#fun fact I just noticed that his gloves are the same as Din's it's just less obcious since the colour of the end of the fingers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-scandalorian · 3 years

Text

Tempered Glass: Chapter 3

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: slow burn, canon rewrite, canon-typical violence, cursing Summary: You and Mando choose Sorgan as your place to lay low, only to get wrangled into a risky job. Notes: In my head, Cara Dune is Katy O’Brian.. Yes, I’m ignoring the fact that she plays one of Moff Gideon’s officers lol Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme @beskarhearts @dincrypt @honey-hi @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @red-leaders @zoemariefit

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

The three of you sat in the cockpit—Mando piloting the ship, you in the copilot seat behind him, and the kid perched on the console. He had slipped out of his own seat, waddled to the front of the cockpit, and managed to grasp the edge of the console with his tiny hands and scrabble his legs against the front of it to shimmy all the way up there. Honestly, it was an impressive feat for such a small being. Mando pretended not to notice, keeping his visor trained on the viewport.

You’d been sitting in silence for a while, watching the stars streak by. It was a fairly comfortable silence, considering you were complete strangers and still trying to feel out the limits of your tenuous alliance.

Looking at the back of Mando’s helmet, the surface of which reflected the bands of hyperspace that surged around the Crest, you thought again about how challenging it was to read him: there was so little to go on. No facial expressions, no significant looks, and very few gestures—even the cadence of his breathing was largely disguised by the helmet and modulator.

That was definitely part of his appeal: the mystery. He was an almost blank canvass where others were open books. Because your survival had hinged on your ability to read people, you had gotten so good at it that the task lost its fun rather quickly. Mando was an interesting new game.

In some ways, the armor forced the Mandalorian to be much more straightforward. Because it obscured his features, he had to ask for what he wanted outright—unless it was from a bounty. He could easily communicate threat with just his stance. Anything else, though, he had to verbalize. You were interested to see how this would play out in his interactions with you. You weren’t a job or his enemy, and you were really hoping that meant he’d eventually be slightly less withholding with you.

The baby, looking around, cooed quietly and reached over to flick a random switch on the panel to his right. Mando disregarded the action, pressing a few buttons in front of him. You stifled a chuckle.

The kid, clearly testing his boundaries, leaned over to flick another switch. It turned green when he activated it, and the sound of a machine whirring kicked in.

“Stop touching things,” snapped Mando, frustrated, turning to look at him. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face, grateful that Mando couldn’t see you.

The child lowered his ears and trilled sadly in response to the admonishment but recovered quickly: his ears pricked back up, and keeping his eyes trained on Mando in what seemed like a purposeful act of open rebellion, he leaned over slowly to flick yet another switch. This one turned red, and the ship rattled in response. You let out a sharp bark of laughter, slapping a hand over your mouth to smother the rest of your reaction.

This time, Mando pushed one large gloved hand past the baby to deactivate the switch and picked him up to set him on his lap. You smiled again, knowing this was likely what the kid was trying to achieve anyways. He wanted attention.

“Do you know his name?” you asked. You assumed he didn’t because he always called him “the kid”...but it also wouldn’t be a surprise if Mando did know his name and just chose to call him that instead.

“No,” he replied. “You ready to pick a planet?” Mando changed the subject abruptly as he reclined to look at you over his shoulder.

“Sure,” you agreed, standing to lean over the back of his chair so you could see the screen in front of him.

After some discussion and research, toggling through the nearby planets on the nav, you decided on Sorgan as your place to lay low. It was a rural planet, sparsely inhabited and undeveloped. Mando described it as “a real backwater skughole.” But there were some small settlements, so there would be food and fuel.

Your stomach gurgled loudly.

“I’m going to go eat,” you said, standing to leave the cockpit.

Mando, still holding the baby, stood to follow.

You moved toward the door just as Mando did the same, both attempting to walk through it together. He paused and stepped back, pressing himself against the wall as far as he could to let you by, gesturing you forward with his free hand.

Without thinking, you touched his arm lightly as you slipped past him in the tight doorway, and he flinched away, wrenching his arm back. You withdrew your hand quickly and looked up at him.

“Sorry,” he explained gruffly, visor tilted down at you. “Reflex.”

“I get it.”

He twitched his hand forward like he was considering reaching for you then decided against it, clenching it into a fist by his side.

You stood in the confined space for a moment, pinned by the mesmerizing void of his visor. Inches from your chest, he was so tall and imposing, somehow equally menacing and alluring as he towered over you. It was hard to ignore his intoxicating magnetism when you were this close to him.

He cocked his head the tiniest bit, and you realized, with a rush of embarrassment, that he was waiting for you to move.

Flustered, you turned and climbed down the ladder to find your pack. Mando followed and sat across the hull from you, after settling the kid into a makeshift crib—a storage box lined with blankets—on the floor beside his feet. He busied himself adjusting something on the complicated armor that covered his forearm, as you ate one of your ration packs.

You studied him as he worked. As far as you could tell—with the glaring exception of the presence of the child—Mando was the definition of a bounty hunter. He worked alone, and all he did was work.

He was clearly not used to casual, nonthreatening human contact, aside from that of the child.

You felt a deep, cutting sadness when you really pondered the solitude of his existence. The bulk of his interactions were violent confrontations. He had the child, but for how long? He seemed a recent acquisition. Did Mando have friends? When was the last time he felt at ease around another adult person?

When was the last time someone touched him, other than a bounty during a fight?

You’d been on the run for years and, at times, it had almost killed you—not the running itself, but the loneliness. No matter how much time you had to adjust, it remained a draining existence. You maintained only loose contacts and casual, fleeting relationships. How long had his life been exactly the same? Decades? Had he ever known anything different?

You looked down at the baby. The presence of the child spoke to the possibility that he at least wanted something different for himself.

The kid seemed to feel your gaze and turned his head to train his huge eyes on you. You smiled at him. He grabbed the edge of the box with his tiny three-fingered hands to haul himself over the side and toddled his way over to where you sat. He hugged your calf, looking up at you expectantly.

Mando was busy fiddling with the controls on his vambrace and didn’t notice.

“Can I?” You gestured down at the kid. Mando’s head flicked up.

“I guess,” he acquiesced hesitantly. He watched as you reached down to pick up the kid.

The baby settled happily into your lap, looking up to reach a hand toward your face. You met his hand with your own, and he was content to latch his little fingers around your much larger one and sit back. He babbled and wiggled the tiny green toes that poked out of the bottom of his outfit, which appeared to be made out of the altered sleeve of an old beige flight jacket.

Despite the fact that the child was more than happy cuddled in your arms, Mando was visibly uncomfortable. Abandoning his task completely, he sat forward with his elbows propped on his knees and watched you tensely.

He didn’t relax until you set the baby back down, turning him toward Mando, and he toddled his way back across the floor. Mando took the kid with him into his bunk when he disappeared to eat.

***

From the ship, Sorgan looked inviting: lush greens and blues, the landscape broken up by winding rivers. Clouds swirled across the atmosphere. Mando touched the Razor Crest down in a clearing of a pristine forest.

Mando wasn’t about to leave you behind with the kid—or with the ship, for that matter—so he informed you that the two of you would set out to the nearest village to find lodging, and he would leave the child behind. You understood that he didn’t have a lot of options, but leaving a toddler alone on a ship seemed like a terrible idea. You decided not to question it for the moment.

It was abundantly clear that Mando was accustomed to running the show and operating alone. He was used to making unilateral decisions...and that was going to have to change if the two of you were ever going to get to a place of easy coexistence. As someone who was also used to making unilateral decisions, you didn’t take well to being told what to do without even being consulted. You figured you’d give him some time to adjust to your presence before bringing this to his attention. You reminded yourself that this was a temporary arrangement.

Before leaving, Mando gave the baby a very serious, very stern talking-to about not touching anything and staying put. This was another instance that made it clear that he hadn’t been in charge of this kid (or any kid) for very long. You tried your best to conceal your amusement while Mando lectured the child. When he started to wag his finger dramatically to punctuate his points, you coughed to cover a laugh that escaped your lips.

As you both gathered what you needed in the hull, you asked, “How effective are your lectures usually?”

He let out a tired sigh, shoulders dropping slightly: “Not very.”

You laughed.

Sure enough, the baby shuffled up behind the two of you as the ramp of the ship lowered.

Mando looked down and sighed heavily.

“Oh, what the hell? Come on.” He strode forward decisively without a backwards glance.

You bent down to scoop up the child, not sure how Mando expected this tiny creature to keep up with his long strides, and followed Mando into the verdant forest.

***

The village was made up of a collection of circular wooden structures with pointed roofs. You ducked after Mando into the public house, the largest building in the small cluster. Good-natured conversation and the smell of something delicious permeated the air. You set the baby down on the floor to walk beside you.

A lothcat curled underneath a table hissed loudly at him as he waddled by, and he cowered in fear. You scowled at Mando, who didn’t react besides tilting his helmet down, and picked the child back up, patting him lightly.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you murmured reassuringly. Mando paused to watch you comfort the kid. You waited for him to pull the baby from your arms or say something to discourage you, but he didn’t. When you looked up at him, he continued forward to find an empty table.

Mando scanned the room carefully as he strode between the tables. You noticed an intimidating woman surveying him as he passed. You seated yourselves, and a woman in an apron approached with a friendly smile on her face.

“Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth for the little one,” requested Mando. Then he turned to look at you.

“One for me too, please.”

“Very well,” replied the woman.

Jerking his head towards the intimidating woman, Mando asked, “That one, over there—when did she arrive?”

The woman hesitated, and then said, “Uh, I’ve seen her here for the last week or so.”

“What’s her business here?”

You studied the woman in question, noting her piecemeal armor and tattoos. She looked like a war-hardened soldier.

“Oh, well there’s not much business in Sorgan, so I can’t say,” the server responded noncommittally. “She doesn’t strike me as a log runner.”

Mando reached into his belt and threw some credits toward her on the table. She brightened.

“Well, thank you, sir. I will get those broths to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka for good measure. I will be right back with that.”

The server left, and the unobstructed view revealed that the woman he’d been asking about had disappeared.

Mando stood quickly.

“Stay with the kid?” he asked, looking down at you.

You hummed your assent, but he watched you for a long moment, as if assessing whether or not this was a safe idea. He was weighing the risk of leaving the kid with you against the risk of not neutralizing the possible threat of this stranger.

“I’m not going anywhere. We agreed to stick together for the time being, remember? Relax,” you assured him. It wasn’t much of a commitment, but what else could you say?

He nodded decisively and turned on his heel.

You and the kid watched him leave. The baby made a small whimpering sound as Mando disappeared through the curtain that hung over the exit.

You considered the baby as you waited for your food. He looked around, curiously taking in his surroundings.

What species is he? You’d never encountered anyone like him. Despite the fact that he was clearly a toddler, he looked a bit like an old man. And a tortoise? And maybe a frog? Whatever he looked like, he was really damn cute. Those big eyes and huge, expressive ears were undeniably adorable. You’d never felt a maternal instinct in your life, but in that moment, you wanted to pick him up and snuggle him again. You resisted the urge.

The server returned with two steaming bowls of broth and a flagon of electric blue liquor. The child immediately reached out for the broth, letting out a string of gibberish.

“It’s too hot. Let’s let it cool.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and let out a disapproving huff.

Despite his protests, you waited until the broth cooled a bit before setting it in front of him. He picked up the bowl and slurped happily.

You didn’t start to worry about Mando until you’d finished your own broth and the drink—you’d figured Mando wasn’t about to drink spotchka—and he still hadn’t come back. You scooped up the kid, who was still holding his little wooden bowl of soup, and slipped out the exit to look for Mando.

The loud sounds of a brawl made it easy to locate him.

He was locked in an intense hand-to-hand fight with the woman. They were both on the ground, Mando on top of her briefly until she used her strong legs to launch him over her body onto his back. He landed with a thud.

Ouch.

You set the baby down on the ground, but neither Mando nor the woman noticed. The two of them seemed fairly equally matched. To be safe, though, you eased your blaster out of its holster and held it loosely by your side.

Before you’d decided whether or not to intervene, the fight ended in a stalemate, both of them flat on their backs, having drawn their blasters simultaneously.

They panted on the ground, until Mando lolled his head to the side and saw you and the kid watching them, the baby slurping his broth loudly.

“You want some soup?” Mando deadpanned, looking up at the woman. You let out a sharp laugh at the unexpected question.

The tension dissolved, and they both brought their blasters back down to their sides.

You sheathed your blaster and offered Mando a hand, and—to your surprise—he took it without hesitation.

“Thanks for jumping in to help,” Mando grunted as he got to his feet slowly and dropped your hand to dust himself off.

“Hey, I was ready to step in,” you held out your blaster pointedly. “I probably wouldn’t have let her kill you.”

The woman chuckled as she straightened up then turned to walk back to the public house.

“Good to know,” retorted Mando, fixing you with an exasperated head tilt.

***

The four of you sat down together and talked for a while, sipping broth. Mando introduced himself to the woman, ignoring you and the kid. His manners seemed to come and go.

The woman shared that her name was Cara Dune.

“And who is this?” Cara inquired, eyebrows raised, looking from you and the baby to Mando.

Interested to hear how he’d explain your presence, you waited to see what Mando would say before answering.

“Long story,” replied Mando. Yep, that seems about right.

You introduced yourself, offering a fake name and sticking out a hand to shake Cara’s hand.

Mando’s head snapped to you: “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“You never asked,” you shrugged.

If Cara was confused that Mando didn’t know your name, she didn’t say anything about it. She shared that she had been a shock trooper in the Alliance, but she was trying to make a new life for herself, away from all that.

When she inquired, you shared a carefully curated set of details about yourself: born on Naboo, studied on Coruscant, now a freelance programmer with a diverse set of clientele and therefore stayed off the grid as a rule, with Mando at the moment to get from one place to the next and find more work—Sorgan was a temporary stopover.

You figured Mando didn’t love the idea of being described as a glorified taxi service, but it was better than disclosing the truth.

Mando leaned forward slightly and fixed you with his unwavering gaze while you spoke but questioned nothing. You knew he likely recognized the gaping holes in your story, considering he’d witnessed firsthand how well you could hold your own in a fight.

He shared little about himself, aside from the fact that he was in the Guild but not currently in pursuit of a bounty. Cara explained that she’d thought Mando was hunting her and that was why she reacted so defensively.

Understandable. That’s a much more reasonable reaction to his attention than flirting with him from afar liked I’d done in Nevarro. Whoops.

Finally, Cara stood: “Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you want to go another round, Mando, either you or I are gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” She turned to you and added: “You, on the other hand, are welcome to stay.” She winked at you and sauntered away.

You let out a surprised laugh, and Mando swiveled his head from Cara to you so fast, he probably tweaked his neck.

You couldn’t decide if it was hilarious or frustrating (probably both) that Cara had warmed to you over the course of a twenty-minute conversation while Mando remained aloof after more than twenty-four hours together.

Mando shook his head like he was willing away an unwelcome thought and leaned an elbow on the table: “Well, looks like this planet is taken.”

“Technically, that only applies to you.”

“You want to stay here?” There was a hint of unease in his otherwise even voice.

“No, Mando. You’re stuck with me for now, remember?”

“Right.”

You leaned forward and placed both your palms on the table: “But before we leave, I would like it on the record that I watched the kid for a full ten minutes without running away or harming a single hair on his wrinkly head.” You reached over to rub one of the child’s ears briefly, and he cooed up at you. “And I am electing not to ditch you and stay here with Cara even though she seems much more fun than you.”

A sound that might have been a laugh crackled through the modulator.

“So maybe you don’t have to breathe down my neck every second when we’re on the Crest?”

“You did almost let Cara kill me.”

You leaned back and laughed. “So, you admit it—you needed help.”

“No—I...That’s not the point.” You enjoyed how easy it was to agitate Mando.

“You’re right, it’s not. The point is that if I’m going to stick around for a while, you’re going to have to give me the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, this doesn’t make sense.”

He hummed noncommittally and rested a hand on the tabletop, gloved fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm.

“I could have abducted the kid and stolen the Crest while Cara took her time kicking your ass, but I didn’t.”

“It sounds like you considered it.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Mando.”

You fixed him with an impatient stare, and he met your look with his impassive visor.

You huffed, and letting the levity fall away, so he knew you meant it, you asked, “Maybe it would just be easier for me to find some other way out of here?”

His fingers stilled. “No.”

“Okay... so, you’ll lighten up?”

In a well-timed interruption, the kid quirked his head at Mando and let out a string of nonsense that had the upward cadence of a question.

“He’s wondering the same thing.”

The child stretched his arms out toward Mando and wiggled his fingers. “He just wants to be picked up.” Mando scooped him up and tucked him under his arm. “But, point taken. Let’s get out of here,” he said, lifting his hand to flag down the server.

Mando seemed surprised when you reached into your bag and pulled out a small pouch of credits to pay for the food. In reality, it was one of three that you had on you at the moment.

You were a professional at disappearing. You always had a blaster at your back, a knife on your belt, another knife strapped to your ankle, and plenty of credits on your person. Plus, the roughly hewn necklace tucked under your shirt looked unassuming but was worth a small fortune—though, you’d have to be in a really tough spot to ever consider selling it. You were used to leaving places at a moment’s notice. Being prepared for anything was your default state.

