#i hope i was able to convey my feelings without offending anyone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seokka0o · 1 year

Text

𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒚 | 𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒖

Jungsu ♡ Afab!reader

Contain: smut; unprotect sex; breasts/ nipple play; makeout; needy jungsu; multiple orgasms; cumshot ; fingering;

Request? Yes

3.2k

Author: Hope enjoy ♡

this is +18 content and purely fictional, not intended to offend anyone. read with descriptions. Minors do not interact.

When Jungsu arrived it was already early evening.

The twilight sky made the atmosphere of a Saturday night very comfortable. You were alone, your roommate had left on Friday to spend the weekend with her boyfriend in another city.

the feeling was muggy, rain running everywhere made you and jungsu change plans to go out for the night, finding things to do, watching movies and complaining about the life you've been leading since high school; it was always like that, certain things tended to never change if they always came up with a feeling of nostalgia and that ranged from the soda you drink that has always been the same, to the same cliché movie that made you see the colors of the world.

the definition of comfort, jungsu was someone important enough to you to call him lime that.

inside the room depended on the same climate,with the windows closed so as not to splash rain inside. the blankets piled up on top of the bed, like a kind of divider between the bodies.

deposited unconsciously, your eyes attentive to the film, and the smell of strong jelly candy; you were inert, your mind empty, the silhouette of jungsu in your peripheral vision in the dimmed light conveys the idea that he felt the same way, however much how restless you were sure it was because of the bed that always seemed too small to offer comfort to his big body;

you still didn't say anything, jungsu was always very communicative with his own ideals, you knew that at the right moment he would speak which made him so restless, also because there wasn't much to do since every time you looked up at him , he deviated somewhat uncomfortable with the closeness you were; how you always seemed to be, close, but that for some reason now seemed to sound so different to him.

Time passed in the blink of an eye. maybe you had dozed off without realizing it in the middle of the process because you woke up suddenly with the television turning off, the movie was over, you didn't even notice.

Jungsu was adjusting to the bed when he noticed that you looked a little disoriented, laughing conveniently.

"You were sleeping soundly, I didn't want to disturb you" said Jungsu getting rid of those packages, throwing them onto the desk that you have beside your bed.

You shook your head, removing that blanket that was between the bodies, giving a significant space for jungsu to snuggle

"I think I got too absorbed, sleep was stronger than me" the air-filled laughter sounded from both lips after returning to that silence "are you ok jungsu?"

You asked abruptly, making Jungsu shiver, looking at you through the half light your lamp provides.

"Yes…why the question out of nowhere?" He acted like a criminal, avoiding airing his filth, feeling even a little overwhelmed by how well you seemed to know him.

"You're a little weird, I thought something had happened" you shrugged, stretching lazily on the bed, looking a little unconcerned despite the weight your friend was carrying the conversation "we're friends, already a long time, you know you can trust me"

He trembled a little bewildered before lying down beside you, with a sigh that he had been keeping for some time, at that moment he ended up falling into reality, there were no dangers, there were no secrets and much less dissimulation, jungsu was never able to lie to you and that wouldn't change at all.

"I don't know, it's been a long time since my last relationship, I'm thinking too much about the need I'm feeling lately" Jungsu felt the twinge of shame hit him like a whip, almost without any strength in his speech, a little embarrassed

"Need? So you want to fuck me?" Your neutrality was genuine, despite always making a point of pointing out how much your friend seemed to have grown in recent years, becoming bulky, big enough to barely pass through your room, even though it was something that seemed to live in your mind 24/7 , you struggled to keep yourself in your place, but was inevitable feel this way.

"What?" Jungsu raised his head from the pillow to look at you again, carefully analyzing your face in search of any tone of sarcasm in order to make fun of him

"I said. We've been friends for a long time" you started, suggestive, but without going on "I can give you a good fuck, I know you well, we're close enough"

Silence ensued. Not a single noise passed through the room for what seemed like an eternity, the dark room topped, as if there was something about to happen, trapped in Jungsu's unconscious. He was looking at you when you finished talking. confused, you can see his cheeks starting to blush, telling you even if silently, what the problem really was. Jungsu wasn't the most subtle, he's so desperate for sex that he couldn't even avoid looking at you without feeling extremely attracted; tempted to move your very faithful friendship, demoralize all that little prank of sleeping together every Saturday night to just watch a movie in the same bed because they are so close. You just seemed to wait for the opportunity, just like Jungsu.

"Y/n I…" jungsu wanted to justify himself, more than anything, but there weren't any decent words to describe the despair that ran through jungsu's body, making his hands tingle, his body in fever desperate for the correct answer, but at the same time at the same time wanting not to say nothing , because if you seem so naturalized why should he be so desperate in search of something that clearly had no explanation.

It was like a beam of light. You didn't even say anything, you didn't want to, you took your fingers so subtly to Jungsu's face, shutting him up in moments, in an almost heroic act You kissed him, making the first sound through the room, a noisy seal, by urgency.

You could feel Jungsu's heavy breathing close to your face, his heart racing, surprised by your courage and feeling motivated.

Jungsu cursed and advanced. Taking your lips desperately to the kiss, opening your mouth to pull your lips against his and letting go of any kindness;

You felt the twinge in the pit of your stomach, kissing your friend like it was no big deal, treating him like someone you could occasionally exchange some contact with sounds very out of touch.

Despite the comforting way in which jungsu simply silences his own murmurs, kissing , contouring his lips to your, bringing you closer and closer to touch your body, using all the air in God's lungs to be able to give you five more minutes at that.

His lips were soft, well-adorned, experienced, jungsu hardly missed a beat, bringing you closer and closer to kiss him, mouth open, smacking and snarling, limpid, fluid. You thought for a moment, when was the last time you kissed someone so hard; turning your head and moving gently, feeling a longing you didn't know you had to finally have you kissing him.

He spilled without pain, pausing for a mere second to look at you with those sly eyes adorned; jungsu was truly changed. He got up, propping himself up on his elbows and hovered above you, but without being fully over your body, jungsu took your swollen lips again, sliding his tongue over the subtle lips, flaming your mouth after having the right permission.

You moaned low when you felt the touch of the tongues and trembled below jungsu, turning your tongue in his, rubbing, promiscuously, feeling the salivas mix, dirty and deep, jungsu despite the heavy breathing remained passive, sucking your tongue for his own pleasure and return with open-mouthed kisses, biting your lower lip and tugging as you reddens it as a sign.

Jungsu took a deep breath, lowered his mouth to your neck, scraping the fleshy area of your skin, tickling, remembering how good that was. You smiled and lifted your jaw when you felt the tip of his tongue pass along the base of your neck, a shiver ran down your spine and you sighed heavily, so hard that you thought that could be your last breath of all life.

Jungsu moved on top of you, now placing himself between your legs. It would be a lie if you said you were surprised to feel the already hard member covered by casual clothes pressed against you.

The heat rose fast, you never really thought of it that way, but the feeling of Jungsu's huge cock touching you made you shiver, remembering what you were dealing with. the soft moan, you had to bite your bottom lip to not let out too much.

Jungsu bit your neck in the process, accompanying with the moan just as sly. He kept the strength in his arm, attacking in every direction of your region, scraping with the rush, licking and keeping openmouthed kisses all over your neck, forcing his own hip against yours, feeling his leg give way with pain because of the dick so neglected, desperate after so long without a single masturbation.

You sighed with the touch, raised your hands to be able to touch the jungsu's blond strands, leaving a delicate caress to your friend's leather, encouraging him to continue what he were doing, even missing the contact of his lips, making your own lip tingle with longing for his.

Jungsu leans on one arm and rests his index finger on the collar of your pajamas, pulling down, loosening the buttons one up to the chest area. He didn't take time for anything, his hand invaded the slit without thinking and grabbed your breast, squeezing between large and icy fingers, you moaned with the touch of the thumb rubbing against your nipple.

Jungsu started to go down now without urgency, tracing the path with saliva, kisses still with his mouth open, now taking his other hand inside he found the other breast, which he held between his fingers and ran the tip of his tongue through the rigid region of the nipple, sucking, making it wet.

You felt the twinge reach your center, your eyes closed, concentrating on the feeling of Jungsu playing with your body. He dedicates himself to sucking, biting almost the entire breast right after, moaning with the sensation, the delicacy that was to be your breasts enveloped by his mouth.

The other hand did the job of leaving the other breast well stimulated, squeezing it between agile fingers. Jungsu deliberated a certain effort in that region, too excited to say a word, grunting and moaning to the sound of your noises, with your body soft, hot. You had already lost your mind, your intimacy dripping sensitive, you despaired every time you had the feeling of jungsu's hardened cock touching your hips with subtlety.

"Jungsu baby, please" you pleaded with heavy breathing, holding the bigger one by the shoulder, insinuating that he should get rid of that accumulated boner as soon as possible.

He murmured in response and just continued what he was doing, sucking on your delicate breast, not intending to heed your orders for the time being.

You mumbled, squirmed, desperate, so little patient for jungsu's banter, he acted like he had all the time in the world and really, it wasn't like he was going anywhere, the night was just beginning to consume and you were already on the verge of an outbreak.

Merciful jungsu let go of your breast, feeling the lack immediately, entering his hand into your pajama pants, with his entire hand consuming all the space of your pussy without much effort, he explored the region well, forcing some fingers into your entrance; you shuddered , as if an icy current of air passed through your body, your pajamas all out of reach, half open. You lifted your hips at his stimulation, moaning softly with your eyes still closed.

"Look at me , please" jungsu pleaded, amazed at the sight of you, imagining that nowhere in the world would he ever find the perfect place to be, which at that moment was between your legs.

The index finger rose like a feather, stroking your vulva superficially. you froze, grabbing the blankets, jungsu smiled when you finally had your eyes open in his direction, with that he slid the digit around your clit and began to circle, moving everything inside you.

Your legs trembled involuntarily, almost closing up. Jungsu smiled again and began to maintain the frequency, pressed his thumb against the button and moved his face down towards your lips again, devouring them. You gasped desperately and laid your hands on his face, resting them there, Jungsu sucked your lip and invaded with his tongue, now as an infiltrator, he didn't ask for permission and attacked you, his fingers speeding up with each take and you moaned more and more desperately against his mouth.

Jungsu wanted to feel you as soon as possible, to make you burn in flames, to put an end to his own appetite. The first finger was the middle one, Jungsu forced the tip, when he felt swallowed he entered you completely, moving, looking for the spongy flesh, but without success to find it, soon after was the index finger, forming already perfect scissors that opened and closed inside you.

You gasp against his mouth, biting his lip to relieve the tension, your hands freely began to unbutton his pajamas that you always wore matching, exposing Jungsu's torso, which you could explore with your fingers, feeling each crease, each rise, the prominent chest, Jungsu shuddered with the touch of your hands, but stood firm, fucking you with his fingers at that time without any mercy.

"Hmm...j-jungsu...I'm going" you were being smothered by mouth, now without any chance to finish the sentence your body burned, shaking from the hip down you desperately reached for jungsu's hand which controlled the pace, you teased him before you could say you wanted him inside first of all. It didn't seem fair, and it definitely wasn't, he played with your body as he saw fit, leaving you without many options, but with a thirst that seemed never ending "fuck".

You said after parting your lips, panting, watching Jungsu withdraw his hand from inside your pajamas, licking the sticky liquid like it was the tastiest of banquets. You assumed, if you had the strength you would have groaned at the sight of him with his bare torso tasting you this good, but you settled for laughing and laying your head on the pillow.

It was only a matter of time, you felt his treacherous hands pull down your clothes, undressing you in seconds. You finish unbuttoning your top and completely rid yourself of any clothing on your body.

"God, you're so hot" he said and you laughed, propping yourself up on your elbows and saying nothing, it seemed too inviting, at that point nothing else was in your way, with that jungsu removed his own clothes, giving you the glimpse of what would be a perfect man. Jungsu is big, and besides being tall he was well filled out and this made him more attractive, with or without clothes, he was beautiful.

Jungsu held the neglected cock, groaning almost desperately, he jerked before rubbing the cock against your wetness, losing his senses for a while.

You moaned again, the sensitive intimacy beginning to contract, begging to have him inside at any cost. Jungsu blinked, demonstrating the tic that came when he pushed the tip against your entrance. The moans echoing painfully from both lips, you fell back onto the soft bed, feeling graced by the opportunity, you could feel jungsu snapping you in half trying to fit, fit inside you without any warning, you bit your own lip and whimpered, the big cock making relief in your lower abdomen and soon began to move.

