness he seemed to save for her, and what did that mean? She sobbed in spite of herself, about nothing, or maybe about everything, but her head was full of bees and her skin was full of bees and she couldn’t think.

“She’ll be alright once she has a little peace and quiet,” Gozukk explained, tone patient, “She’s just a little overwhelmed.”

A small hand patted her dangling ankle and she pulled away instinctively before she realized the boy was no threat.

“Oh,” he said, “That makes sense. Does she need a calm down cloth?”

She could feel Gozukk’s chuckle, deep in his chest. “Yeah, that might not be a bad idea. Why don’t you go get one after you help me inside? And then you can go back to whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Got it!” The footsteps sped up, then stopped again, waiting for them to catch up.

Anna clung to Gozukk the rest of the way to the tent, relieved when Jak’s footsteps pattered away as soon as she and Gozukk were inside.

The fine chair he’d been seated in to meet the caravan was inside, now, set behind the table in the front room, and Gozukk settled her into it. She grabbed at its arms, surprised, and squeezed them tighter when Gozukk squatted down in front of her to look in her eyes. She couldn’t get out of the chair and down to his level. He didn’t want that. She had to stay. She had to stay.

Her breathing was still ragged, too fast, and she knew it, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

“Anna, can you hear me?”

Everything was still too much, his words clear enough to make sense, but then immediately gone to her, as if they had never been. She nodded, trying to keep hold of the question.

“Alright. You did a good job this morning. I want to make sure you know that. It’s alright if you need to stay in here the rest of the day. I’ll try to come check on you when it’s time for lunch, but if you get hungry before I come back, you can go find Djaana or one of the twins, and they’ll look after you.”

She was breathing. That, she was sure of. His voice was soothing, reassuring, and the things he was saying were reassuring, and she couldn’t make them mean anything. She nodded. Reassuring. He was being reassuring. She could be reassured. She kept breathing.

Gozukk nodded back. Her breathing eased a little. Good. He was pleased.

Jak came running in, and she got a good look at him for the first time. He had the same dark hair as Djaana and Gozukk, but his eyes were a lighter color, a green she hadn’t expected, and even with some lingering baby roundness to his face, she could tell there was something about his cheekbones that must be like his father. Gozukk stuck a hand out to slow the boy before he could run all the way to her, and he blushed, looking bashful.

“Oh. Sorry. I forgot about the quiet.” He held out a damp, white cloth, in her direction, and she wasn’t sure what to do but take it.

The boy’s green eyes stared at her, his arm drifting behind his back so he could wrap his hand around his elbow, still staring. “Thank you,” she said quietly, aware that her breathing was loud and her voice wasn’t.

“Why don’t you explain to Anna how it works, just in case her mama and grandmother didn’t teach her?” Gozukk asked, something of the softness he always aimed at her in his voice as he addressed the boy.

“Yeah!” Jak said, his face brightening! “It’s easy, Miss Anna! You just put it on the back of your neck, and it’s nice and cool so it feels good, and then you just breathe real steady and think about cooling down and noticing that it feels good, and then when it gets dry, you can go back outside and play or try what you were doing again. Or I guess you can - I dunno. What do you like doing?”

She had no answer, but there wasn’t enough time for it to become awkward. Gozukk laid a hand on Jak’s shoulder. “Why don’t you wait and ask her that in a couple of days? You wouldn’t like it if somebody asked you a bunch of questions while you were trying to calm down, would you?”

“Oh! No!” He mimed locking his mouth closed with a key and tucking it into his pocket, and Anna found herself smiling in spite of everything. She put the cloth against the back of her neck to prove she’d been trying to listen, though there was a lot he said that she hadn’t been able to keep ahold of, the words slipping through her fingers as half of her kept getting wrapped up in her own breath.

He was right. It felt lovely, cool and soft. She closed her eyes, half instinctively, and managed a deeper breath.

She could hear a smile in Gozukk’s voice as he said, “Take all the time you need. We’ll be back to check on you at lunch time.”

Then both sets of footsteps walked away, out the door, and she was alone.

She slid out of the chair and onto her knees, where she felt more herself, but kept the cloth where it was, steadying her breathing as much as she could and thinking about the coolness, the dry air pulling water from the cloth, the dampness sitting against her skin, and nobody touching her.

When the cloth dried, she wasn’t calm, but she was close.

#d&d whump #fantasy whump #hurt/comfort #whump #recovery whump #past slavery tw #past abuse tw #ptsd tw #fantasy religion tw #panic attack tw #drug allusion tw #vague rape/noncon allusion tw #drugging tw #Jak was NOT supposed to be in this he just SHOWED UP #he WAS supposed to be at breakfast but he was NOT THERE #this child i swear #also Anna is triggered by mullets because real triggers are weird sometimes but also bc i am a clown all the time #her other doctor's appointment should be hopefully better but might actually just be weirder who knows #Mazogga's older and wiser than Mukzod but she's also old enough to be the boss of Gozukk so she's gonna do what she's gonna do #does this need some kind of a trigger warning for medical? it really isn't medical but maybe?#anyway jak's a good boy and everybody's trying their best and it's just gonna take some time #gozukk's family believes in AUTONOMY and RESPONSIBLE EMOTIONAL SELF-REGULATION #their enemies think orcs are scary because of the teeth and muscles but ALSO because of the CONFIDENCE and SELF-EFFICACY #or something #idk i just love orcs and i want them to have good things #and anna deserves a loving and supportive community #and they deserve an anna they just don't know it yet because she hasn't come into her own yet #but she will one day #in chapter a billion or something because i keep getting ideas for very tiny increments of time after the previous ones #would you believe i thought this chapter might be her visiting BOTH the healer AND the midwife? a clown

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thicctails · 3 years

Text

Summer of Whump Day 12 [Death/Rebirth]

A direct continuation of the last one!

The room was quiet when Tech entered, the only sound being his and Omega’s breathing. He slowly inched forward, trying his best not to look at the glaringly obvious wound on Omega’s back. He took a seat, folding his arms and resting his head on them. Today had been a complete mess, and he was still processing it. Their chips weren’t supposed to activate! Crosshair was suppose to be the exception, not just a warning of what was to come! Thank the Maker for Rex, he wasn’t sure what they would have done without his help.

A shudder runs through him at the thought of Wrecker’s chip activating while they were on the ship or on a mission. Hell, he could have easily ended their lives in their sleep at any point. Apparently, they had all been one blow to the head away from becoming killing machines. Today had proved that the chips truly took away any semblance of control, because Wrecker would never have hurt Omega if he could have helped it.

‘But,’ Tech thought sadly, ‘he still did.’

Wrecker had hurt Omega, and it wasn’t just a little injury. Her neck was purple with bruises, and he could still couldn’t bring himself to look at her back. He knew he’d have to, she’d need to have bandages applied soon, if the bacta did its job, but he wanted to avoid it for as long as possible. He’d hurt her, and Tech wasn’t sure how to feel. He wanted to feel angry at Wrecker, wanted to have someone close by who he could take his anger out on, but he knew it wasn’t his brother’s fault. It was the Empire who had put those chips in their heads, in all of their brothers’ heads.

He settled on feeling mad at everything.

Omega shifted slightly, her face scrunching up in disgruntlement. Tech frowned, unsure of how to help. Was she having a nightmare? Was she in pain? He couldn’t tell.

“What’s going on in your head, little one?” He asked softly, taking one of Omega’s hands. Her hands were so small compared to his own, and he was once again reminded of how young she really was.

Omega blinked, finding herself in familiar darkness. Waves of purple and blue rippled around her, ebbing through the void. She tries to move, and discovers that, unlike before, when she had felt grounded and normal, she now feels much lighter.

‘I wonder if this is how clouds feel.’ She thought, smiling as she floated around.

“That’s an interesting thought, young one.”

The voice surprises Omega, and she spins around to see a man standing before her. He was dressed in long, brown robes that hung loosely off of him. He had long hair that flowed over his shoulders and his eyes were a kind blue. An aura of blue light seemed to emanate from him.

“Who are you?” Omega asked.

“A friend. Would you like some company?” The man asked, not quite answering her question.

Omega shrugs. “Sure. Not like there’s much to do here.”

The man chuckles a bit and sits down, crossing his legs. “Yes, I suppose this place isn’t the most entertaining for a child.”

Omega sat down as well. “Yeah, you’d think a dream would be more interesting.” She frowns. “Wait, if I’m dreaming, why are you here? I don’t know you.”

The man’s smile turns a bit sad. “This is no dream, young one. You are in the Between.”

“The… what?” Omega was confused.

“The Between is the place that exists on the line between life and death. You haven’t passed on yet, but you are close enough to that point that you can exist here.” The man explained, gesturing to the void around them.

Omega looked at her hands, then back up at the man. “So, I’m dying? Isn’t there anything I can do? Are you dying?”

The man shook his head. “I passed on years ago. The best thing you can do is find peace and wait to see what the Force wills.”

“Peace? How can you tell me to find peace?! I’m dying!” Omega yelped. “That’s not something you feel peaceful about!’

“You are strong in the Force. Your body might be gone, but your soul will remain. There is nothing to fear.” The man said, trying to calm her down.

“Easy for you to say, you’re dead! Look, maybe you were okay with dying, but I’m not.” She huffed, getting to her feet.

“Where are you going?” The man asked, sounding somewhat amused.

“I’m gonna find a way out of here. I need to tell Wrecker that what happened wasn’t his fault!” Omega said, looking back over her shoulder as she picked a direction and started walking.

She did not find a way out.

Omega groaned and flopped down when, for the third time, she ended up back where she started. The man was still there, looking over at her as she visibly deflated.

“This sucks.” She muttered.

“Giving up?” The man asked.

“Well I don’t really have a choice. There’s no way out, so I guess I just have to wait and see if I die.” Omega sighed, tears starting to form as she felt frustration build in her chest.

“If you give up, you almost certainly will. You must have faith in yourself and in the Force.” The man said, patting the space beside him. “Come, I’ll show you how to meditate. Connecting with the Force isn’t a bad way to pass some time.”

Omega looked uncertain, but moved to sit next to the man.

“So, are you going to tell me your name, or am I going to have to call you “dead bearded dude” forever?” Omega asked, not afraid to sass a ghost.

The man actually laughed at that. “You remind me a great deal of my padawan. He always had a quick remark ready on his tongue. My name is Qui-Gon Jinn, but you may call me Jinn.”

“Your padawan? You’re a Jedi?” Omega questioned.

“I was. I died before… well, before everything went wrong. I wish I had been able to stay around longer. I had never wanted to leave my padawan alone like I did. I’m not sure he ever found peace after my passing.” Jinn said, sounding remorseful.

“I’m sure he misses you. I don’t think I would get over the death of someone I cared about very easily, if at all.” Omega said, staring out into the shifting darkness.

“Jedi aren’t supposed to mourn. We believe that there is no real death, just your life returning to the Force.” Jinn responded.

“Wow. That sounds…” Omega frowned, her brow wrinkling, “really awful. No wonder the Force is mad at you guys.”

“What?” Jinn reeled back a bit, not at all expecting Omega’s statement.

“Yeah. It said that the Jedi ruined someone named Anakin. I think he was the Force’s favourite.” She said.

Jinn blinked. “How do you know about my grandpadawan?”

“The Force told me. I was created to be Force-Sensitive, so I have an unnaturally strong connection.” Omega explained.

The ghost’s eyes widened.

“Oh Maker, that- that is not good.” He whispered. “How the hell did they manage to piss of the Force?!”

“Maybe by teaching this Anakin guy your terrible ideas on life?” She deadpanned. “Did you tell him to not mourn and also to just be at peace with dying?”

“Something like that…” Jinn said, putting a hand on his face.

“Jedi suck.” Omega said simply.

“They can.” Jinn agreed. “But not all of them are bad. My padawan tried to help Anakin, but he didn’t understand how bad things were until it was too late. The guilt he feels from his failure is so great, I feel it even as we speak.”

“What happened to them?” Omega asked. “Your padawan and Anakin?”

“Anakin has fallen to the Dark side, and he now acts as the Empire’s attack dog. My padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, now resides on Tatooine. He watches over Anakin’s son.” Jinn said. “If you would like, I could ask him to train you. I could tell right away that you were strong in the Force, even before you told me to what extent. I’m sure you and him would get along extremely well.”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing any training for a while.” Omega said. “I- I got really hurt today.”

“I know. The Force felt your pain, and we could feel its alarm.” Jinn said sympathetically. “What happened?”

“I’ve been travelling around with a group of clones who’s chips didn’t activate right away. Today, one of theirs did, and he ended up chasing me down into the bottom of a Jedi cruiser. There was lots of steam and really hot metal, and, and…” Omega shuddered at the memory, phantom pain rippling through her.

Wait, was that phantom pain?

“It seems as though the Force doesn’t wish for you to join us yet.” Jinn said, pointing to Omega’s hands. They were becoming more and more transparent as the seconds passed.

“What’s happening?” Omega cringed as she felt another wave of pain hit her, a couple of tears dripping down her cheeks.

“Don’t be afraid. You’re waking up.” Jinn said quickly. “Consider my offer, little one. Reach out to me when you have healed.”