Mando should understand that better than anyone.

***

When you returned to the Crest, Mando mumbled something about routine maintenance and disappeared outside with a heavy metal toolbox in hand. The kid was asleep in Mando’s bunk, and you were sitting in the hull, reading about potential planets on your datapad, when you heard strange voices approaching.

Setting down your datapad, you stood and walked down the slope of the ramp at the back of the ship quietly. You peeked your head around the side, staying out of sight, and watched two men speaking to Mando’s back as he continued working at an open panel on the side of the Crest.

The men didn’t look threatening, and Mando was clearly unconcerned. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Our whole village chipped in,” explained one of the men, a touch of desperation in his voice. The other man, who had longer hair, held up a pouch of credits.

Mando turned to face them. “It’s not enough,” he answered simply.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is?” the man with short, curly hair continued.

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck.”

Rude.

The men were insistent, pleading. Mando’s harsh rebuff surprised you. He seemed to flip flop between being decidedly cold and cautiously warm with strangers, and right now he was the former. You weren’t fooled though. With a little more prodding, you were sure they’d convince him—well, you hoped they’d convince him to take the job and stay.

“This is everything we have. We’ll give you more after the next harvest,” promised the second man.

The side door of the Crest hissed loudly as it opened, and the two men jumped back in surprise. They looked at each other, resigned, when Mando walked up the ramp, ignoring them.

“Come on, let’s head back.”

No, don’t give up yet. He’s secretly soft. He adopts stray babies, protects complete strangers, and offers soup to people who have just thrown him on his ass!

They turned to leave, mumbling sadly to each other. You hurried back up the ramp to meet Mando in the hull. You stopped, settling your hands on your hips.

“What?”

“I mean... we were looking for a reason to stay, and they just gave us one. We were looking for a place to stay middle of nowhere... they just happen to live in the middle of nowhere...”

“Cara—,” he started.

“She seems like a reasonable enough person.”

He let out a long, dramatic sigh then turned to lean out the open side of the ship. “Where do you live?” Mando called after the retreating men.

One of them called, “On a farm. Weren’t you listening? We’re farmers.”

“You have lodging?” Mando clarified.

“Yeah, absolutely!”

“Come up and help,” he said to the men.

The two men paused when they saw you.

“Hi,” you greeted, turning to pull on your boots and grab your bag.

“Hello,” they both replied tentatively.

“She comes too,” Mando stated, jerking his head in your direction, as he began to pack up a chest of weaponry.

“Sure, that’s fine,” one of the men responded.

“And we have to make a stop.”

***

You waited with the two men—they introduced themselves as Caben and Stoke—at their speeder while Mando took the kid and tracked down Cara. They shared that they were krill farmers and needed help because Klatooinian raiders had been terrorizing their settlement.

Mando located Cara quickly, and they met you at the speeder, the back of which was full of weapons. You scooted over to make space for them as the speeder stuttered to life. It was cramped and when everyone was seated, your side was pressed into Mando, the kid settled on his lap.

Mando and Cara talked quietly while you laid your head back to watch the stars. You looked down when you felt something gently press on your thigh. The kid had climbed off of Mando’s lap and was looking up expectantly at you, as if asking permission to crawl into your lap.

You smiled at him and looked up at Mando, posing a silent question.

He nodded once, and you pulled the kid onto your lap. The baby cooed happily, wiggled around to get comfortable, and closed his eyes. You rested your head back again and let the movement of the speeder lull you into a light sleep.

Before you were totally out, you felt Mando adjust beside you, leaning back and stretching an arm over your head. Instinctively, you lifted your head so he could settle his arm down behind you, and you relaxed back so your cheek rested on his cold shoulder.

In a sleepy haze, you decided to capitalize on this opening and let your hand rest on the beskar plate covering his thigh.

***

You woke up when the speeder stuttered to a stop and opened your eyes, rubbing them in the brightness of the morning. You sat up and Mando did the same beside you, moving his arm from where it had been supporting your back. He hadn’t moved all night.

The scene before you was nothing if not idyllic: green and peaceful. Wind whispered through the tall grasses that lined the village, forming a natural buffer between the settlement and the forest. Circular wooden structures, the same pointed shape as the public house, were clustered at the middle of the clearing. Villagers, catching flopping blue krill in flat baskets, waded through square ponds that encircled the small community. Children giggled and called out, running toward the speeder.

“Well, looks like they’re happy to see us,” observed Mando.

“Looks like,” agreed Cara.

The children flocked toward you to see the baby in your arms, and you hopped down to greet them.

***

You spent the morning meeting people, learning the layout of the tiny village. The children took to the kid immediately, following you wherever you carried him. Apparently, Mando had accepted the fact that the child was safe with you because he didn’t object.

The gaggle of children showed you around excitedly, even demonstrating how to expertly sift krill from the ponds. They brought you to the long hall where food—stew and spotchka—was served. You sat on the ground outside, eating and enjoying the sun, with the children and the kid. They watched in enthusiastic disgust as the child caught and ate a live frog.

That afternoon, you and Mando followed the woman who introduced herself as Omera to your lodging. Though there did not seem to be an official leader of the small community, Omera clearly garnered respect. You watched as she gave easy instruction to those around her, and they complied reflexively.

She led you to one of the wooden buildings on the edges of the settlement. You noticed the way Mando stopped in the doorway to admire Omera as she raised a window covering and the afternoon light illuminated her beautiful face.

“Please, come in,” Omera invited warmly.

You set the baby on the ground, and he waddled a few steps before plopping down to lean against a crate, his eyelids heavy after a full morning of play.

“I hope this is comfortable for the three of you,” Omera continued. “Sorry that all we have is the barn. There is a spare crib for the child.” She gestured at a well-made looking crib. You wondered when the last time the child had slept in a proper bed was.

You picked him up from where he sat dozing on the floor and settled him into the crib.

You looked around the open space of the barn. It was clearly used for storage: it was lined with baskets, furniture, crates, fishing equipment, and more, but a large space in the center of the room was clear. You hadn’t considered until this moment that you might be sharing one room with Mando. Neither of you would be comfortable in these close quarters.

“Oh, we’re not—,” you started.

“This will do fine,” confirmed Mando, cutting you off mid-sentence. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, surprised that he seemed okay with this sleeping arrangement.

“I stacked some blankets over here,” Omera pointed to a stack of quilts in the corner.

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” replied Mando as he turned to unstrap his rifle from his back.

A little girl crept up to the open doorway, looking down at her feet with her hands clasped behind her back. You recognized her from the gaggle of children. She was one of the quieter, shyer kids.

Mando, who was facing the back of the room, whipped around defensively at her movement. His hand hovered threateningly over his blaster.

The little girl gasped and jumped back, disappearing from view. Omera turned to follow her out the door.

You stepped toward Mando and put a steadying hand on his elbow in the space between his armor, drawing his arm away from his weapon. He looked down at where your hand gripped his arm.

“Are you okay?” you asked, under your breath.

He gave you a curt nod and exhaled loudly through the modulator.

You dropped your hand to your side when Omera returned, the little girl hugged tightly to her.

“This is my daughter, Winta,” she explained in her dulcet voice. “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not used to strangers.”

Neither is Mando.

Mando stood awkwardly and said nothing.

“It’s nice to meet you, Winta,” you greeted gently. She smiled timidly against her mother’s stomach.

“These people are going to help protect us from the bad ones,” Omera said.

“Thank you,” replied Winta quietly.

“Come on, Winta. Let’s give our guests some room.” Omera took Winta’s hand and lead her away.

As soon as the two of you and the baby were alone, you turned to Mando. “How are we both going to sleep in here? You can’t sleep in your helmet.”

Mando stood frozen, staring at the doorway. He seemed not to have registered that you said anything.

“Mando?”

He turned to you. “I—uh, it’s fine. I didn’t want to inconvenience them any more.”

“But how is this going to work?”

“I can sleep in my helmet.”

“No way, that’s ridiculous. I’ll ask if I can stay with Cara.” You took a step toward the door.

He looked down at the floor. “I’d rather you stay here.”

“Ah...okay. I thought we were past the stage where you felt the need to babysit me,” you joked, hoping that wasn’t the reason for this.

“No. That’s not...” he started to explain but trailed off.

He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, and, despite the prickle of irritation you felt at the confirmation of his mistrust, you felt compelled to fill the uneasy silence that followed.

Avoiding his gaze, you looked over to where the kid was snoozing in the crib. “It’s fine. I’m going to go out for a bit if you want to take it off now. I’ll let you know before I come back in.”

“Thank you.”

You dropped your bag onto a crate and slipped out of the room and into the soft sunlight that shone through the sparse clouds.

Unwittingly, Mando seemed to know how to give you just enough reassurance to keep you around and just enough doubt to keep you guessing about why you were here with him. He was holding you at arm’s length, but not letting you go.

The potential between you was as enticing as it was confusing.

The more time you spent with Mando, the more of a paradox he seemed to be. He was constantly torn between a need to be hard and his instinct to be soft. You had an inkling that at heart, he was soft through and through. How else could you explain the presence of the baby?

His literal and metaphorical armor were clearly worn out of necessity—for several reasons, you guessed: to be successful in a brutal profession, probably as a result of past trauma, and simply because life is just fucking hard. You barely knew him, but you couldn’t help but want to be someone with whom he felt comfortable letting his guard down.

You pushed these thoughts from your mind as you stepped into the dappled light that filtered through the canopy of the forest. You were happy to explore the woods on your own, enjoying the serene atmosphere and natural beauty. It had been a while since you’d been on such a lovely planet. It reminded you of home.

***

When you returned a few hours later, all the villagers were gathering around the barn where Mando and Cara stood on the porch. You walked up to join the crowd and Mando’s visor followed your movement. You smiled at him, and he looked away abruptly, turning to Cara. They exchanged a few words then Mando stepped forward to address everyone.

“Bad news. You can’t live here anymore,” Mando announced. He declared this in an infuriatingly neutral, straightforward way, the same way you’d tell someone there was going to be rain.

They must have seen the same tracks in the forest that I saw.

The villagers broke out in surprised chatter: “What?” “Why?”

Cara and Mando muttered to each other. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you hoped Cara was explaining how callous he’d sounded.

Cara started forward, “I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

Despite her slightly better manner, the villagers broke out in angry protests again.

“You took the job!” Caben cried.

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST!” exclaimed Cara.

Your stomach dropped. You had hoped you were somehow wrong about what those tracks belonged to. It would take serious preparation to successfully take on a band of raiders and an Imperial walker.

“What is that?” asked Caben.

“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t mention,” said Cara indignantly.

That is a pretty important piece of information they had chosen to leave out.

More protests erupted. The villagers shouted pleas over one another. Mando was surveying the desperate villagers, saying nothing. You had a feeling that despite his initial refusal and these adverse circumstances, he would elect to help them anyways. Eventually one of the many heartfelt appeals was likely to sway him—listening to their pleading voices, you knew you would find it hard to refuse them.

Omera’s plaintive voice broke over the crowd, and you suspected she’d be the one to convince him.

“We have nowhere to go,” she entreated.

Mando met your gaze, where you stood silently at the back of the crowd. He cocked his head, and you knew what he was asking. You gave him an understanding smile, nodding your agreement. He bowed his head slightly in response.

You turned and walked away, not needing to hear the rest of the conversation to know that Mando had already decided to stay.

***

Chapter 4

#Tempered Glass #my writing #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin reader insert #the mandalorian reader insert #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction

190 notes · View notes

vagrantblvrd · 3 years

Note

modern au wth biker luke meet the parents

Friend, you brain-thoughts, I like them. <3!

(Modern AU idea.)

Let’s say this takes place sometime after Luke’s old biker gang comes to town, at least a couple of months afterwards to allow Din to recover from the shenanigans.

I mean, he likes Luke’s friends just fine, they’re all good people and he definitely appreciates the fact they were there for Luke and his family when he needed them to be, but...they can be a lot.

So.

A few months down the road and things are pretty much back to normal for Din’s odd little family, right?

He and Luke attempt to do Real Dates but the universe at large tends to conspire against them in the form of shenanigans like car trouble or that time the the water main broke and Din got roped into helping fix it and other assorted reasons.

Which, honestly, fine with both of them.

Neither of them are all that big on stuff like that, and are just as happy with staying in with takeout and watching a over with Grogu.

(Or, you know, Cara or one of their friends taking Grogu for the night so they can have Alone Time, although half the time that just means one or both of them ends up a snoring, drooling mess before the credits roll on the movie they’re watching, but that’s fine too, because sleep? But also morning frisky times and the whatnot, or just being sappy saps who are totes married who send the morning in bed smooching and making fun of their bed hair and dumb faces and anyway, they do just fine, you know?)

Once in a while, though, the planets align or some BS and they get to go on a Real Date.

Tends to result in one or both of them being !!! and ??? because it’s been a while since they’ve been on one of those or they overthink the whole thing like they aren’t sickeningly gone over one another and more or less married already, but still!

Must make an effort to show how much they love and cherish the other and want them to feel special and such. (Also, their friends/family have had Meetings about this stuff, insist they have at least one (1) Real Date every six (6) months so they can see how normal human beings socialize.

ANYWAY.

Their anniversary is coming up and everyone insists Din and Luke have one of those Real Dates, right?

There are actual strategy meetings to make sure every possible complication/disaster is accounted for, their friends are going to make sure this thing happens or so help them!!1!

Din is honestly a little terrified of telling them it’s not that serious a matter, and Luke thinks the whole thing’s hilarious. (Gets this wistful look on his face when he gets a glimpse of the war room Din’s friends set up in the back room of Boba’s bike shop and makes yet another vague reference about that time his family was at the heart of a vast conspiracy that spanned decades and effects are felt even now, and yeah.

Din gets sent all over the city to Prepare for Real Date.

According to his friends and loved ones he needs a new haircut, and a new suit - which, fair, the last one was from a job and kind of technically stolen because that time he had to go undercover and there was a suit..shop..and anyway, he apologized, but that’s neither here nor there.

SO.

Din’s all over the place on errands his friends and loved ones assigned to him and it’s less trouble to go along with all this than trying to reason with them.

(And honestly, he’s kind of looking forward to it in a weird way?)

Anyhow.

He’s just leaving the final fitting for his suit - all shy and embarrassed because Cara and Fennec went with him to decide on what he/they wanted for him that first time. They’d both given him the softest smiles when he settled on one he liked, fabric and color and all that, approved and told him he cleaned up nice and anyway, he kind of likes the thought of doing that for Luke, okay. It’s...nice.)

Thing is, though.

He’s had the weirdest feeling the last few days, week, maybe. Like. It’s weird but he the thing where he used to work as a bounty hunter with/for Boba and he learned to trust his instincts, so he’s not completely caught off guard when he gets cornered in the parking garage after his last fitting.

A couple of guys he doesn’t recognize, lean guy in all black and a long coat. Long-ish hair and a scar over one eye. Black gloves - something about that sticks in his head, niggling little thought, something familiar.

The other one’s broader built, a little shorter. Din’s mind categorizes him as the muscle. Wearing a dark jacket, baseball cap pulled down to hide his eyes but there’s something familiar about him too, knocking around in Din’s head.

Definitely a threat, but it’s the first guy Din knows he doesn’t want to turn his back on.

Just this aura of threat, and dangerous, and don’t look away from him in Din’s head and for the first time in a long time he wishes he still carried a gun.

Not that he’s helpless by any means, knows hand-to-hand and all that, martial arts and boxed when he was a kid. Also, you know. That collapsible baton that strictly speaking he shouldn’t have, but knowing Boba means exceptions get made, and it’s one he’s never felt all that guilty about. Especially in situations like this one.

Din hasn’t gone for it because for all the bad vibes these guys are giving him they haven’t done anything yet and he’d rather not be the one to start something.

(Paperwork, you know. Also, his date with Luke.)

Oh, they’re between him and his minivan, acting like a couple of tough guys with the posturing but it’s not just that.

Din knows the difference between idiots who watch too many action movies and think they’re worth anything in a fight and the real thing and these two aren’t the useless kind.

So far all they’ve done is stand intimidatingly, which is strange as hell, but fits with the rest of Din’s life, and anyway.

Just as Din’s starting to wonder if this is going to end in a fight, like, really actually, he hears a bike. Aggressively. Getting closer. Aggressively.

Nothing weird about it because they’re in a city and people drive bikes, and hey. Parking garage where people sometimes park their bikes while going about their business elsewhere and really, he tells himself, it’s just some random person who rides a bike.

REALLY.

Only thing is.

It sounds familiar?

Like.

Really, unfortunately familiar in that he swears he’s worked on it himself a time or two. Become unbearably fond of it’s owner, and please, please, please don’t let it be Luke.

So, you know, of course it’s Luke.

Comes roaring into the parking garage, Din sighing and like oh, goddammit, as he and his two new BFFs listen to Luke approaching.

Bike going vroom vroom and tires squealing as he makes it up every level of the parking garage to where Din and his BFFs are.

And it’s like, there’s part of him worried Luke’s going to crash, but the rest of him knows Luke’s a good driver, knows he knows every little quirk of his bike and how it handles and when Wedge and the others were visiting he got to see Luke show off just how good he is.

(It had been utterly terrifying because potential for death and whatnot? But als super hot, so. You can see how Din is conflicted there.)