The hands of jungsu again rested on your breasts, kneading them between his fingers as comfort you sought, determining he begins to fuck you, walking unmercifully, slamming into a suitable rhythm on your hips, the sound echoing through the muffled room.

"Yes baby like that" you twisting your spine detaching yourself from the mattress, squirming, already completely sensitive, you moaned like there was no tomorrow.

"You like that huh?" Despite the loaded speech jungsu was smooth, like silk he was fucking you; driving moans adorned your plump lips as he watched his cock mark your belly every time he slid inside, your legs wide open for him and big hands squeezing your breasts like anti-stress toys "I could break you in two"

It sounded like a plea for a moment, you looked so small compared to him that it was inevitable not to voice this idea out loud

"Hmmm...destroy me then, I'm ready" you said, jungs moaned at the speech, he finally looks at you, watching you destroyed, losing control without even realizing it, jungsu sped up, slamming the tip against the spongy flesh that started to swell with each nudge, you countered and screamed for your friend, maddened.

Jungsu was struggling as he began to feel the first waves. You were incommunicado, losing your breath, your strength; he led, coming out inside you , ripping a painful moan from your lips and without saying anything he turned you over on the bed, putting you on all fours for him.

Jungsu held your hips and lifted you up, and it took you a while to adjust, bringing the pillow to support yourself, then he entered again, using pink the strength he had, you in a promiscuous sequence, singing each other's names, Jungsu felt dizzy as well as you, Flooded in the vastness, you exchanged a few good swears and compliments as jungsu started pounding, his hand came down against your ass and held it, your head spun a thousand more times and you couldn't contain it, teasing, shaking, screaming, begging him to give you more than you could really handle.

Jungsu came soon after, pounding at an overwhelming speed and then out of nowhere removed his cock from inside you, jerking the limit, his chest burning breathless, red and sweaty, cumming all over your ass, marking your flesh with his hot liquid, squealing, moaning and losing yourself in delirium.

Falling on the bed it took you about ten minutes before you recognized each other, falling into laughter for a mere second, feeling ignorant for taking yourselves to the desire of the flesh, of exacerbated desperation.

"Are you okay?" Jungsu was the first to speak, a little bewildered

"It was the best fuck of my life, obviously I'm fine" you complete by climbing up the blanket to cover your own body "if you were after sex you should have said so before"

"How was I to imagine that you were after that kind of partner too, y/n, I was caught off guard" you both laughed without any concern, you felt you had to accept your fate, clearly taking each other to the bathroom, where you could clean yourself and as fate would have it, have sex again.

#xdinary heroes hard hours #xdinary heroes smut #jungsu smut #jungsu hard hours #kpop hard hours #kpop smut

263 notes · View notes

mimisempai · 8 months

Text

Let your heart speak

Summary

Aziraphale fears that his inability to say some words naturally will make Crowley doubt his love for him, so he seeks advice from his favourite record seller.

Notes

Our Angel struggles to say "I love you"...

On Ao3

Rating G - 1203 words

Maggie watched in amusement as Aziraphale wandered around the shelves of the record shop. It was clear from his demeanour that something was troubling him.

He wasn't as talkative as usual, not to mention the fact that he was looking in a section that was not at all his usual taste in music. And then there were the furtive glances he gave her from time to time.

She asked him gently, "Aziraphale? Can I help you find what you're looking for?"

He didn't answer, obviously lost in thought.

Maggie approached him and, placing her hand gently on his arm, asked again, "Aziraphale? Are you looking for anything in particular?"

He finally seemed to come out of his thoughts and asked bluntly, "How do you tell someone you love them?"

Maggie laughed softly, so out of place and surprising was the question, and Aziraphale, a little offended, was about to turn and leave, but she stopped him and said softly, "Wait, Aziraphale, stay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make fun of you. But I wasn't expecting that kind of question. May I invite you into the back room for a cup of tea? We'd be more comfortable talking about this sort of thing, wouldn't we?"

Aziraphale, now embarrassed, nodded and followed her into the small room at the back of the shop.

Maggie motioned for him to sit down and, as he took his place at the small table, she prepared the tea and asked, "I assume you meant Crowley?"

Aziraphale sheepishly replied, "Who else?"

Maggie continued, "You seem to have been together for so long, longer than anyone can imagine, if I've understood some of the implications correctly, and you're not sure about your feelings?

Aziraphale shook his head vigorously and replied, "Oh, I'm absolutely sure of my feelings. It's more about communicating them, I want him to know and I don't know how to tell him. Sometimes I'd like it to come naturally, but there always have to be special circumstances and I'm afraid I won't be able to convey my feelings properly. This morning I tried to say the words as I was leaving, but they got stuck in my throat. He has a lot less trouble saying them than I do now that we're together, and I always feel that if I don't tell him enough, he might one day think I don't love him as much as he loves me."

Maggie nodded thoughtfully and said quietly, "I see. I don't know if it helps, but you know, it's obvious to everyone here that you love each other."

"Yes, but..."

"But you'd like to be able to tell him in a natural way."

Aziraphale nodded.

Maggie put a cup in front of him, then came and sat down opposite him and said gently, "You know, Aziraphale, there's something I'd like to say. All the time we've known each other, I've been hoping you'd have someone in your life. You're so sweet, I thought you deserved that kind of happiness, but..."

Aziraphale looked puzzled and asked, "But?"

Maggie replied quietly, "I still can't believe you found it with someone like Crowley."

Seeing that Aziraphale was about to take offence, Maggie stopped him with a gesture, "Don't get me wrong, I wasn't going to say anything mean."

Aziraphale nodded again, "All right, I'm listening."

"What I meant was that I didn't expect you to develop such a deep relationship with someone like Crowley, or Crowley with someone like you, if you prefer. You're so... different. At least that's the impression I get when I see you from the outside, and I guess I just wonder how you work together."

Aziraphale thought for a few seconds before answering.

Aziraphale looked at Crawley and asked, sounding desperate, "But what am I?"

The demon looked at him and said in an incredibly gentle voice, without the slightest hint of judgement, "You're just an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can."

Aziraphale replied sadly, "That sounds..."

"Lonely? Yeah."

The angel replied, "But you said it wasn't."

Crawley smiled faintly and replied, "I'm a demon. I lied."

Aziraphale replied, looking Maggie straight in the eye, "Well, Crowley saw through me and he saw that we weren't so different. We were both different from what other people expected of us, and neither of us felt that we belonged to the... side that was supposed to be ours. Crowley, on the other hand, had opened his eyes to... how shall I put it... his side long before I had. And he helped me gradually open my eyes to mine and free myself from it. He's become this force, this constant in my life. He's my pillar, Maggie".

Maggie said nothing and after a few moments of silence she said gently, "You have your answer. How do you tell him you love him? All you have to do is tell him what you have just told me. Open your heart to him again and again until it feels natural. If Crowley is who you say he is, don't you think he understands the strength of your feelings? That he's probably already understood them?"

Aziraphale seemed to ponder the woman's words for a moment, then said, clearly emotional, "Maggie, I.... I'm sorry... I have to..."

Maggie nodded gently, smiling, and said, "I understand, go ahead, tell him."

Aziraphale said quietly, "Thank you." Then he got up and walked briskly away.

A few moments later he entered the shop and saw Crowley reading on the sofa.

Aziraphale rushed to him and, kneeling before him, took his hands.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley asked, confused, "What's wrong?"

The angel, his throat tight with emotion, managed to speak anyway, "I need to say something because I don't think I've told you enough. Or well enough. I've written it to you. I know you know, but I have to tell you. Crowley, I love you. I love you more than anything. The things you do... the way you think... the way you're this constant presence and support in my life... the way you see me... and... Damn, I wish I could just say it, but here I go again making a big speech and the words get all mixed up and I... anyway..."

Aziraphale paused for a moment to catch his breath and finished under Crowley's stunned gaze, "I love you, Crowley. I love you."

Crowley leaned over and, taking the angel's face between his hands, whispered against his lips, "My messy and chaotic and so sweet angel. I know you love me and I know the words are still difficult to say naturally. Don't force it, it will come. Step by step. But I know. I know you love me, Ange

It was Aziraphale who closed the remaining distance between them, murmuring "I love you" before pressing his lips to the demon's in a kiss full of the emotion that overwhelmed him.

He repeated this again and again between kisses, and each time Crowley simply said, "I know."

A little later, as he rested against Crowley on the sofa, Aziraphale thought to himself that Maggie had been right.

How do you tell someone you love them?

By simply letting your heart speak.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers

53 notes · View notes

tathrin · 11 months

Note

Kiss #44 out of lust? If you want! Not sure how spicy you want to make it if you do, it’s up to you

Ooh okay, I'm excited to give it a try! (Let me know what you think of the results, please, folks?) Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox lmao).

"Thank you, Master Legolas," one of the Gondorian counselors said, rising with a thin smile that somehow failed to reach his phlegmy eyes. Legolas was not sure of his name; too many of them looked too much alike, with their pale and wrinkled faces and their dull, lank hair and their duller eyes, all wrapped in heavy robes despite the summer warmth.

Legolas paused, confused by the interruption; why was he being thanked? He had not finished…

"However," the counselor continued unctuously, "I must wonder…and with all due respect to your efforts on behalf of our great city and indeed all of Middle-earth, of course…" He pressed a hand to his chest and gave a shallow bow. Legolas responded in kind instinctively, but the man hardly seemed to care; he went on, still with that thin smile, without pausing for a response. "Well, I must wonder, what would a Wood-elf know of such things?"

"My fellow counselor makes a salient point," said another, rising to his feet beside the first. They exchanged thin and cheerless smiles. "We are indeed grateful for your assistance thus far, Master Legolas, but this is one case in which I fear that an elvish perspective will be of little aid. Let us turn our attention to the aqueduct designs proposed by Beringrond…"

Legolas opened his mouth to explain that he was not speaking of the ways things were done by the trees of his forest, but rather those employed within his father's underground hall, which had a great deal more in common with this stone city and which had furthermore been largely built according to dwarven engineering, not elvish—but the other men were already talking among themselves, their backs turned and their ears closed to him for all that he was still standing there.

He sat down abruptly, the stone bench suddenly very hard and cool beneath him.

Aragorn caught his eye from the far side of the room and grimaced expressively, a silent apology. Legolas understood that his friend was too new a king to wish to risk offending his counselors for so polite a snub. Arwen was more direct in her response, sending directly to his mind her apologies and irritation, along with a firm assurance that the men who thought they would be able to bully her husband and his friends lightly would learn otherwise soon enough.

Legolas was not nearly as skilled in gohanath as Galadriel's granddaughter, and he could not reply in kind without a calmer heart and more time to muster his concentration, so he merely nodded his appreciation and acceptance of her mental words. He even mustered a smile in response, so that she and Aragorn would both know that he nursed no grudge nor held any blame for them over the actions of these arrogant men.

Arwen's answering smile was thin, and the expression in her eyes when she turned to look at the counselors again glittered with grim warning. Legolas had a feeling that this discussion of the city's infrastructure was not going to end the way they expected.

That did not necessarily make him feel better about being snubbed, but it was comforting to know that one's friends were offended on one's behalf.

Gimli was considerably more than merely offended. Legolas could almost feel the bench beneath him vibrating with the outrage that thrummed in the dwarf's veins. He pressed a hand to Gimli's knee and squeezed, hoping both to convey how heartening it was to see such rage kindled on his behalf and to convince the dwarf to keep said rage bottled-up for now; better to let Aragorn and Arwen tear down the arrogance of their council politely rather than for he or Gimli—interlopers here, both of them, for all that they had come to help—shout about it.

Gimli tensed, then slumped in resignation. He nodded glumly, but his eyes still smoldered as he glared at the pompous men swanning around before them in their heavy robes and tawdry jewels. Legolas smiled, and patted his knee again before withdrawing his hand and resuming a polite, attentive posture.

He could do nothing about the flush of shame that darkened his ears, of course, but none of the men were paying him any attention anyway so he doubted they would make much note of it.