Omega tried to respond, but found herself unable to. She felt heavy, and she started to fall into the void. She blinked, and the world went white.

Wrecker hovered by the doorway, unwilling to go in. When he’d woken up, his memory had been fuzzy for a moment. His head had ached a bit, but nothing like it had before. He’d been shocked to see the muzzle of a blaster pointed at his face, and even more surprised to see that it was Rex who was holding it. He’d held up his hands instinctively, shrinking back in shock. He must have done the right thing, because Rex’s face had softened and he had moved the blaster away. Once he’d gotten over his surprise, he’d asked why Rex had been pointing a blaster at him.

His stomach had dropped when he got his answer.

He’d been standing just outside the door for a while now, needing to see for himself that Omega was alive, but also not being able to bring himself to face her after what he had done.

He’d been assured that no one blamed him for what had happened, that it was the chip’s fault. But it hadn’t been a piece of metal in his brain that had grabbed Omega by her little throat and slammed her against that burning hot steel. That had been him. How did you even begin to apologize for something like that? Could you even apologize for that? Or had he just irreversibly shattered his relationship with Omega?

“Wrecker.”

Rex’s voice brought him out of his own head. The blonde was standing on the opposite side of the doorway, looking at Wrecker expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to go in?” He knew that Echo was sleeping in the room, so he kept his voice low.

“No, uh, I don’t think so.” Wrecker murmured. “I think I’ll stay out here.”

“For how long?”

“Forever.”

Rex sighed. “Wrecker, you can’t keep avoiding them.”

“But what if they all hate me? I wouldn’t even want to be around me after what I did.” He said, crossing his arms as he looked away.

“No one hates you, Wrecker. You were a victim, too.” Rex said.

Wrecker didn’t respond, still looking down at the floor as Rex laid a comforting hand on his arm.

“Just remember, Omega is going to need all of her buirs while she recovers.” Rex said, smiling as Wrecker startled at the title.

The burly man turned the word over in his head. He’d only ever been a vod before, and he’d never even once consider that he might someday be something more. The idea wasn’t an unpleasant one; he actually liked the idea of being seen as a parental figure, but how could Rex even think that Omega would still think of him as such, if she ever had before.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar yelp, followed by a thud. Instinctively, he jolted into the room, eyes wide with fear when he saw Omega on the ground. Tech, who seemed to have been dozing off, had startled awake, knocking over the chair with how fast he stood up.

“Omega!” He gasped, stepping forward to help her up.

Tech beat him to it, the younger clone easing Omega into his arms with extreme care. Omega instantly buried her face in his chest, shivering as she whined in pain.

Hunter and Echo practically materialized beside Tech at the sound, and Wrecker didn’t miss the way Hunter’s hands twitched upwards, like he wanted to take Omega from Tech and hold her himself.

Perhaps Rex hadn’t been too far off when he’d called them her buirs.

“What happened?” He asked, shuffling a bit closer.

Tech’s eyes flickered up towards him, and he silent exhaled in relief when he saw no traces of the hatred he had been expecting to see.

“I don’t know. She was sleeping just fine, and then she suddenly woke up and fell off the cot. I think she’s feeling her injuries.” He said, quickly looking towards Rex. “Where is the sedatives? We need to give her a low dose so we can reapply the bacta.”

“It’s in the cabinets. Wrecker, grab a sedative from that cabinet there!” Rex barked, rushing over to a different cabinet. Wrecker obeyed without question, retrieving a pack of needles with a green liquid within them.

He gives the sedatives to Tech as he set Omega down. The girl wasn’t too happy about having to release Tech, and she clung to him as she cried. Tech looked at Hunter for help, needing to administer the sedative but not wanting to make Omega even more upset. The man instantly brought Omega into a hug, holding her while Tech opened a needle. He whispered reassurances as Omega tucked her face into his neck, shivering all the while.

Finally, Tech managed to get the sedative ready and he stuck it into Omega’s neck, grimacing when she squeaked in pain. After a few tense minutes had passed, Omega relaxed, still breathing hard as the sedative kicked in. Rex came over soon after with some more bacta, and they quickly applied the healing substance. Omega pulled her face away from Hunter’s neck and looked around the room, her eyes wet and still a bit wild looking. Her eyes met Wrecker’s, and the enhanced clone realized that he was now in the very room he had just been trying to avoid.

“Hey Wr-wrecker,” She said, her voice still shaky, “how’s y-y-your head?”

To his complete and utter surprise, she smiled at him as best she could. It was a little bit wobbly, and it looked like it was hard to keep it there, but he could tell she wasn’t forcing it.

“It’s- it’s good. I’m okay now.” He said, rubbing the back of his head.

“Oh, g-good! I was w-worried ‘bout you.” Omega said, leaning against Hunter’s chest as she shakes.

“Me? You shouldn’t worry about me, Omega. I’m not worth worrying over.” He said, shaking his head. Omega frowned, her eyes becoming misty.

“N-no! It’s not your fault! You weren’t in control!” She argued, trying to sit up. She hissed when her back muscles were moved, and she was quickly eased back down as Echo gently pushed on her arm. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

She sniffed, and Wrecker quickly put his hands up. “Okay, okay you’re right! I won’t blame myself! Please don’t cry…”

He moved closer to her, kneeling down in front of the cot. She reached a hand out, and Wrecker slowly took it gently. She squeezed his hand, blinking away tears. She breathed, struggling a bit from her throat muscles being deeply bruised.

“I-I,” He started, looking down as he tried to think about what to say, “I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am, Omega. I tried to control it, tried to stop, but I just-”

“Couldn’t.” Omega finished. “I know Wrecker. It’s okay, I forgive you.”

“Don’t.” He said instantly. “Don’t forgive me, at least not yet. I gotta earn that.”

Omega huffed but nodded. “Okay Wrecker, if you say so.”

Wrecker nodded, more to himself than to Omega. He kept holding her hand as Echo applied bandaged, the clone trying to avoid touching Omega’s skin as much as possible. After around half an hour had passed, Omega’s eyes began to droop. She yawned and, upon deciding that Hunter would make a good pillow, leaned into him and settled down to sleep. Hunter didn’t dare move, lest he disturb Omega. Even when she fell into a far more peaceful sleep, she kept a sturdy hold on Wrecker’s hand.

Pillow sniffed the air, trying to figure out where Warm One had gone. Blue Stripes, a new human that had apparently joined their group, had led Warm One’s pack into this large, broken metal den, and they had yet to come back out. He’d brought her doll, just in case they were staying here for a while. Pillow hauled his way up into a vent, wiggling through the cold metal space. He could hear something moving around up ahead, so he followed it, eventually ending up above an open room. He poked his head down, cocking his head in confusion.

There was a human standing in the room, staring at something in his hand. He wore the same colours as the other members of Warm One’s pack, and he smelled extremely similar to them, but he didn’t recognize him.

‘Must be a lost clutchmate.’ He thought sadly. ‘Poor human. Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back to your pack!’

He dropped down, sitting on his haunches. He honked a greeting as the human whirled around, his weapon raised. Ah, he must not understand that he was here to help. Humans had practically useless noses, after all. They needed to use their eyes to identify each other.

Pillow dropped the doll, nudging it towards the human. He pauses, then picks up the doll, turning it over and examining it.

‘See? I know where your family is!’ He thought.

The human stares at the doll, then at Pillow.

“Where did you get this?” He asked, and Pillow thinks that his voice is a bit… cold.

Ignoring that, he sniffs the air again. It takes a moment, but he eventually picks up the scent of blood and tears and familiarity. He honked, now worried. Was Warm One hurt? Was that why she hadn’t come back?

‘Hold on, Warm One. I’m coming!’ He thought, taking off down the hallway. The new human was quick to follow.

#the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars #omega bad batch #hunter bad batch #rex clone wars #captain rex #echo bad batch #tech bad batch #wrecker bad batch #tw injury #qui gon jinn #force ghost #talking about death #summerofwhump #summerofwhump[12]

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flightfoot · 4 years

Text

Tower of Nero quotes

So since I’m planning on writing some analyses for Tower of Nero, I decided to assemble my usual catalogue of quotes, so I won’t have to constantly flip through looking for them and typing them up hopefully. This is based on the kinds of analyses and things I want to talk about or just found interesting, but hey, I figure other people may find this useful as well.

Beware of spoilers, because no duh.

It was a silly thing to say, but some stubborn part of me insisted that Percy Jackson must be here somewhere, waiting to do dangerous tasks for me. That was his job!

But no. That was the old Apollo’s way of thinking - the Apollo I’d been the last time I was in this apartment. Percy was entitled to his own life. He was trying to have one, and - oh, the bitter truth! - it had nothing to do with me. (TON 37)

“Paul...” I ventured. “Aren’t you worried about having us here? We might endanger your family.”

The corners of his mouth tightened. “I was at the Battle of Manhattan. I’ve heard about some of the horrible things Sally went through - fighting the Minotaur, being imprisoned in the Underworld. And Percy’s adventures?” He shook his head in respect. “Percy has put himself on the line for us, for his friends, for the world, plenty of times. So, can I risk giving you a place to catch your breath, some fresh clothes, and a hot meal? Yeah, how could I not?” (TON 40-41)

What was it about kindness? In my time as Lester Papadopoulos, I had learned to stand up under horrendous verbal abuse and constant life-threatening violence, but the smallest act of generosity could ninja-kick me right in the heart and break me into a blubbering mess of emotions.

Damn you, Paul and Sally, and your cute baby too!

How could I repay them for providing me with this temporary refuge? I felt like I owed them the same thing I owed Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood, the Waystation and the Cistern, Piper and Frank and Hazel and Leo and, yes, especially Jason Grace. I owed them everything.

How could I not? (TON 41)

Sally Jackson crossed her arms. In spite of the grim matters we were discussing, she smiled. “You’ve grown up.”

I assumed she was talking about Meg. Over the last few months, my young friend had indeed gotten taller and- Wait. Was Sally referring to me?

My first thought: Preposterous! I was four thousand years old. I didn’t grow up.

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “The last time you were here, you were so lost. So... well, if you don’t mind me saying-”

“Pathetic,” I blurted out. “Whiny, entitled, selfish. I felt terribly sorry for myself.”

Meg nodded along with my words as if listening to her favorite song. “You still feel sorry for yourself.”

“But now,” Sally said, sitting back again, “you’re more... human, I suppose.”

There was that word again: human, which not long ago I would’ve considered a terrible insult. Now, every time I heard it, I thought of Jason Grace’s admonition: Remember what it’s like to be human.

He hadn’t meant all the terrible things about being human, of which there were plenty. He meant the best things: standing up for a just cause, putting others first, having stubborn faith that you could make a difference, even if it meant you had to die to protect your friends and what you believed it. These were not the kinds of feelings gods had... well, ever.

Sally Jackson meant the term in the same way Jason had - as something worth aspiring to. (TON 45-46)

And are you any better? taunted a small voice in my brain. How many times have you stood up to Zeus?

Okay, small voice. Fair point. Tyrants are not easy to oppose or walk away from, especially when you depend on them for everything. (TON 57)

I already felt disconnected from reality. I couldn’t concentrate. I didn’t know who I was, who I was supposed to be, or even who I wanted to be. I was getting emotional whiplash from my exhilarating surges of godlike power, my depressing crashes back into mortal frailty, and my adrenaline-charged bouts of terror. In such a condition, approaching Dionysus was asking for trouble. Just being near him could widen the cracks in anyone’s psyche. (TON 76-77)

Dionysus eyed me with a mixture of shock and horror, much the same way I looked at myself in the mirror these days. (TON 77)

In retaliation, Dionysus decided to look and act as ungodly as possible. He was like a child refusing to tuck in his shirt, comb his hair, or brush his teeth, just to show his parents how little he cared. (TON 78)

“Dad!” Will shot to his feet. He ran down the steps and tackled me in a hug.

That’s when I lost it. I wept openly.

My beautiful son, with his kind eyes, his healer’s hands, his sun-warm demeanour. Somehow, he had inherited all my best qualities and none of the worst. (TON 80)

“I figured you’d come back to camp eventually,” he said. “I hoped you would, anyway. I wanted you to feel at home.”

It was enough to start me crying again. Gods, I was an emotional wreck. Will hadn’t inherited his thoughtfulness from me. That was all his mother, Naomi, bless her kind heart. (TON 87-88)

“You’ve grown up!” Kayla gripped my shoulders with her archery-strong hands. The June sunlight made her freckles more pronounced. The green tinted tips of her orange hair made me think of Halloween-pumpkin candy. “You’re two inches taller at least! Isn’t he, Austin?” (TON 88)

I wanted to tell them that they were all so young. Their lifespans were a blink of an eye compared to my four millennia. I should be wrapping them all in warm blankets and giving them cookies rather than expecting them to be heroes, slay monsters, and buy me clothes. (TON 90)

“Nico has been having... I guess you’d call it post-traumatic stress disorder. He gets flashbacks. He has waking dreams. Dionysus has been trying to help him make sense of it all. The worst part is the voices.” (TON 93)

I frowned at Dionysus. “You could always, oh, I don’t know, decide to help.”