Anyway, Din is standing there listening to the love of his life vroom vroom up several levels of the parking garage to, like, rescue him or whatever, and the guys who cornered him are sharing this look like why are we even surprised by this and shrug at each other going from top tier threats looking Very Tired all of a sudden that’s kind of confusing, and entirely relatable.

FINALLY they see Luke coming up the ramp and he’s headed right for them, does that totally rad thing where he swings the back of the bike around as he screeches to a stop, solidly between Din and the other two.

Dramatic as hell, but to be fair Din had been warned about that, something about it running in the family and anyway.

Luke himself warned Din. Obi-Wan warned Din, as well as sharing stories of the stuff he and Luke’s dad got up Before while they worked for the same agency. Cody warned Din, shooting a loot at Obi-Wan and dropping his voice so the other man wouldn’t overhear “Don’t let him fool you, Anakin learned most of that from him,” but there was fondness under the scowl aimed at Obi-Wan’s back that Din understood because, well, Luke.

Everyone in Luke’s life Din’s met told him about the Drama that runs in the Skywalker family, so this?

Yeah.

“Luke,” Din says, because the other two are definitely armed, and love of his life who helped expose a massive conspiracy theory and all, but also maybe not the brightest idea to do this right now. Or ever, really. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Luke being Luke, he ignores Din.

Reaches up to pull his helmet off, and Din notices he’s not wearing the glove on his right hand, or the synthetic skin over the prosthetic, like he was in a hurry, didn’t take the time to “pretty it up” for other people the way he puts it, vague shrug strange smile on his face, like there was something more important on his mind.

(Din never got the full story about it, just knows it’s tied to whatever happened to his family and the everything that turned Luke’s life upside down, ended up with him in Din and Grogu’s life.)

Luke sets his helmet down in front of him, and gives Din a quic once-over, checking to see if he’s okay before he lets out a sigh. Flashes Din a smile, relief, something that’s simply happy to see him, and a bit like an apology.

Looks like he’s about to say something, but then the lean figure in black takes a step towards them and the smile drops off Luke’s face and his head snaps around to the other two.

The figure in black stops, goes still.

Din stares because he’s never seen Luke look like that in the time he’s known him.

(Remember a night out with Luke, Obi-Wan, and Cody, Luke laughing about double dates and Obi-Wan’s exasperated smile as they watched Luke and Cody in the middle of a game of pool when a pair of drunk idiots wandered over and tried to pick a fight.

A comment they had been far to overhear but easy enough to figure out with the ugly sneer tossed toward the table Din and Obi-Wan were seated at, something that wiped the tolerant smile off Luke’s face, had him pushing past Cody who was trying to de-escalate the situation, and saying something that made the drunkard go white. Scared shitless as he dragged his friend away.

Din had looked at Obi-Wan who just sighed, faint smile on his face as he shook his head.

And Din, Din had said he’d ever seen Luke angry before -

“Angry?” Obi-Wan had said, amused? “Well I suppose you wouldn’t have.”

He’d taken a drink, and leaned towards Din like he was sharing a secret, just between the two of them, and laughed. “You still haven’t, by the way, in case you were wondering. Trust me, you’ll know when you see it.”

There’d been something else too, about Luke taking after his father that way, weight of history Din wasn’t privy to behind it and a fond exasperation Din knew well.)

“Hey, Dad,” Luke says.

He sounds.

Well, the thing is, Luke doesn’t sound angry.

Or, not just angry.

He sounds careful, controlled. Tense. Like he’s a lot of things at the moment, and the wrong word, moved, from his dad - Luke’s dad - will be the deciding factor.

The figure in all black - Luke’s dad? - sighs. Rubs the back of his neck with a hand, shares a look with the man next to him who shrugs.

“Luke,” he says, sounding...sheepish, caught out. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Din winces on his behalf, feels an odd sort of kinship with the other man who snorts, mutters something like not a great idea.

Luke nods, sounds like oh, no, yeah, I totally understand that.

“I know,” he says. “Good thing mom called to tell me you were coming for a visit.”

Luke’s dad winces. “Oh she did, did she?”

It goes on like that for a bit before Anakin apologizes for pulling this nonsense, approaching Din in a parking garage like something from a spy movie -

“Well, I mean,” Luke says later, once things aren’t quite so bizarre. “He is a spy, so. You know.”

They all head to Obi-Wan’s center where they can “talk” because Luke was supposed to go there to help with administrative stuff or whatever before Padme called, and anyway, surely Anakin and Rex wouldn’t mind?

Obi-Wan takes one look at all of them, the way Luke makes sure to be between Din and the others at all times and pins Anakin with a look.

“Oh, Anakin,” he says, amused and dismayed. “What did you do?”

Din misses a lot of what’s said, things going over his head because Luke and unresolved issues and his dad’s earlier antics, and anyway, anyway.

Din gets a call and goes outside to take it, waves off Luke’s worried look because he’s not done reading his dad the riot act about not being a complete menace about Luke’s life, dad, c’mon.

But the thing is, the call’s not a number he knows, he just needed to get out of there for a moment.

Imagine his surprise, suspicion when he hears, “I hope my idiot of a husband didn’t make too bad of a first impression.”

Because it’s Luke’s mom, and he’s definitely not going to think about how she got his number after the everything with Luke’s dad, and just.

They have a conversation, one that’s actually nice. She asks after Luke, if he’s taking care of himself, if Din is helping in that regard. Asks how Din’s doing, how his adorable son of his is, and Din knows okay. Knows Luke’s sent her pictures of Din and Grogu, the three of them, when he talks to her, but it’s still a surprise how much he talks about them to her?

When he says that, just a random comment he didn’t mean to say there’s a moment of silence and then she laughs. Tells him her son is head over heels for Din, that she’s never seen him like this with anyone, and he adores Grogu, and just.

It’s a lot to take in, hear someone else say, and she must know it because she’s so gentle the rest of their coversation, laughs again as she asks him not to think too badly about Anakin, and he tells her he’ll try, because wow, what a first impression to make,you know?

Just as they end the call the door behind him opens and Din looks up to see Anakin.

He looks...awkward. Embarrassed? Something.

Din watches as Anakin goes over to Luke’s bike, remembers Luke telling him it used to be his dad’s.

Watches the complicated mess of emotions that wash over Anakin’s face as he looks at the bike, runs a hand along the side of the gas tank Luke repainted when he joined that biker gang of his.

Anakin sighs, shoulders slumping and when he looks at Din he doesn’t look like the intimidating figure in the parking garage, like threat and danger and the smart ones run.

He looks. Tired. Worried. Older than he should be, but with what he knows about Luke’s family Din’s pretty sure he knows the reason for that. For what h thought he was doing in the parking garage, maybe, Din’s still on the fence about that.

He understands why Anakin did that, just. Like Luke says, Complicated.

The important thing is that Anakin apologizes to Din. Tells him he’s maybe kind of an idiot - Din is like OH??? - and the Thing with his family that is definitely his fault, but he is trying to work things out with them and he’s just.

A touch overprotective as a result of the everything, so.

He just.

Worries.

Din is like, no, no, he gets it? But maybe try not to look like you’re going to murder your son’s boyfriend in a parking garage maybe? (Assuming Din survives the Skywalker family.)

Some awkwardness and then Anakin’s like, “I didn’t think he’d keep it,” about the bike, because Issues.

And Din is like, well, okay, and tells him what Luke told him about it. About Padme giving Luke the bike and that summer he spent restoring it, about his friends -

“Yeah,” Anakin says, and laughs. “Never expetd him to join a biker gang.”

The thing is he doesn’t sound surprised by that, or even a little worried. Probably used to hiding bodies, or he’s just met Luke’s friends and knows there isn’t anything to worry about there.

Anakin tells Din about how he got the bike, stories when he was a dumb kid and asks if Luke ever managed to get this things with the bike fixed.

Tells Anakin no, it still acts up and is the reason Din and Luke met when the bike broke down that first time, and to his surprise Anakin actually laughs.

“That’s...huh. Padme and I met under similar circumstances.”

Which, weird?

But Anakin’s looking at Din with this tentative little smile, and Din is like, well, he doesn’t know what just that he understands being protective of his people.

So they talk about the bike, and Din tells him about meeting Luke - leaves out the awkward flirting bits but he can tell from the looks Anakin gives him he fills i the details himself.

And then!

At some point Anakin pulls out a little multi-tool because you can’t aways cart a toolbox around with you Din is like, just wonders if Anakin knows Luke carries one for the same reason Well, that and the fact his prosthetic hand can be temperamental and such.

“Well this is definitely better than what I thought I’d find,” Luke says, surprising the two of them who have kind of taken the bike’s engine a little somewhere along the way?

Anakin and Din trying to pinpoint what’s wrong with the bike even though no one has for years by this point, and it’s like uh, ooops?

Because it’s Luke’s bike now and they didn’t mean to, but Luke is just. Amused, fond. Goes over to them and asks if they found the problem yet and when they say no clearly they must continue, and anyway.

Obi-Wan comes out after an hour, maybe two and looks at the three of them with raised eyebrows.

Tells Anakin that Padme’s flight just landed and Cody and Rex left to pick her up from the airport - which.

Huh, that explains where they went. The three of them notices, waved and all but were caught up in figuring out the bike Issue and didn’t give it much thought,

Also, Luke and Din are going to be late for their reservations if they don’t get going and then it’s like.

Anakin all flustered because Padme - knows he’s in trouble with the whole parking garage incident but Padme, and Luke and Din share this look with Obi-Wan because it’s seriously adorable.

Also, though, also.

Luke and Din and a quick conversation off to the side while Anakin goes inside to get cleaned up - smudge of oil or grease on his face, and his hands are filthy and just.

Yes.

And then Luke asks if Obi-Wan and COdy had plans for the night, all casual and such, and Obi-Wan has this little smile on his face.

Because he knows these idiots so well, and tells Luke that no, he doesn’t actually, is there a reason Luke’s asking?

And of course Luke is asking because Luke and Din cancelled their reservations, but there’s a nice restaurant they know that should still have roo for their group if no one object.

Just a nice little family dinner out, and anyway, no pressure?

So of course they do the family dinner thing - Anakin worried because the whole everything from earlier and takes Din and Luke aside and apologizes again, and that they should go have their date and it’s like.

Luke gets this look on his face, all soft and kind of sad and touches his dad on the arm to get him to look at him.

“Just. Don’t do anything like that again, alright?”

That look from the parking garage on his face again for a split second, and Anakin clearly sees it, knows understands.

Looks at Din to see what his feelings are on things and Din just shrugs because while it had been a bit much, he did understand, and anyway.

So.

Din gives Luke a ride home to get ready for the dinner - Luke insisting Din show him the new suit...later, which gets poor Din all flustered while Luke laughs at him, and anyway, anyway.

The go off and have their family dinner, where Din is rightfully in awe of Padme and the way Anakin dotes on her. Gets this soft little feeling in his chest at the easy relationship between her and Luke, and leans over to Obi-Wan at one point like.

“Are Cody and Rex related?” because there’s a definite resemblance between them.

Obi-Wan almost chokes on his wine, and manages to get out something about the two of them being from a big family. Gets this little smile on his face and tells him to ask Boba about it sometime, and anyway.

Padme gets Din alone for a private chat while everyone’s bringing the cars around and getting ready to say their goodnights.

Apologizes for Anakin again and tells Din they both like him very much, and Din while Din is trying to think of something to say about that Anakin pulls up to the curb.

Padme gives Din a mischievous little grin and presses a kiss to his cheek, tells him that what they like most about him is how happy he makes their son, and while he’s all flustered from that gets in the waiting car with Anakin.

Luke comes over, worried little frown on his face and Din is like, so confused?

Luke’s parents are so confusing, and Luke laughing at him about it while he herds Din over to the minivan isn’t helping, and anyway, anway.

For a day that started rather ominously, it ended surprisingly well.

And!

Din even gets a goodnight kiss for his troubles, so you know, good day.

#star wars nonsense #dinluke #modern au idea #anon #replies #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#Anonymous

50 notes · View notes

rogueonestan · 4 years

Text

moments

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

word count: 2k

synopsis: din returns to the Crest one afternoon to a signt he did not expect (snacktime for day 6 of mandoctober)

masterlist

Traveling around the galaxy with your clan of three has been a long and excruciating journey, whether it’s other bounty hunters or sympathizers of the Empire consistently tracking you down, you’re always grateful for the small moments. Moments where you feel like you can stop and breathe. And not have to worry about whether or not you’ll live to see the next day. You’re always grateful that every now and again you’re able to unwind temporarily by exploring a small speck of the galaxy, like making quick trips to marketplaces.

While the Crest was in hyperspace, you noticed that you guys were beginning to run low on supplies, suggesting to your partner that you should make a quick supply run sometime soon. Taking you up on your offer, the Crest jumps out of hyperspace, entering a planetary system with little to no lifeforms; the only lifeforms being found were clustered together in one tiny area, presumably the only town found on the planet.

When you finally landed on the outskirts of one of the planet’s towns, you could immediately see the beauty the planet has to offer. Jumping out of your chair, you rush towards the hull of the ship and press the button that releases the hatch. Seeing the hatch slowly descending to the ground, you gasp in awe at what the planet has to offer with the biggest smile plastered on your face. There’s not much as only trees surround you, but the sight makes your heart skip a beat. You’ve been used to landing on desert planets or planets that were taken over by the Empire, always planets that never intrigued you, but the view of this planet is truly something else; it feels like home.

You know you will probably never settle down on a planet like this due to your busy and demanding lifestyle, but dreaming about a simple life on a serene planet like this one makes your heart skip a beat.

“Eager, aren’t we?” You hear a teasing voice suddenly appear from right behind you.

Turning around, you see the two other members of your clan standing behind you. Din already has his pulse rifle secured to his back while your adoptive son quietly lurks behind. The smile on your face is replaced with a sly smirk, “aren’t you? Look at this place! It’s beautiful!” You gesture to your surroundings as the big smile on your face comes back, “don’t you want a break?” “Yes, of course,” you hear him take in a deep modulated sigh, “just remember, cyar’ika, to never-”

“‘Never let your guard down.’ Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ve told me dozens of times.”

“You can never be too careful.” He reiterates. The smile on your face never fades but only gradually increases as Din shows how much he cares for you.

You make a noncommittal noise, turning around to head towards the marketplace when a tight grasp around your wrist prohibits you from doing so. You’re about to question your partner what he was doing when he places one of his blasters in your hand, tilting his helmet to the side.

Embarrassed, you glance down at the floor, putting the blaster in the holster you’re already donning. Looking down at the floor, you see your owl-eyed son looking up at you with his smile replicating the one that’s on your face, “whoops.” You say, shrugging your shoulders. You can tell Din is not amused. You already know that he’s already on edge by being on this planet. Even on peaceful planets like this one, Din’s always on edge and always scouting for potential threats. Knowing this, you decide to not push him any further, “let’s go.” You say as you begin walking in the direction of the marketplace.

With your arm looped around his, Din escorts you around the marketplace with the child’s pram following right behind you. You’ve been able to stock up on basic supplies you’ve been in dire need of: med packs, extra food and canteens of water for emergencies, and equipment for the Crest. While roaming around the collection of shops, the smile on your face has never left since you entered the planet’s system. You don’t know what it is about this place, but it makes you feel at home, safe.

Every so often, you’ll point something out to him with the biggest smile on your face, so giddy at the fact that you can be free and not have a care in the world. It’s a luxurious feeling you haven’t felt in rotations and you hope that Din feels the same way. You may not be able to see it, but you know it brings Din joy to see you this content.

You’re currently showing a trinket to Din from one of the stands when his body suddenly tenses up, his grip around your arm immediately tightening. You can feel his gloved hand slowly beginning to lose its grip on your forearm.

You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when he suddenly says he’ll meet you back at the Crest.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you put down the trinket that was in your hand and slowly begin walking in the direction of the Crest, not wanting to add any unnecessary towards you or the child. With the cart of your purchases and the child’s pram following behind you, the first feeling of worry overcomes your body since you landed on this planet. When you first arrived, you thought for sure nothing bad would happen to your clan of three, but Din’s sudden departure changes your mind.

You enter the special code that Din created for you and open the hatch of the Crest. Once you’re able to safely get inside, you close the hatch, immediately engaging security protocols. You open up the child’s pram and see him so happy to see you. Smiling softly, you take him out of his pram and gently put him on the ground, where he begins to trot towards your purchases. His little arms try to grab one of the boxes but he’s far too small to reach it. His vain attempt makes your nerves slowly begin to dissipate. Rather than focusing on how you’re feeling internally, you decide to distract yourself in your favorite way: by spending time with your son.

You’re not sure of how long Din has been gone, but your child always knows how to get you out of your head. You know that whatever threat Din sensed, he can do it on his own, but it never makes it easier when he’s out there alone. Thoughts of worrying over Din, possibly even losing him, begin to plague your mind. The child begins to tug on the end of your pants, trying to regain your attention once again. You shake the negative thoughts from your head and see his ears slowly lowering when he sees the smile on your face is now replaced with a slight frown.