The discussion of the proposed aqueducts droned on and on, circling in a pointlessly repetitive fashion that would never have occurred in Eryn Lasgalen. Legolas wondered if all men were like this, or if it was a trait specific to those of Gondor; he fortunately had to deal with very little of this sort of thing in Ithilien, for Faramir oversaw all cooperation between his people and the elves who dwelt in those slowly re-awakening lands, and Faramir was a sensible and gallant soul. If such discussions happened in Ithilien, Faramir made sure that they were sorted out before any elves got involved.

Legolas made a mental note to ask Gimli later how such matters were handled in Rohan. He had a hard time picturing the Horse Lords squandering their hours on needless discourse like this, but he had been wrong about men before. They could be such strange creatures, with such very odd ways of looking at and approaching all aspects of the world. Legolas did not think that even if he lived among them for a thousand years he would ever truly understand their minds.

The ones who stood before him now were surely not the best representatives of their peoples, anyway. It was all Legolas could do to keep himself still while they prattled on and on and on, and a sweet summer breeze wafted through the tall windows that lined the conference room. He longed to be out there in the open air doing something, not sitting here in this stuffy room listening to even stuffier men swell themselves up on the empty words of their own self-importance.

When Gimli motioned for him to lower his head so that he might whisper in Legolas's ear, he leaned over eagerly to hear whatever distraction the dwarf might be about to offer—but instead of speaking, Gimli planted a kiss on the tip of Legolas's ear. He gasped, and quickly pressed his lips together to stifle the sound, and none too soon; for Gimli's teeth followed his lips, closing gently around Legolas's ear and biting down just hard enough for a swift, sharp ache to run through him like a trickle of lightning.

Legolas shuddered, and glanced sideways at Gimli with eyes gone wide with shock and horror, but he did not pull away from the grip of those blunt teeth upon his ear, either.

Gimli smiled and released him, but Legolas still did not move; just hung there half-bent, breathing hard, as Gimli spoke at last. "There is something I have wondered," he said, his voice so quiet that his breath barely stirred the hair around Legolas's ear, "for some time now, Legolas."

Legolas's eyes darted around the room. "Yes?" he breathed.

"I have noticed," Gimli said, "the extraordinary sensitivity of elvish ears." So saying he stuck out his tongue and slid it up inside the point of Legolas's ear, as though exploring every curve and crease of the skin within by touch alone.

Legolas pressed his lips together tightly and managed to suppress all but the faintest gasp of a moan. His eyes had gone closed, and he was not sure precisely when; only that he did not dare open them, for fear that what little control he had would evaporate at the sight of his dwarf.

His hands were on Gimli's knees now, his long arms trembling with the effort of keeping himself upright; his fingers dug in hard, clinging to that solid dwarvish flesh as though Gimli's legs alone held him up above the edge of an endless cliff.

Gimli grinned—Legolas could feel it in the way his beard moved as it brushed his flushed and tingling ear—and murmured, "Sensitive indeed! So sensitive, in fact, that I have long now been wondering…"

He paused, and Legolas swallowed against a throat gone suddenly as dry as the plains of Gorgoroth.

"Is it possible, do you think," Gimli said, "to move an elf to spill his pleasure by a touch upon his ears alone?"

Legolas moaned aloud, he could not help himself. He sank into Gimli's lap, going as loose and limp as molten gold—and then quickly thrusting himself back upright on their bench, his eyes snapping open again in horror as he remembered where they were, what they were doing.

As ignored as he had been before, the eyes of the whole council room were on them now. Legolas could feel the hot flush sinking down his ears and spreading sideways across his cheeks. "Oh," he said, swaying to his feet. "I—forgive me, the—I was only—the air is very close in here, I—I did not mean—"

"I think our Wood-elf needs some fresh air," Gimli said over his stammering. He climbed off the bench and dropped down beside Legolas, then took one of his hands and patted it soothingly between both of his. "If you will excuse us both, your highnesses, I will see to it that he is properly attended to."

Legolas trembled, and bit the inside of his lip to restrain the noises that wanted to slip free of his mouth in response to Gimli's promise of attending to him.

"Of course," said Aragorn. His eyes were bright with confusion and concern alike, and Legolas forced himself to smile reassuringly at his friend. Aragorn raised his eyebrows, a silent question.

Legolas replied with a gesture so vague that even he wasn't sure what he was trying to say, and he saw Aragorn's gaze drop to Gimli's face instead. Gimli nodded confidently and Aragorn gave a little shrug, as though resigning himself to trusting the elf and dwarf to look after one another instead of prying further.

Legolas was so relieved he almost melted off his feet again.

"Thank you," he murmured, ducking his head to avoid the stares of the councilors.

"Do feel better soon, Legolas," Arwen chirped, and Legolas felt his blush deepen.

"Er," he said. "Thank you, your highness."

He sketched the swiftest, shortest bow of his life and fled the room.

Gimli followed him, chuckling to himself, and Legolas shot him a surly glare the moment the door closed behind them.

"What in the name of your precious Mahal was that about?" he demanded.

Gimli raised his eyebrows, a hirsute picture of innocence. "Whatever do you mean?" he said. "I thought I made my intentions…" He grinned, and there was no trace of innocence left on his bearded face now. "Quite plain." He caught Legolas's hand again and pressed a kiss to the sharp knuckles, then pulled Legolas along after him down the hallway. "Quite plain, indeed."

Legolas shivered and did not withdraw his hand.

"Yes," he said, widening his stride to catch-up so they were walking now side-by-side. He was a little annoyed to hear his voice come out in such a low rasp. "But why there? Why now? Why," he implored, "in front of the entire High Council of Gondor?"

"I did not like how they spoke to you," Gimli growled, his grip on Legolas's fingers tightening.

"I did not much care for it myself," Legolas agreed archly, "but I do not see where the one thing follows the other!"

"I did not want to cause trouble for Aragorn by speaking-out against them as I wished to," Gimli explained, "so I resolved to take you away from them and show you the proper appreciation that a treasure like you deserves." His eyes twinkled up at Legolas like polished agates. "For as long as it takes until you are suitably assured of my high regard for every last inch of you, my dear. Starting with those two long points, if you please."

Legolas's knees wobbled under him. "Gimli…"

"You are lucky," Gimli rumbled, "that I cannot easily reach your pretty ears without breaking stride, or I would have you singing your pleasure right here in the middle of the hallway."

Legolas choked on his own breath. Only Gimli's hand in his kept him moving, pulling him forward when his feet would have faltered and left him standing there stupefied on the floor. Two clerks nodded to them politely as they passed and Legolas could feel his ears burning afresh.

"Gimli!" he hissed. "What if they'd heard you!"

"If I could reach your ears," Gimli grumbled, "they certainly would have heard you."

Legolas whimpered. He saw Gimli's beard twitch over a smug smile in response, and flushed darker. It was hardly his fault that dwarves kept all their most sensitive parts well-covered—save their beards, of course, but it would have been exceptionally rude to fondle a dwarf's beard in the sight of strangers. Legolas was far too polite to do such a thing to his friend (the occasional subtle tug or tweak or twist of its long, rich strands when no one else was looking was something else altogether) and now as thanks for his forbearance, he was being tormented!

"Gimli," he hissed again. "Stop it!"

Gimli only chuckled and pulled him along, now walking a little faster.

"Once I get you into that bed and down within arm's reach," Gimli told him, "I do not intend to stop until neither of us can remember a word of Westron, least of all you, Legolas." He shook his head fiercely, sending his braids bouncing. "Not for anything short of the return of another Dark Lord will I stop—and even then, I would be hard-pressed to find a reason to let you out of that bed while you're still in any state to draw a bow, so we might as well stay put and let someone else deal with it this time."

Legolas was finding it extremely difficult to remember how to breathe, and not because of the speed with which they were currently clattering down the stairs. "Gimli…"

"The sounds I am going to coax out of your bare mouth, Legolas…" Gimli seemed to be speaking as much to himself now as to anyone else, but that did nothing to blunt their effect upon Legolas, who nearly slipped a step—clumsiness that was quite unsuited to an elf!

This whole thing was intolerable. Never before had the exchange of their banter been so unbalanced, not at least so that Legolas could recall—although, admittedly, his recollection abilities were likely not at their best right now, distracted as he was by the images that Gimli's words were sending tumbling through his mind like intoxicating starbursts.

The thought of that skilled and silvertogued mouth applying itself so fervently and extensively to his sensitive ears had his breath catching in his lungs, his blood throbbing in his veins like liquid mithril. He was all but quivering with need, undone by desire for his dwarf.

Their rooms had never seemed so far from the king's chambers before!

"Gimli," he breathed, "you are a menace."

Gimli chucked but did not disagree. "And you are not?" he retorted. "Legolas, the sight of your ears flushing like that in the council room…Mahal, it was all I could do not to have you right there on the bench in front of all those half-bearded fools."

"What?" Legolas squawked. "Gimli!"

"I speak no jest!" Gimli insisted. "Stars above and gems below, Legolas, you know what seeing those ears of yours go dark with pleasure does to me." His broad chest heaved in a sigh like a mountain settling and Legolas's heart skipped a beat in response.

"It was hardly pleasure I was blushing from in there," he protested.

"I know, I know," said Gimli, grimacing, "but I could not see your face from behind you to make note of whatever distress their rudeness caused, my dear; only the tips of your ears, dark and red and so cursedly far away from my hands. How I wanted to touch you, to watch that flush spread down your cheeks and your hair flow loose around my fingers and hear your voice rise in incoherent song under my hands…"

Legolas swallowed and put a hand out to brace himself against the wall. The white stone felt cool under his palm, cool and much more steady on its foundations than was he. Gimli's masterful and lyrical wordsmithing had always been able to move him, but these words fell like an avalanche upon Legolas's heart.

"Gimli," he said and shivered, "Gimli, you…"

"Do you have any idea," Gimli continued as though he had not heard, "what a torment it was to sit there beside you with your blushing ears just over my head, unable to cradle and caress them in the sight of all those foolish, stoneless men? To see that tempting flush, and not dare to touch it? To touch you? Ah, Legolas, I could not bear it. I could not!"

"You did not bear it long, I'll note," Legolas murmured, and Gimli laughed breathlessly.

"No," he agreed, "I admit I did not. But how could anyone have expected me to? A dwarf can endure much, yes; but that!" He shook his head fiercely. "That was too much, Legolas. Even great Mahal himself would have crumbled before such a trial! Stones below, Legolas," Gimli breathed, "the sight of you…"

Legolas shivered again, trembling under the weight of Gimli's adoration—and then he remembered that it had not been men alone who had been in that council chamber.

Perhaps it was time to balance some of those scales from earlier.

He glanced down at the dwarf and said, as calmly and as casually as he could manage with his heart thundering against his ribs and his ears burning so hot it was amazing they had not yet scorched his hair, "Ah, Gimli, you will recall that you mentioned the acute sensitivity of elvish ears before?" Legolas looked up again quickly, before Gimli could see the impish smile he could feel tugging at his lips.

"Yes?" Gimli said. His impatient tone seemed to add, Is that not exactly what we are on our way to explore further?

"Well," Legolas said, as he at last lifted the latch to open the door to their shared rooms, "there is no denying that they are, indeed, quite sensitive to the touch; but you seem to have forgotten that they are very keen of hearing, also."

"Yes?" Gimli said again. "What of it?"

Legolas smiled. "Queen Arwen," he said, "you'll remember, has the keen ears of the elves."

For a moment Gimli just frowned up at him, as though confused as to why Legolas was bringing up Arwen, of all people, when they were about to climb into bed together—and then his eyes widened and his ruddy cheeks went pale.

"Oh," he said in a strangled voice. "Oh, no. Then—you mean—?"

"That she heard every word you spoke to me in the council chamber?" Legolas said. He grinned and stooped to press a kiss to Gimli's forehead before twirling back around and bounding inside. "Yes!" he laughed. "Yes, she most certainly did!"

Gimli moaned and closed his eyes. "I can never show my face in this city again," he declared.

"Then bring your face in here to the bedroom, and the rest of you with it," Legolas suggested. "For you have quite a lot of work to do in here 'ere you will have need to face Arwen or anyone else in Minas Tirith again, my most beloved dwarf!"

"Impudent elf!" Gimli yelled and followed.

The slamming of the door behind him shivered in Legolas's bones like an avalanche and he lay back upon the bed, grinning with anticipation as his dwarf climbed up beside him.

Elven ears, it transpired, were every bit as sensitive as Gimli had hoped, and more.