He scoffed. “You know as well as I do, Apollo, that quests like this are demigod business. As for advising, guiding, helping... that’s really more Chiron’s job.” (TON 99)

I wondered, bitterly, if there was anyone I hadn’t neglected, hurt, or overlooked during my time as a mortal - strike that - during my four thousand years of existence, period. I could only be grateful that my shoes were not sentient. Or my underwear. Gods, I would never be able to stop apologizing. (TON 110)

“I betrayed you once,” she said. “Right here in these woods.” She didn’t sound sad or ashamed about it, the way she once might have. She spoke with a sort of dreamy disbelief, as if trying to recall the person she’d been six months ago. That was a problem I could relate to. (TON 114)

“I have to go back,” Meg insisted. “I have to see if I’m strong enough.”

Peaches cuddled up next to her as if he had no such concerns.

Meg patted his leafy wings. “Maybe I’ve gotten stronger. But when I go back to the palace, will it be enough? Can I remember to be who I am now and not... who I was then?”

I didn’t think she expected an answer. But it occurred to me that perhaps I should be asking myself that same question.

Since Jason Grace’s death, I’d spent sleepless nights wondering if I could keep my promise to him. Assuming I made it back to Mount Olympus, could I remember what it was like to be human, or would I slip back into being the self-centered god I used to be?

Change is a fragile thing. It requires time and distance. Survivors of abuse, like Meg, have to get away from their abusers. Going back to that toxic environment was the worst thing she could do. And former arrogant gods like me couldn’t hang around other arrogant gods and expect to stay unsullied.

But I supposed Meg was right. Going back was the only way to see how strong we’d gotten, even if it meant risking everything. (TON 114-115)

“So now you believe the Trogs exist?” Nico asked.

“I am learning to believe in all sorts of things that can kill me!” (TON 136)

If my trials as a mortal had done anything, they had shown me how many times I’d abandoned, forgotten, and failed my Oracle over the centuries. I could not abandon Rachel in the same way. I’d neglected the basic truth that they did not serve me; I was supposed to serve them. (TON 158)

Nico smirked. “Friends, meet my glow-in-the-dark boyfriend.”

“Could you not make a big deal about it?” Will asked. (TON 163)

“Rachel, I’m scared,” I admitted. “It was one thing thinking about putting myself in danger. But the entire camp? Everyone?”

Strangely, this comment seemed to please her.

She took my hand. “I know, Apollo. And the fact that you’re worried about other people? That’s beautiful. But you’ll have to trust me.” (TON 175)

When he’d told me to remember being human, he’d meant building on pain and tragedy, overcoming it, learning from it. That was something gods never did. We just complained.

To be human is to move forward, adapt, to believe in your ability to make things better. That is the only way to make the pain and sacrifice mean something.

I met Rachel’s gaze.”I trust you. I’ll make things right. Or I will die trying.”

The strange thing was, I meant it. A world in which the future was controlled by a giant reptile, where hope was suffocated, where heroes sacrificed their lives for nothing, and pain and hardship could not yield a better life... that seemed much worse than a world without Apollo. (TON 176-177)

Not one deserved to be snuffed out by Nero’s cruelty. The revelation stunned me. I had become a human-life hoarder! (TON 182)

“I’m so sorry”, I managed at last.

“No, no,” Jason said. “I made my choice. You’re not to blame. You don’t owe me anything except to remember what I said. Remember what’s important.”

“You’re important,” I said. “Your life!”

Jason tilted his head. “I mean... sure. But if a hero isn’t ready to lose everything for a greater cause, is that person really a hero?”

He weighted the word person subtly, as if to stress it could mean a human, a faun, a dryad, a griffin, a pandos... even a god. (TON 218-219)

As a god of healing, I knew something about psychology and mental health, though I’ll admit I did not always best practices to myself. (TON 225)

I knew my anxiety about my own weakness was getting mixed up with my anxiety about Meg. Even if I somehow made my way back to Mount Olympus, I didn’t trust myself to hold onto the important things I’d learned as a mortal. That made me doubt Meg’s ability to stay strong in her old toxic home.

The similarities between Nero’s household and my family on Mount Olympus made me increasingly uneasy. The idea that we gods were just as manipulative, just as abusive as the worst Roman emperor... Surely that couldn’t be true.

Oh, wait. Yes, it could. Ugh. I hated clarity. (TON 225-226)

I found myself back in the caverns of Delphi, volcanic gasses layering the air, the dark shape of Python moving heavily in the background.

“So, I have you again,” he gloated. “You shall perish-”

“I don’t have time for you right now.” My voice surprised me almost as mush as it did the reptile.

“What?”

“Gotta go.” I lashed the reins of my dream.

“How dare you! You cannot-”

I rocketed into reverse like I was tied to a rubber band. (TON 233)

We both knew that, under most circumstances, Meg was fully capable of rescuing herself. But with Nero... I suspected Lu, like me, wanted Meg to be strong enough to save herself. We couldn’t make the hard choices for her. Yet it was excruciating to stand by while Meg’s sense of independence was tested. (TON 244)

But now, after knowing Lu, I wondered how many of these Germani really wanted to serve Nero, and how many had been conscripted into his service with no choice. Enough people had died. My grudge was with only one person, Nero, and one reptile, Python. (TON 250)

“Well, no, not Mr. D,” Nico said. “You know how it is. Gods don’t fight demigod battles. Present company excepted.” (TON 263)

Austin and I had gotten to know each other - not just as god and mortal, or father and son, but as two people working side by side, helping each other get through our often messed-up lives. (TON 273)

My heart broke. Meg looked elegant, older, and quite beautiful. She also looked utterly, completely no longer herself. Nero had tried to strip way everything she had been, every choice she’d made, and replace her with someone else - a proper young lady of the Imperial Household. (TON 285-286)

I tried to contain my horror. “Meg,” I said. “There’s only one person you need to listen to here: yourself. Trust yourself.”

I meant it, despite all my doubts and fears, despite all my complaints over the months about Meg being my master. She had chosen me, but I had also chosen her. I did trust her - not in spite of her past with Nero, but because of it. I had seen her struggle. I’d admired her hard-won progress. I had to believe in her for my own sake. She was - gods help me - my role model. (TON 293)

“I didn’t kill my father,” she said, her voice small and hard. “I didn’t cut off Lu’s hands or enslave those dryads or twist us all up inside.” She swept a hand towards the other demigods of the household. “You did that, Nero. I hate you.” (TON 295)

“Lu has immortality,” I said, “because you’re immortal. The two of you have been connected for centuries.”

Nero’s eye twitched. “But that’s my eternal life! You can’t trade my life for my life!” (TON 309)

Python had always been the real power behind the throne - a bigger puppet master than Nero’s mother ever had been. Like most bullies, Nero had been shaped and manipulated by an even stronger abuser. (TON 310)

Nero hissed. “Ungrateful child. The Beast-”

“The Beast is dead.” Meg tapped the side of her head. “I killed it.” (TON 311)

Rachel pulled out a blue plastic hairbrush and threw it at the nearest barbarian, beaning him in the eye and making him howl.

Sorry I underestimated you, Rachel, I thought distantly. You’re actually kind of a hairbrush ninja. (TON 313)

"You - cannot - take - it - Lester!” Nero said through clenched teeth, pulling with all his might.

“I am Apollo,” I said, tugging the opposite direction. “And I - revoke - your - divinity!” (TON 317)

“Hasn’t he proved himself already?” Artemis demanded. My heart ached, seeing my sister again. “He’s suffered more in these last few months than even you could have expected! Whatever lesson you were trying to teach him, dear Father, he’s learned it!” (TON 319)

“This has gone on long enough. Too much loss. Too much pain. But if my husband insists on seeing it through, the least you all can do is not talk about Apollo as if he’s already dead!” (TON 320)

Then I was back in my mortal form, looking up not at the Olympians, but at the faces of my friends (TON 320)

I alternated drinking my nectar and Mountain Dew, which was sort of like alternating between premium gasoline and regular gasoline. (TON 323)

Meg had thrown away her sandals, braving bare feet despite the arrows, rubble, bones, and discarded blades that littered the floor. Someone had given her an orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, which she’d put on over her dress, making her allegiance clear. She still looked older and more sophisticated, but she also looked like my Meg. (TON 323)

I considered that perhaps courage was a self-perpetuating cycle, like abuse. Nero had hoped to create miniature, tortured versions of himself because that made him feel stronger. Meg had found the strength to oppose him because she saw how much her foster siblings needed her to succeed, to show them another way.

There were no guarantees. The imperial demigods had dealt with so much for so long, some of them might never be able to come back from the darkness. Then again, there had been no guarantees for Meg, either. There were still no guarantees that I would come back from the caverns of Delphi. All any of us could do was try, and hope that in the end, the virtuous cycle would break the vicious one. (TON 324)

Even if I survived, I would not be the same. The best I could hope for was to emerge from Delphi with my godhood restored, which was what I had wanted and dreamed about for the past half a year. So why did I feel so reluctant about leaving behind the broken, battered form of Lester Papadopolous?

“Just come back to me dummy, that’s an order.” Meg gave me a gentle hug, conscious of my injuries. Then she got to her feet and ran off to check on the imperial demigods - her former family, and possibly her family yet to be. (TON 327)

“We all have a duty to rescue each other, wouldn’t you say?”

I nodded, wondering how the centaur had become so wise over the centuries, and why that same wisdom had escaped me until I had been Lesterized. (TON 328)

I felt a tingly sensation of power building just under my skin - perhaps my divine self, trying to reassert itself in the proximity of my old arch-enemy. I hoped it was that and not just my mortal body combusting (TON 332)

Deep breath. This was for Meg. This was for Jason. This was for everyone who had fought and sacrificed to drag my sorry mortal butt from quest to quest for the last six months, just to get me this chance at redemption (TON 333)

And yet, along with humility, I’d learned something else: getting humiliated is the beginning, not the end. Sometimes you need a second shot, and a third, and a fourth. (TON 335)

“YOU CAN’T HIDE!” Python bellowed. “YOU ARE NO GOD!”

This pronouncement hit me like a bucket of ice water. It didn’t carry the weight of prophecy, but it was true nonetheless. At the moment, I wasn’t sure what I was. I certainly wasn’t my old godly self. I wasn’t exactly Lester Papadopolous either. My flesh steamed. Pulses of light flickered under my skin, like the sun trying to break through storm clouds. When had that started?

I was between states, morphing as rapidly as Python himself. I was no god. I would never be the same old Apollo again. But in this moment, I had the chance to decide what I would become, even if that new existence only lasted a few seconds.

The realization burned away my delirium.

“I won’t hide,” I muttered. “I won’t cower. That’s not who I will be.” (TON 339-340)

I had done my best. Surely, Zeus would see that and be proud. Maybe he would send down a lightning bolt, blast Python into tiny pieces, and save me!

As soon as I thought this, I realized how foolish it was. Zeus didn’t work that way. He would not save me anymore than Nero had saved Meg. I had to let go of that fantasy. I had to save myself. (TON 341)

The prophecy came true. Apollo fell, and Python fell with me. (TON 346)

The river sapped my memories, my emotions, my will. It pried open the burning cracks in my Lester Papadopoulos shell, making me feel raw and unmade like a molting dragonfly. (TON 348)

I held onto my purpose. I remembered Meg McCaffrey’s last order: Come back to me, my dummy. Her face remained clear in my mind. She had been abandoned so many times, used so cruelly. I would not be another cause of grief for her. I knew who I was. I was her dummy. (TON 348)

Wow, Apollo, you marvel. How did you survive?

I didn’t.

But at that point I was no longer Lester Papadopoulos. I was not Apollo. I was not sure who or what I was (TON 349)

“Have you learned?” she asked.

If I hadn’t felt so weak, I might have laughed. I had learned, all right. I was still learning.

At that moment, I realized I’d been thinking of the Styx the wrong way all these months. She hadn’t put destruction in my path. I’d caused it myself. She hadn’t gotten me into trouble. I was the trouble. She had merely called out my recklessness. (TON 353)

Why couldn’t I let go, then? I kept clinging to the edge with stubborn determination. My wayward pinky found its grip again. I had promised Meg I would return to her. I hadn’t sworn it as an oath, but that didn’t matter. If I said I would do it, I had to follow through.

Perhaps that was what Styx had been trying to teach me: it wasn’t about how loudly you swore your oath, or what sacred words you used. It was about whether or not you meant it. And whether your promise was worth making.

Hold on, I told myself, to both the rock and the lesson.

My arms seemed to become more substantial. My body felt more real. The lines of light wove together until my form was a mesh of solid gold.

Was it just a last hopeful hallucination, or did I just pull myself up? (TON 354)

I rose with a sob and hugged her tight. All my pain was gone. I felt perfect. I felt... I almost thought, like myself again, but I wasn’t even sure what that meant anymore.