Uncrossing your legs and standing up, you pick up your son from the ground and hold him tightly in the crook of your arm. Lightly bouncing him up and down in your arms, you try to boost your morale by another distraction, by enjoying some of the food you bought earlier in the afternoon. Opening one of your purchases with your free hand, you’re able to find some of the food you purchased at one of the stands. One of the desserts you bought gains the attention of the baby in your arms, a series of giggles immediately filling up the silent air, and you feel some of the weight lifting off of your shoulders.

You walk towards the dining area in the Crest, when in reality it’s really just a few boxes stacked on top of each other, and you carefully place the child on top of one of the ‘seats.’ Resuming the same position as you had before, you sit directly in front of your son and begin to open the dessert.

You both take turns in sharing the delicious snack. Chocolate is smeared all over both of your lips, but at the moment you don’t care. All you can think about is how fortunate you are to have small moments like these. It isn’t much, but it’s home. Laughter fills the air. Huge smiles are plastered over your faces. You’re about to feed your child another piece of the snack when suddenly the hatch door to the Crest opens. The child immediately jumps off from the boxes and begins to waddle towards his father figure, who laughs in return at the ridiculousness of his son. When he returned back to the ship, the last thing Din would’ve expected was to hear rumbles of laughter and his son’s face covered in chocolate.

“Well, what do we have here?” You hear Din ask as he bends down and takes his child into his arms. Once his child is secure in his arms, Din makes his way over to you, where you’re looking down at the clasped hands in your lap. This behavior from you is quite unusual. Usually when Din gets back to the Crest, both you and the child excitedly greet him back. Something he loves and cherishes. Not you sulking in a corner.

When he finally closes the distance between the two of you, placing the kid where he was sitting previously, then kneeling next to your side. Using his gloved index finger, he gently lifts your head up, forcing you to make eye contact with him. A small glint of shame lingers in your eyes and you can hear a modulated laugh come from your Mandalorian.

You open and shut your mouth multiple times like a fish, thinking of an excuse to explain your child-like behavior, but alas, nothing comes to mind.

“I think you have more chocolate on you than the baby.” Din teases you.

“Well, he is older than me”

“Not by much.” Scoffing, you playfully nudge your shoulder into his. The look of shame that once was on your face was now replaced with a small smile. You love moments like these.

You support yourself off of the ground by putting your weight onto one arm, “I don’t like being made fun of.” Lightly kicking his leg, you begin to walk towards the ladder that leads to the upper level of the Crest when you feel a grip around your ankle.

“‘m sorry, cyar’ika. Come back to me.” He pleads lightheartedly. He knows he doesn’t have to try hard to convince you to stay.

Humming with faux contemplation, you lightly sigh, a habit you’ve developed since you’ve been around Din, “I don’t know. You’re being a bully.”

“Just- come back to me. It won’t happen again.” His hand leaves your ankle as he reaches up to grasp your wrist that’s hanging at your side. Gently tugging on it, he begs you to rejoin him back on the floor.

Sighing in a very dramatic manner, you slowly rejoin your partner back on the floor, where he immediately pulls you towards his side. Your body begins to relax once you’re back in your lover’s arms. With Din by your side is where you’ve always felt safest. Resting your head against his shoulder, the feeling of his hand rubbing up and down your back lures you to an even more relaxed state. The last thing you hear before you drift off are the distant cooing noises from your son and the sweet nothings your lover is whispering in your ear.

#rereading this piece made me hungry ngl #mandoctober #my writing #star wras #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #also if you saw i already posted this no you didnt

88 notes · View notes

mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years

Text

Breathe

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Claustrophobia? Some panic

Word Count: 1.1k

Requested: Yes | No

Prompts: #52. “Don’t be afraid.”

#64. “Do you trust me?” - “Always.”

A/N: Claustrophobia is a bitch (I personally do not suffer at a moderate level so I hope it’s close). Requests and taglist are open!

Masterlist // Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Being in a dark, cooped up cave was definitely not the highlight of your day. You sat across from the Mandalorian, knees curled up to your chest and the tip of his boots touching yours. Normally, it would bring you some type of comfort, but in this type of situation it only made it worse. Your palms were sweating, heart pounding and breaths coming up short as you closed your eyes and tried to imagine you were some where’s else, far, far away from this miserable cave.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a simple job and then calling it a day. The universe seemed to have different plans for you, however, and instead threw you and the Mandalorian in a small ass cave while there were people out there hunting for the both of you. Who knew how long it could be until it was safe to move again.

Mando, as he allowed you to call him since your partnership started, watched you, observing the way you were struggling to hold yourself together. When he first asked if you were okay, you had snapped at him, something that came rare with the two of you, and he immediately knew something was terribly wrong. But he didn’t want to push you, afraid of only making it worse and riling you up, so he waited patiently until he thought it was safe.

“It’s going to be a while until we can move,” he said. The echoes of his voice made you slightly jump, and he let out a quiet sigh when he noticed this. “So you need to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”

“Nothing’s wrong!” You snapped. “I just… I just hate small spaces. Anything like this just…”

It clicked in his head, and he wanted to smack himself for not recognizing it sooner.

He said your name softly, not wanting to scare or anger you again. You looked up at him at the third try, eyes glassy and dazed.

“Just listen to my voice, okay?”

He made his voice as light and calm as possible, not moving a muscle. “Don’t be afraid. Just do as I say.”

He waited for a confirmation, which he received in a small, weak nod. He took a deep breath, racking his brain for anything he could do to help you. He’d never been in this type of situation with anyone before, so this was all new territory for him. But damnit he’d do anything for you, even if it made him look like a bumbling idiot.

“Do you trust me?”

You gulped, knees still curled in your arms. You had to clear your throat before answering, but maker was he fucking patient with you; it made you calm down a little, the numb, pounding in your head started to settle into a dull ache.

“Always.”

He tried to ignore the way his heart always stammered at your blind trust and loyalty to him.

“Okay,” he scooted a little closer, but not too much to completely take over your space. “Then I need you to try and relax. Just listen to my breathing. Take some deep breaths with me and count down from 10 if you need to.”

He inhaled deeply, holding until you did the same and exhaled. You did this a few times until your breaths were no longer ragged, and your arms started to soften around your legs. You could only look into the visor of his helmet, any where’s else being a risk into triggering your panic again.

“I – I think I’m alright,” you said, voice surprisingly steady. “For now, at least.”

He nodded. “Keep your eyes on me. In a few minutes we’ll go check to see if the area is clear, okay?”

You nodded, head bobbing up and down wildly; it would’ve made Mando laugh.

You both sat in silence until he decided it was time, standing up and reaching his hand out for you to take. You graciously took it (and hoped like hell he couldn’t feel the sweat through his gloves) and followed him out of the cave, closing your eyes and remembering to breathe and count as he instructed.

You gasped and could’ve sobbed in relief at the first breath of fresh air. The sight of the open space was enough to nearly make you sag against the beskar; he held your hand all the way back to the ship, and you think he didn’t even realize he still was.

“Thank you,” you said once you were in hyperspace.

He gave a tilt of his head. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

You frowned. Of course you did!

“I do,” you voiced out. “I mean… you were patient with me and you didn’t laugh or make fun of me – not that I think you ever would.”

He turned in his seat, staring at you until you fidgeted. You really hated when he did that, practically looking into your soul when you couldn’t do the same to him. Not that you minded so much, you never did anything to disrespect his religion and you would never dream of it.

You were starting to get better at reading his body language, though, which told a whole different story of Mando alone. Like when you could tell he was tired from the way he would slightly hunch over, or when he was agitated or angry by the way he could stand perfectly still, watching carefully.

“Because it wasn’t something to laugh over,” he finally spoke. He sounded almost offended, and you immediately felt guilty. “I’d do anything for you.”

You tried to hide the shock in your expression, but he must have seen through it anyway because he quickly added, “You’re my friend. My partner. That’s what we do.”

You smiled. “Yeah. We do. But that won’t stop me from showing my appreciation, Mando.”

He chuckled – a rarity at that from the Mandalorian himself – and shifted. The air shifted as well, a kind of tension you could not decipher. You awkwardly looked down and waved a hand at him, informing him that you were going to be down at the fresher, when he stopped you.

“Yes?”

He looked away for a moment, watching the stars blur together. “Din,” he said softly. “My name. It’s Din.”

The grin that crossed your lips was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, and it made his stomach flutter at the fact that it was him who could make you smile like that. He grinned back.

“Din,” you tested. You liked how it felt when you said his name; calm, happy, and something akin to love.

Tags: @earl-01, @scarlett-berserker, @justlovetoreadfics, @lil-baby27, @mando-vibes, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch, @im-the-music-whore, @certifiedhunter, @softpedropascal, @hejahockey, @okaydacre, @lemongrove, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd, @elusive-ivory, @dizzydazed, @bluejeancntrygrl, @dadzawas-eyebags, @moonstruck-witchy, @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi, @evalynanne, @purplewaterbird, @angel-hunter-winchester, @tedpicklez, @pascalisthepunkest, @coffeeandtodd, @blunt-cake-yes, @agoldin, @ben-is-a-hoe

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #reader insert #requests #prompts #the mandalorian imagines

221 notes · View notes

fate-everlasting · 4 years

Text

Matters of the Heart

This is a three-part alternate-ending fanfiction that revolves around the characters of Adele Carrem, Matteo Vasari, and Charlie Stoke, of Fogbank Entertainment’s Storyscape Titanic novella.

Author’s Note: This story begins in the boiler room, drawing from the diamond scene between Adele and Charlie. Thereafter, the storyline diverges.

Part 2 | Part 3

Part 1: The Ill-Fated Night

My heart is pounding in my ears as sweat drips from my brow, the heat and steam combining with the soot from the boilers to permeate my every pore. My back aches, every muscle in my body protesting as I keep feeding the fires. I glance over at Charlie beside me, meeting his gaze as we weave between one another, his brown eyes twinkling despite the reality of what’s about to happen to us, to the rest of the Black Gang, and to everyone that won’t be fortunate to escape on one of the few lifeboats. My breath is becoming ragged and I know time is running out, the water in the boiler room inching higher with each passing minute. I finally stop, glancing down at my soft leather gloves, once white, now stained with soot nearly to my elbows. Charlie leans on his shovel beside me, his own breathing labored, his face and hair covered with sweat and grime. Despite the noise of men shouting, the clanging and scraping of shovels, and the unnerving sound of rushing water, it feels like we’re the only two in the world.

“Adal,” he begins. “It’s time for you to go.” He smiles softly, though it barely reaches his eyes. His beautiful brown eyes, normally warm and full of life, are now tired and conflicted, no doubt a mirror of my own.

My mind turns to Matteo, waiting for me in the engine room so we can make our harrowing trek through the ventilation shaft. Matteo, I sigh to myself. Despite everything we’ve been through, and everything that happened between he and Charlie, he understood and respected why I needed to stay behind to say goodbye. My heart is still torn between the two, Matteo’s jade and gold brooch shining on my chest a reminder of that fact. But now, I’m even more torn. Part of me wants to go, another part can’t bear to leave Charlie. Not now. Not like this. Against my own better judgment, my heart begins to speak, rather than my brain. “I don’t have to go.”

Charlie shakes his head sadly, “Yes, you do. This isn’t your time. Matteo is waiting for you.” I know he’s right. I avert my eyes briefly, and glance back up as he continues, “Find a way to survive, Adal. Live your life. Do great and amazing things. Make the world a better place.” He picks up his jacket, draping it over my shoulders, his hands brushing over my bare skin as he leans in to give me one final kiss. When his lips touch mine, I return the kiss with as much passion as I can muster. I couldn’t tell if the kiss lasted seconds, or minutes, as everything had started to run together. When we slowly part, Charlie smiles gently, “And, from time to time, spare an occasional thought for a poor English boy who loved ships. Do that, and I’ll be happy.”

My heart and stomach are in knots, unable to put the emotions I feel into words as I lock eyes with him for what is likely the last time. I wrap my arms around him and lean in, pressing my lips to his. I taste the soot and sweat on his lips, and attempt to convey everything I feel, everything I hope, and everything I wish I could say into that one kiss. It’s anxious and hurried and passionate, as if we’re both fitting a lifetime of need into a moment. We slowly break the kiss, my eyes fluttering open when Charlie gently brushes his hand over my cheek. He looks into my eyes for a long moment before wordlessly turning to rejoin the rest of the trimmers and firemen, while I turn toward the engine room where Matteo waits.

My heart and my brain are at war. I know I daren’t look back, my brain screaming at me to go, while my heart aches, tugging me in the opposite direction, back to Charlie. I take a few more steps, and despite my brain’s protests, I slow to a stop, looking behind me into the boiler room where Charlie, John, and the rest of the Black Gang toil in the rising water, the steam, and the soot, to afford the rest of us a better chance for survival. I watch Charlie for a moment, his form barely identifiable through the thick steam, and it’s then that I know. I don’t simply want to survive; I want to live. And, though I haven’t even known Charlie for a week, I can’t imagine a life without him, not now; Not after seeing a glimmer of what life could be with him.

Unable to turn away from the boiler room, I feel tears beginning to sting my eyes, and as if of their own accord, my feet start moving me back into the chaos. None of the men stoking the boilers seem to notice my presence, all focused on the immediacy of the task at hand. I return to Charlie’s side, replacing his jacket over the railing, and pick up my shovel. As he turns to heft another shovelful of coal, his eyes widen in disbelief, “Adal! You can’t be here! You need to go!”

I shake my head, defiant, tears welling up and threatening to roll down my cheeks. I yell loudly, ensuring he can hear me over the din, the same tone I used in first class to rally the passengers on the Grand Staircase, “I can’t go Charlie! I won’t go…And I’ve made up my mind.”

“But you have to go! You aren’t meant to be here, and you aren’t meant to stay down here. This isn’t how it ends for you, not here, not like this!” Charlie gestures with his arms as he speaks, incredulous, upset, though the emotion I see in his eyes betrays his feelings.

“Now Mister Stoke, you know that I’m a woman of conviction, and I’ll fight for what I believe in,” I pause, offering him the best smile I can. “I believe in you. I’ll fight for you, and I won’t leave you.”

Charlie’s expression softens then, realizing that I’ve made my choice, and nothing he says will make me change my mind. He shakes his head slowly, “There really is no arguing with you, is there, Miss Carrem?”

I shake my head solemnly, blinking away my tears, and in effort to suppress how I feel, I dig my shovel into the coal. “Now, let’s get back to work, these boilers aren’t going to stoke themselves, are they?” I offer him a smile, and am relieved to see a smile, albeit a sad one, spread across Charlie’s face.

He shakes his head, digging his own shovel in next to mine, “No, I suppose they aren’t.” He pauses once more, locking his eyes with mine, “You’re an incredible woman, Adal.”

I smile at his words, and quickly, we begin weaving between one another again, developing a rhythm as we work together with the rest of the men to keep the boilers going, the pumps working, the lights lit, and the wireless functioning for as long as possible. My brain continues to scream at me, worried about my survival, my heart torn, even still, between Charlie and Matteo. Despite it all, deep down, I feel that in this moment I’m exactly where I need to be. Exactly where I’m meant to be.

In the minutes that pass, we don’t even notice the frigid water nearing our knees. I briefly slow, standing up and stretching my back as I wipe the sweat from my brow with my gloved forearm. I feel a presence behind me, and when I turn, my heart leaps into my throat when see Matteo. His jacket and waistcoat have already joined Charlie’s over the railing, his tie is loosened, and a sheen of sweat is already visible on his brown skin. It takes me a moment to find my voice. “Matteo?!” I shout over the clamor, over the sound of rushing water that only seems to have gotten louder.

“Well, I couldn’t let you and Charlie have all the fun, now could I?” Matteo smirks, his eyebrow raised.

“Matteo, what are you doing here?” Charlie’s chest is rising and falling with each deep breath, the look on his face a mix of disbelief, curiosity, and suspicion. He shakes his head, gesturing toward the engine room, exasperated. “I showed you the way out, don’t you understand? It’s your only chance, and there’s no more time. Boiler room 5 has flooded, and there’s no other way back to the upper decks, much less the lifeboats!”

Matteo shrugs dismissively, “I’ve never been much for heights. Now, high society, perhaps…” He pauses briefly, glancing around the boiler room before returning his attention to Charlie, “But climbing out of a funnel sounds…unpleasant. It’s also a bit warmer in here than out there, isn’t it?” I catch myself smiling slightly at his dry, sarcastic wit, though it does little to mask the underlying nervousness clouding his features.

Neither man speaks for a long moment, and I feel the tension between them start to build. Just as I’m about to say something, Charlie finally sighs, shaking his head. “You’re both…” He pauses, and half-smiles as he wipes the sweat from his forehead, “Thank you.”

Matteo nods respectfully as Charlie quickly returns to work, and when we both lean down with our shovels, he speaks softly, “I had to come back for you. I waited…”

I look into his hazel eyes when he trails off, seeing a vulnerability there that prior, I’d only seen in fleeting glimpses. “Matteo, you should’ve gone ahead…”

He shakes his head as a lopsided grin tugs at one corner of his mouth, “Gone ahead and what? Shivered in the cold, sharing an intimate lifeboat with James, with only one another to keep warm? Pardon my saying, but that sounds utterly dreadful.” He smiles sincerely then, “I’d rather stay with you, Adele. No matter the circumstance.”