#not me getting distracted by elf biology nope (whatever the ear-blushing concept is adorable fight me)#(and if their blush starts in their ears then obviously it would spread down the ears and across the face from the sides rather #rather than centering in the cheeks right? and how could a dwarf with his normal face-blushing help but find that adorable?)#(look at least i didn't talk about what elf ejaculate tastes like in this one okay it could be worse)#this is what happens when you ask an asexual to write something sexy: they use it as an excuse to world build XD #i can't help it world building is apparently my version of sex lmao #hopefully it's also sexy too...? if not i'm sorry anon i tried #gimleaf #legolas #gimli #my writing #lotr fanfiction #my stuff #lotr #elvish ears #send a kiss meme

20 notes · View notes

jwhenvs3000w24 · 4 months

Text

Blog Post # 2 - My Ideal Role As An Environmental Interpreter

With the effects of climate change on our planet increasing daily, it’s never been more important for people to understand the magnitude and urgency of the issue. As an individual who is pursuing a career in Environmental Sciences, I believe I must appreciate, protect, and educate others on the impacts of the climate crisis. My ideal role as an environmental interpreter is to create a guided tour of nature that displays the real-time local effects of climate change on our environment. To create this guided tour, I will use Sam Ham’s TORE approach to nature interpretation described in Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage: For A Better World by Beck et al. (2019). The TORE approach stands for thematic, organized, relevant and enjoyable. This approach will help me create the tour in a way that will make the experience exciting, interesting but also educational and meaningful. Hopefully, by the end of the tour, individuals will feel informed enough to educate others on the issue.

I feel if I can demonstrate how climate change is/will impact areas people live around, they will have more incentives to take action. Most of the major impacts currently caused by climate change are in countries that usually emit the least amount of greenhouse gases. If individuals who live in the countries that produce the most greenhouse gases can see their environments are also affected, maybe a greater sense of urgency will develop within them to act against climate change.

An important skill needed to achieve my goal is strong communication skills. Climate change is a very controversial topic for some. Effectively communicating the topic will require excellent communication skills. To effectively communicate a message to my audience I will follow the National Network for Ocean and Climate Change Interpretation (NNOCCI) strategy for discussing climate change as described in Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage: For A Better World by Beck et al. (2019). This strategy involves maintaining a neutral tone, stating why the issue matters and the background, using explanatory metaphors to help close gaps in knowledge, using explanatory chains to help show that the issues are connected to climate change, and finally, using community-level solutions which involves explaining to the audience as citizens rather than consumers. By utilizing strategy, I hope to be able to inform individuals about climate change without offending anyone.

Other skills I will need to run my tour effectively are strong research skills and knowledge-based science skills. Climate change is a very complex process, and as a tour guide, I must be able to answer people’s questions as they arise or refer them to a source that may have an answer. Additionally, as the tour is locally based, I must have a very strong understanding of how climate change affects our local environments or how it may affect them in the future. For example, knowing how climate change can affect biodiversity, habitat structures, and species interactions in local ecosystems, and how this may affect the audience in their everyday lives, will be essential for the tour. This process will also require good teaching skills. As mentioned, the participants will hopefully feel informed enough to educate others.

In conclusion, as an individual dedicated to the field of Environmental Sciences, I am compelled to address the ever-increasing impacts of climate change by creating an immersive educational experience through guided nature tours. The urgency of the climate crisis requires a comprehensive understanding of its magnitude, and my role as an environmental interpreter is rooted in appreciation, protection, and education. Hopefully, with the creation of my nature tour, I can show the importance of taking action against climate change using local environments as examples to convey my message.

References

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2019). Interpreting cultural and natural heritage: For A Better World. Sagamore Publishing.

1 note · View note

softcherubhips · 4 years

Text

I need to vent. I'm aware this will probably cause some controversy. Please know that I am open to any and all interpretation and constructive criticism so please feel free to message me with ANY questions or concerns you have! I mean it when I say that I am here for you, even if you just need a shoulder to cry on or another human to vent to.

Here are some facts that I know to be true. I am white. I am an American citizen. I am a mother. I am a grandmother. I am a person who has lost someone who died from cancer. I am a recovering drug addict. I am a wife. I am bisexual. I am a Christian. I like to think of myself as a realist. I realize that white privilege exists. Do I claim to be knowledgeable of all things controversial? ABSOLUTELY NOT! Do I want to educate myself and try to learn all that I can about said controversies? ABSOLUTLEY YES!

I saw a post earlier that said, "can y'all stop reblogging those “i am not black, but i see you” post like im begging...." I consider myself to be an ally of many people and many causes including Black Lives Matter. As I stated earlier, I am white, which obviously means I'm not black. Does that mean I cannot get behind the Black Lives Matter cause? If this is the case then logically it would make sense for me to say hey you can't support ovarian cancer awareness because your mom didn't die from ovarian cancer. Right?

Listen, I know what it feels like to be in a minority. NOT in the black minority, but a minority nonetheless. I grew up on the Flathead Indian Reservation. There were 6 other white people in my high school and 2 of them were my brothers. I don't say this to gain sympathy or in any way compare it to being in a black minority. I am just saying that I had many friends that were kind to me and supported me even though we were of a different race. It's hard to be in a minority. It's very comforting when you are a minority to know that someone else supports you and cares about you despite your differences, your skin color, your customs or beliefs, your heritage and your history.

We all belong to the human race. In my heart of hearts I feel like I would categorize myself as an introvert. I often make up excuses and cancel plans so I don't have to interact with other people. I hate this about myself and it's something I am continually working on. Because I tend to isolate and use various "crutches" to escape and numb out (pills, fan fiction, food, sleep, books, movies/tv shows etc.,), it's nice to know that someone else has your back and sees you and wants to help you. It's comforting to have a cheerleader; someone who cheers you on from the sidelines and believes in you, your dreams, aspirations and potential. It's healthy and normal for us as humans to crave interaction, kindness, attention, validation, support and love.

You don't know if I have two first cousins who are married to black people and have black children who I have personally reached out to by phone and verbally voiced my support. (I do and I have.) You don't know if I have donated money to several different Black Lives Matter causes. (I have.) You don't know if I volunteered my time one Saturday afternoon at The Navajo Nation food bank in Salt Lake City. (I did.) You don't know if I own a hijab that I can wear when I visit the local Muslim Temple with my friend. (I do.) You don't know if I actively vocalize my belief that children DO NOT belong on motorcycle or ATVS; no exceptions. (I do.) *This one gets my blood boiling. I held my best friend in my arms as her 2 year old son lie dead in a little blue coffin because his father thought it would be fun to take him on a ride on his motorcycle around the block. I will not make any exceptions to this. It's not cute. It's not safe. It's not fun. Don't do it.*

You're a Catholic? GREAT! I'll quit eating candy for 40 days with you to make Lent a little less lonely. You're a Muslim? AWESOME! I'll cover your shift while you go do salat. You're a native from India? SUPER! I won't eat beef in front you because I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable. You're a Jew? FANTASTIC! I'll help you make challah for Rosh Hashanah. You're a Native American? AMAZING! Please let me vocally support Indigenous People's Day instead of Columbus Day. You're a recovering/ active addict? REMARKABLE! Me too! Please tell me if I say or do anything that triggers you.

Do you understand what I am trying to say? We are all members of the human race. No one wants to be alone in this journey called life. It's nice to have someone there in your corner, cheering you on, whether they are quiet about it or choose to shout it from the rooftops. Call me naive, but I believe that we can COEXIST.

It all boils down to the first and great commandment....LOVE ONE ANOTHER. Even if you don't believe in God, I think we can all get behind this mantra. Just be a good human. Treat people with kindness. Choose love. Be nice to nice. Don't stand idly by while a fellow member of the human race is suffering. Do something. Say something. Stand for something. Educate yourself.

In conclusion, I will support you. Unless it is something inherently evil that you actively and vocally support, ie: nazis, white supremacy, homicide, rape, child pornography, domestic violence, etc., I will be there. In whatever capacity is comfortable for you, I will be there.

Take care my fellow humans. In my heart of hearts I choose to believe that Good will ALWAYS conquer Evil.

#i hope i was able to convey my feelings without offending anyone #although deep down i know people will always find offense in many things if it doesn't line up with their core beliefs #i am praying for all the families that have been affected by this ugly preventable tragedy #blm #may god have mercy on us all #george floyd #tpwk #eat the apple #let it burn #speak your truth #validate and accept #show respect #stand and deliver #lead me guide me walk beside me #help me find the way #speak up. speak out. speak your truth.#say my name #coexist #life's a dance #tread lightly #be gentle and humble and aware and polite and selfless and compassionate and kind and respectful and empathetic #just be a good human and do what you can in regards to your own individual situation #thank you for listening to my sincere and heartfelt opinion #✌🤟🙏🥰😘😇#if you are a person who prays i encourage you to pray for a resolution to the tragic and unfortunate circumstances that are affecting us all #i love you. i see you. i stand with you.#i bless it #all the love - liesl/lou/luna 💝#you can make a difference

2 notes · View notes

flame-shadow · 3 years

Text

Leisken the Lonely

[headsup- this one has some minor child abuse and bad parents, although it's implied that they get what they deserve in the end]

---

Things are getting worse.

The butterfly doesn’t talk much, but they listen plenty. Apparently, they’re safe to share secrets around. Is it because nobody would listen to them? Because of their stutter? Or because they’re viewed as less than a bug, less than an actual member of society? They don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter which reason because it’s probably all of those reasons anyway.

They stifle a yawn, waft their wings, and hold them out again for the fancy bugs nearby to view. A late night party with rich food and fermented drinks and plenty of whispers and gossip.

Rumors of sickness. Famine. Disputes. Violent disagreements. Should we leave the City? It’s probably more dangerous beyond. Have you heard if they’re going to close the gates? That would protect us, right?

Leisken fans their wings again. They feel warm. Cautiously, they turn their head to observe more of the room. Is anyone else feeling this heat? It… doesn’t look like it. They must be imagining it. Maybe it’s not having drunk anything in a while. Maybe it’s the discomfort of what they’re hearing. Maybe it’s…

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

Leisken jolts off their stool, falling to an undignified heap. Immediately, they attempt to scramble to their feet, but already Mother is storming over, her skirts and scarves roiling. With a tight grip on their arm, she jerks them up and drags them to the side of the room, away from the nearest cluster of socializing guests.

“What did you do?” she hisses.

“I-I-I j-jj- I just-” Leisken stammers, trying to keep from pulling away.

“What is it this time?”

“Mm-mm.. It’s-s-”

“Weakness is what it is. You’re supposed to be working on that.”

“I c-cann- I’ll d-do bbetter- I’ll j-just-” They turn their head to look at their stool. They’ll sit there if it means-

“No. No no no, you’re done. You ruined it. If I let you go back out there..." She clicks in aggravation. "But I won’t. You don’t deserve that. To your room. Don’t bother any of the servants. Don’t leave until I come for you.”

Their wings droop.

“None of that. Retain your dignity.”

Leisken obediently fixes their wings to an approved angle. They notice Father standing nearby wearing his guests-think-I’m-just-a-little-bored-but-actually-I’m-furious-at-you face. It’s hard to keep their wings from drooping again.

Mother waves her hand. “Go on.”

Stiffly, they turn and walk at a measured pace for the nearest side door. “Sometimes, I don’t know why we keep bothering with you,” Mother says under her breath but still where Leisken can hear. They’re sure they were meant to hear it. They resolve to do better next time. They make this resolution all the time. They’re not sure they’ve actually gotten any better at anything.

They stumble, but they make it to the door and slip out, almost catching the edge of a wing in their haste to put the door between themself and the ballroom. And hopefully that voice.

Miserably, they pass by a servant conveying a tray of food to the guests without interaction.

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

They trip as they whirl around. Again on the floor. They look around a little frantically, but they quickly stay their terror as the servant, an expression of concern, stops to look at them. But they’re not supposed to interact! Leisken pushes themself to their feet and shuffles quickly away. To their room. It’s nothing special. But they can almost be alone here. Almost be safe. That’s what they pretend, anyway. It helps. A little bit. Maybe.

But they’re still warm. Uncomfortably so. It’s never warm in here.

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

Where is that voice coming from?! Nobody should be in here with them! Tremulously, they speak: “H-hello..?”

No answer.

“Pl-please… I n-n-need to- I ddon’t want to k-k-k-k…”

YOU DON’T HAVE TO WANT TO.

They breathe shakily.

ARE YOU HAPPY HERE?