I was a god again. For so long, my deepest desire was to be restored. But instead of feeling elated, I wept on my sister’s shoulder. I felt like if I let go of Artemis, I would fall back into Chaos. Huge parts of my identity would shake loose, and I would never be able to find all the puzzle pieces. (TON 355)

My chest was bronze and perfectly sculpted. My muscular arms bore no scars or fiery lines glowing beneath the surface. I was gorgeous, which made me feel melancholy. I had worked hard for those scars and bruises. All the suffering my friends and I had been through... (TON 355)

I felt awkward and uncomfortable in this form, as if I’d been given a Rolls-Royce to drive but no car insurance to go with it. I’d felt so much more comfortable in my economy-compact Lester. (TON 357)

I remembered my dream of the throne room - the other Olympians gambling on my success or failure. I wondered how much money they’d lost.

What could I possibly say to them? I no longer felt like one of them. I wasn’t one of them. (TON 358)

My poor Hyacinthus. Had I really created these flowers to commemorate him, or to wallow in my own grief and guilt? I found myself questioning many things I had done over the centuries. Strangely enough, this uneasiness felt somewhat reassuring.

I studied my smooth tan arms, wishing again that I had retained a few scars. Lester Papadopoulos had earned his cuts, bruises, broken ribs, blistered feet, acne... Well perhaps not the acne. No one deserves that. But the rest had felt more like symbols of victory than laurels, And better commemorations of loss than hyacinths. (TON 358-359)

I turned and strode out of my room, trying to recall how the god Apollo walked (TON 359)

As much as we pretended to be a council of twelve, in truth we were a tyranny. Zeus was less a benevolent father and more an iron-fisted leader with the biggest weapons and the ability to strip us of our immortality if we offended him. (TON 366)

My father coughed into his fist. “ I know you think your punishment was harsh, Apollo.”

I did not answer. I tried my best to keep my expression polite and neutral.

“But you must understand,” Zeus continued, “only you could have overthrown Python. Only you could have freed the Oracles. And you did it, as I expected. The suffering, the pain along the way... regrettable, but necessary. You have done me proud.”

Interesting how he put that: I had done him proud. I had been useful in making him look good. My heart did not melt. I did not feel that this was a warm-and-fuzzy reconciliation with my father. Let’s be honest: some fathers don’t deserve that. Some fathers aren’t capable of it.

I suppose I could have raged at him and called him bad names. We were alone. He probably expected it. Given his awkward self-consciousness at the moment, he might even have let me get away with it unpunished.

But it would not have changed him. It would not have made anything different between us.

You cannot change a tyrant by trying to out-ugly him. Meg could never have changed Nero, any more than I could change Zeus. I could only try to be different than him. Better. More... human. And to limit the time I spent around him to as little as possible. (TON 367-368)

I still didn’t feel like my old self. I didn’t want to feel like my old self. (TON 371)

When I’d first met Meg, she’d assured me that Lester’s appearance was perfectly normal. At the time, the notion had horrified me. Now I found it reassuring. (TON 371)

Ugly weeping would not have been appropriate for a major Olympian god, so that’s exactly what I did. (TON 372)

To be honest, though, I could no longer consider my time on Earth a punishment. Terrible, tragic, nearly impossible... yes. But calling it a punishment gave Zeus too much credit. It had been a journey - an important one I made for myself, with the help of my friends. I hoped... I believed that the grief and pain had shaped me into a better person. I had forged a more perfect Lester from the dregs of Apollo. I would not trade those experiences for anything. And if I had been told I had to be Lester for another hundred years... Well, I could think of worse things. At least I wouldn’t be expected to show up at the Olympian solstice meetings. (TON 373)

She laid her hand on my arm. “You haven’t forgotten. I can tell.”

She meant about being human, about honoring the sacrifices that had been made.

“No,” I said. “I won’t forget. The memory is part of me now.” (TON 390)

It would have been inconceivable to the old Apollo, but the idea of aging in this lovely desert tree house, watching Meg grow into a strong and powerful woman... that didn’t sound bad at all. (TON 394)

Call on me. I will be there for you. (TON 396)

#trials of apollo #ton spoilers #tower of nero #the tower of nero #tower of nero spoilers #the trials of apollo

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marmolady · 3 years

Text

Homecoming: Part One

Read PART TWO here!

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC, Graleister

Summary: Endless Ending. Estela and Taylor spend one last night in San Trobida before returning to La Huerta and facing their future. This was going to be a two-parter, but I got all long-winded, so four-parter is more like it.

Word Count: 3342

Chronology: After 'The New Taylor' and 'A Ride to Remember', sort of midway through 'Inheritance'.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic

Thanks for reading!

Parrying the blows of her brother’s sword with the easy grace of a well-honed professional-- she had been doing this since her early teens-- Estela seemed to dance across the basement floor, totally in her element. Then Aleister lurched forward, and she jumped back, effortlessly dodging his attack. But in the landing, she found herself, finally, unstuck. Under the sudden weight of her whole body, her wounded leg gave way, and she stumbled. In a split second, Aleister’s cautious approach fell away and he pushed his advantage before Estela could recover. With a final flick of his blade, she was disarmed.

Estela laughed at the look of plain shock on Aleister’s face at his own victory. “Not half bad,” she commented, impressed that he hadn’t fumbled around taking advantage of her weakness. Her healing leg injury had been a source of great frustration-- despite regular massages of the Vaanti-made ointment concocted using the leaves from The Celestial’s roof, improvement had plateaued. The last thing she wanted was to be babied. “You’re still wasting too much energy with flamboyant gestures. This isn’t ballet-- it doesn’t have to look pretty.”

“Well, it certainly doesn’t appear that ‘pretty’ has hindered my performance,” Aleister panted, recovering just enough to be rather pleased with himself.

Offering a hand to take Aleister’s sword, Estela grinned. “Like I said, not half bad. Come on, hermano. We’d better give Tio a hand in the kitchen; it sounded like he had a big spread planned.”

Brother. That was still new. Only in the lead-up to his hand-fasting to Grace a few months prior had Estela gone so far as to utter that word in relation to Aleister. He reacted as he always did, a double-take, then his cheeks going immediately pink. It had been so long he’d craved that acceptance… now that it was there, it seemed it would take him some getting used to.

All attempts at helping Nicolas out with the farewell dinner were met with strong resistance. Some butting of heads later, Estela realised it really wasn’t a hill worth dying on; if her tio wanted to do something special for them all, she’d just have to step back and let him. After all, it could well be some time before he’d have this opportunity again. Come the next day, she, Taylor, and their friends, would all be on their way, and Nicolas would once more be left to an empty house.

As much as she tried to join in the energetic conversations over dinner, Estela found herself distracted. With her return to La Huerta, she’d be taking steps to move on with her life; to come to terms with the grief she’d suffered and get some closure. And then… she was faced with working out what the hell kind of life she’d forge for herself; something that had been made all the more complicated since Aleister had seen fit to bestow upon her half of everything he’d been left after Rourke’s demise. She’d made good progress on coming to peace with that connection, but she was not fool enough to be under any illusions… she still had a long way to go.

The subject of conversation turned to the case against Lundgren-- and the subsequent clearing of Jake’s name-- and Estela shook herself back to the present.

“The evidence is fairly damning,” Aleister was saying as he loaded his fork with beef, egg and plantain. “Certainly, the prosecutors were pleased. That we have access to every file my father ever touched, and a wealth of video and audio recordings, it would be difficult indeed to look at what’s presented and not come back with a guilty verdict.”

Jake smiled wryly, the grin failing to make his eyes. “I’ll give ya one thing, Malfoy, your old lady ain’t a dame I’d want to get on the wrong side of. I guess… we’ll see. Worst case, settlin’ down out here wouldn’t be half bad.”

“We won’t rest until you’re home,” Grace declared resolutely, her dark eyes shining. “That awful man isn’t going to be remembered as anything other than a power-hungry conniving brute. I’ll stand up and make a witness statement in court myself!”

She had, Jake knew, her own haunting personal experiences of seeing that exact brutality at close quarters. It made him sick. “Hey-- I won’t have you dredging up all that. Not for me--”

Grace spoke across him, calmly but firmly. “It’s my stand to take. I had quite enough of being helpless as Rourke’s prisoner; I need to take my power back.”

Jake’s mouth snapped shut. He wasn’t about to argue with that. “The poor defense won’t know what hit it.” The words rang hollow as exchanged a subtle dark look with Estela. The optimism was nice and all, but experience had told the both of them that the world was a corrupt place and ‘fair’ barely counted for squat.

“I know you think I’m naive,” Grace said, “and maybe I am, but the fact remains that we’re not giving in.”

Taylor grinned, confident because she had to be. “I didn’t offer my life force to some crystal alien only for you to not get back to your family. This is a matter of ‘how’ and ‘when’, not ‘if’.”

Beside her, Estela nodded. “Look, we’d be crazy if we just go in assuming this is gonna be a cakewalk. But Pollyanna here is right; we’ll make it happen. We’re not the kind of people who just roll over to injustice, and anyone who thinks they can force us is in for a painful lesson.”

“Dang, Princess… I think you broke Eeyore. She’ll be a motivational speaker at this rate….”

“It’s Katniss, cabron. Y vete a la mierda.”

Jake sniggered into his beer. So, motivational speaker was a little stretch.

With dinner over, the group started disperse. As Estela made to make a start on clean-up, Taylor gently turned her around.

“I’m pretty sure me and Al can handle this. Make the most of tonight.”

Estela looked out through the window to the front porch, where Nicolas had settled with his flask of rum. She took a deep breath. Taylor was right; she couldn’t just let this time pass her by.

Cold beer in hand, she pushed open the front door and stepped out. “It seems like Aleister and Grace’s first bandeja paisa was a hit.”

Nicolas beamed at the sight of her, and clinked her bottle as she sat down in the other chair. “Of course. Either that or they are exceptional actors.”

“No chance,” Estela laughed. “You’ve seen the looks he gives poor Taylor’s cooking. Her confidence has been shot since they’ve been here. At least Grace is polite about it.”

“You must be excited. I’ve said for so long that your potential was being wasted, and now… the world is your oyster. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Estela shifted in her chair and took a long drink.

“What’s that look for, mija?”

“Well, yeah, I’m excited. Terrified, but…. If I finish this degree, I really should think of what I want to do with it. And, well, all that money Aleister’s pushing on me.”

“That gilipollas. You poor thing.”

“Actually, I’m almost getting used to the idea. As much as it freaks me out, Mom would have been so happy to know I’ve got a leg up.” A small smile crept to Estela’s face. “I keep seeing so many things I could help with. Like the schools and universities-- how much could recovery be accelerated if people had better opportunities to learn? Or physically rebuilding so much that had been destroyed, or actually protecting the wilderness of this beautiful place?” She blushed as she caught herself getting passionate. “Rourke International has the capacity to do so much; we could actually have tourists coming here. That hasn’t happened in my lifetime!”

Nicolas chuckled, looking at his niece with clear affection. But he saw the cloud of doubt across her face.

“I…,” she continued, “I just don’t know that I have the right. We just got rid of one dictator, and Mom was collateral damage to a would-be dictator.” A would-be dictator who’s inescapably part of who I am. “Money comes with a lot of power. Even if I’m using it for what I think is good… I could cause a lot of harm.” By the time she finished, her voice was but a murmur.

“True. Alternatively, you could be one of those misers who sit upon their millions while the people around them starve and suffer, buildings crumble, and forests burn.”

“So, you’re saying I can’t win?” Estela demanded.

“I’m saying, the enemy here is ignorance. Ignorance of what greater impacts of your generosity might be, and ignorance of what suffering might go on if that generosity is withheld. The fact that you are even having these doubts tells me that you are not ignorant to the consequences of your actions.”

Estela huffed thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose,” she grumbled after a little while, “that you’d let me be, even for a second.”

“Of course not! I might be getting on a bit, but I am by no means past letting you know when you ought to unstick your head from your own backside.”

Again, Estela fell quiet. She was not going to be existing in an echo chamber. She’d surrounded herself with people that she trusted, with strong opinions and varied perspectives; people who would not balk from challenging her when necessary. If she tried, she couldn’t become a tyrant, regardless of what blood coursed her veins. At any rate, she’d simply be-- for the most part, at least-- channeling funds to others better placed to make the change she wanted to see in her world. She could be as anonymous as she wanted. Perhaps… perhaps it would not hurt to put some faith in herself.

“I take it from your silence,” Nicolas said, “that you’ve realised that once again I’m right. Now, go back to happily daydreaming about all the good you will do.”

Estela sighed dramatically, but smiled at her uncle. “I’m really gonna miss you….”

“I can’t pretend I’ve been looking forward to waking to an empty house again. But the missing you will be temporary; that’s more than I could have dared to hope for not so long ago.”

The same was true for her. And there was no way in hell she’d let goodbye be forever, not now. “Yeah. You’ve got a good point.”

“Again?”

She snorted. “Shut up, Tio.”

_________________________

The night wore steadily on, and Taylor eventually had to retreat from socialising with Nicolas’ other guests to start making headway on her night-time routine. ‘Self-care’ was something she now had down to an art; she even made a point of noting down the steps taken each night so she could easily track what was most effective. By this point, she had a fairly solid schedule. Yoga was followed by a calming cup of mint or chamomile tea, sometimes accompanied by a hot bath-- though tonight it was too late for the nice long soak she’d prefer--, and then she’d wind down even further with a half-hour’s guided meditation. Jake teased her mercilessly, but she really didn’t give a damn. If she could de-stress just enough to keep the seemingly never-ending stream of horrifying nightmares at bay, he could laugh all he wanted.