I feel the color rise into my cheeks and I’m unable to hide my smile, though the sound of rushing water seems to grow louder, reminding us both the reality of what we’re about to face. I quickly press a kiss to Matteo’s cheek, lingering there for several seconds before I return to shoveling. The three of us quickly find our pace, working in unison to give everyone else still on the ship their best chance for survival.

Minutes pass, but they feel like hours. My body aches, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I struggle to keep pace with Charlie and Matteo. The noise in the boiler room has reached a crescendo, a cacophony of laboring, shouting men, clanging and scraping shovels, roaring furnaces, and rushing water now pouring in through the orlop deck above. I glance at Charlie and Matteo at my side, both men soaked with sweat, covered in grime and soot. Matteo’s normally perfectly coiffed hair is now hanging wetly over his forehead into his eyes, his tie long gone, and his shirt filthy and soaked through; A disheveled state I’d never seen him in before. Charlie keeps up his stiff pace, stoking the boiler as only a professional could, stone-faced, with unwavering commitment to his friends, his passengers, and their safety above all else, even above himself. I steel myself, pushing harder to keep shoveling, willing my mind to go anywhere but here, anywhere but the chaotic boiler room on a doomed ship.

Hileni.

No matter where I will my thoughts, they return to her. My baby sister. She’s grown up so much on this voyage, but still I wonder if it’s the events of the past few days that have changed her, or if it’s a change that’s been happening over time that has simply gone unnoticed. Unnoticed, perhaps due to our daily familiarity, or due to our long hours at the factory and my activism that kept me in prison, seemingly more often than not over the past several months. I feel a prickle of shame that I hadn’t been there for her, that I’d somehow let her down after mother and father died. She always understood, or seemed to. She understood that I was fighting not only for myself, but for her, and all other women to have the same rights as men, fighting for a better life for everyone.

I think of her face, the feel of her small form in my arms when I hugged her the last time before leaving her behind with the Rouhanas. She believed so strongly that God would have a plan for them, and for Matteo, Charlie, myself, and everyone else on this ship. And, any questions about these plans were best answered in quiet prayer. It all seemed so silly at the time, but who am I to question what she believes? I can’t help but wonder how things would be different had she come with us. Would I have chosen to stay with Charlie if it was Hileni and Matteo waiting, rather than just Matteo? Would Hileni have wanted to stay? Would we have even been able to make it up the ventilation shaft, and if so, are Zetta and Sabine still on board, saving us spots on a boat? Would it all be for naught, our best efforts wasted, despite doing everything we were supposed to do? Should I have forced Hileni to come with us? Did I make a mistake leaving her behind, dooming her to a terrible fate? I promised I would keep her safe; had I failed her?

My mind is swirling with questions, and I don’t even realize I’ve stopped shoveling until I feel Matteo’s gentle hand at my lower back, seemingly jolting me back to reality. My eyes focus, Matteo and Charlie both at my side, their faces awash with concern, and only then do I realize I’ve been weeping. “Oh, Adele,” Matteo says softly, moving his hand in slow circles over my back in effort to comfort me.

I attempt to calm my nerves and clear my throat, ready to start shoveling again, when Charlie gently places his hands over mine on the shovel. “Adal,” he pauses, looking at me with a sadness in his eyes, “It’s done.”

“Done?” I look between he and Matteo, incredulous, not understanding what he means, nor how we could possibly be ‘done’. “We need to keep going, we need to make sure Hileni and Zetta can make it off the ship, it’s not done yet! There’s still time!” As I move to shovel more coal, I realize then that the water has risen above our knees, now dangerously close to flowing into the boilers themselves, the deck beneath our feet noticeably slanted as Titanic lists to port. I stop, the shovel slipping from my hands and landing in the water with a splash, Charlie’s hands gently leaving mine. I watch the shovel sink, taking notice of my gloves and my blue bejeweled Maison Lucile gown, soaked with a mixture of sweat and water, stained with soot, realizing then that none of it mattered. Not the finery, not the pomp, it didn’t matter what ticket we held, what we wore, or what dining room we were served in. Fate doesn’t discriminate. Scanning the boiler room, I see the other trimmers and firemen slowing their efforts as they come to the same realization Charlie had only moments before. My gaze returns to the water where my shovel now rests, my mind struggling with the absolution of what was about to come.

“Stoke!” A shout rings out behind us, and we turn to see Charlie’s friend John wading through the water. “The water’s rising too fast!” His expression changes then, almost to a look of horror, when he sees myself and Matteo. “No, no, no! You aren’t supposed to be down here!”

Charlie chuckles sadly, shaking his head, “That’s what I tried to tell them, and you see how well that worked.” He pauses, nodding to Matteo before looking back to his friend, “They helped us, John. Some of the other firemen evacuated to the boats, but they stayed. They made a difference.”

John nods appreciatively, but then looks back over his shoulder, our gaze following his to one of the watertight doors, where water is starting to leak in around all sides, the sound of metal grating and groaning beginning to sound more like the death throes of an otherworldly beast than anything a ship could produce. He turns back to us and nods again, “I won’t say it was a wise decision, but thank you, both.”

Matteo and I can only nod, when Charlie begins to speak. “Well, this is it, John,” he pauses then, glancing around the boiler room. “It’s been an honor. Fair winds and following seas, my friend.” John bows his head momentarily, before wading off toward another stoker who’d called for help across the boiler room, leaving the three of us where we stood, the water now rising faster than before, and the slant of the deck becoming harder to withstand.

We stand in silence taking in the scene around us, overwhelmed by the enormity of what’s happening. I adjust my footing, and suddenly slip on the slanted deck, falling to my knees in the water. The frigid water shocks my body, as I only now feel how cold the water truly is, having stopped shoveling coal and feeding the boiler. “Adal!” I hear Charlie’s shout over the noise, he and Matteo both reaching down to grab my hands and help me up.

I sputter to my feet, shivering, as Charlie hurriedly grabs Matteo’s jacket from the railing, wrapping it around my shoulders. I curl into the jacket with a quiet “thank you”, but nearly lose my footing again, feeling as though the ship is moving beneath us. I know Matteo and Charlie can feel it too, their eyes widening as we all reach out and grab onto the railing to steady ourselves.

Matteo still has a firm hold of my hand, his other gripping the railing tightly, leaning into it to keep from slipping himself. He chuckles dryly, his tone conveying considerable animus, “So much for 'unsinkable’.” He shakes his head then, looking back over his shoulder at the enormous steel door, leaking around all sides, “And, 'watertight’”.

Charlie frowns, his eyes flashing, “You have no idea, do you?” he shakes his head curtly. “This ship is engineered beyond any that has ever existed, any other ship in this position would have already gone under. Even the greatest engineers are unable to plan for every possible eventuality.” His tone is sharp and defensive, “And that includes gigantic icebergs that come out of nowhere in the middle of the North Atlantic.” He holds into the railing with one hand, his other arm wrapped around my shoulders, where I shiver still.

I grimace at Charlie’s tone, and looking between the two men, I note the change in Matteo’s expression, knowing full well he’s preparing a repartee. I feel anger welling up from the pit of my stomach, and with my teeth chattering, I snap, “Is this necessary?! Bickering now won’t change anything. The time to change anything was before we left port. All we can do now is pray that Hileni, Lena, Zetta, and Sabine made it safely to the lifeboats. Pray that all our work, everything we’ve done, somehow made a difference… No matter how small. So please, both of you, just stop.” I sigh heavily and adjust my grip on the railing, leaning into Matteo’s comfortable form as Charlie’s arm reflexively tightens further around my shoulders, my eyes still flashing between both of them.

Matteo and Charlie sheepishly exchange sidelong glances, a current of understanding passing between the two men. After a long moment, Matteo finally breaks the silence, “…And James. Hileni, Lena, Zetta, Sabine, and James.”

I gaze downward at the mention of James, but nod. “Yes, and James. This is going to change everyone, whether we live or die. Nobody on this ship will be the same after tonight, including him.”

Charlie nods in agreement after a moment, though his tone reflects his lingering animosity, “Hopefully for his sake, and that of his aunt, it’s a change for the better.”

Just then, the deafening sound of grinding metal, splintering wood, and what sounds like explosions begin to ring out all around us, seemingly from all directions. My heart leaps into my throat as we huddle together, bracing ourselves for what’s to come. My body overcome by fear, I scream. “What’s happening?!”

“I don’t know, but hold on!” Charlie yells, though he can barely be heard over the ear-splitting noise.

Matteo’s eyes dart around the room, trying to discern where the loudest of the sounds are coming from. He ducks in closer to Charlie and me, shouting to be heard, “No matter what happens, we hold on, we stay together!”

The noise becomes deafening, and suddenly, water rushes in from all sides, snuffing out the fires in the boilers, the room plunging into chaotic darkness save for periodic flashes from exposed electrical wires. The water comes up so rapidly that within seconds, we’re clinging to one another along the gangway above the boilers, the icy water stinging my body with the pain of a thousand knives. I feel Matteo tighten his hand around mine, Charlie now holding tightly to my opposite arm as I grip the railing along the gangway, the three of us trying to keep our heads above water as the tumultuous ocean seems to be rising up to swallow us - and the Titanic - whole. Terror grips my heart, and briefly, I wonder if I’d made the wrong choice to stay behind. As quickly as the thought entered my mind, it was gone, and in the split-second brightness of an electrical flash, I see Charlie’s and Matteo’s expressions, conflicted and terror-filled, no doubt a mirror of my own. The water is rising faster, and I kick my legs, straining to keep my head above water, gasping with a scream, “Charlie! Teo!”

“Hold on Adal, we have you!” Charlie shouts, attempting to reassure me as he grips my arm tighter.

“We won’t let you go!” Matteo yells as he adjusts his hold on the gangway with one arm, attempting to lift himself higher out of the water, his other hand still squeezing mine tightly in attempt to pull me up with him. The water continuing to rise, Matteo coughs as the water splashes into his face. Between gasping breaths, he shouts, “If this is how it ends, I’m glad I’m with you, Adele… And you too, Charlie. You’re a good man.”

Just as Charlie is about to respond, I feel my grip on the gangway starting to slip as a vacuum pulls me downward into the swirling water. I hurriedly look around, and to my horror, I see some of the other men disappearing under the tumultuous surface; anyone who didn’t have a tight hold on a railing, pipe, or part of the gangway was being pulled down. I attempt to adjust my grip on the gangway but instead, lose it entirely, my arm twisting from Charlie’s grasp. I scream and grab for him, thankfully catching his hand, Matteo still holding tightly to my other, both men struggling against their own exhaustion and the frigid, rising water to pull me up against the current. I try screaming for help, but am cut short when water floods my mouth, momentarily taking my breath away.

I cough, sputtering, and attempt to take a deep breath, catching a glimpse of the chaotic scene in the boiler room. Men yelling as the water continues to rise, its surface undulating and angry, a far cry from the tranquil, mirrored surface I admired only hours before. The air is thick with steam and smoke from the snuffed furnaces, the darkness only briefly interrupted by electrical flashes, the entire scene worse than any nightmare I could ever imagine. Still struggling, I squeeze Matteo and Charlie’s hands tightly, kicking my legs, attempting to pull myself higher out of the water. Despite my efforts, I’m unable to keep my head above the surface, and straining, I look up, seeing Charlie and Matteo shouting as they look in after me, though I’m unable to hear them. My grasp on Matteo’s hand starts to falter, and as my hand falls from his, his eyes widen with terror and he frantically reaches down after me, another electrical flash briefly glinting off of his grandfather’s wristwatch, now submerged beneath the ocean’s surface. I struggle to pull myself up using Charlie’s arm, and stretch for Matteo, though his outstretched hand remains just beyond my reach. The current, then proving too strong for Charlie alone, pulls my hand from his. Another wave of terror washes over me when I lose touch with Charlie, and as I feel myself being dragged down, I scream. The merciless ocean mutes my screams, nobody can hear me, the only evidence the flurry of bubbles rising through the water toward the surface. I see Charlie and Matteo let go of the gangway and dive in after me, and kicking my legs, my arms outstretched, I desperately reach for them. For a moment, their faces are briefly illuminated by another electrical flash, and I see on them expressions of horror I’ve never seen before, and I know I’ll never see again. No matter what I do, and no matter how they try, the ocean ensures they remain just out of reach.

Suddenly, my mind is racing. First, I’m a young girl, journeying with my parents from our small village in Mount Lebanon to London, in search of a better life. Then, I’m older, Hileni a very small child, and we’re gathered around the small wood stove in our apartment, listening to our parents tell stories of their lives when they were our ages. I then see our mother’s funeral, followed by our father’s, and the many long nights that Hileni and I worked side by side at our factory jobs. My mind jumps to my jujitsu class, and the countless protests I attended, in effort to give a voice to those who didn’t have one of their own. A flash to my stints in prison, where I always managed to survive, and then back at home, where Hileni was always waiting and supportive, despite her being left alone more than she should have been. Finally, I see James Eisler, in the cell next to mine, and Matteo, in the prison courtyard, offering me a literal ticket to my freedom. Then, in a flash, Hileni and I are on the dock in Southampton, along with a thousand other souls, boarding the grandest, safest ocean liner the world has ever known. Everything passes more quickly now. My mind replays the day I first met Charlie when I was trying to find Hileni in steerage, followed by my picnic with Charlie, Hileni, and the Rouhanas on Bruce Ismay’s private promenade. Then, flashes of my growing friendships with Zetta, Sabine, and Lena, the quiet kisses and unspoken understanding shared with Charlie, our dance in steerage, and cognac in the cargo hold. I then see my midnight swim and the raw, passionate encounters with Matteo, followed by Zetta’s grand “twentieth” birthday party; all the while I foolishly thought that James’ threats coming to fruition were the worst that could happen to me. Finally, I see Hileni’s face as I left her behind with the Rouhanas, looking much older and wiser than her 15 years, steadfast in her beliefs. Suddenly, I’m brought back to the present. I feel myself sinking further into the water, my head throbbing, my chest painfully tight. I again try to swim toward the surface, but my efforts prove futile, my limbs weighted down by their own mass. I strain my eyes, trying in vain to find Charlie and Matteo above me, but all I can see is darkness. After a moment, I realize the cold no longer feels so cold. And, utterly exhausted, my resolve fading, my eyes fall closed as I surrender to my fate, a flash of Matteo’s face, and then Charlie’s, the last things in my mind before everything else fades away.

#titanic #storyscape Titanic #storyscape #adele carrem #adal karam #matteo vasari #charlie stoke #zetta serda #james eisler #matteo x adele #charlie x adele #fanfic #fanfiction #hileni carrem #adele x charlie #adele x matteo

24 notes · View notes

roraruu · 4 years

Text

wip: friends

twilight au with no context

Python’s always glad when he isn’t assigned to nightwatch. Usually, he sneaks off to the local tavern for a few drinks. Tonight is no different, save for the fact that Forsyth and Lukas are with him. The booth feels too squishy and tight with the two of them on either side, making sure he’s firmly locked in. They don’t want the young wenches coming back around their encampment to scream at Python or to drag his drunken ass back home.

The waitress comes back with another round, spreading ale in front of them. Before he can reach out and sneak a glass between his hands, Lukas deftly pushes it away from him. The knight in red is obviously keeping count and already knows that Python’s a lightweight.

While Lukas and Forsyth discuss the problem of witches and the vampires, Python stares at the foam at the bottom of his ale glass, longing for another taste. He’s already bored out of his mind: if he was alone, he’d more than likely already be with a girl and be drunk, a whole level above sitting between two knights yammering on about how sad and poor that these women have become witches.

Python’s on the opposite side of the court. They wanted power, they got it for a price and that is all she wrote. He stares into his empty glass, thirsting for another drink. He eyes Forsyth’s full mug, and wonders if he will notice if he just sneaks a sip…

“Good evening gentlemen.”

The conversation stops as Silque steps towards their booth. She’s in her white cleric’s robe, but there’s a cowl over her neck and shoulders and gloves on her hands. Overdressed. Could a sister enter a tavern or was there a holy law against that? Pythons sneaks a glimpse at Forsyth who looks as though his eyes are about to bug out of his head. ”Hello,” he stumbles over. Python snickers, and raises a few fingers in greeting. This will be fun.

“Lady Silque, I didn’t realize that you were coming out tonight. We could have escorted you.” Lukas says.

“I had some house calls to make tonight. And I needed supplies for the church.” She says over the din of a whining fiddle and stomps of feet.

“Care to join us?” Forsyth asks, fully returned to earth at last.

“I think I will pass.” She says, eyeing the glasses of ale. “It seems as though you all are celebrating.”

“Just to another sunset.” Python adds in brusquely. Forsyth jabs him between the ribs.

Silque turns her dark gaze towards him. Her lips curve into a warm smile. “That is truly something to celebrate. Life is precious.”

Forsyth forces a laugh and eager agreement and out comes a cacophony of pleads for her to join them, that Forsyth will buy her a round or something to eat. She smiles politely.

“I have already eaten, and I’m afraid I don’t drink. But I thank you all the same, Sir Forsyth.” She says. “Although I do need to purchase a bottle of wine from the tavern keep.”

“If you don’t drink, then why are you buyin’ wine?” Python finds himself asking. Lukas gives him a warning look, but echoes his question.

“Yes, I find that interesting too.” He says. “May I ask why?”