Automatically, they nod, even though they’re not sure what happy feels like. They’re not supposed to reveal their discomfort, much less their misery.

Silence. Warm silence. Hot silence. Oppressive silence.

Leisken stands stiffly and waits.

A gust of cool air washes over them along with Father’s voice: “You missed the servant’s knock summoning you to breakfast. Surely, you aren’t still trying to-- Oh?”

Leisken blinks and stiffly turns to see Father standing in the doorway.

“Practicing your form? Maybe you’re finally learning. Well. Come along, it’s time for lunch.”

Weakly, Leisken follows.

----

Things carry on as they did before.

Except not really.

All those things that Leisken had heard rumors about? They are becoming more than rumors. People are getting hungry and hurt and scared. Leisken is too, but they do their best not to show it. And when they feel the heat, they expect the voice to follow. They do their best not to show a reaction to either of those.

They’re losing it. They know that. They’ve long suspected, but these are… These are hallucinations. Or something. Right? Not real. Nobody else feels the heat. Nobody else reacts to the voice. … unless everyone else is hiding their reactions too?

One day, they notice that one of their antennae aches. It’s not much, but they swear it feel hot even when the rest of their body isn’t experiencing that sensation.

“Leisken. Stay focused.”

“R-right.” they mumble, adjusting their posture.

“Honestly, it’s like you’re trying to irritate me. …I’m waiting.”

They do a quick check of themself, but everything feels positioned how she’d want it to be.

“Your antenna.”

“M-my..?” They thought they were holding them both in the same way, at the proper angle and curve. Hesitantly, they reach up to feel them. The one that always feels warm now is stiffer except for toward the end. The club part feels hotter than the rest. And heavier?

“Something the matter?”

“Mmgh.. I d-d-don’t--”

“Forget I asked,” Mother scoffs in an offended tone as she turns away.

Leisken suppresses a wince as they try to coax the stubborn antenna into an acceptable shape.

---

“Why didn’t you say anything to us about this?”

“I d-d-didn’t-t-thin-nk th--”

“You need to tell us about things like this. You understand that, right? We need you to look your best, and this? This isn’t it.” Mother holds the antenna none too gently, but Leisken can barely feel her fingers over the heat. The swollen clubbed ending throbs painfully. “This won’t do. You can’t attend the party like this. People will ask questions.”

“O-oh…” Not have to attend a party..? That’s.. That’s..! But, they shouldn’t get their hopes up. And besides, the antenna is still...

Mother snaps her fingers toward another bug. “Come here. Take them to get this fixed. If it needs to be amputated, get a prosthetic. Asymmetrical antennae are not what people want to see.”

The servant bows and takes a step nearer Leisken who doesn’t want anything amputated, but… What can they do?

---

“We’ve already had the servants stock it and move enough of our things over. We’ll go there soon enough. ...Leisken, stop playing with that. You’ll just mess it up, and with businesses closing their doors, who knows if we’d be able to get you a replacement.”

Leisken lowers their hand. They’re not used to having the prosthetic antenna. They think they look fine without it. And there are no bugs to show off to right now. Everyone here knows. And it’s not like they’re symmetrical anywhere else.

Besides, the antenna still aches, still feels warm. But that swollen bit on the end... it’s good that was removed. The orange that oozed out startled the surgeon, but the servant assured Leisken that everything would be fine. Their parents wouldn’t learn about this.

They’re soon told to pack up and be prepared to leave. But once they’re in their room, they just sit on the hard bed. What’s there to pack up? Nothing. Their room is decorated with items that other bugs have picked out for them. They don’t care to take anything with them.

They sigh and wonder when they’ll hear the voice again.

---

But it’s not until they’re in the vault, safe and secure as the City falls apart outside, that the voice deigns to talk to them again.

DO THEY REALLY THINK THEY’RE SAFE HERE?

Leisken’s breath catches.

DO THEY THINK I CAN’T REACH THEM HERE?

They close their eyes and hug their arms to their body.

“Leisken,” calls Father sharply from across the room. He’s making that face again. “It’s only been a couple weeks. You’d better keep it together.”

They nod and try to relax their body. They’re hot, but they know it’s not because of their clothes. Nor the stuffy vault they’re trapped in. Nor the constant judgmental presence of their guardians.

YOU COULD KILL THEM, YOU KNOW.

They don’t want to-

IMAGINE! NO NAGGING, NO PRESSURE TO BE PERFECT AND PRESENTABLE!

They don’t-

YOU’D FINALLY BE FREE TO DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO DO!

They-

YOU WANT THIS.

They do.

THAT’S RIGHT. YOU COULD KILL THEM. EVERYTHING WOULD CHANGE FOR YOU.

It would.

It will.

It does.

---

It’s so dark.

IT’S SO LIGHT, YOU MEAN.

There’s no purpose for anything.

JUST LISTEN TO ME.

There’s no point in hiding the bodies. They’re all hidden down here together. Forever.

FOREVER.

Alone forever…

NOT QUITE. YOU’RE WITH ME FOREVER.

With you…

---

Time has no meaning in forever. It’s always warm and light. Nobody judges them because there’s nobody to judge. They don’t have to adjust their posture because they don’t have a body. Not really. It’s not theirs. It hasn’t been for a long time.

Leisken hasn’t been in a long time.

Leisken was their name, right? That’s… that was them?

Why does that matter now?

Why does it…

Where are their…

What’s over th…

Oh.

...

They…

They need to get out.

They fumble weakly at the locks and mechanisms. They cry and they shake and they try not to think. They’d gotten so good at not thinking.

Out! They’re out! They stumble out into the rain and collapse. What do they feel? They don’t know. But they feel. And that feels significant.

Slowly, they force themself to rise. To stand. To lean against a crumbling stone wall.

Why do they feel so cold? More cold than this rain could make them.

Why do they feel so alone? More alone than the empty streets around them.

Disorientated, confused, tired, terrified.

Leisken moves forward.

---

[bonus art because it's a mood]

#leisken #hollow knight #hollow knight oc #the radiance #mywriting #okay so this one implies things in multiple places but i believe it's still clear enough #art is old but fits well enough

36 notes · View notes

stubbychaos · 4 years

Text

Rose Golden

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Your newest companion takes you somewhere safe and special after a long week of work so he can give you a thoughtful present. In the process, you learn that you’re not the biggest fan of heights.

Rated: T because Paz drops an F-bomb and there are suggestive themes regarding abuse and injuries.

Word count: 7,500 (I sincerely did not mean for this chapter to be so long and then I got carried away in editing--oops)

Warnings: There’s really none in this chapter, except for a brief mention of reader’s abusive father and a clumsy moment that leaves the reader with a bruise. This is honestly mostly playful bantering and adorable flirting between Paz and his nurse.

Author’s note will be at the end of the chapter! :)

You don’t expect to see the blue Mandalorian only eight days after he carries you home, but you can’t stop the large smile that spreads across your now healed lips upon finding him leaning against the exterior of the shoddy infirmary right after the sun has gone down. A few crimson rays of sunlight still linger and bathe the Mandalorian in a lovely glow, contrasting drastically with his dull blue armor and making it look as though he polished and shined it just recently.

He stands far taller compared to a few late night stragglers and you immediately frown when a passing Twi'lek hisses at him in a feral manner, though the Mandalorian simply ignores the rude gesture, deeming the offended creature as unworthy of his effort or time. It’s almost like watching a baby porg attempt to square up with a Wampa and you’re certain that the blue warrior is amused by the poor attempt at intimidation.

You’re a little surprised that someone would willingly try to get underneath the massive warrior’s skin and you’re even more surprised when the Twi’lek sends a disgusting yellow-tinted wad of spit in the direction of your Mandalorian’s big boots in a disrespectful manner.

His blue helm slowly tips downwards and to the side to finally regard the much smaller Twi’lek and while he dons his sacred helmet, you find it amusing how he’s still able to convey an irritated glare through the guise of the thick metal. Without even saying a word or moving to stand taller in front of the Twi’lek, your Mandalorian somehow threatens him with a simple cock of his helmet and a massive hand moving to the handle of his smaller blaster. It’s something you find impressive and you suddenly grow jealous that he can exude such terrifying energy so easily.

As you watch the magenta-tinged creature give the Mandalorian one last sneer before stalking past him, you wonder why anyone in their right mind would find it a good idea to mess with someone with such a terrifying aura. Upon meeting him for the first time, you had been too afraid to even talk to him or even look into his shiny visor, let alone scoff at him or even think about spitting on his boots. You wonder if this is a typical reaction he gets everywhere he goes and you think it must get exhausting after having to deal with it for so long.

Does it bother him? Or has he simply resigned to a life of judgment and persecution?

You can’t even imagine displaying so much disrespect and resentment towards someone who had inflicted absolutely no harm or offense on you, though you think that the Twi’lek, nor many others in the village, are aware of the concept of manners.

His visor is dutifully scanning the streets and you beam the second it lands on you as you make your way over to him with a little skip in your step; you notice the small canvas bag he holds tightly in one hand and the way the fingers of his free hand loosely curl against his thigh. His shoulders, still tense from the silent encounter with the Twi’lek, deflate as he drops his helmet to regard you properly and you smile at the way he seems to relax at the sight of you, as if it’s something he’s been thinking about all day.

Perhaps he has, just as you have thought of him nearly every moment of every day since your last meeting with him.

No, you're definitely not infatuated with the massive warrior and everything about him.

Even though you’re obviously no threat to him, the way he greets you with a kind nod and a gentle rasp of your name has you feeling a severe depth of respect for the warrior. Selfishly, you ponder if you’re the only one outside of his tribe that he seems to tolerate, understanding that you don’t have any ulterior motives when it comes to his Creed or what he hides under that scuffed up bucket.

“I’m surprised to see you so soon, Mandalorian,” You greet him with a tilt of your own head, mimicking his own actions, “I thought it would be at least another month before I saw you again.”

His helmet cocks further to the side and you think he must be amused by your soft sentiment as his fingers flex against his big, padded thighs, “Did I not warn you that you would see me sooner than you would wish for?”

Your brows rise high on your forehead and you shake your head a little at the stubborn warrior’s smug inquiry, “And what if I wished for you sooner than the week’s end?”

"Then I would think you missed me or something."

The way he speaks is so gruff and nonchalant that you think he must be covering up something softer in his modulated voice and you can’t help but to smile at his unwillingness to show you any kind of intense emotion. His helmet lowers even more until his visor is eye level with you and you’re sure that he’s judging you through the guise of that irritating blue armor, though you simply ignore it and continue to peer up at the warrior with unrelenting sass.

Something that he seems to thoroughly revel in.

“You miss me, saviin’ika? Is that why you were dying to see me?”

“Perhaps I just missed having someone to walk me home to scare off all the bad guys,” You cross your arms over your chest as a knowing smile spreads across your lips and you shift your weight to one leg, “Don’t flatter yourself, Mandalorian. Cockiness doesn’t suit you.”

He makes a funny noise that seems to catch in his throat and you grin at him when you realize he’s trying not to laugh at your words.

“If I remember correctly--” He sounds utterly amused as he idly rolls his helmet around and you nearly cringe when you hear joints cracking in his stiff neck, “I didn’t walk you home last time--I carried you. ‘Was even nice enough to even take off your shoes and take out your braids, or were you too sleepy to remember?”

“I remember all too well.”

Your cheeks burn furiously as you’re suddenly aware of the thick braids currently tugging at your scalp and you remember how gentle and graceful his fingers had felt as he deftly loosened your plaits while you struggled to not fall asleep. Your tongue is suddenly heavy and fuzzy in your mouth when you think of how you’ve fallen asleep every night since your last encounter, longing and yearning for the pleasant, soothing touch of his rough fingertips massaging the soreness from your scalp. You try to remember the last time anyone has ever touched you without any ill intentions and you think of your mother, with such soft and tender hands that would gracefully part thick strands of hair before skillfully plaiting them.

The thought of a huge Mandalorian attempting to braid your hair nearly makes you giggle out loud, though you think he wouldn’t be too terrible at it since his fingers hadn’t struggled in the slightest against your intricate plaits.

Even though the memories of your mother combing and braiding your long locks is all but a faded memory, you’re certain that the blue Mandalorian’s touch had somehow been gentler than hers--caressing your cheeks and lips as though you were a jagged shard of glass that would somehow pierce his thick armor. Was he afraid of accidentally hurting you despite knowing you can take a hard hit to the face and bounce back like it didn’t even affect you? You knew you were quite small, especially compared to him, but he had reassured you during your last meeting that he did not believe you to be weak.