Slowly, Taylor wiggled her fingers and toes, bringing herself back to the land of the living with a long exhale. Fifteen nights without being woken up by visions of her loved ones’ deaths was the best run she’d ever had, but if those nightmares were triggered by stress, then the imminent return to La Huerta might just be the trigger that would throw a spanner in the works.

The little dog, Fenix, stretched forward and licked Taylor’s toes.

“Okay, okay, I’m back! Was I ignoring you for too long? Thanks for not interrupting my meditation, I guess,” Taylor chuckled. Having the pet had done wonders for grounding her during her regular existential crises. Fenix had come a long way from the mangy worm-ridden creature they’d taken in; still scruffy even with a full coat of hair, she was now bright as a button, and with a tail that never seemed to stop wagging.

“You’d better enjoy having me to yourself while you still can, Nixie-- this time tomorrow, we’ll probably have Furball sleeping on the end of the bed as well.”

Happily oblivious Fenix rolled and tumbled in her human’s lap. Foxes with ice powers were far beyond her frame of reference, but she could sense that whatever Taylor was talking about made her happy, so naturally there was every reason to be in a good mood.

The door creaked, and a just-showered Estela entered the room, clad only in a towel.

“Hey. I heard you talking to Nix-- figured you’d finished your meditation.”

“Hey,” Taylor cooed, feeling herself practically melt as her wife reached down to stroke her hair. “I just finished; went pretty heavy on the self-care tonight, just to be safe. You ready for bed?” She let herself be helped to her feet, and wrapped an arm around Estela’s waist. “Last cuddle in your little single bed for a while.”

Estela smiled. “Last cuddle in our little single bed.”

Taylor changed into her pyjamas and nestled under the covers, waiting and watching in quiet contentment as Estela slipped into a singlet and a light pair of shorts.

“You are so, so beautiful, you know that?”

“Taylor, you tell me that ten times a day.”

“Just making sure you’re aware, lover.” Taylor pressed herself against the wall, making room on the tiny mattress.

“You ordered a cuddle, yes?” Estela kissed and nibbled along Taylor’s jaw, feeling a tremor of an exhale, then sat back to look into the sapphire gaze of her adoring wife. Beautiful just wasn’t big enough.

“So… how are you feeling about tomorrow?” Taylor ventured.

“A lot of things,” Estela admitted. “Getting on that plane to La Huerta is going to bring back a lot of stuff. And saying goodbye to Tio… well, let’s just say, we’d better have a lot of tissues packed.”

Taylor squeezed her tight. “It’s not forever this time. And I think he knows that-- otherwise you’d be leaving again over his dead body.”

That made Estela give a little snort of laughter, but then she shook her head, sighing. “I know the guilt I’m feeling is irrational. Tio is just so happy to see how much things have changed for me. He wants me to go out and live my best life. But that doesn’t mean I can stop myself feeling it, just like that.”

Taylor didn’t have a lot of life experience, but guilt? That, she knew all about. “We’re just going to have to keep talking to that irrational part of your brain, then. Honey, your tio thought you were dead for so long-- you coming back every now and then, smiling, on your way to healing… that’s just the most amazing gift you could give him. And maybe… it’s going to help him move on too.”

“Yes.” Man, I hope so. Estela knew that her uncle had closed himself off to the world. That he’d seen that he’d done his part in life, and then retreated from it. He joked around, but for so long he’d been broken inside. Now, they could make strides towards something better, together-- even if there was a distance between them. Now, Estela had hope for them both.

Taylor snuggled close, spooning her wife from behind, and leaving lingering kisses upon her neck and shoulders.

“What about you?” Estela asked softly, turning in the warm embrace so she could meet Taylor’s eye. “I guess this will feel like going home.”

“Yeah, I guess it will be. Something like that. It’s a very… it’s a very weird feeling, you know?”

“I can imagine. It’s going to be strange to be back on La Huerta without everyone. The village is gonna be like a ghost town.”

A small smile tugged at Taylor’s lips; in spite of her own worries. Estela sure was perceptive. “It’s kind of freaking me out.” Of course, Estela already knew that, but it had never hurt to actually put the words out there. It was quite clear that they both had to look forward to a crash course in moving on. But that they were alive, and together, and free to do so… it was everything they’d fought for. “I’m bursting to see Diego again, though. It must have been so much weirder for him these past months.”

There was a grumbling, grunting sound as Fenix settled herself into a nest made out of the clothes Taylor had left on the floor. Both women chortled. Nothing like a funny little dog to keep the mood light.

Estela tenderly stroked Taylor’s hair, loving her. “You’ll have a lot to catch up on. It’s gonna mean a lot to him to have you there.” She blushed. “It… means a lot to me to have you here.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

“Taylor, we all are. And you’re stuck with us. There’s nothing that can change that.”

As she looked into Estela’s soft gaze, Taylor’s heart swelled. If she knew anything at all, she knew that much. All she had to do was trust in that sweet certainty.

#endless summer #estela montoya #estela x mc #jake mckenzie #aleister rourke #grace hall #nicolas montoya #playchoices

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dreamerswriter · 3 years

Text

Special Shipping: Staying Together

It was Red’s birthday a couple of days ago. Not to mention, I finally got Lear in Masters! I’m kind of surprised how well he’s written. Either way, I love the games, but I love the manga! Known as Pokemon Special or Pokemon Adventures, it is a wonderful adaptation of the games. If you love the games, then you’ll love this. I wish there was an anime version of this.

I adore Red and Yellow and love the red string of faith they did with them. But also, Yellow has healing powers and long hair... Didn’t anyone else think of Tangled with her? No? Just me? Fair enough. I am weird. Well, enjoy!

Red and Yellow = Staying Together

(Red’s POV)

I was running towards Yellow’s house in the Viridian Forest. I can’t believe Sird is here! I hope Yellow’s ok. Her house was hidden by trees and near a lake. It was a simple wooden house. The lights were on. She’s home. Maybe’s she’s ok.

I opened the door, “Yellow!”

I was so relieved, but I saw her tied up and her mouth was covered by a piece of cloth. What happened to her? Before I could anything, I felt something sharp pierce me! I yelped in pain as I held my injury. I saw blood dripping from coat. My vision is blurry. Yellow…

(Yellow’s POV)

NO! RED! Sird just seemed to have laughed as Red slumped down and held his wound. Red’s eyes were not shining with a burning passion of life. I need to help him. I can heal him.

“If I knew it would be that easy to kill him, I would’ve kidnapped you instead of the young master” Sird scoffed as she dropped the knife.

I noticed where the knife landed as Sird went to get something in the back room. Now’s my chance. I quickly used my legs to grab the knife. I then laid the knife near my hands. My hands were able to pick up the knife and cut the ropes. I ripped the cloth covering my mouth and rushed to Red’s side.

“Red! Please say something!” I said weakly as I held him up.

I knew he would try and save me, but he was too reckless this time. No, what am I saying? This is my fault. Red’s dying because of me… I couldn’t help but cry. Red’s dying!

“Yellow…” Red called out weakly.

He placed his hand on my cheek weakly. I held it close to my face.

“Don’t worry… I’m a fighter. I can’t die….” Red reassured me with a smile.

“You won’t” I whispered as I placed my hand on his chest.

I began to heal him, but Sird returned with her Starmine behind her.

“I suggest you stop that Yellow” she said in a low threatening voice.

“Why?” I asked as I held Red close to me.

“Well, then I will have to freeze you both here!” she said as her Starmine prepared to shot an ice beam at us.

I held Red close to me. I will stay with him till the end! Just then, I heard a loud crash. I gasped when I saw Pika and Chuchu appear! The two of them held each other close and shot a powerful “Thunderbolt” at her! The two of them electrocuted her and Starmine!

“Thank you!” I said happily.

I then focused my attention on Red. I was able to stop the bleeding and heal the wound a bit. However, he needs to be taken to a hospital. I helped him up and carried him out of my house. Pika and Chuchu followed us. I smiled at the two of them. We arrived at the Viridian City hospital. The nurses were horrified to see Red like this and quickly took him to a room. I was grateful but anxious. I waited outside of Red’s room with Pika and Chuchu. A nurse soon exited the room and faced me.

“Red will make a full recovery. He just needs rest” she reported.

I was so relieved. Pika and Chuchu jumped up and down in excitement.

“You can see him” the nurse said as she opened the door.

Pika and Chuchu ran in before me. I thanked her and walked into Red’s room. He was awake and petting Pika. I was so happy to see him ok that I was crying. I ran towards him and gave him a hug.

“Yellow! Are you ok?” Red asked me worriedly.

“Yes! I’m so sorry!” I cried as held him.

Red shook his head, “I’m going to be ok. Thank you”

He held me close while our Pikachus smiled at us.

#pokemon #pokemon special #pokemon adventures #Pokemon special red #pokemon special yellow #pikachu #pokemon special sird #specialshipping

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vannahfanfics · 3 years

Note

congrats vannah!!! your lists were amazing and it seems like so much effort, im so proud of you! could i please get aizawa and white please? thank you!

Hey! Thank you so much for requesting for the event, and I’m sorry it took so long! Medical school was very tough for me, so I ended up putting requests on the backburner for a very long time… But finally, it’s here! White symbolizes hospitals, death, and sadness, so… I’m sorry to inflict this upon you, but here’s Aizawa in the wake of the war with the Paranormal Liberation Front. Spoilers for the recent manga chapters!

Drinks on Me

“Hey, this weekend, let’s all go out and get drinks on me!” Nemuri smiled prettily, her long legs crossed as she swiveled back and forth in her chair across from Shota. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been out together. You never know, it could be our last chance!” she grinned while sticking out her tongue and winking playfully. She always said things like that, portents of doom and gloom hidden behind a winning smile, to rope Shota into joining her and Hizashi at clubs and bars.

He should have regarded those for what they really were— omens.

Shota jerked awake, snorting as his muscles spasmed. He laid there for a moment as he clumsily acclimated to the waking world, staring blearily at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above his head. When he finally realized that he was in bed, he exhaled deeply and reached up to rub his eyes with the heels of his palms. In the midst of his fitful sleep, he’d kicked the sheets off himself; the layer of nervous sweat on his skin absorbed the cold wind pushed down by the fan, coating him in a chill. Too exhausted to even bother pulling the covers back over himself, he flopped his arm back down to stare listlessly at the ceiling.

The stump where his leg used to be throbbed painfully, almost as if it were aware he was awake now. He still hadn’t accustomed to the loss of his limb, nor the phantom pains plaguing his nervous system. Even now, he found himself groping for his calf, trying to ease the ache; but he couldn’t massage empty air, so it continued to burn dully, seeping down all the way into his sawed bone.

Groaning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, grasping the headboard as he hauled himself up. The rest of his body had endured a beating as well, making pain thrum through his nerves to shoot to his spine. He winced and grasped his shoulder, massaging the inflamed flesh until it quieted. He felt like an old man, much older than he ought to— tired, achy, defeated. He inhaled deeply, gathering the will to put on his prosthetic leg. His muscles tweaked in protest as he did, but as he gradually woke up his body and fastened the prosthetic to the stump below his knee, the pain faded into the background.

He limped across his room to his closet, stumbling a little and using the dresser to catch himself. He hadn’t mastered navigating with his new leg, either. He took a moment to catch his breath, sweat already blooming on his clammy forehead, before tottering his way to the closet. He couldn’t tolerate dressing normally— not that he had impeccable fashion sense anyway— so he eased himself into a pair of black sweats and a gray tee and some sneakers. He tied his hair in a loose bun before shambling out the door.

The dorm was alive with activity, but not the normal kind that Shota had become accustomed to. The air hummed with nervous energy as the students— and their parents, who were moving in to keep them safe— flitted about. Most of his pupils still sported injuries from the massive battle several days ago, bandages peeking out from beneath their clothes. But the worst injuries were the ones you couldn’t see, the ones on their hearts still oozing blood and bursting through the stitches at the slightest insult. They would be scars someday, an afterthought until the phantom pains struck when they least expected it.

Theirs would, but not Shota’s. No, Shota’s inner wounds never really healed— and this newest one definitely would bleed for the rest of his life.

A few of them greeted Shota quietly as he limped down the hall heading for the front door. Momo came up to him, asking if she could help him with anything— she had always been such a considerate girl, that one. He smiled and ruffled her poofy black hair, telling her that he was quite all right but thanks anyway. Shota could sure use some help, but there was no aid that any of his students could provide for him. He could feel Momo’s watery eyes boring into his back as he toddled out of the building.

There were so many things that people took for granted every day. The ability to walk down steps without falling flat on your ass was one of them. Shota grimaced as he inched down the steps of the dorm, holding out one arm to seek purchase though there was nothing to grip onto. Somehow, he made it down to the sidewalk without eating shit, but the effort still left sweat beading in the crease lines of his forehead. He blew an irritated breath through his lips and raked his hand over his wavy black hair, taking a moment to let the pain pass before moving on.