Silque nods and thinly smiles, plying their curiosity. “It will be an offering to Mila. I plan to make a pilgrimage to her nearest house.” She says.

“Do you have an escort?” Forsyth. Ever ready to play the noble knight.

“Yes, that would be wise, what with all the bandit incursions and unrest.” Lukas. Prepared for every minor mistake.

The cleric’s brow crinkles slightly. “No, I had planned to go by myself.” She says. “I had never had a problem before.”

“There are witches here now, and who knows what other undead creatures.” Lukas speaks again. “Allow one of us to accompany you, it would give us peace.”

“If you insist.”

The archer rolls his eyes lamely. He can already see Forsyth jumping out of his skin to play the hero again. No doubt, Python would love the few days of silence and quiet, but the thought of having to hear Forsyth drone on about how “unbelievable” and “shrouded in melancholic beauty” the shrine was. It’s a hole in the ground that’s covered in moss, nothing more, nothing less—

“Python. What do you say to an excursion?” Lukas says.

His head snaps up. “Me?” He asks sharply. “Why should I go?”

“Your resistance to magic is greater than mine or Forsyth’s. Besides, I’m sure Lady Silque would be a wonderful influence on you.” Lukas says. His gaze falls on Python with sharp severity, as if he’s staring into his soul. He knows that look, telling him “pack your bags or go back to the training encampment”

“That is, if you can find the time to leave your camp.” Silque adds. “You have a different duty than my own. And if you wish to join me.”

He feels Lukas and Forsyth’s eyes on him and he sits back against the wooden boards. “Fine.” He says. “Leave tomorrow?”

He can already hear the double lecture coming from Lukas and Forsyth. Gods, his head will be aching until sunset. Then again, something about her is… different, almost attractive. Not in the typical way of dark eyes and a sultry smile. It is almost magnetic, predatory, like the gentle smile and holy aura is a mask, or something akin to the seemingly-gentle looks of a snowy fox.

He wonders if there is anything hiding behind that smile. Her lips turn back up slightly, the smile not reaching her eyes so that it looks forced. It goes over Forsyth’s head for certain, perhaps even Lukas’s scrupulous gaze, but it doesn’t go past Python’s. He’s got the trained eyes of a hunter and a loveless man; he knows a fake smile when he sees one.

“Yes. That is amenable to me.” Silque says. “I’ll come to the encampment and we can leave then. The shrine is southbound from here.”

“Fine.”

Silque bids them farewell, heading to the bar to order a bottle of wine. Forsyth already begins his soon-to-be hours long lecture on how to treat Lady Silque while he is away with her. But Python ignores the drone of his voice and watches as she graciously takes the bottle of wine from the tavern keep into her gloved hands. She draws the scarf up and around her head, hiding her face.

---

Python lays in his tent for a while, listening to the quiet patter of rain against the canvas. It doesn’t come in, thank Mila, but it wakes him sooner than he’d like to be.

He knows Silque isn’t… like them. She’s far from it, from the way she carries herself. In his mind, he tries to recall the hazy memories of childhood fairy tales. None stick, blending together to bastardizations of witch princesses and undead knights and necrodragons.

He rolls over, tugging the scratchy wool blanket to his neck. She’s not a witch, she praises the Mother with every other word out of her mouth. Is there some inverse to a witch perhaps? If there is, he doesn’t know of it.

But she’s not dead either. She’s not like a Terror, but she’s not… Human. She plays a good game of acting like it, but there is something about her that is so… inhuman, otherworldly.

Too many thoughts, and too early in the morning for them.

He sits up and rubs at his eyes. He can already feel a headache coming on and it’s barely sunup. He grumbles, throws back water from the skin by his bedroll and reaches for a pack. He throws the blanket and whatever provisions he’s got hidden in here—just some hard bread and old cheese. In the corner, he finds a half finished flask and hides in the waistband of his trousers. He’ll sorely need it if he wants to make this trip. He assumes she’ll be praising Mila all the way down the valley.

Python stretches out, rolling his neck and throwing the bag over his shoulder. He pokes his head out of the tent and already sees Forsyth sitting up by the dying fire pit. He grumbles as the knight gets up from his seat. He’s barely out of the tent when Forsyth is on his way over. He stretches out again as Forsyth opens his yap.

“You’re not to make a fool of the army or our platoon!” Forsyth coarsely reminds him.

“How am I supposed to enjoy myself then? This is like a mini vacation for me.” Python says as he walks towards the water well. He pulls up a bucket, dunks his head into the brisk water and pulls it out quickly. He can hear Forsyth continue to nag under the water.

“It is far from a vacation Python!” Forsyth squawks as he shakes away the rest of the water. The knight grimaces as cold droplets hit his face. “There are witches out there and they could kill you in a split second!”

“Gee, way to instil confidence in me—“

“This isn’t just you crawling back from the tavern, Python. If something happens to Lady Silque, you are responsible for it.” He says, his voice dropping to a beg. “The Mother would be furious if one of her daughters died to a witch!”

“It won’t happen,” Python says, patting Forsyth’s shoulder. The knight reaches out, taking Python’s shoulder. “Besides, she’s probably got some holy spell about her protecting her from sin and all that shit.”

“It’s obviously not working if she’s supposed to be protected from sin…”

“Hey, I just like to have fun.” He says, pulling his hand away. He turns straight into Lukas, with Silque behind him. The cowl is around her neck, hiding her face. Must be religious wear.

“Good morning.” He greets to the both of them. “Python, Lady Silque is ready to depart.”

“You sure you wanna go in the cold and rain?” He asks.

“Yes.” She says firmly. “There is a cleric covering my patients but only for a short time. I must be as quick as possible.”

“Fine. I’ll be ready in a sec.” he says, glancing back to Forsyth. He leans down, watching the wide-eyed knight and picks up his bag. Again, he feels that magnetic attraction come back, surely something of her own concoction.

He hauls the bag onto his back, fingers finding his bow and quiver. He nods to Silque. “Lead the way Lady.” He says, smirking when he hears Forsyth grimace.

Silque forces another smile and thanks Lukas warmly. She turns on her heel and begins to depart from the camp, their boots slopping in the mud.

“Thank you for accompanying me.” She says, glancing over her shoulder. Python slinks behind her.

“No problem.” He says, more focused on the scarf around her face. It is made of thick material, almost like wool. It is dark blue, and embroidered with silver, the thread swirling and curving to make a design that his eyes can’t quite register. The edge of the scarf falls over her shoulder, the edge swaying against her back. One of her hands, still gloved, rests on the flap of a leather bag. It sloshes quietly, the wine inside.

He’s not a fan of religion or the Mother. Knows little of her tenets or holy texts or rules. He thinks this must be some form of modesty or religious wear as silence falls between them like snowflakes. The cleric clears her throat slightly, as if to get his attention before speaking again. “Sir Python, being blunt—“

“I’m not a sir.” He says. “Just Python.”

Silque pauses, continuing to walk ahead. She doesn’t turn her head this time. “Python, we should not be friends.”

His brow raises.

“I heard what you said, about being a sinner.” She says. “While I thank you for taking care of the witches near my church, I do not want to associate with anyone—“

He feels it again. The aura of inhumanity. She speaks like someone from ages past. Hell, she acts like his great grandmother, what little he can remember of the old bag.

“I got you.” He says.

“Do you really?” Silque asks, turning around. The rain hits her face, sparkling against her skin. She looks almost like a Mila Idol, as if carved from marble and blessed. She looks… holy.

“Yes.” He says. “I have little intentions of being friends with you.”

Lie. He’s curious about what she is. Who she is.

“I am glad we understand each other.” She says, turning back around. The walk is silent and his boots squash against the mud.

---

The shrine is not far down into the valleys of Zofia. By the afternoon, the rain gets a little thicker, making it muddy along the trails. They slip, boots catching. Their clothes are soaked, bags too.

All of this for some stupid offering. He’s glad she doesn’t want to be friends.

He’s waiting at the top of the hill while Silque searches for the entrance. He pauses, focusing on the edge of her scarf. The sun is going down and she loosens the cowl a little. His brow furrows when she comes back up to the top of the hill.

“I’ve found the entrance, come on.” She says.

“What about your scarf. It’s coming undone.”

Her brow furrows as she touches the end. Realization floods her eyes as she pulls it back over her hair. “There.” She says. “Come on.”

He follows her down the hill, watching as she wrenches open the large stone doors. His brow furrows as she lets go of the knocker and steps inside the shrine, letting a worried breath escape her lips. He watches as she breathes a sigh and descends the dark staircase down. It looks like a crypt almost, a mausoleum to the departed souls that once lived close by. It’s freezing gold. Silque lowers her cowl and removes her gloves. Her baby blue hair is damp, turning a darker blue, almost indigo.

He can hear hooting and hollering down below. Inhuman, gurgling sounds like a guts processing food. He looks at Silque who simply hurries forwards, the sounds of her shoes echoing through the hallways.

A Terror moves out from a crypt. For a moment, it simply stares at Silque, who pays them no mind. And even stranger, they pay her no mind too. They look past her, like she is one of them. But when the Terror’s eyes focus on him, a guttural hiss bubbles up and echoes through the shrine.

He pulls his bow, quickly nocking an arrow along the indents of his weapon. With less than a breath, he shoots the Terror in the head, knocking it backwards against the old floor.

“Gods, what are you?” He snaps at her. Silque’s brow furrows now, more emotion than he’s seen her show in front of Lukas and Forsyth. “That thing didn’t even look at you!”

“I am a cleric of Mila.” She says slowly, almost repeating it to herself. “I’m under the holy protection of the goddess.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He says lowly.

“I do not care what plies you or not.” She snaps back, hurrying back down the staircase, into the glow of the shrine room.

Python cusses, makes sure the Terror is dead and pulls the arrow out of it’s decaying head. He follows after Silque, watching as she pulls off her leather bag and prepares to make her blessing.

---

Python didn’t realize he had fallen asleep. He opens his eyes to the sight of a Mila Idol. His eyes lazily flicker around the room until he hears the doors go again. He reaches for his bow, snapping up.

Silque slips in, a smear of blood above her lip.

“Oh, Python.” She greets. “Apologies, I did not mean to wake you.”

“You’re bleeding.” He says.

“Oh?” Her brow furrows again, fingers grazing her upper lip. She stops and wipes it away with the back of her hand.

“What happened, where did you go?” He asks.

“I just stepped out for some air.”

“And what? Did you hit your face or somethin’?”

“Yes, I just…” her voice falters as she steps further into the Idol Room. “I needed time to think and I wanted to apologize.”

“Why?”

“I said that we shouldn’t be friends, not that I didn’t want to.” She says. “I find you… difficult to be around.”

“Not the first person to.”

“But you are doing work for church. Therefore I am indebted to you.” Silque says, the tips of her fingers raw. “I propose that we try to at least get along.”

He finds himself nodding. “Fine.”

“I am glad we understand each other.” She says, bowing her head slightly. Her hair sways again as she stands to full height. So strange, her emotions are like whiplash. He could play it off as a woman’s heart being fickle but it’s nothing so simple. There is something off about Silque, and he needs to know what makes her… different.

#ru writes #wips #forbidden ship #silque #python #twilight au #yeahahah babey!!!!!

6 notes · View notes

5t0ryt1m3 · 6 years

Text

Deceit and the Truth

Based off of a Headcannon that I thought up for Deceit and him telling the truth without warning.

Tags: @5am-the-foxing-hour @deceitprotectionsquad @arc852 @okaybirdboy @madd-catter

Warnings: Blood, injuries, questioning existence, lying, some anxst

Word count: 1626

Contrary to popular belief, Deceit liked doing the dishes. It was calming and the water was always warm. He was a strange villain like that - liking one of the most hated chores of a human’s life. He also didn’t use his gloves while working, those were just for show and didn’t really want to ruin them.

His cloak was hanging from one of the dinning chairs despite the house not really having a dining table. More like a round table you would see for some home poker….oh sounds like something fun to do. His yellow leather gloves were on the mostly black cloak.

“Darn, it’s stuck.” Deceit grumbled as he tried in vain to scrub some gunk from on the plates. Failing with the scrub, he switched to his snake like hand. His left hand was covered with scales and his fingers were more like claws. Another reason he wore gloves, make him look less like a hybrid reptilian.

“Are - are you doing the dishes?” Oooooooooo, his host - Thomas - just asked him. With a quick flick of his fork tongue, Deceit could that Patton and Logan were with him. Right, they were with Thomas’s friends to do some short videos.

“Yes.” Deceit responded off the bat and the pain set in. It wasn’t so bad, more like a headache but still. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Not much but just enough for it to dip from his mouth. The three didn’t seem to notice the blood on his body but Logan seemed to have noticed his flinch from the truth.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton noticed something on the floor, shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-oot. Was the blood dripping from the floor? “Did you hurt yourself? You shouldn’t be working if you are hurt.”

Patton, dear sweet Morality, never change.

“Ehhhhh it’s not that bad. Just told the truth.” SHIT! Is today truth day or something? Normally he isn’t this careless with his words. The damage was done, sharp pain sprung up his back. He choked on his blood; more of it spilled from his mouth and fell to the floor with a loud splat. He felt six eyes on his back, wait no, make that ten. Virgil and Roman just walked in.

“What’s going on down here pesens - is Deceit doing the dishes?” Roman is easy to distract but Virgil…..he’s too vigilant to stray from this matter. Just keep your back to them, maybe they won’t -

“I don’t think the dishes are the problem,” Virgil spoke - he noticed didn’t he? “Deceit is bleeding from mouth.” Well, monkey’s uncle…

“Deceit, are you okay?” Patton doesn’t even care if he impersonate him every now and then, god don’t change, the world needs more people like him. He is slightly shorter than Deceit; only because Deceit wears boots indoors, “Oh my god! You’re are covered in it!”

He was now facing all of them, Patton looked to be fighting himself and closet. Virgil and Roman seemed to be panicking over the amount of blood as seen their eyes. Logan, logical Logan, trying to keep a straight face but Deceit could see through the lie (lying was his job) he was internally panicking. And Thomas was….confused? Can’t really tell, he might be Deceit’s host, but that didn’t mean he could tell what was going through his mind - confusion would be the best bet with what the others were feeling.

“How can we help?” The logical aspect asked, lie or tell the truth…. Oh duck this, if he lies he will heal without them knowing. Telling the truth might be better - this is all based on the idea that the truth can hurt more than a lie.

“Nothing, when I tell the truth, I get hurt. When I lie, I get healed or stay healthy.” Deceit said and sharply flinched, he could feel the nasty bruise forming on his right shoulder. From everyone else’s expressions, it was pretty big. Patton looked like no wait he’s crying. Thomas was seconds from passing out, Virgil was trying his best not to look at it, Roman was fully not looking - pretty sure he wants to throw up -, and Logan’s pale face was most likely going over all kinds of facts in that his brain of his.

“If you heal by lying, why aren’t you lying?” Thomas chokes looking over the darker aspect. Deceit just shrugs not really understanding it himself and some non-verbal communication didn’t trigger the pain. Something like sign language would definitely trigger it.

“It’s not like it’s that painful.” Deceit lies, that pain on his shoulder duals some. Patton gasped seeing the effects of Deceit’s lying. Patton grabs tha hybrid reptilian by one of his arms and takes him to the bathroom to get him patch up. Seriously, this boy is too pure for this world!

“I can handle my own injuries Patton.”

“Don’t care, you need good ol’ Dad here to help you.” Deceit stuck his tongue out and only got a gasp.

“Your tongue! It’s like a snake! Does it work the same?’

“No it doesn’t. It is just your guy’s tongues.” The onslaught of metallic had stopped assaulting his senses. Patton quickly wiped the rest of the blood off. Then demand that Deceit take his clothes off to be washed. His bruise was still there but not as bad from when it first formed. Patton lefted to fetch roman to get some spare clothes until Deceit’s could be washed. A simple black and yellow shirt and black skinny jeans. Roman won’t let him leave the room until was dressed. Despite some minor differences (Logan and Patton’s blindness, Virgil and slouching, Deceit being part reptilian and Roman being taller than the rest even without the boots) they really didn’t have anything that no one hadn’t seen before. But Roman insisted for the lying aspect to wear the clothes.

“Well….this is comfortable.” The pain slowly dualed. Roman only muttered about humans and tight clothing. The two walked out to the living room where the other four were. Deceit went to the table to place his cloak and gloves back on.

“How are feeling Deceit?” Patton asked from his spot on the couch. Deceit only gave a so-so gesture. The snake aspect grabbed a pen and paper and wrote a quick message down. He pasted it to Roman who read the message,

“Gestures and written words do not trigger my reaction with the truth. This would be the safest way to tell you what you need to know.” Roman pasted the paper back to Deceit as the rest digest what was just read to them. Logan couldn’t help but ask,

“Why let Roman read?” Deceit only had to turn his paper over to relieve his cursive handwriting. Something only he and Roman shared. The others nodded seeing no one else in their family could write like that. Questions were flung at Deceit, who did the best he could to answer them truthfully. With Roman reading his handwriting and given gestures to try and answer, Deceit felt something growing inside himself.