You suddenly wonder if the warrior fears you more than you had once feared him, though you can’t think of a rational reason at to why someone bred and born to not feel fear would feel it towards someone like you?

He’s still observing you intensely when you finally muster up the strength to speak softly, “I never thanked you for that--taking my braids out. My hair would have been a tangled mess in the morning if it weren’t for you.”

“You didn’t have to thank me,” His baritone drops the slightest and you find your cheeks growing even hotter at the gruffness of his modulated voice; you’re skin feels like burning coals as he continues to talk, keeping his shiny visor trained intensely on your face, “Your eyes are very expressive, saviin’ika.”

You lower your head a little, hoping that he doesn’t see how flushed your face must be as you speak softly and shakily, “Is that a compliment, Mandalorian?”

“Do you want it to be one?”

Pushing himself off the wall, he lazily closes the short distance between the two of you, stoic and calm as ever. You briefly wonder if he ever gets worried or stressed, but something about the way he carries himself so gracefully and confidently makes you think it’s not often others attempt to challenge him.

You give up on your prayers to the Maker for your blue Mandalorian to not notice the intense blush in your cheeks, realizing that he must have some sort of advanced technology in the damn helmet to detect the heat rising to the surface of your skin.

He lowers his helmet until his metal chin is nearly poking your nose before he slightly tilts it to the side; you’re not sure how such an action could be simultaneously soft and intense, yet he somehow manages it and you suppress a shaky exhale when he reaches forward to skim the tips of his leather-clad fingers along the outer shell of your ear. The violet tucked there must be close to falling, because he plucks it away from your cartilage and deftly situates it somewhere in the thick braid that’s wrapped around the crown of your head.

Your own voice drops to a low murmur as he fixes another flower that you tucked in your braid earlier; you find it endearing that he seems so hellbent on making sure none of your vibrant flowers fall from your unusually tamed mane.

“What would you think of me if I wanted it to be a compliment?”

A noise that’s reminiscent of a grunt getting caught in his modulator has you smiling a little wider as he shakes his helmet at your harmless question, though it seems to have him utterly flustered as he speaks in a more rushed tone, “I wouldn’t think of you any differently, but if it is rare for you to be complimented, I wouldn’t mind doing it more. You… I think... fuck...”

He seems to grow slightly shy and you smile demurely at how captivating someone so large and intimidating can be so nervous with something as simple as giving a compliment; you think him to be an enigma, in more ways than one.

“You think me to be what, Mandalorian?”

He shakes his helmet again and promptly changes the subject; you wonder if he’ll ever admit to you what he truly wanted to say--what he thought about you.

“I think you look well rested,” He observes out loud and you ponder if he’s smiling underneath that blue helmet as he swiftly deflects your gentle question, “Your injuries look a lot better as well. The bruising is no longer there and there’s barely a mark on your lip."

You grin up at him, eyes sparkling as you admire the way the moonlight reflects off of his blue armor, “Thanks to you, Mandalorian. I really did not wish for you to use that salve on me; I’ve had worse than a bruised cheek or a split lip.”

Immediately, you realize you should not have said that as his fingers curl into loose fists at his sides and you let out a tired sigh.

Why do you always manage to stick your foot in your mouth?

“How much worse?”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” You murmur, avoiding the intense gaze of his shiny visor to stare at the geometric shape embedded into his cuirass instead, “It is nothing I am incapable of handling myself.”

“Do you not get tired of taking care of everyone and never having someone to take care of you?”

The tone of his voice is tender and something about the genuine curiosity of his question leaves you without any breath in your lungs, as if he’s some sort of thief. Nobody has ever asked you something of that nature and you’re certain it’s because nobody has ever cared like he seems to; you don’t find it fair for someone to feel such concern for you.

You suddenly feel undeserving of all the sentiments he’s showered you with, but you will accept them for as long as he chooses to tolerate your presence.

“I take care of myself, Mandalorian,” You inform him with a sad smile, shaking your head a little when his shoulders tense, “Always have and always will.”

“You need someone, saviin’ika,” He insists, gently grabbing your chin and urging you to look up at his visor, “Everybody needs someone.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you spot all of the scuffed up marks and divots in his deep blue helmet, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

You feel flustered and timid suddenly, realizing you’re just like him in the sense that you’re not used to expressing your own emotions and you feel impossibly small and vulnerable when he lightly squeezes your chin.

“Are you not my friend?”

A leather index finger grazing your jawline has you nearly coming undone as he speaks with that deep baritone, “I can be whatever you want me to be, saviin’ika.”

“What if I’m not sure what I want you to be?”

His leather digits lazily and dutifully skim the little valley between your chin and bottom lip, “I think you already know.”

His fingers move upwards to where your cheek had once been nearly the same shade of his dull armor, though it’s now healed into a light, barely-there yellow tint and you’re reminded of how he had taken care of you just a week ago. When you had first woke up after a few peaceful hours of sleep, you had initially thought you dreamt the previous night--him carrying you home and tending to your minor wounds with the bacta salve you had given him. Upon looking in the mirror when you first arrived at your office, you had been pleasantly surprised to find that the black and blue bruise had turned into a healthier shade of yellow and the tiny gash on your bottom lip was barely a scar. If you tried to imagine it hard enough, you swore you could still feel his index finger trailing up the apple of your cheek and to the tip of your ear; you swore you could still feel his rough, skilled fingers rubbing comfort into your sore scalp.

You had longed to feel his rough fingers on your face again and as a leather digit currently strokes the tail of your brow, you wonder if it would be hard to convince him to remove his glove again.

With an intense blush turning your cheeks a vibrant shade of pink, you ponder what else he can do with those fingers--those graceful hands.

When he doesn’t say anything else, you gesture to the canvas bag that he’s still tightly gripping in a large hand and clear your throat a little, though your voice sounds slightly coarse and wavering, “What’cha got there? Do some shopping in the marketplace?”

“Not quite,” He hesitates as he slowly lowers his helmet, his visor shifting between you and whatever is in the bag, “I want to take you somewhere, if that is alright with you. It's a safe place that nobody knows about."

You perk up, not wanting to go home and having to deal with your father’s anger yet, so you nod enthusiastically and immediately wrap your fingers into the crook of his padded elbow, as if it’s pure instinct at this point and you suppose it is. Though you’ve only ran into him three times, you think that after the night when he had carried you home and tended to your wounds, you would trust the Mandalorian to guide you anywhere on Nevarro, as long as he was there with you. Everyone always avoids the big warrior and you’re sure that if anyone attempted to cross him, he would deal with the situation swiftly and efficiently.

The Mandalorian is ever dutiful and diligent as he leads you in a different direction from your home and you can’t help but to scan your surroundings wildly as you two wander through the marketplace that's still bustling, even after the sun disappears and gives way to brilliant moonlight.

Though most of the food vendors are selling some sort of questionable cooked meat, your eyes widen when you pass a stand that is offering all sorts of vibrant fruits and vegetables. Much to your dismay and embarrassment, your stomach growls and you can’t stop your head from turning to stare at the fresh food as the two of you continue past the vendor. It’s far more expensive than you’ve ever been able to afford, but nonetheless, you find yourself always checking the prices whenever you wander through the marketplace.

You don’t notice the blue Mandalorian observing the wistful expression painted along your features with a slight tilt of his helmet.

“About five miles west of the village, there is a small cave located at the base of the cliffs,” His deep baritone pulls you from your thoughts of fresh fruit and crisp vegetables and you curiously blink up at him, “Inside the cave, there are several hot springs that stay warm from the lava underground and flowers that light up the entire place. I want to take you there.”

“That sounds lovely and all, but five miles?” You feel bad that he’s going out of his way to do something nice for you and all you can think of is how sore your feet are from a long shift and your worn boots rubbing painfully against already formed blisters and bruises, “I couldn’t even do the half mile to my house last week.”

“Do you not see the jetpack on my back, saviin’ika? I wouldn't make you walk that distance after you've been on your feet all day; I am not that cruel.”

You immediately stop walking, your face growing pale at the mere thought of him bringing you high up off the ground and he must sense your intense fear and hesitation, because he immediately cocks his helmet to the side and promptly speaks up when your hand slips away from his elbow.

“What? You scared of flying or something?”

It sounds like he’s teasing you, a twinge of condescension apparent in his modulated voice, and it immediately makes you scowl at him because you have every right to be afraid when you’ve never had the option to travel off of Nevarro, let alone the galaxy, like he’s clearly had in the past. You forcefully remind yourself that most of the people in your little village are bounty hunters and criminals that get to travel for a living and that the feeling of being in the sky or in space was something he’d gotten acquainted with long ago.

“I’ve spent my entire life with my feet on the ground, Mandalorian,” You remind him with a harmless glare, craning your neck so you can properly look at his shiny visor underneath the pretty moonlight, “Of course I’m afraid.”

“You do not strike me as the type of woman to fear such things, not after everything you have already endured.”

You let out a petulant sigh, your cheeks puffing out in embarrassment as you narrow your eyes at the huge warrior and stubbornly cross your arms over your chest. You gaze at the silver tips of the jetpack that barely peek over the top of his broad shoulders and you can’t help but to wonder if there’s a possibility of the heavy piece of equipment malfunctioning mid-flight. Even though the rest of his armor is quite dinged up and a little rough around the edges, you think that his weapons and the jetpack look brand new, as though they’ve never been used before. His weapons and other pieces of equipment must be dear to him, you realize, just as your plants and flowers and the cuffs you wear in your braids are precious to you and you think he must take great care of them to keep them in good shape.

You’ve trusted the blue Mandalorian so far, so why do you fear the thought of him dropping you or his jetpack malfunctioning?

“Y-You’re sure it’s safe?”

“I would not let anything or anyone harm you while you’re with me, saviin’ika,” He holds out a large hand for you to take and you observe it warily for a few moments before slotting your fingers between his leather ones, “I know how my weapons and equipment work; if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing this.”

You smile softly at him and nod your understanding, “I trust you.”

“Come on,” He rasps, his voice a little softer when he carefully gives your hand a little tug and you let him guide you once again, “We need to get out of the village a little ways so I don’t draw attention with the sen’tra.”

You assume the word means ‘jetpack’ in his native tongue and you breathe out a soft laugh, “I think your armor draws plenty of attention, Mandalorian.”

He shakes his helmet, but continues to lead you to the outskirts of the noisy village, and you find that the silence shared between the two of you is a peaceful one, rather than an awkward one. Not known to be much of a talker, you’re grateful that the Mandalorian doesn’t really seem to expect a steady flow of conversation between the two of you, as he seems to do most of the talking. Though your feet ache from a long day of work, you find that the combination of his gruff voice and the firm pressure of his fingers intertwined with yours makes for a sweet distraction and you barely acknowledge the calluses and blisters covering your feet and ankles. He speaks mostly of the hot springs he’s taking you to and that the warm water will be good for sore legs; he briefly talks about his tribe when you shyly bring up traditional Mandalorian customs.

You listen and cling to every word closely, saving it for future reference so you don’t accidentally offend the blue warrior with oblivious words and naive questions.

It’s merely a twenty minute journey to the outskirts where most don’t venture to unless they have transportation, and even then, the rocky terrain and creatures that roam the barren lands are enough to keep most people inside the bleak village.

It was only another thing your father had warned you of when you had once attempted to run away when you were thirteen or fourteen; you hadn’t made it very far when he found you, completely lost and dehydrated miles and miles away from the village. Seeing the expanse of the barren lands now, you wonder what the hell you had been thinking as a teenager, thinking you could actually survive in such a harsh environment where there was no civilization for hundreds of miles; you were surprised you had lasted more than a day.

“Is something wrong?”

You blink owlishly, not even realizing the Mandalorian had been talking to you for a while now and you shake your head a little, “N-No… it’s just been a while since I’ve seen the barren lands. Not many venture far out the village without transportation and come back in one piece.”

If he notices the shakiness in your small voice, he decides not to mention it as he speaks.

“I won’t…” He lowers his helmet until the chin of his helmet is nearly touching your forehead and you shyly peer up at him through your lashes, “I won’t let anything happen to you--you know that, right?”