Though this region of the city had been spared the carnage of the war with the Paranormal Liberation Front, its effects reached even the city around U.A. There weren’t nearly as many people on the street; Shota was alone most of his commute to the business district, save for the occasional person rushing down the street with suspicious eyes and fearful breaths. Shota could feel eyes on him everywhere, though; nervous onlookers peering out their curtains and blinds, suspicious of everyone in sight. They were all waiting for the inevitable pin to drop, for the next piece in this godawful chess game to move and tell them their next poor fortune. Things would get worse before they got better; everyone knew it, the hapless civilians most of all. Their hope in heroes was teetering on the edge of a knife; if they strayed but a little, everything would fall into ruin.

Many small business owners had closed up shop to skip town, but the liquor store was still open. A pleasant bell chimed as Shota opened the door. The cashier apparently still wasn’t getting much business, as he leaned back in a chair with his feet propped up on the counter, reading the newspaper. As Shota began to walk through the aisles searching for a particular brand of rum, the cashier decided that apparently the news was too dismal to read because he crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash bin.

“Warmongers, the lot of them journalists,” he spat at Shota, who raised his eyebrows at him over the top of the rum bottles he was surveying. “All they’re doin’ is makin’ things worse.”

“Do you have faith in heroes?” Shota asked and looked back down, fingers skimming over the glass bottles emblazoned with coconut trees and beach zines. He smirked when the old cashier snorted derisively.

“Sonny, I been around a long time. This ain’t the first time some upstart has whipped everyone up in a frenzy. The heroes always come out on top because that’s what they do.”

“That’s some unshakable faith you have there,” Shota remarked while plucking his chosen bottle from the rack. He rounded the rack while the cashier hopped up from his chair so he could check Shota out.

“Eh, it comes with age. Nothing rattles ya anymore,” he shrugged, grabbing the bottle to scan it. He put it in a brown paper bag and punched a few of the keys into the cash register. “O’course, a little liquid courage always helps, eh?” he added with a wink. Shota smirked at that, sliding over his credit card. He took the bottle by the neck, crinkling the paper around it.

“Thanks for the advice. Do I need to pay you for that too?” Shota joked.

“Nah, it’s on me this time,” the man responded with a chortle, sliding Shota’s card back. Shota took it and slid it back into his wallet, then bid him a good night. When he walked out, the sun had risen into the sky and was blessing the earth with its warm rays. Yet they didn’t kiss Shota’s skin; a lingering chill wafted around him, blocking out all the warmth to leave him cold. Eventually, he’d feel the sun again, he knew that— but he had a while to go.

It was a short walk to the graveyard. The iron was hot under his fingers as he pushed the unlocked gate open, and it creaked loudly as if to protest. The small gravel marking the winding, meandering path through the various headstones crunched under his feet as he made his way down, counting the rows. At row seven, he turned and walked down until he found a clean headstone above a freshly-turned patch of dirt, a rectangle the size of a person.

Sighing, Shota eased himself down onto his knees, his prosthetic leg stretching out beside him— it was easier on his hip that way. He pulled the brown paper bag off the bottle of rum and then broke the faux gold foil seal. He stared down at it a second, just stared, and then exhaled quietly.

“Hey, Nem,” he murmured. He reached up with his free hand to stroke the top of the stone, which was warmed by the bright spring sun. He fell silent again, throat bobbing as the emotions he’d been surprising for days welled up inside of him. The tears bubbled up and spilled over his eyes, carving through the layer of nightsweat and grime coating his unwashed face to bead in his beard. “I miss you, Nem,” he said finally, voice cracking. “So much.”

His hand shook as it continued to run over the unblemished stone, down over the carved letters reading Kayama Nemuri. He leaned forward to press his forehead against the rock, closing his eyes and squeezing out more of the salty tears. “I never did take you up on that offer for drinks,” he said with a wan smile despite the despair tearing his heart apart. “So I brought you your favorite, on me.” He leaned back, then lifted the bottle to spill the alcohol over the gravestone. The light gray rock darkened as the clear liquid gushed over it, spilling over the smooth surface in rivers. It streamed down to soak into the grass at its base, soaking up the earth down, down, down to Nemuri’s casket six feet under. Shota didn’t drink a drop of the rum; he poured every bit of it over her gravemarker for her to enjoy.

He sat there for a while, even after the hot sun had begun to evaporate the alcohol absorbed by the porous stone. Somehow, sitting there watching the color fade back to normal was cathartic. Like Nemuri was there, enjoying that rum. He could see the smile playing over her lips as she stirred a straw around a piña colada— and that’s when Shota felt the kiss of the sun, warming up his skin. He looked up to squint at the bubbling circle in the sky, then back down at the gravestone. Smirking, he patted the slightly damp rock before using it as leverage to push himself up.

“Thanks, Nem. I’ll be back sometime, with drinks on me, of course,” he chuckled. He couldn’t linger here all day; he had work to do. Some upstart was out there whipping everyone up in a frenzy, and it was up to the heroes to bring him to justice. When they did, Shota would be sure to bring Nemuri a whole liquor store’s worth of rum— on him, of course.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#aizawa shota #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #shota aizawa #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha

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sailorgreywolf-legacy · 3 years

Text

The Morality of Conquest

This is for the fourth day of @historical-hetalia-week

Plot: The Netherlands finally reaches his limit listening to Spain’s accounts of the New World. He decides to confront him no matter the consequences.

Characters: Spain, the Netherlands, Mexico

Year: 1550s-ish

Content Warning: Mentions of death and violence.

Word Count: 1.9K

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The Netherlands was aware that he was about to do something regrettable which would definitely get him consequences. He had been thinking about it for days.

If his sister was at court, she would tell him to never act on the thoughts that were plaguing him. She had to act as his restraint at times that he found Spain absolutely repugnant.

But she was in Brussels and he was in Madrid alone. As he sat in court listening to Spain boast about his new found wealth to any foreign delegate he could find.

He boasted like a poor man who had suddenly come into money. It seemed like he thought that his plunder made him a rich man with dignity, even though it did nothing more than make him seem like a brigand. A pious man should know the way that wealth corrupted the soul.

Even so, the Netherlands had held his tongue. He found the whole thing to be deeply distasteful, but picking a fight with Spain was a serious discussion. He had done nothing but sit there seething the night before when he had heard Spain offering to show an Austrian noble “the treasures of Montezuma.”

There were still marks on his palm from where he had clenched his fists hard enough to drive his nails into his own skin. He looked at them as he laid awake, and tried to make sense of his own rage.

It was infuriating to hear a man boast and brag about the gold he had gained by spilling rivers of blood. Spain had left a little boy an orphan, and he was talking as though it had been a marvelous adventure.

The Netherlands could clearly see little Mexica’s face in his mind’s eye, and it made him angrier. That boy was an innocent, and Spain had ripped his family from him cruelly. The only real kindness was that he was in Madrid far away from the continuing excesses and cruelties of the men that Spain let run rampant. That would be too much for a child as young and sweet for him to endure.

The Netherlands stared at the carved woodwork on the ceiling and tried to decide what to do. What he wanted most was to give Spain a piece of his mind. He wanted to tell him that no godly man should revel in such violence or greed. It was clear that Spain had fallen for the lure of gold and power, and was willing to bend every commandment to have it. He didn’t even seem bothered by the life he had taken.

The Netherlands tried to summon to mind his sister’s voice to mind to tell him to be cautious. She would remind him that no matter how much he disliked Spain, he was still their lord. It was a short step from criticism to rebellion, especially in Spain’s eyes.

But, as he watched the marks on his palms heal, he tried to decide if he would compromise his own soul by staying silent and complicit. It felt like he had to voice this anger for the sake of himself and his own morality.

He let out a sigh, and turned over onto his side. It was easy to say that he shouldn’t be rash and should think of the consequences, but it didn’t square with his own conscious. He decided that he would sleep on it and decide in the morning.

By the time he sat down for breakfast the Netherlands was no closer to a decision, but he had thought about the question through the whole restless night. Confronting Spain about his boasting was no easy thing, but it felt so wrong to bite his tongue and let it fester.

He sat at the table and stared moodily at the food. He was not the least bit hungry, though he had not eaten since the night before.

As he sat thinking, he heard a sweet voice say in slightly clumsy Spanish, “Good morning, Mr. Holland.”

He looked up to see that Mexica, rechristened New Spain, was sitting at the table next to him. He gave the Netherlands a broad smile, like he was truly happy to see him.

The Netherlands noticed that there was a gap in his teeth where one had fallen out. He looked like any other little boy, and a joyful one at that. If he did not know the bloody circumstances that brought Mexica to Spain, the Netherlands would think that he was a carefree little boy like any other. But he had read the report from de las Casas, and the images of carnage would not leave his mind.

If the child remembered anything of the horrors that Spain had unleashed on his people, then he hid it well. For his sake, the Netherlands hoped that Mexica had forgotten.

He replied, “Good morning, Alejandro.”

The little boy was struggling to peel an orange with his small hands, and as the Netherlands watched he bit his lip and looked very determined. He extended his hand to the boy and said, “Do you want me to help you with that?”

Mexica nodded and eagerly handed over the orange. The Netherlands was able to make short work of the peel with the help of a small knife. As he was working, he said, “What are you going to do today?”

For the briefest moment he felt like he might actually like children as Mexica smiled at him like he was doing something miraculous by peeling an orange. Mexica started to respond, “I was thinking-“

Spain's voice cut in harshly, “He will be busy with bible study and reviewing his Spanish. He has much to learn to learn about civilization, and I will not have him distracted by frivolity.”

Spain sat at the head of the table. The Netherlands watched as the smile disappeared from the boy’s face. The happiness was extinguished as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. He took the peeled orange back in silence.

The anger that the Netherlands was repressing flared to the surface again. Spain had left this child an orphan and all but kidnapped him from his home, and still felt like he had any ground to lecture anyone on what it meant to be a civilized man.

He curled both of his hands into fists, and grit his teeth. His decision was made, though he could not do it in front of little Mexica. He said, his jaw still tense, “Alejandro, please leave. I have something I have to say to Spain.”

The little boy looked confused, but did as he was told. He first looked at Spain and then left.

Then Spain turned to the Netherlands with a look that would have been a warning to a cautious man. He said, “What could you possibly want to say to me?”

His tone also should have been a warning, but the Netherlands was past caring. He had already weighed all the consequences and come to this conclusion anyway.

He said, as calmly as he could muster, “You should have some shame when you talk about the murder you committed.”

Spain’s green eyes flashed a dangerous rage, but he sounded carefully calm as he said, “And what murder is that?”

The Netherlands knew he had committed and there was no way to back out. He met Spain's eyes unflinchingly and said, “Alejandro’s mother. The Aztec empire. You killed her in cold blood, and you have the gall to boast about it.” Spain scoffed, but there was no mirth in his face, “You’re faulting me for killing an enemy in battle. You’ll have to condemn the whole continent.”

The Netherlands shook his head. He had heard Spain’s version, but it made no sense with everything else he had read about the wretched state of the natives. He countered, “A woman who was deathly ill and trying to protect her son. You killed her to have her gold.”

He could see from the way a vein started pounding in Spain’s forehead that he had touched a sensitive nerve. He surreptitiously took the knife that he had used to peel the orange and tucked it under the napkin in his lap. He didn’t think that Spain would attack him, but he couldn’t reckon with a brute.

Spain said, looking like it was taking every inch of his self control not to yell, “I gave her the chance to accept the true faith, and she refused. I did what I had to.”

The Netherlands stood and said, his own voice rising, “Are you God? Do you decide who is worthy of salvation?” He surreptitiously tucked the knife up his sleeve to have a little bit of insurance if Spain lost control of his temper.

He shook his head as he watched Spain’s face go pale with rage, and said, “No, you’re just a man like any of us.” Spain said shortly, “You will not speak blasphemy in my presence.”

The Netherlands could not care less about the warning. This was not the moment to air his grievances with the church, though he certainly did not accept their definition of heresy either.

Spain did not give him enough time to respond, because he also stood up and said, “I was given that land by the Pope, and I have his blessing to convert the people. He speaks for God.”

The other man laughed, but it was a scornful laugh, “Rodrigo Borgia gave you the right to do as you pleased. A less holy man never sat on Saint Peter’s throne. I’m sure you paid him well for the privilege.”

He had thought it for years, but finally saying the words to Spain’s face felt more cathartic than he had imagined. Spain looked momentarily speechless, though the rage would undoubtedly return.

The Netherlands stepped closer, perfectly aware that he had nearly a foot of height on the Spaniard. If this was going to be a fight, he wanted to be intimidating. He said, “I do not care that a corrupt Spanish Pope granted you the right to be a brigand. You should not boast about your blood soaked gold.”

Spain recovered from his initial shock and snarled back, “Everything that I have done I have done for the church. You will not insult my faith.”

The Netherlands was tired of Spain pretending to be a pious man. He was happy enough to sin and confess later. He loved the church as long as the church allowed his excesses. The Netherlands said, “And how much of your newfound wealth have you given to the church?”

He knew the answer already. Once Spain had secured his wealth he was not going to be parted with it. Like any poor man, he was clinging to money.