Happiness, that is what he feels. Is this what Patton gives to Thomas? Happiness? Deceit helps everyone by hiding what they don’t want to feel or tell but if he lets them help him….is this that? Virgil protects all of them even himself for that is what he gives to Thomas. Patton is feelings Thomas needs and his morality; he helps others with their feelings. Roman helps Thomas and the others with confidence and creative exploration. Logan is knowledge, he is logic and a problem solver; he helps with facts and figuring multiple ways to help.

Deceit hides Patton’s depression and self hate. He hides Virgil’s own anxiety from overwhelming to others and Thomas. He hides Logan’s insecurities and loneliness so he feels more like one of the others. Deceit hides Roman low self-esteem so that he could lift the others up. Deceit hides what Thomas doesn’t want to see or hear. He tells him certain lies or to keep his spirits up. Only when Thomas wants him to, Deceit lifts the curtains and lets him see.

“Earth to Deceit!” Roman’s voice snaps the snake from his thoughts. The five were looking at him with mild concern.

“Mmmmm?” Deceit hums before writing down what he was thinking. Roman read it out loud,

“Sorry for spacing out, I was thinking of our roles with each other and Thomas. Not to alarm you but I do believe that I am feeling true happiness for the first time in my existence.”

“You have never felt happiness before?” Logan was holding Patton back from lunging himself at Deceit. The man looked like he was going to start crying again. Deceit was quick to write down a response,

“I have but not like this. Normally I have felt happiness from a job well done or from tricking someone. This just came from simply being heard and listened to without anyone judging me harshly.”

Patton was not restrained this time as even Thomas flung himself to hug Deceit. The other three didn’t want to get to close but understood that this was going to be a new deal. Deceit let the two hug him until he needed to make something clear. He quickly wrote it down before getting ready to head to his room.

“Don’t think I am not going to antagonistic to y’all, I still have a job to perform.” And then Deceit was gone, one dark chuckle was all that was left.

This will be fun.

#thomas sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #ts deceit #deceit #blood #my writing #platonic relationship

180 notes · View notes

moonlight-breeze-44 · 4 years

Note

Hello! Song fic anon, again! Can I ask for another prompt to the song if “Incredible” by James TW?

Hi, anon! I’m so glad you decided to come back for more! I’m so sorry it took me so long to write your prompt. I had a smut prompt before yours and I’m terrible at smut, so it took me a while to write. I really hope you like what I did with your song and I really hope this fic makes up for the bad response time!

Again, thank you so much for your prompt! I hope you like this :)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In Your Arms

Read on AO3

Warning for implied/referenced self harm in the past tense.

The neon lights of Pandemonium turned Alec’s hair a multitude of different colours, and watching it was giving Magnus a headache. He turned his gaze, instead, to Alec’s bright blue eyes, which sparkled with happiness and mirth as he spun in Magnus’s arms for what was certainly not the first time that night.

“Come on, Magnus!” Alec encouraged him, tripping over his own feet. Magnus felt a fond smile stretch across his face when Alec continued to dance, unperturbed by his own lack of coordination. It made Magnus want to kiss him senseless and hold him close to him because of all people, Alec had chosen him. This perfect, beautiful, wonderful man had chosen him.

“What’s the matter, Mags?” Alec called over the roar of the music. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion and a look of concern was slowly replacing the smile he wore seconds earlier. Magnus winced in apology. He must have been wearing his feelings too clearly on his face.

“Nothing, darling,” Magnus replied, threading his hands through Alec’s dark black locks. “Just thinking about you.” He added a flirtatious wink to the end of his sentence; a wink that would have had his Shadowhunter blushing like mad only a few months ago. Now, it made Alec grin at him and raise an eyebrow in challenge.

Magnus laughed and pressed his lips to Alec’s for a soft kiss. Alec returned it just as gently, sensing the shift in the atmosphere from fun and carefree to something a bit deeper.

When they pulled away a few minutes later, both breathing hard, Magnus could swear he felt almost light inside with happiness. Alec beamed at him and Magnus resisted the urge to wrap Alec in a tight hug and stay there for the rest of the night.

Some days, it was normal, commonplace; Alec and Magnus’s relationship was like a constant, familiar presence for Magnus. From their sleepy “Good morning”s to the way that they climbed into bed and held each other at the end of each day, it was the routines he had with Alec that kept Magnus sane; that comforted him and washed over him like the scent of a favourite food or the allure of a particularly wonderful book.

Other days, though, it blew Magnus’s mind, how much Alec had changed in the span of a year or so. He wasn’t the same man he was when Magnus met him, but Magnus didn’t mind that. Alec’s change was for the better.

“Hey,” Alec’s voice cut into Magnus’s thoughts. “I’m going to go dance with Izzy for a minute, okay? Be back soon.” He gestured in the general direction of his sister, and Magnus nodded and released him from the embrace.

Magnus watched as Alec made his way over to Izzy and began to clumsily dance to the 2000s pop song that played over the loudspeakers. He couldn’t help the fond grin that took over his features when he saw his husband dancing like no one was watching. Actually, Magnus thought to himself, he was dancing like he knew people were watching and he just didn’t care, which was even better.

Magnus thought back to the last time he and Alec had danced; it was during a date to a fancy upscale restaurant a few months after they’d been married. Magnus had expected Alec to complain and lament about his terrible dancing skills the entire time, but he’d been pleasantly surprised when it had been Alec who had dragged him onto the dance floor.

To his embarrassment, Magnus felt his eyes mist over as he thought about how far they’d both come.

When Magnus met Alec, he was a bitter Shadowhunter so far in the closet he might as well have been in Narnia. He held his hands behind his back at all times, his posture rigid and straight; the perfect soldier the Clave wanted him to be.

After Magnus met Alec, Magnus could see the small, hidden chinks in his Shadowhunter’s armour. The glances that he gave Jace, the not-so-platonic stares that he dedicated his entire sense of self towards trying to hide. The way his hands trembled and shook when someone held them but remained steady when he wielded his bow. The fact that, more often than not, the archer’s gloves he was meant to wear to protect his hands were nowhere to be found.

In the flashing lights of the club, Magnus could almost make out the thin silvery scars that lined Alec’s hands. They were barely there, hardly noticeable in an everyday setting like the Downworld Cabinet meetings. Alec still stood with his hands behind his back most of the time; whether from an ingrained sense that he would always be a soldier, no matter how he’d changed, or to keep any prying eyes from finding out the true reason behind the marks, Magnus didn’t know.

What Magnus did know was that, one night not so long ago, Alec had shown up on his fire escape, nursing a battered hand with cuts that looked awfully similar to the scars he sported now.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Magnus had never mentioned it; no, he knew his Shadowhunter better than that. If he mentioned it, Alec would only become defensive and shut down. Well, maybe he wouldn’t now, but now, that didn’t matter. Alec hadn’t conveniently forgotten his archer’s gloves in months, and beating up training bags instead of turning to someone he loved was a thing of the past.

Magnus couldn’t have been prouder.

Seeing Alec so carefree, so unlike the frightened and closed off man Magnus had first met, made Magnus feel as though, for once in his life, everything might be okay.

The thought of the runes hidden away in the Spiral Labyrinth tugged at Magnus’s mind, and he let out a heavy sigh. He and Alec had been talking about it. Just talking, not deciding anything yet. But Magnus could tell that Alec was eager to begin the process. Magnus was the one with reservations.

When Catarina had approached him and told him of the information she’d gleaned from the Silent Brothers in exchange for a favour, he had been dumbfounded. After all, he’d been alive for many, many years and he’d never heard of runes that could make a Shadowhunter immortal. He supposed there was good reason for that; they were locked up in the Spiral Labyrinth on just grounds, Magnus was sure, and Magnus knew that if anyone but his Alexander were to be interested in the runes, there was no way he would admit they even existed.

But Alec was different.

Alec was fierce in his love for Magnus, more fierce than perhaps any of his previous lovers ever had been. Alec was loyal and unyielding and when he wanted something, there was absolutely nothing on the earth or beyond that could stop him from getting it. Magnus knew that.

So when Alec mentioned that Catarina had contacted him, as well, Magnus knew without him even having to say anything about it what Alec wanted.

Alec wanted to be immortal.

Alec wanted to be Magnus’s husband for the rest of time.

It was a thought so mind-blowing, so overwhelming that Magnus had trouble processing it. Alexander, who had been through so much. Alexander, who had fought for himself and his right to be happy with everything that he had and won. Alexander, who had rewrote the book and made history with his warlock boyfriend before his 25th birthday.

His Alexander, his stunning, remarkable Alexander, wanted Magnus for the rest of eternity and beyond.

Magnus didn’t quite know how to process that.

Alec broke away from Izzy, giving her a quick hug that surely meant his sister was leaving Pandemonium for the night, and made his way back to Magnus.

Magnus smiled brightly at him and reached to pull Alec into his arms the minute he was close enough. “Missed you,” he mumbled into Alec’s neck. Alec chuckled, the sound reverberating down his Adam’s apple and making Magnus’s heart warm with affection.

“I was gone for like five minutes, Mags.”

“Still missed you,” Magnus whined.

Alec huffed a laugh into the warlock’s spiky hair and replied, “Missed you, too.”

The faint sound of a record scratching could be heard over the din, and the next song that boomed through the loudspeakers was decidedly unlike Pandemonium. Alec pushed Magnus back just enough to peer suspiciously at him.

“Did you…” he trailed off, gesticulating dramatically in an attempt to imitate Magnus doing magic. Magnus simply smiled and shook his head, amused at his husband’s antics.

The first few lyrics began to fill the air, and as they did so, Magnus was surprised when they began to fill his heart, as well.

My god, it’s been awhile

Since the last time I saw you smile.

Magnus felt a pang in his chest as he was again vividly reminded of the Alec he had met a year ago, the Alec whose smiles, the rarity that they were, were almost exclusively for Magnus. Now, bathed in the flashing reds and yellows of his club, Magnus couldn’t help but think how light Alec looked. Like his burden had been lifted and the shadows were gone from his eyes. Like he was finally happy.

Suddenly the room goes quiet, I’m lost in your eyes

It feels like we’re all alone, as the lights go on.

Magnus could feel Alec’s gaze on him, even if the darkness made it hard to see Alec’s face. His piercing blue eyes were something Magnus could find in the middle of a forest, though, and he wasn’t left to wonder for long if the song’s lyrics would ring true for them.

Alec didn’t speak, staring into Magnus’s own chocolate brown orbs as the world continued on around them. Magnus felt like they were inside of a golden bubble; something special, something perfect and private that only they were privy to.

It was a wonderful feeling.

It’s getting late, wish we could stay like this forever

Dancing until both of our feet ache

My love, nothing can break these arms.

Magnus tugged Alec closer, and Alec sighed in contentment and tucked his neck against Magnus’s shoulder, allowing himself to be held close. Magnus felt another wave of emotion threaten to overtake him. This man, this wonderful man, trusted Magnus to take care of him. He was vulnerable with Magnus in a way that he wasn’t with anyone else.

Magnus felt his eyes fill with tears and he blinked them away before anyone could witness him having such an embarrassing reaction to a song.

In your embrace, this crowded room doesn’t matter

But dancing like it’s our own stage

My love, I just want to say that you look incredible tonight.

“You look incredible tonight,” Magnus whispered next to Alec’s ear. He felt the shiver that ran down his husband’s spine, heard the shaky inhale he tried to hide. He knew Alec’s tells better than he himself knew them.

“So do you,” Alec whispered back.

Magnus pulled him even closer.

The sounds of the club surrounding them seemed to dim and fade, leaving Magnus and Alec alone in their own little world. Alec hummed peacefully along to the song and pressed his face to Magnus’s neck in a gesture that made Magnus smile fondly and fight against the urge to cry once again.

“Alec?” Magnus said into their silence.

“Hmm?”

“You can become immortal,” Magnus said. “I...I have no problem with it.”

Alec pulled his head away from Magnus’s shoulder to look him in the eyes with that piercing, soul-searching stare of his. “Magnus, are you sure?”

Magnus nodded. “I’m sure. More sure than I’ve ever been about anything in my very long immortal life.”

Alec released a long breath and couldn’t stop the large grin that overtook his features. His eyes practically danced, and Magnus was left to wonder why the hell he hadn’t said yes sooner. Alec’s demeanour practically radiated how overjoyed he was to do this, to be with Magnus for the rest of forever.

“We’ll go to the Spiral Labyrinth tomorrow with Catarina,” Magnus decided. “No sense wasting any more time.”

Alec nodded in agreement and pressed his lips firmly against Magnus’s to seal the deal.

As the final notes of the song began to fade, Magnus couldn’t help the way he tugged Alec even closer to him, as though he was trying to meld their bodies together into one.

Staring into your navy eyes as we hold each other

Dancing through the night…

...It’s getting late, wish we could stay like this forever…

My love, nothing can break these arms.

As the song faded to silence, Magnus shuddered against Alec and finally let the tears he had been holding back all night fall.

Later that night, when they were holding each other in bed and exchanging sleepy mumbles of love and nonsense, Magnus leaned forward to press a goodnight kiss to Alec’s lips, and found salty evidence that he was not the only one who had felt the way the stars had aligned and sang for them that night.

0 notes

lhugbereth · 7 years

Note

KP- thanks tumblr, always a pal >:((( the message was basically Noctis watching Ignis perform in a professional event for the first time and being absolutely floored by how graceful and strong Ignis is, making everything look completely effortless. He knows Noctis is watching and shows off just a tiny bit and earns himself almost perfect scores in all his events ;)c

Hi KP! Sorry this took longer than expected.... I didn’t intend to write so much, but then fluff happened and I couldn’t stop x3 Actually, since Ignis doesn’t compete I changed it a youth sports charity event, and instead of perfect scores, he wins a prince’s heart instead.

Just in time for a little holiday magic in August, I present you with “Noct and Iggy are total dorks and bond over sports cars and bad puns”

(Part 16 of “Promptio on Ice” - here’s the masterpost!)

Dorky IgNoct under the cut! v v v

- It starts with a text from Prompto, of all people. Noct is definitely glad they’ve started hanging out (Prom is into all the same video games and comics, is easy to talk to and a lot of fun), but he’s even worse than Gladio when it comes to teasing him about his crush on Ignis. Prompto’s known Iggy for a long time, works with him almost everyday, and recently started sending Noct stealthy photos snapped during training - Iggy stretching, Iggy standing, Iggy sitting on the bleachers. One particular pic was nothing but a close up of Iggy’s ass as he bent over the mat (followed by emojis of a peach and an eggplant which Noct isn’t sure he wants to understand). This routine seems to be Prompto’s way of helping out his new friend, and Noct both loves and hates him for it.

- But this time is different. There’s no photo attached to the message he’s sent, but it still gets Noct’s heart racing all the same. He reads it again, and again, just to be sure he isn’t dreaming.

>> Gladdy’s taking me to Lestallum for the festival this weekend!

- He’s been hearing about the event all week. It’s an local youth sports competition to raise money during the holidays, and apparently Ignis has been asked to be the opening performer. According to Prompto and Gladio, he’s been working hard to debut a new technique for the event. Now Noct is being offered a ticket up close and personal. He would have to be crazy to refuse.

- It turns out, though, that the seat is more ‘up close and personal’ than he expected. When he arrives at the arena on the day of the event, Ignis is already there and occupying the chair next to where Noctis is supposed to be sitting. Upon seeing him, Noct nearly loses his nerve completely. He looks good in a pair of long white pants over a tight-fitting blue-and-black leotard. Too good, in fact. There is no way he can do this! But before he can turn and run, Ignis spots him, smiles, and pats the open chair. He’s pretty much doomed.

- “Ah, Noct. I was wondering who Prompto would send in his place. Thank you for coming.”

- “Uh, yeah. N-no problem.” Noct swallows as he takes the seat, meets Iggy’s gaze fleetingly before staring down at his boots. “I heard you’re, like, a guest of honor or something?” He tries to smile, but his nerves get the better of it and it probably ends up as more of a cringe.

- Luckily, Ignis doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Well, something like that. I’m a bit out of practice, though, so don’t get your hopes up.” He follows this with a wink that makes Noctis very glad he’s already sitting down. Fortunately, he doesn’t get a chance to respond (he would have just said something totally lame, anyway, like I’m sure you’ll find a way to impress me) because suddenly they’re being approached by an energetic young woman with curly blond hair and a headset.

- "Sorry t’innerupt, fellas. Mr. Scientia, we're ready for ya to get set up now."

- "Thank you, Cindy. Noct," he smiles as he gets to his feet. "I trust you'll be watching?"

- Of course, I can't take my eyes off you. Noctis clears his throat, forces a polite nod. "You bet, Specs."

- When Ignis turns to follow Cindy back to the locker rooms, he has a certain lightness in his step that wasn't there before. Without even realizing it, he's smiling. Cindy, who is in charge of the local youth sports center and therefore that day’s events, has known Iggy long enough to notice both. "So who’s yer new beau?" she asks with a sly wink. Ignis refuses to meet her gaze.

- “A friend of Prompto, or rather, of Prompto’s boyfriend. I’ll admit I don’t know him very well yet.”

- “Well, maybe after t’day that’ll change.” They enter the locker room, and the din of the arena fades behind them. “Are ya still planning to show us somethin’ we ain’t never seen before?”