Even though his natural voice is distorted and disguised by his vocoder, you hear how genuine he’s being and you nod with a small, albeit nervous, smile, “I know. I trust you, Mandalorian. Just… please don’t drop me.”

The heavy-infantry warrior doesn’t say anything and merely nods as you reluctantly let go of his hand so he can wrap his arm around your waist, keeping a firm pressure without actually hurting you. Normally, the foreign contact would bother you and have you bursting at the seams, but you think that you don’t mind the way he holds you close to his warm body, like he’s trying to shield you from the horrors of this planet. You think that if you had someone to hold you like this every night for the rest of your days, you wouldn’t hold nearly as much fear in your heart that currently lingers there like a festering wound that refuses to heal properly.

Your breath catches in your throat as the Mandalorian’s clean and warm scent invades your senses and intoxicates you in the most delightful way possible; now that you’re not half asleep, you can actually appreciate the earthy scent that seeps through the cracks of his dull blue armor. Your cheeks are flushed as you wonder if he’s enjoying the close contact as much as you are--if he had hoped for this when he came up with the idea to take you to a place far from the village.

Instinctively, you stand up on your tippy toes and slip your arms around his broad shoulders, your heart racing at the thought of what’s about to happen. Your eyes barely peer over his taut shoulder and you hold your breath when he quietly informs you that he’s going to start the jetpack; you’re hasty as you squeeze your eyes shut when upon hearing the heavy piece of equipment come to life.

The Mandalorian gives your waist a comforting squeeze when you tense a little as he slowly takes off and you force yourself not to panic or open your eyes when you feel your boots slowly leave the ground. While the hand that’s gripping the canvas bag remains tightly wrapped around your waist, you feel his other hand come up to squeeze the spot between your shoulder blades. You’re not sure how high up the two of you are and you’re not sure if you want to look, so instead of gazing down at the rocky terrain that’s far below your boots, you turn your head up to peer at the shimmering stars in the night sky instead, admiring how they seem brighter and bigger the further you two make it out of the village. The moon has more of a yellowish tint to it tonight and appears larger than usual, but you think that perhaps being far away from the village and high up in the air has something to do with the lovely spectacle.

As cold air whips around the two of you, you find yourself grateful that you decided to tightly braid your hair that morning, though a few stubborn locks of hair escapes their restraints and lightly whips at your cheeks and forehead. You can’t stop yourself from shivering the higher he ascends, the atmosphere growing a little more frigid and you thank the Maker that you chose to wear longer shorts underneath your thin dress, the undergarments ending mid-thigh.

“See? Not so bad.”

You huff against his neck, still refusing to look down as you respond just loud enough for him to hear, “You wouldn’t be saying that if I threw up on you.”

His shoulders shake a little and you think he must be suppressing a bout of boisterous laughter as his arms tighten around you, though it’s not enough to hurt you or make it difficult to breathe. You wonder how often he uses the jetpack, especially if he spends most of his days dwelling deep underground, though something about the way he expertly navigates through the barren lands makes you think he’s incredibly experienced and well-trained in using the advanced equipment. He seems just as relaxed high up in the air as he does walking on land and you force yourself to keep your attention focused solely on the soft whirring noise his jetpack makes, along with how the constellations in the night sky grow more prominent the further he takes you away from the village.

You shift your arms around him a little, trying to get more comfortable against his metal chest; he must sense your discomfort because he easily hikes you up a little higher up his torso until your elbows are resting on top of his shoulders and your temple and cheek is lightly pressed against the side of his scuffed up helmet. The cold bite of the helmet makes you shiver a little harder against his chest and you try to focus only on the warmth that lingers between the cracks of his blue armor.

“Have you ever been up there?” You ponder so quietly that you figure he won’t hear it, though he turns his helmet a little to indicate that he’s listening, “With the stars?”

“It’s been a while, but yes.”

You suddenly have so many questions.

You want to ask him what it’s like to travel among the stars and if he misses it at all, or if he simply got tired of all the traveling and being away from his tribe for an extensive amount of time. Has he traveled to the Inner Rim? Or did he only stick to the Outer Rim where he knew it would be easier to find work? If you asked him to describe what the stars looked like as he flew through hyperspace at blinding speed, what would he say to you? Would he describe the constellations and scenery of different planets in great detail? Would he describe the colors of a catastrophic supernova? The shapes and vibrancy of different types of stars? Or would he merely shake his head at your childish questions?

You have all of these questions, yet one in particular has you speaking out loud against the side of his helmet.

“Was it lonely up there?”

He’s silent for a solid minute or two and you think that either he didn’t hear you, or he’s simply choosing not to display any vulnerability in front of you. It makes sense that he wouldn’t be willing to share much of his past with you and you don’t blame him for it, understanding that you two are similar in the sense that it’s difficult to speak of your feelings and traumatizing memories out loud. You wonder if his own memories haunt him when he tries to fall asleep at night and… wait.

Does the huge Mandalorian even sleep?

The only times you’ve interacted with him are late at night or some ungodly hour in the morning and you can’t help but to wonder when he finds time for sleep if he’s so busy providing for his beloved tribe.

“Yes,” His arm tightens around your waist and he turns his helmet in an attempt to gaze at you, though you know there’s really no way for him to see you, what with how firmly your cheek is pressed into the side of his matte dark blue helm, “I just didn’t know it at the time.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, thinking of a lonely Mandalorian navigating through hyperspace, all alone without the comfort of another, “What made you realize how lonely it was?”

You wonder if his own cheeks are burning painfully under that metal helmet as he reluctantly answers your question and you hope he doesn’t feel pressured to bend to your every whim or inquiry as you painfully crane your neck backwards to peer into the abyss that is his shiny visor, “I didn’t know at the time--what made everything feel so lonely--but now I think I know after spending enough time with you and seeing what your father does to you, how he makes you feel."

You tilt your head a little, obviously confused, “Wh-What do you mean?”

“I see a lot of my past self in you,” He admits, fingers lightly curling against your waist, and you think he’s making fun of you, “I didn’t have anyone and I found myself missing the tribe, but I didn’t want to believe that I was lonely and homesick. I see it in your eyes, how lonely and homesick you are as well.”

“What do you mean homesick?” His helmet cocks to the side as you continue, “You think I consider that little hut a home?”

“I think you long for a home you’ve never had,” He tentatively answers after a few moments of severe contemplation, “Like I said earlier, saviin’ika, your eyes are very expressive. Even when you smile, your eyes look sad and it reminds me of how I felt when I was traveling all alone.”

You move your head so your cheek is pressed back against the side of his helmet again, not wanting him to see the despair and loneliness that apparently seem to linger in your expressive eyes, “Is that why you showed up again tonight?”

“It’s part of the reason why,” The blue warrior concedes and it surprises you a little, as he’s usually closed off and so unwilling to expose himself to you, “I wanted to make sure that you were alright--that you weren’t hurt. I don’t... I don’t like seeing your face covered in bruises.”

You smile and slowly close your eyes, an unfamiliar warmth expanding in your chest as the thought of someone caring about your well-being lights your soul ablaze. Resisting the urge to kiss the light blue patch that’s painted in the hollow of his cheek, you settle on dropping your head so it’s pressed firmly into the bunched up fabric at the base of his neck before letting out a deep sigh.

You hope that the thickness of his armor prevents him from feeling how hard your heart is beating for him--for the selflessness of his words and actions--and you wonder if everyone else in his tribe is like him, soft and warm underneath such unyielding and cold armor. Something about the violent and ruthless energy he exudes when dealing with others makes you think he’s not as unrelenting when he’s with his people and they probably don’t expect him to be.

If anything, painful headbutts and heavy fists thrown at one another is how they probably show their love.

You feel a little lightheaded as your blue warrior starts to slowly descend and you're grateful when you eventually see the rocky ground in your peripheral vision. When the worn soles of your boots are finally pressed against solid ground, the Mandalorian makes sure to keep an arm wrapped around your middle, your legs feeling like jelly and your body swaying a little from disorientation.

Eventually, you reluctantly pull your head away from the warmth of his neck and slowly turn to peer up at him through your lashes, blushing at how close he is to you. He’s bent over a little so his visor is eye-level with you and you’re absolutely aware of the way his fingers are splayed wide on your hip, his thumb stroking comforting circles against the flimsy fabric of your dusty gray dress.

Is he aware of what he does to you? How frantic your heart is as it races from the way he holds you tenderly to his own chest, as if he wants to take you far away from the village and build a safe home for you inside of his own heart.

The strange tension only goes away when you speak in a breathy whisper, “Thank you for not dropping me, Mandalorian.”

“I would never do such a thing,” He reassures you and clears his throat before standing up straight so he’s towering over you again; he reaches up to slowly brush some unruly baby hairs away from your forehead and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you shiver from the soft gesture, “What kind of man would I be if I killed the only nurse in the village?”

His playful tone makes you giggle a little and you happily take his hand when he kindly offers it to you again. You’re a little surprised to find huge cliffs surrounding the two of you and you realize that you were so focused on the beautiful starlight the whole journey to the cave that you didn’t even realize he had been guiding the two of you throughout a deep canyon. The Mandalorian is patient as you gaze up at the enormous cliffs with admiration, not even realizing that such beauty could exist on a planet like Nevarro.

“I’ve never been this far out of the village,” You inform him with a breathless sigh, awe and wonder laced in your quiet voice, “I never thought the barren lands could be this pretty.”

“Not everything on this planet is terrible, saviin’ika,” He urges you towards the small, jagged entrance at the base of the cliff and you hesitate upon noticing the ominous abyss that would guide you two further beneath the planet’s surface. You watch as the blue Mandalorian calmly presses a button on his yellow-tinged vambrace, causing a bright light to emanate from the rectangular piece of metal attached to the top right side of his helmet.

“So that’s what it does,” You say out loud before you can stop yourself, earning a chuckle from the large man.

“What did you think it was for?”

You shrug as you let him pull you into the entrance of the quaint grotto, “Decoration?”

The boisterous bark of a laugh he lets out warms your heart and has you grinning as you forget about the fact that he’s leading you somewhere so secluded that he could easily hurt or take advantage of you without anyone knowing about his intentions. Out of anyone you’ve ever crossed paths with in the village, you’re certain that the Mandalorian is the only one you would ever trust to lead you deep inside a cave where terrifying creatures or monsters might linger, though you fear nothing as you stay close to his side.

“I can assure you that none of my weapons, armor, or equipment is for decoration,” He informs you lightheartedly, giving your hand a firm squeeze as he calmly guides the way further into the cold grotto, “The hot springs aren’t too much further away--stay close, saviin.”

“I do not think you would let me stray far,” You chuckle as you let him walk a step in front of you, just to be safe.

He lets go of your hand as he gracefully hops down a steep step that’s a solid ten or twelve feet and you hesitate as he turns to gaze up at you.

Trying to mimic his grace, you move to hop off the jagged ledge, though the tip of your oversized boot gets caught in a deep crack and you let out a sharp squeak as you fall forward, nearly face first into the ground. Before you can properly react and attempt to steady yourself, the diligent Mandalorian is swift and efficient with his skillful hands and somehow manages to keep his grip on your hips light enough to prevent any bruising or soreness that would possibly occur from being manhandled by the blue warrior. You let out a small noise of pain when your chin collides with his cuirass and he’s quick and even a little frantic as he cups your flushed cheeks and tilts your head backwards so he can get a better look at your face, his leather thumb moving to ghost along your sore chin.

He almost sounds ashamed when he speaks up and you feel your heart plummet into the pit of your stomach.

“I hurt you.”

“You… what?” You don’t know what to say, absolutely shocked by how guilty he sounds as he continues to lightly stroke your chin, “You did no such thing, Mandalorian. My clumsiness is not your fault and you should not blame yourself for saving me from worse injuries. Please, keep going. I want to see the hot springs.”

His thumb grazes what you’re sure will be a bruise in the morning, but you think it’s the first time someone has ever unintentionally left a mark on you without any ill intent. With a sharp nod, the blue Mandalorian presses a firm hand to the small of your back and guides you deeper into the grotto, though you’re certain by the way his visor keeps tilting down towards the lower half of your face that he’s still upset over your lack of grace.

“I would not think a nurse to be clumsy.”

He doesn’t sound admonishing or judgmental, but more upset and confused than anything and you can’t help but to find his curiosity endearing, “I am a trained nurse, not a skilled warrior like you. The only thing graceful about me are my hands.”

His helmet cocks to the side, “I’ll be sure to remember that for future reference.”