Spain stepped forward, clearly trying to assert his position as an empire. He said, “I do not have to justify my patronage of the church to you. If I hear another word of heresy from your lips, then the Inquisition will hear about it.”

That threat was enough to stop the Netherlands from saying anything else. There were consequences that he was willing to say, but the horrors of the Inquisition were a step too far.

He held his tongue, and he was certain that Spain saw it on his face. Spain said, capitalizing on the silence, “There are consequences for your words. You will leave court today, and you will not repeat anything that you just said.”

Spain looked far too smug in his victory and the Netherlands was not going to allow it. He replied, “Very well. I do not want to be here to see you parading your spoils anyway.”

As he turned to walk away, Spain said, “Watch your back, Johann. One more misstep and I will bring my entire army down on you.”

#historicalhetaliaweek #hhw day 4 #hws spain #cw death #cw violence #hws netherlands #hws mexico

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everlastingdreams · 4 years

Text

Weeping Monk X Reader : The City Of Fey CHAPTER 2

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Notes: ^ my gif. I hope you’ll like this one.

Summary: As a fey queen you are by now used to it that fey come into your woods seeking refugee or a place to hide. Things get complicated however when your knights have not just brought a fey boy but also the red paladins’ fiercest warrior into your city.

Chapters: 2/ ?

Word count: 3441 (in this chapter)

Warnings: None yet it think. But there will be in other chapters.

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When he stepped through the door his eyes went wide, there were people everywhere. Not just fey but humans as well. All going about their day, tending to flowers, chatting.. Children ran through the streets playing all sorts of games. He saw how Percival looked at it with longing, most likely wishing to join them. The people noticed him as well, whispers reaching his ear as he walked past them. He doubted that they had anything good to say about him and he didn't blame them for it. They stopped for a moment and he saw that the open field a bit below them was being used to train the children. The knight who had almost killed him was teaching the young ones how to defend themselves. All of them using wooden swords. When he was trained as a child he had to use steel, if he failed to dodge or block a strike then the scar he recieved was his punishment for failing.

A young girl runs up to you, almost bumping into you while doing so. “Look, y/n ! I got a new sword !” the girl beemed with pride as she held out her small wooden sword. You smiled down at the girl “I can see. Please, try not to break this one so quickly, Ayla.” “But Crillan said I should hit him harder and I did !” she shot back while demonstrating how she had used it to hit Crillan in the leg last time. The Weeping Monk looked at her display and observed that she was holding the sword in a way that could easily hurt her hands. Would he overstep a limit if he helped the girl ? It was hard for him to watch and the urge to warn the girl was strong. “You'll hurt your hand if you hold it like that.” he remarked and looked for your reaction. You didn't stop him and he took it as a sign to approach the girl. He knelt down in front of her and showed her how to place her hands in a safer way. Moving her hand with the sword so she would understand how his method worked better before standing up again. She moved her hand a couple of times in the way he had shown her before she smiled widely at him. You didn't interfere and just watched as he taught the girl how to hold the sword. And secretly you hated to admit that you didn't know about the better way to hold a sword either. “Thank you, sir !” she smiled brightly at the Weeping Monk and he didn't know how to react. He was not used to being shown gratitude, especially not from children. You noticed his struggle and suggested “Ayla, why don't you go on ahead and teach the others what he has taught you ?” She proudly nodded her head, her eyes falling on Percival now “Do you want to come ?” Percival looked up at the Weeping Monk with pleading eyes. “Go on. I'll come find you later.” he gives in. It was all Percival needed to hear before they ran off together. The whole display warmed your heart “Not everyone here knows who you are. Here your actions will speak louder then your past.” He truly doubted it and the doubt grew bigger as he saw a small crowd staring at him “I'm certain word is already spreading about my past in your city, your highness.” You followed his eyes and noticed the small gathering, you had expected that he would not recieve a warm welcome considering his reputation. “I'm aware.” you sighed. “I doubt there is much I can do to make them feel more at ease with me residing here for a while.” he expressed his concern. You started walking again towards the infirmary and he followed in your footsteps “You seem like a man who likes to defy the odds.” He was looking at Percival dodging the little girl swinging her sword at him. At least he can avoid the sword well he thought.

He followed you to what seemed to be a worn down small castle. It had seen battle once, that was clear.

Raphael came through the large door to meet you “I took the liberty to inform Dahlia of the situation. She's expecting him.”

You gave him a grateful nod, poor Dahlia would have catched quite a fright if Raphael hadn't told her who was coming. She had seen many things in her long life, but the Weeping Monk was something neither of you were expecting today. You walked past some of the bedrooms before reaching your destination. You stopped suddenly in front of a door and opened it a little “The room next to this one is for the boy. This one's yours for the duration of your stay. It's not much but-” “It's more then enough for me.” he was suprised he would even get his own room. It wouldn't have bothered him if you would have let him sleep in the stables or the pig's pen. He couldn't recall the last time he had slept in an actual bed considering he was always on the road or staying at a camp. This was more then enough, too much even. You closed the door again “Alright.. should you need anything, please ask my soldiers for help. There is always some around. And I suppose it would be better then having to ask the civilians.” He knew it was a nicer way of saying 'so you don't have to scare the people'. He nodded gratefully and you tilted your head towards the end of the hall “Come, Dahlia is waiting. She will treat your wounds.” A smaller door opened and the first thing he noticed was shelves full of flasks and bowls filled with dried herbs. The room was compact, there were just a few cots but none were occupied. Either this city had no sick people or it had been cleared out for his arrival. Probably the latter. A small woman approached, her short black hair showing signs of grey ones neatly tied into a bun. Even though she was informed of his arrival, the look of fear in her eyes didn't pass him by. The woman's eyes darted between him and you nervously “Your highness.” she greeted you. “Dahlia, I've told you a thousand times to please just call me y/n.” you shook your head but gave her a warm smile. She shook her head stubbornly “Ask me a thousand times more and I will still refuse to. It is a title you have earned.” He watched amused as you let out a groan at the woman's stubborn attitude. “Dahlia, I heard Raphael has informed you about our guest ?” your eyes shot between him and her quickly. She swallowed and nodded “Yes, your highness. I will help him just as I would help any other.” You smile at her approvingly, she truly was a gem that woman. “Thank you. I know this is a strange situation we find ourselves in. But I assure you that he will not harm you.” You looked at him and send him a look before nodding discreetly in her direction. He gave a short nod to the woman, a sign that what you had said was true. Dahlia straightened her back before looking at him a bit more confident now “Please take a seat on one of the cots. We'll start with that gash on your head.” The tension in the room seemed to be a lot less now, and the Weeping Monk did as Dahlia ordered. “Feel free to explore the city when you're done here. I'll be at the field you saw the children train at, keeping an eye on the boy.” you turned to walk away but were stopped by Dahlia. “What about your wounds ?” she stopped you from walking out. “Don't worry about me, Dahlia. You know I heal fast, I just need to rest that's all.” you reasurred her. “But-” she went to protest. “He needs you more then I do.” your voice left no room for protest anymore. “As you wish.” She wasn't pleased but she had known you for years now and she knew you could be just as stubborn as her. She turned to her shelves, taking the things she would need to patch him back up. He looked at you one last time before you left him in the room, you looked so calm. He was a stranger to you but for some reason it was as if you trusted him already. When he left the Red Paladins behind he had not expected to find someone, other then the boy, who would ever trust him again. And certainly not a fey. “Thank you.” he exclaimed just as you turned around to leave. You pauzed and shared a look of understanding before you left the infirmary.

You made your way back to the training area, Crillan stood aside as he kept a watchful eye on the children. Some of the parents had joined in to help their children, and some children were teaching their parents what they had learned. Crillan looked at you from the corner of his eyes, never really taking his attention away from the children. "So he's staying, huh ?" "For now. Until he's healed." You knew he hated it. "Did you sense something then ? About him ? I don't know why else you would let that bastard stay here." He expressed his disdain. You sighed, frustrated but understanding "I did." You grabbed his arm to pull his attention to you "Crillan, I know you are worried. All I ask is that you trust me. Would I ever put any of you in danger ?" Crillan answered without hesitation "No, you wouldn't." His attention was pulled back to the field when Ayla was swinging her sword at the boy the way the Weeping Monk had shown her. The boy dodged every attack but Crillan still called out to her and told her to be more careful. "What exactly did you sense about him ?" He asks quietly so no one else would hear. You remained silent as you tried to find a way to describe what you had sensed. Why you had faith that the Weeping Monk would not cause harm. "Remorse." you finally answered and he looks at you, almost shocked to hear it "He feels so much guilt.. it's tearing him apart inside." Crillan blinked a few times, he was still looking at the field but his attention was faltering "The Weeping Monk feels guilty ?" "Terribly so." You nodded. "And because of that you believe you can trust him ?" He was still skeptical. "Trust is a strong word. But I believe there is hope for him still." Your eyes followed the boy on the field. "I guess I could try to be civil towards him." The reluctance in his voice made a smile tug at your lips. "I would appreciate it." "Be carefull, y/n." He warns. "I will.”

After about an hour or two, you left the field for a few minutes to finally clean the blood off of your face and out of your hair. The wound was starting to heal now, it was easier to use your magic to heal others than yourself. There were limits however, and it was often better to just let the wounds heal than to exhaust yourself with your magic. Healing the boy's face was enough to make your own nose bleed. This kind of magic came at a cost and if you weren't careful, healing someone while you were weak yourself could kill you.

To the Weeping Monk's suprise, Dahlia treated him just like any other patient. She had said she would, but he hadn't counted on it actually happening. She had removed the blood and cleaned the wounds, before applying a salve that soothed the burning almost instantly. The fey's healing methods worked wonders. He had thanked her for her help, and she told him to return in time so she could apply fresh bandages. Well.. more like commanded him. She took her work serious, there was no doubt about it. He was given a small flask to take with him, something to drink in case the pain he still felt became worse. He left the room grateful for it all, and as you had told him earlier, there were indeed soldiers walking down the hallway almost constantly. Civilians as well but most of them took another route when they noticed him. He remembered the path to the training area and that was the first thing he did, to check up on the boy. The Weeping Monk approached the field, but slowed his pace when he didn't see you anywhere, only the knight who had been eager to kill him earlier. He kept a rather large space between him. The knight didn't even turn around but he figured out he was there anyway. "Fear not. The queen has reminded me that you are a guest here." There was no hint of anger in the knight's voice, only a pinch of disdain. His stepped closer but left enough space between him and the knight, his eyes scanning the field for the boy. He spotted him training with someone only a little older. Crillan looked at the Weeping Monk and followed his eyes “I paired him up with him. That little girl, Ayla, over there has a nasty swing for one so small. Your boy is lucky he is faster then her.” He picked up on how the knight refered to the boy as if he was his own kin. He looked at the knight for a second before paying attention to how the boy was using the sword. “He's a brave one.” he stated to the knight. The knight nodded “That he is. Last time Ayla hit me in the leg, put me in the infirmary for the rest of the day.” The knight raises the wooden sword he was holding to show the Weeping Monk “They're not steel, but anything is a weapon in the wrong hands.” The Weeping Monk noticed the ambiguity in his wording and now he looked him in the eye. It was definitely said on purpose, but the knight did not say it with malicious intent, that he could tell. What the knight asked next confirmed it. “What will you do now that you're a traitor to the Red Paladins ?” he watched him with interest. The Weeping Monk hadn't planned ahead and that's exactly what he told the knight “I didn't plan that far ahead. It all happened very quick.” He thought back to the night he had freed the boy from the tent, it had all happened so fast. The knight nodded “Do you regret it ?” He watched as the boy managed to strike the shoulder of the other and how a smile appeared on the boy's face. “No.”

You walked towards the field again and were flabbergasted to see Crillan having a seemingly normal conversation with the Weeping Monk. “Glad to see that I can trust you when I'm absent.” you say as you approach them. They both looked behind themselves when they heard your voice. That's when you realised you could have said it to both of them. You gestured to Crillan to clear the confussion up. The corner of the Weeping Monk's mouth turned up ever so slightly in amusement “It helps that he's holding a wooden sword.” “And that he is unarmed.” Crillan countered. The weeping monk looked at him, knowing damn well that he could probably best him in a fight even if he was unarmed. You pinched the bridge of your nose noticing the competitive atmosphere it was creating. A yelp coming from the field broke the tension and Crillan walked on the field to tend to a boy that had fallen to the ground. You observed how even the Weeping Monk looked concerned in the direction of the child. Crillan picked the boy up, and told the others to rest for a while as he carried the boy to the infirmary. “Crillan ?” you called out to him worried. “It's a cut !” he answered your unspoken question. Letting out a breath of relief, you turned to the Weeping Monk “That reminds me, how are your wounds ? I can see no blood on you anymore so I hope Dahlia has treated you well ?” “They no longer burn. Her skill in healing is impressive, she has given me something in case the pain returns.” his hand absentmindedly brushing over the now healing wound on his chest. He watched as the little girl, Ayla, went to talk to Percival on the field. He turns to you now, it was hard for him to express the sincere gratitude he felt “You have been very gracious towards me, your highness. There must be something I can do to repay you ?” The inquiry came unexpected to you, you brushed it off, shaking your head “You do not owe me anything. You are my guest here.” He knew you meant it but it didn't sit right with him, it was too much. He wasn't used to kindness like this. He would have accepted it if you had only taken the boy in, if you had decided to kill him. He felt like he was in your debt even if you assured him he was not.