- Ignis doesn’t answer right away. He’s been working on his new move for a couple of weeks - an acrobatic-style twist off the bars at the end of his routine - but he isn’t sure he’s quite ready for it. With all the extra time he’s spent at the ice rink with Prompto, there hasn’t been much chance for him to practice alone. If he attempts it now, there’s a chance he might mess up - or worse, injure himself. But next to him Cindy is waiting for an answer, so he smiles, pats her hand, and offers a noncommittal We’ll see.

- Out in the arena, the music starts. Cindy rushes off to MC the event, and after a brief (but far-too flattering) introduction, Ignis steps out to a roar of applause. He wonders fleetingly if Noct is clapping, too, and the thought puts a rare, genuine smile on his face. Perhaps Cindy is right - this may be his chance to impress him, to get closer to him and finally unravel his mysteries.

- Perhaps over coffee. Or wine. Yes, definitely wine. And a nice dinner. Would Noct appreciate a good Tenebraen roast?

- Ignis nearly laughs aloud when he catches himself. Of all the things tobe thinking about at a time like this.... Shaking his head, he turns to the mat - there are three bars set up, each at different heights and spaced far enough apart for him to easily maneuver between them. At Cindy’s cue, he clears his mind, powders his gloves, and takes a deep breath at the edge of the mat. Then, to the sound of the audience’s cheers, he starts forward. A brisk run, keeping his knees bent and his back straight, pivots into his jump and grabs onto the first bar with both hands. It’s smooth, appears effortless and that, Ignis knows, is the most important illusion. More cheers fill the air as he begins to swing himself, using his long legs to build momentum until he’s able to jump to the next bar.

- Somewhere in the crowd, he hopes Noct’s heart is racing.

- Iggy continues his performance, flipping and spinning in the air as he jumps from one bar to the next and back again, so many times that the audience falls silent in awe. Everything is perfect, every twist of his lithe body, every precise move that has him latching onto his next target without fail. And then, just as he he’s feeling his limbs begin to tire, he nears the end of the routine. One last jump has him landing with both hands on the tallest of the three bars. His movements slow, then he gradually builds them up again, swinging faster and faster until he’s nearly spinning in a full arc. The next part is tricky - he needs to turn himself around at the very top, releasing the bar in mid-swing with one hand while pushing off with the other to send him twirling upwards through the air. In practice he’s only managed to succeed a handful of times, but….

- He has to try. Hundreds of eyes are watching. Noct is watching. Without much time to debate the risks, Ignis throws himself into the final move. From somewhere in the arena he can hear Cindy’s excited voice announcing the debut of a special technique, the moment they’ve all been waiting for. Ignis grits his teeth - he’s almost at the right momentum, just a few more swings - there. At the top of the bar he lets go and his arm flies out wide. At the same time, he tries to turn his other hand - but something is wrong. His fingers are slipping away until there’s nothing left to grip. The bar is gone from his reach and instead of pushing off, Ignis is suddenly falling, falling.

- He hits the mat with a thud and the crowd gasps in unison. Even Cindy’s voice trembles into the microphone, and then she’s running.

- Noct is faster. He reaches Ignis just at the gymnast is sitting up, wincing and hugging his left arm to his chest. Blue eyes go wide. “H-hey, don’t move. Just stay still.” Iggy looks at him, face red with embarrassment and pain, but he nods. Noct kneels down at his side, puts an arm around his shoulders for support as Cindy and some of the other staff finally arrive.

- “You okay, Mr. S?!”

- “Help me get him to the locker room.” Noct gestures for her to grab his other arm, and together they walk him off the mats. Someone else takes over as MC to keep the crowd from panicking at the show going, but the din of it is lost as soon as they’re out of the arena.

- “I’m fine, really. Both of you, please.” But Noct’s hold on him is firm, not letting go even after they’ve sat him down on a bench and Cindy’s rushed off to get him some water and painkillers.

- “Can I see it?” Ignis swallows. His wrist is throbbing with pain - he must have landed right on it when he fell - but he cautiously extends it out for Noct to take a look. Gentle fingers stroke over his swollen wrist, press just enough to make him wince but quickly pull back. “It doesn’t look broken. Probably sprained, but we’d better get you to a doctor. Do you mind…?” Noct pulls out his phone and, at a wary nod from Ignis, sends a quick text. Then Cindy comes back with water and aspirin, and Noct announces that he’ll be driving Iggy to a clinic.

- Driving? Clinic? There’s a half-formed protest on his lips but then Cindy is shoving a plastic cup between them and he’s powerless to argue. He waits for Noct to bring his car around back, then is carefully helped outside to it.

- If he thought Noct was an enigma before, now he’s thoroughly mired. The ‘car’ turns out to be a sleek, brand new, limited edition Audi R8 (Ignis has only ever dreamed of owning such a beautiful machine) and yet Noct somehow still manages to drive it like it doesn’t cost half a million dollars. He’s glad they’re going to a hospital because he’s convinced they’re going to need one with the way Noct takes each turn - but somehow (mostly due to quick thinking by other drivers) they manage to arrive in one piece. The pills Cindy gave him have kicked in by now, and Ignis is able to walk up to reception with only a little assistance.

- The young clerk automatically gives him a large stack of forms to fill out and tells him to take a number. One look around the waiting room tells him they’ll likely be there a while, but just as he turns to tell Noct that he should go, he sees the dark-haired young man already stalking up to the counter. “Dr. Yaegre is already expecting us,” he says. “Let her know we’re here.”

- Ignis looks as surprised as the clerk looks unimpressed. “Kid, we’re a hospital, not a nightclub. I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just - “

- “I’m Noctis Lucis Caelum and technically, I own this place. Call Dr. Yaegre and tell her we’re here.”

- There’s this little sound that Ignis makes in his throat. He isn’t sure what to call it - not a gasp, not a sigh, something more awed. He stares at Noct in sudden silence as the clerk hurries to get the phone. Lucis Caelum…. That makes Noct the son of Regis Caelum, the most powerful man in Insomnia and the owner of the Insomnia Kings hockey team. Which helps to explain the car and the company he keeps. It also, Iggy supposes, explains the way he’s so good at taking command, carrying himself very much indeed like the heir to a powerful family. But perhaps more than that, more than the pain his wrist and the whirlwind of the entire situation, Ignis finds himself left speechless by Noct’s sheer dominance. It is frankly the most arousing thing he’s ever seen, and it leaves him weaker at the knees than he was when they first walked in.

- The doctor is a lovely woman. Tells Ignis to call her Sania, hugs Noct as if he were her own son, and gestures them both to follow her down the hall. Several x-rays and tests later, she’s confirmed that Ignis’ wrist isn’t broken, but it is sprained, and quite badly. She’s going to have to splint it, and he’ll have to take a break from sports for at least a month, maybe more. The news isn’t as devastating to Ignis as he might have expected, perhaps because through it all he’s got Noct’s hand in his, giving him little reassuring squeezes as the doctor speaks. Although he knows this isn’t what Cindy intended, it seems she was right about this being his big chance after all.

- Sania leaves them to call a nurse for his splint. In her wake, Noct lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Ignis. What are you going to do for a whole month?”

- “I’ll manage. It will give me more time to focus on Prompto’s competition, at least.”

- They both smile. “Anyone ever tell you that you work too hard?”

- “I’ve been accused once or twice in my life, Mr. Caelum.” The use of his name has Noct wincing, which is...unexpected. Ignis frowns and reaches once more for his hand out of reflex. “...Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you feel you needed to hide who you really are?”

- “It’s just…. I don’t know.” With Iggy’s hand covering his on the arm of the chair, it’s a lot harder to think clearly. He keeps his eyes fixed on their fingers, not trusting himself to meet that beautiful emerald gaze. “Usually when people hear my dad’s name, they think they’re supposed to treat me like some kind of prince. It’s so frustrating sometimes.”

- “But you are a prince, Noct.”

- He suddenly looks up at him, blue eyes going wide, and Ignis can almost hear his heart breaking. He quickly shakes his head. “It’s not because of who your father is. It’s because of you. You’re brave. Caring. Commanding. Quite handsome.” Iggy adds a smile along with the last one, enjoying the flush of red spreading across soft cheeks. “I’m in your debt today. Perhaps you’d allow me to repay your kindness with dinner one evening?”

- “D-dinner? You mean…? Like, just the two of us?”

- “If you’d like, yes.”

- “Um. S-sure. Sounds nice.” Oh Six, am I dreaming? Is this real??

- “Lovely.”

- Noct can do little else but smile in return. Eventually the nurse enters their room and carefully splints Ignis’ wrist, finally running through a list of dos and don’ts before releasing him for the evening. Noct offers to give him a ride home - which he almost feels bad declining (his apartment is actually only a few blocks away) but he also values his life and so ultimately turns him down. They walk out together anyway. Dusk has fallen, and the air is thick with the threat of snow.

- “You sure you don’t need a ride? It’s getting cold.”

- “Thank you, but it would be far too much trouble. I...wouldn’t mind a bit of company on the way, though.”

- “You got it.” Noct shoves his hands into his coat pockets. Ignis walks a little closer to him as they head across the street. “Um. By the way. I’m really glad I got to watch you perform today.”

- A dry chuckle. “I’ll admit, it wasn’t exactly my greatest hour.” He holds up his wrist, the dark splint covering his palm and half of his forearm like a glove. “Still, it was heartening to know you were there.”

- “R-really?”

- “Of course. Especially since I was Noct expecting to see you.”

- “...Did you just…?”

- “Hm?”

- “Nothing.” Noct clears his throat, thankful that the approaching darkness hides his reddening cheeks. It doesn’t, however, hide the obnoxious grin plastered on his face. “Hey, Iggy?”

- “Yes, Noctis?”

- “I think...you were really Spec-tacular today.”

- “...Stop.”

Bonus:

- The moment Noct gets home, he flops onto his bed and quite literally squeals into his pillow. If Gladio or Prompto could see him now they would never let him live it down, but they can’t and so he doesn’t bother hiding his excitement. A date! A real date! With Ignis “Oozes-sex” Scientia himself! He’s got to pinch himself to make sure he isn’t somehow dreaming this all up. And then he texts Gladio to gloat.

>> Heh, ‘bout damn time. When’s your big night?

>> Um, we actually didn’t get that far….

>> You at least got his number, right?

>> …..SHIT

>> Smooth.

>> Prom’s with you right?? Can’t he give it to me?

>> No can do, Witless Wonder

>> You gotta help a bro out!

>> Prom says he can bring him along to your dad’s party this week ;) The rest is up to you

- Noct groans, letting his phone fall onto the mattress and then onto the floor. Some friends they are. How is he supposed to wait five whole days before he can talk to Iggy again? And then what is he loses his nerve? He can’t just whisk Ignis off to the hospital every time he wants to flirt with him….

- Five days. That’s how long he’s got to come up with a plan. And find something to wear that will catch the gymnast’s eye. If he’s going to do this, he’s gotta do it right.

#ignoct #promptio on ice #hockey player/figure skater au #gymnast ignia #rich kid noctis #oh yeah they want each other bad #their dork levels are perfectly matched #someone make them kiss #thanks for the prompt love #myfic #Anonymous

72 notes · View notes

titleknown · 7 years

Photo

It was shockingly easy to get through to the building. Most of the staff had already fled due to the oncoming disaster, and the admittedly well-armed guards weren’t prepared for a woman made of metal and a woman made of data-given-solidity.

Of course, after several moments of them begging for their lives, the guards were all too eager to tell them what was going on.

Except before they could do so; much to the screaming unremitting horror of both women, the guards began to melt.

If either of the two entering the building had olfactory perceptors they would have smelled a stench of burning necrosis and urine so strong that if they had stomachs they would have vomited as the smoldering slime that once was human flesh rolled out of smartcloth uniforms.

Even as it was, both were rattled as they searched the building for the servers. The data-woman; the Cybernetic Queen; because she was baffled by what kind of monster could do this while the metal woman; Love Buster; because she knew exactly what kind of monster could do such a thing. Being in showbiz teaches you that, Buster thought.

As the duo searched the map; there was one specific room that could not be reached electronically through searching through the computer systerms. One moment the Cybernetic queen was zipping through the datastreams in the place, the next it was like she had hit a brick wall.

Buster occupied herself by reading the maps in the building, given she might as well do something, as she could feel the invisible countdown clock ticking down, as small tremors ran through the floors. She noticed that all of them had a conspicuously empty spot in the building, where a room should be and yet there was no room shown there.

Naturally, this was where Buster wanted to search first, despite Queen’s mention of a lack of a door there. Which Buster then answered by making a door. Via punching. Several times.

As they both walked through the hole in the re-enforced steel wall, the actual secret door slid open.

The room was decorated from floor to celling decadent gold and lurid; jeweled red, all framing a massive elder-wood desk at the center covered in carvings of grotesques and mass-sacrifices, and tiny white sitting-stool in front of it.

Upon every wall there were several painted portraits of a man with blonde hair and a red beard; high cheekbones and a predatory gaze, and one glove over his left hand and a sunken black pit where his right eye should be. And they all had eyes that seemed to follow one as they entered the room…

“Well, seems like somebody in here’s a drama king.” Buster said, breaking the silence. They stepped in. The echoes of the city and the thing outside coming back out of the place seemed to just melt away in the walls of flaming color. As she moved towards the desk, Queen couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched, even though she could not detect a single surveilance device in the wall. At least, not a digital one.

As Queen searched, Buster looked around. There wasn’t much to inspect aside from the desk and the pictures, and Queen was already on the former. She decided she might as well look inside the paintings. Most of them had curious symbols in a crusty dark-reddish-brown paint, a few did have safes behind them. Alas, there was no money behind them; but only unsettling items that Buster did not want to touch, and photographs. The grand majority of the photographs showed the man in the portrait standing in various austere concrete spaces with similar symbols to those on the wall, and a number of dead bodies within those symbols. The bodies seemed artistically positioned using knives and rope, like a flower arrangement of dead flesh but the positions were too disgusting to even hint at here.

Queen meanwhile was looking for whatever hidden documents she could find in the desk, but all that was there were just ashes. Just, large piles of ashes. Beneath one of those files, however, she found a brass apple, opened up to reveal a switch.

Whoever left must have been in a hurry enough to not cover their tracks. She flipped the switch just as Buster was deciding whether or not to destroy those photos, and at first, there was nothing.

Then, there was a rumbling, decidedly different from the one in the distance, like a door’s mechanism clicking open. Which, in fact, it was, a trapdoor beneath the desk; with a long; golden slide.

Buster looked over to Queen. Buster then and there decided it would be best to keep the photos right about now and then, with determination minus forethought; jumped in.

And, with another modicum of forethought; mostly consisting of swear words, Queen jumped in as well.

And, at the bottom of the stairwell was a theatre wrapped in darkness. Like the one Cybernetic Queen had seen when searching through Buster’s mind.

But, while that was sinking in, Love Buster had drunk in parts of the larger horror.

The pillars of the server farm were connected by cables glowing red forming a cats cradle of knots in yet another familiar symbol, at once evocative of the ones on the walls and a theatre seats, and the lone figure from the side looking upon the stage and what was going on there.

But, on top of the stage was a sight transfixing both by its sheer horror. It was a robot of shining aquamarine metal. She seemed like would have been Buster’s size if she still had her limbs. Her monocular eye and rabbit-pigtails hung low as the places where her arms and legs should have been hung taut like a crucifixion from red; pulsing cables, like the ones on the servers but larger, and thicker. And the two large speakers on her torso were pulsing with song. A thousand different songs, all of them of agony, a thousand different voices, combining into one. They could both feel it, but through her paranatural origins Queen felt it a bit more. The sound of something old; and deep; and dark.

The man, looking satisfied, began to walk away from the stage.

“Wait just a minute you motherfucker!” Buster said, as she ran towards him. The man looked at her, for a moment, in the same way a whale would eye a gnat, and walked through a door opened within the darkness. Queen chased after him, and just a split second after he walked through, she grabbed for the doorknob, only to find… It was never there to begin with, simply a wall.

She looked up on the stage. She thought for a moment the machine was looking at her with its sad eye, but the moment snapped away, and the din grew ever louder.

And then she heard the Queen; knowing fear in her voice for the first time; saying simply: “Something’s coming.”

And, from the shadows of the back of the stage, something with great goggle-eyes and long; ethereal claws began to draw itself forward…

THAT’S RIGHT, CLIFFHANGER MOTHERFUCKERS! Because A) I’d spent long enough on this story in such a mentally urpy state that I couldn’t quite stand it ending like this and B), I don’t think a rushed finale could convey the emotion of that one new character, who I’ll just call The Breakdown Diva, I introduced.

Well, she’s sort of a new character, she was going to be a CC-BY-NC character given a new CC-BY identity, but IDK about the copyright on that so that’s a problem. She still is that character, I just won’t explicitly identify her original identity by name.

I will say, however, that she has a lovely singing voice, like if one could fall in love with a sound...

As per usual, the actual story itself & adaptations thereof are CC-BY-SA, but the characters/setting/ideas/ect are CC-BY, free to use as long as I, Thomas F. Johnson, am credited as their creator!

And, if you want to support me further in these drabbles and other endeavors, you can join my Patreon for previews, polls on what I should do next, and even commissioned art/writing at the higher tiers!

Have fun!

...Also BTW the villain’s name is Mr. Magic, for what it’s worth.

#drabble #drabbles #titlewave #cyberpunk #gore warning?#idk it gets pretty dark

6 notes · View notes