“Your highness !” you turned to see Raphael approach. You walked up to meet him halfway “Raphael, is there news ?” The Weeping Monk kept his distance and did not approach but he was close enough to still hear the conversation. “Our scouts have found recent tracks in the forest.” he informed you. It was his way of saying there were refugees in the forest again. “I'll go find them.” you smiled “Take care of my city while i'm gone.” “Try not to return bloodied this time, y/n. Perhaps you should take some soldiers along.” Raphael suggested. You quickly shook your head “Better not, more people means more tracks. It shouldn't take me long to find them." Just when you had uttered the words, rain started to fall. You bit your tongue to prevent yourself from cursing. This would make it harder, the tracks would be washed away by the rain soon. The Weeping Monk had overheard the conversation and he spoke up "Let me join you, your highness. If there are fey in the woods, I will find them." This earned him a suspicious look from Raphael. In retrospect, perhaps he could have used a better choice of words. You were actually considering to take him up on his offer. He was known to be good at tracking down fey. "Y/n. I don't think this is wise." Raphael turned to you and tried to keep his voice low so the Weeping Monk wouldn't hear. Part of you knew Raphael was right, you knew the Weeping Monk felt guilt. But would it be enough to prevent him from going back to his old ways ? Would it be safe, as a fey, to be alone in the woods with him ? The fact that you were a fey queen, with healing magic, also meant that you could easily be traded to the trinity guards or even Uther in exchance for his life. Uther himself would love to get his hands on someone like you. He noticed your hesitation and gave a suggestion "Bind my hands if it puts your mind at ease." A look was shared between you and Raphael. You gave a confirmative nod and looked at Raphael, tilting your head in the Weeping Monk's direction. Raphael didn't like the idea but did as you asked. He tied the Weeping Monk's hands together in front of him. Checking the ropes before stepping back but not before looking him dead in the eyes and leaving him with a warning. “Hurt her and there won't be a place in this world where I won't find you.” Raphael said it so quietly you didn't even hear it. But the message was recieved loud and clear by the Weeping Monk, the knight always kept a calm demeanor but there was a reason he was ranked higher then Crillan. And he had no intention to find out what that reason was. He dipped his head discreetly at the knight. “Let's get going.” you tell the Weeping Monk as you eyed Raphael suspiciously.

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carryonmywaywardcaptain · 4 years

Text

Six Feet Apart

CarryOnCap’s Masterlist

Summary: Dean is fed up with a lot of things about the Coronavirus and safety guidelines, but he’s got a compelling reason to follow them. Sometimes it’s funny what a little faith can do.

Warnings: Obviously everything surrounding the ‘Rona, mentions of terminal illness, some angst, some feels but a positive ending

A/N: @rileynicole1967 requested a Dean x reader fic based on “Six Feet Apart” by Alec Benjamin. This is definitely not what you asked for because it took a weird turn, BUT it was very therapeutic for me to write and I still managed to give it the ending you asked for. So I appreciate the request more than you know :)

[IF you happen to be curious about the inspiration behind this: I’ve been in a rough place for quite some time-- hence my Tumblr absence. Not that the self-disclosure is really needed, but my grandma is in really bad shape with her cancer and I’ve been trying to make things work with a guy who very well could have been “The One” under non-’Rona circumstances. I’ve been caught in a terrible, anxiety-inducing middle between obviously wanting to date and spend time with a guy who is out in the world everyday, but only being able to do so much without risking my grandma’s health. Aaand kind of mine too. Stupid faulty meatsuit haha. Anyway. Life has been so stinking heavy but this helped a little.]

Keys.

Mask.

Wallet.

Phone.

It was routine now. Dean had gone through the process so many times that his body practically went on autopilot as he grabbed the items on his way out of the motel room he’d checked into late last night.

There were days he thought the guidelines were frustrating, inconvenient, and even a little pointless. He knew he’d probably get the virus at some point anyway and he’d made peace with that. Maybe he’d be able to fight it off just fine, maybe he wouldn’t. But the chances of that happening were like anything else in life. Even if the world had managed to come to an eerie halt, that didn’t mean it applied to people like him and Sam who still had work to do.

Although he knew he had everything he needed, he checked his pockets again just to be sure. If it were up to him, truthfully he wouldn’t even bother with the mask or the “social distancing” crap.

But it wasn’t just about him anymore. And he couldn’t afford to take any chances.

Oh, I miss you most at six feet apart when you’re

Right outside my window, but can’t ride inside my car

And it hurts to know just how lovely you are

And be too far away to hold, but close enough to break my heart

I miss your smile

Feels like miles

Six feet apart

Dean pulled into a worn concrete driveway in front of a modest white house. The front porch, which he’d become quite familiar with lately, contained two cast iron chairs and a matching table. He’d never been inside, couldn’t risk the possibility of bringing the virus into her home if he’d unknowingly come into contact with it. While he was constantly on the road chasing cases, she only left the house for treatments, appointments, and intermittent trips to the porch when he could make it back to visit.

He sighed heavily, putting the car in park before turning to glare at the offending bit of fabric on the leather seat beside him. He hated wearing that stupid mask. Hated the way the material trapped each breath, circulating the warm air right back to his face. He hated how stuffy and suffocating it felt. Sometimes it even made him feel a little claustrophobic.

But she’d sewn it herself and given it to him so he could stop using t-shirts, bandanas, and any other piece of clothing he could find in his trunk as a makeshift mask each time he came to see her. Sometimes he struggled to keep in mind what a thoughtful gesture it had been. That having to wear it might be annoying, but it really wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. And if a stupid piece of fabric had even a small chance of keeping them safe, then he could deal with it for a few hours, couldn’t he?

A few hours, he thought sourly. Nowadays they were lucky if they could even get that much time together. But he’d take what he could get.

Reluctantly, he grabbed the mask and looped the elastic bands around each ear. After fussing with the edges, trying in vain to make it fit comfortably, he let his head fall back against the seat in frustration. As he examined the space above him, sinking deeper into his ruminating thoughts, he began to wonder how much longer he could keep this up and if all of this was really worth it.

So far, so far, but so close

Like a star out in the cosmos

Can’t touch the beauty I see

That’s how it feels at six feet

It had been a while since the last time he’d been able to visit her. When the front door opened and two women emerged, he climbed out of the car and walked straight to his usual spot on the overgrown lawn. As he got closer and appraised her condition, he tried to conceal his reaction.

She looked rough. Despite the fuzzy robe she wore, he could tell how feeble her figure was beneath. Her movements were slow and deliberate, making him suspect she may have fallen again recently. He clenched his jaw, recalling how she’d been too weak to pick herself up last time and had remained on the floor until someone came to check on her the next morning.

With help from the other woman, who he assumed was a new caretaker, she settled into the cushions on one of the chairs. Her chest heaved and her eyes fell closed as she took a moment to recover from the exertion of her short walk. When her eyes finally fluttered open, they were a stark contrast against her sallow skin.

“Long time, no see,” she teased, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Dean nodded. “How’re you feeling today?”

“Can’t complain.”

In a way, he knew she was lying. He had a feeling she was having a rough day, but she was never one to complain. He had quickly learned that no matter what was going on in her life, she was the kind of person who worried about everyone else and put their well-being before her own. He wondered what kind of update the doctor had given her this time, but he was too afraid to ask.

“It’s so good to see you.”

Her gentle admission shook him from his thoughts. The edges of her eyes crinkled and he could just imagine the smile she wore beneath her mask.

Space and time are interwoven

Well, at least that’s what we’re told

When I was young, I was suspicious, but it’s true

Time sticks like glue

I feel so blue

Here missing you

So I think I’ll build a time machine and go back to a time

When we didn’t need to measure six feet on the ground

When I came around

That’s not allowed

I can’t go back now

He’d never really been the relationship type. He hadn’t been looking for anything when their paths had first crossed, but there was something about her that had captured his interest. The more they’d gotten to know one another, the more he learned just how much they had in common.

It had made him feel uneasy at first-- how easy she was for him to talk to. She rarely pressed him on anything and she had a way of making him feel comfortable even with the hardest conversations. They’d shared their life stories; their favorite memories, biggest letdowns, family dramas, and everything in between. After all of the monsters they’d each faced in their lives...this one was the deadliest and ugliest he’d ever had to face. And of all the people in the world who didn’t deserve to go through something like this, she topped the list.

Okay, sure, no one really deserved a death sentence. But didn’t it always make it worse that bad things always seemed to happen to good people?

Dean had beaten leviathans and reapers. He’d taken out loads of vampires, ghouls, and ghosts. He’d ganked more angel and demon douchebags than he could count. But when he had asked her to let him help-- when he’d mentioned what Cas could do or offered to work with Sam to find a spell that might heal her-- she politely declined. She had simply thanked him and explained that it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else fighting for their lives like she was. That her life was in no way more important than anyone else’s. She’d told Dean sometimes these things just happen and have a little faith, you never know.

Dean had of course tried to argue, but he couldn’t quite put into words just how special she was. That she didn’t deserve this and he’d give anything to change their circumstances. At one point he’d even considered tracking down a crossroads demon and making a deal to switch places with her, but he knew she wouldn’t have wanted that.

No matter how many times he tried to bring it up or how much he wished he could fight this one for her, there was nothing he could do to fight the monster slowly killing her from the inside out.

So, I miss you most at six feet apart when you’re

Right outside my window, but can’t ride inside my car

And it hurts to know just how lovely you are

And be too far away to hold, but close enough to break my heart

I miss your smile

Feels like miles

Six feet apart

It seemed like there was never enough time. They’d talked all afternoon and neither one of them were ready to say goodbye but, when she suddenly shivered, he knew it was time for him to leave. It wasn’t cold outside by any means, but it took a lot more to keep her warm these days.

He couldn’t help but linger a little longer, admiring her from where he still sat in the grass. Sometimes just being in her presence helped ease a little of the hopelessness he always seemed to grapple with. It was starting to take a toll on him-- not knowing if things would ever get better or if the world would ever return to some sense of normalcy.

What he wanted more than anything was to walk right up on the porch and wrap his arms around her. It didn’t make sense how much he ached to just be near her. He’d never admit it out loud, but it was almost physically painful how much he wanted to reach out and touch her-- to hug her, kiss her, or even see her smile without their stupid masks.

But she was barely holding on and he knew her body was fighting every moment of the day just to keep her alive.

He hated wearing his mask. He hated how he could be so close to her and still feel so far away. He hated not being able to hold her and he hated that there didn’t seem to be an end or a solution in sight for the state of the world at the moment. He hated that she was dying and there was nothing he could do about it. And he especially hated the fact that the universe had to have a pretty damn cruel sense of humor to let him meet someone like her in a time like this. Even though he was fed up with feeling like he was stuck in another one of Gabriel’s twisted, incessant pranks...the thought of walking away and not having her in his life at all was far worse.

So he took it one day at a time. He knew there was a chance he might get the virus at some point and usually he was ready to accept whatever cards fate dealt him. Maybe he’d be able to fight it off, maybe he wouldn’t. But she wouldn’t be able to. And he knew if he slipped up, if he somehow managed to pass it along, that that would be the end for her.

He hated a lot of things lately and he wasn’t sure if they’d ever really go away. But there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that every single inconvenience and moment of frustration was worth it for him to be able to spend time with her-- even six feet apart.

***

Dean was staring up at the ceiling, unable to fall back asleep. The nightmares didn’t come as often anymore but, when they did...well, they were no walk in the park. He let out a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he pushed the images of her sunken face from his mind.

The movement had jostled her, and he hugged her closer when she began to stir. He placed a gentle kiss on top of her head and she hummed softly as she nestled further into his chest.

When they were in the thick of it, it had been so hard to see a way out. To believe they’d be okay or ever have a shot at actually being together. To believe there would be an end to the virus or that there was any chance she could get better.

Sometimes those dark days, when all hope seemed lost, felt like nothing more than a distant nightmare. But Dean refused to let himself forget. Maybe it was morbid, but every moment with her felt a little bit sweeter when he reminded himself of how grim those days had been and of everything they’d had to overcome. When he remembered everything she’d had to endure.

It was honestly a miracle that he was lucky enough to hold her in his arms like this. Everyone had asked him on numerous occasions if he’d done something, but even he didn’t have an explanation. He really didn’t care whether it was faith or something supernatural or even just one of life’s unexplained mysteries-- all that mattered was that she was healthy and alive.

So he kept the memories of those days close and promised himself he’d never take the time he had with her for granted. They had made it through one of the darkest times in either of their lives and he had no doubt they’d face more in the future. But, with her by his side, he had faith they’d find a way to make it through those days too.

So far, so far, but so close

Like a star out in the cosmos

Can’t touch the beauty I see

That’s how it all feels to me

So far, so far, but so close

Like a star out in the cosmos

Can’t touch the beauty I see

That’s how it feels at six feet

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