Your cheeks burn viciously at the implication of his words and deciding it best to not dig yourself into a deeper hole, you grow silent and continue to follow him.

A tiny gasp escapes you when you hear the unfamiliar sounds of running water and you immediately perk up, no longer hesitant as you skip in front of the Mandalorian to venture further within the dwellings of the cold cave. Luckily, the little flashlight attached to his helmet guides your way as you follow the unfamiliar sounds trickling water and you can hear the warrior quickly shuffling to follow you, as if he’s worried you’re going to trip and fall again. Only when he gently advises you to slow down, your hasty footsteps dissolve into a slower stroll and you’re barely aware of the way you grab his hand once again, tugging him towards the sound of rushing water.

When you finally make it to the destination he had longed to show you in the first place, you freeze in awe and wonder.

“Stars,” You murmur as you gaze upon the gorgeous, glowing plants that surround a thin creek of aquamarine water, along with several little ponds filled with steaming hot water, “This is…”

As you stare at the budding flowers and crystal-like plants that glow with a whimsical shimmer and brighten up the tavern, you realize you’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful in your entire life. The flowers that miraculously grow underground are all vibrant shades of sapphire and magenta and even though you should be intrigued by the steamy ponds filled with crystal blue water, a huge, unintentional smile spreads across your lips as your fingertips lightly skim along silky azure petals.

You can’t stop yourself from plucking a healthy-looking flower and bringing it up to your nostrils with a soft smile, your eyelids slipping shut when the floral scent invades your senses completely. If you thought the huge cliffs and shimmering constellations had been beautiful, they had absolutely nothing on the vibrant flowers that softly illuminate the grotto, or the aquamarine water that has steam rising from the surface. With the stem of the flower still intertwined between your fingers, you slowly make your way towards one of the smaller hot springs in the cave and slowly sink to your knees so you can lightly skim your fingers along the surface of the delightfully warm water.

A grin tugs at your lips as you submerge your hand completely and wriggle your fingers around.

“Mesh’la.”

You immediately turn your head in his direction, inquisitive eyes scanning his dark blue helmet because it’s the first time he’s said that word in front of your and you wonder what the hell the Mandalorian must be calling you in his native language. You hope it’s nothing too insulting or demeaning, though the way he breathes it so fondly makes you think he must be complimenting you, rather than throwing judgment your way. His helmet jolts a little, as if he doesn’t realize he’s been staring at you through the safety of his visor, and he clears his throat a little before slowly sauntering to where you’re settled on the edge of the hot spring.

“You can…” He sounds a little hesitant as he approaches you and crouches down so he’s not towering over you, “You can take off your shoes and socks if you want. I brought…” A soft expression crosses your features when you realize he’s nervous as he gazes down at the canvas bag he’s clutching tightly, “I brought this for you.”

Reluctantly, he shoves the small bag in your direction and looks away as you peer inside at the contents, your eyes widening when your fingers graze thick leather, “I-I can’t accept this, Mandalorian. You have already done far too much for me and I would not be able to repay you.”

“You need new boots, saviin’ika,” He observes you as you reluctantly remove the shoes from the bag completely, fingers inspecting the quality of the leather, “Besides, these were made for another Mandalorian in the covert but were too small; they should fit you well enough.”

“I don’t have enough credits to repay you.”

"Then don't."

"Manda--"

“Maker, you really are a stubborn little thing,” The blue warrior says in a deadpan tone, reaching out so his fingertips can lightly graze your flushed cheek; immediately, you remember the way he had caressed your cheeks and lips just a week ago and you lower your head so he can’t see the longing in your eyes.

The Mandalorian lets out an exasperated sigh when you hold out the boots for him to take, though he simply shakes his helmet, “Not everything requires a price. You gave me that salve even though I couldn’t afford it,” You open your mouth to argue with him, though he’s faster and much more stubborn than you are, “If you truly wish to pay me back, then do it with your company.”

“I don’t really make for the best companionship.”

“I think your companionship would be the only kind I wished for, outside of my tribe.”

You ignore the intense warmth in your cheeks as you reluctantly place the boots on the ground next to you before reaching back into the bag to see what else he brought for you. Upon pulling out a jar that’s filled with white, rocky chunks, you perk up and quickly unscrew the lid to smell the aromatic salt; the intense eucalyptus scent nearly brings tears to your eyes as it tickles your nostrils and clears your sinuses.

“Healing salts?” You say it as a question, though it’s more of an observation, and you turn to the blue warrior with raised brows and a slight smile, “I feel like a spoiled woman.”

He grunts and turns his visor away from you, standing up to take a seat on a flat rock that’s right behind you and you can feel the armor covering his knee grazing your shoulder blade, “You care too much for others and not enough for yourself, little nurse. It would be good for you to relax for a while.”

“And what about you, Mandalorian?” You unfold your legs from underneath your body and start to unlace your worn out boots, avoiding his shiny visor as you continue, “I’m sure those weapons and that jetpack must weigh down on your body, no?”

After tugging off your boots and socks, you roll your head backwards so you can peer up at him. Despite all of his clunky weapons and equipment, he seems relaxed as he leans forward a little, padded elbows resting on top of his thighs; he cocks his helmet to the side as he observes your upside down gaze.

He flexes his fingers a little and you think it must be some sort of habit for him to constantly crack his stiff joints, “You’re asking a Mandalorian to disarm his weapons?”

You giggle a little and turn your attention back to the hot spring as you slowly submerge your feet into the soothing hot water, shuddering at how good it feels after being on your feet all day, "I would not ask you to do such a thing, silly man. I'm simply asking for you to relax with me; you deserve it just as much as I do."

He huffs out an amused noise and you turn to gaze at him over your shoulder to watch him slowly remove the cannon that's as tall as you, propping it up against the rock next to his thigh. You raise your brows when he lets out an exasperated grunt upon removing his jetpack, cursing in his native language as he rolls his shoulders.

"Told you all of that equipment must weigh down on you," He shakes his helmet at your gentle quip and lightly nudges your shoulders with his knee before removing his utility belt, "It is good for you to relax too, Mandalorian, especially if your tribe requires your protection."

"You needed this more than me."

You hum as you carefully dump a small amount of the healing salts into the hot spring, avoiding his emotionless gaze as you muster up the courage to say what’s been clawing at the back of you mind since after your initial meeting with the enigmatic warrior.

“Why do you find it so important to take care of me?”

Besides the peaceful sounds of running water and chirping crickets, it’s deathly silent and you fear that the Mandalorian will refuse to answer your question. You lower your head, shame and regret burning something fierce in your cheeks as the silence overwhelms you and convinces you that he does not care about you--that it’s all part of your imagination. You hear him shuffle around and you think he’s attaching his equipment back to his armor, probably wanting to already leave the beautiful cave.

Then a bare hand is on the center of your spine and you find yourself shivering and sighing as a massive hand idly trails up your back. His callused fingers easily push past your thick braids and find purchase on your nape; an embarrassed whimper leaves you when he firmly strokes and squeezes the tension away from your stiff muscles.

“Because, mesh’la,” His voice is close to your ear and when you turn your head in the slightest, your surprised to find his visor just inches away from your eyes, “I would not stand by and watch a harsh world beat you down so easily.”

You think him to be the best thief in the village, because his next words, followed by the press of his forehead against yours, has you bereft of any air that had previously filled your lungs.

“I would much rather see you with that pretty smile that actually meets your eyes, rather than bruises and cuts on your face. I would bring you here every night if it meant seeing that light in your eyes. even if for only a few seconds.”

The smile you grace him with is so genuine and huge that it hurts your cheeks.

Though you believe the Maker to be so cruel to bless you with such a tender companionship, surely with the intentions to eventually rip it away from your grasps, you will allow yourself to feel such happiness in that moment.

sen’tra= Jetpack

saviin’ika= Little violet

mesh’la= Beautiful

Author’s Note: First off, I know I’ve said a bajillion times and I’m never going to stop saying how sweet and supportive you all are! When I first came up with the idea for this story, I certainly had no intentions of people reading it since it’s so self-indulgent and I’m just a soft baby that loves the thought of huge, tough warriors also being soft babies lol. I’m glad we’re all fans of tender Mandalorians being soft with their partners and I’m so appreciative of all the kind comments y’all have left. I hope you all continue to enjoy my story and I promise I’ll try to update as consistently as my hectic schedule will allow me to.

I love you all <3

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege

If I missed anyone, please let me know!!

#paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #paz vizla #my writing #IM SO SORRY THIS WASN'T REAADY AT 5 LIKE I SAID IT WOULD BE #I WAS UNHAPPY WITH CERTAIN PARTS AND KEPT CHANGING THINGS #ANYWAYS #PAZ VIZLA IS BASICALLY READER'S SUGAR DADDY #BUT INSTEAD OF MONEY #HE GIVES HER EMOTIONAL SUPPORT

447 notes · View notes

plumrabbit · 4 years

Text

DA Fandom and moving forward - Calling In vs. Calling Out

Hi everyone,

As a PoC member of the DA fandom, I felt I have been quiet for long enough on the issues that have been presented recently. I am not here to argue against or on behalf of any individual or group, I am only here to present some information that I hope will be helpful moving forward. This is a long post, but it’s my hope that if you read it and want to help contribute to making this place better for everyone, then you will be willing to try to put what is said here into practice.

Since I am a relatively small blog, I wanted to start with a little personal introduction that will segue into the topic at hand. My name is Liz (you can call me Jade too, that’s part of my middle name), and I am a mixed race, “ambiguously brown”, aspec person from Canada. I grew up around mostly other immigrant families, attended predominantly non-white schools that were run by mostly white admins, and completed my degrees at a very white university in a field that does not have much racial diversity. I have experienced racism first-hand many times including, but not limited to, name-calling/slurs, fetishization/exotification, being followed by staff, people second-guessing my name, jokes about hurting/killing people of my race, etc. as well as witnessing racism directed at my friends and peers. I know exactly what it’s like to be exhausted and feel unsafe or othered. There is, however, one thing I need to point out about the multitude of instances of racism I’ve experienced - most of them were caused by ignorance, and not malice. Yes there are absolute assholes out there, but personally I can count those people I’ve encountered on one hand (I am not speaking for everyone, though). The vast majority of racism, bigotry and general harmful acts come from a place of ignorance, particularly on left-leaning tumblr (to clarify, this discussion is centered around well-meaning people and not the actual lost causes). When I say ignorance, I don’t mean a lack of education or intelligence, I mean not being able to see or understand an issue from another person’s perspective. It’s not quite the same as empathy either (where empathy means you are able to feel another person’s emotions), but fighting ignorance does require empathy. It also requires knowledge on the context of the specific situation, and that I believe is the crux of the problem. I think the main reason why this is issue is particularly prevalent in the DA fandom is a result of the too-close-to-reality-to-ignore inspirations that have been confirmed by the devs. Yes, it’s fiction, but there are also a lot of people that see themselves (mis)represented in the themes and characters. And what one person sees as disrespectful, another person may not see at all. This can come full circle, too, for example: one person sees themselves and their trauma represented in a character, another person sees their race misrepresented in the same character. Person 1 uses the character as a comfort character or coping strategy. Person 2 thinks using that character in certain situations is disrespectful. Neither one sees the other’s perspective. This is where intersectionality starts to come into play, and requires empathy and effort to address the intentions and emotions of the other person. Perhaps person 1 is LGBTQ+ and has been traumatized by being as such, and uses Dorian as a character to explore their trauma. Perhaps person 2 is Brown, and racism towards their people is their trigger, and thinks person 1 did not do Brown representation justice in their creative works. Looking at this more specifically, person 1 may have put Dorian in sexual situations. Person 2 feels that the way it was conveyed was fetishist or exotified. Person 2 doesn’t know person 1′s intentions. Person 1 is not aware of certain descriptions that are racist (e.g. using food to describe a PoC’s skin tone). Perhaps person 1 was self-inserting and wanted to feel desirable on their own terms, but this gave person 2 that squick factor. Now person 2 wants to address this issue, and I think this is where a call-in (not a call-out) would be appropriate. Here is a good infographic that compares the two:

(Original source)

Note that there is quite a large difference in the language used. Going back to the above example, person 2 could privately message person 1 asking them why they chose to represent Dorian the way they did, with specific examples, and using call-in language (and I’m going to get back to this in a minute).

The point of this post and infographic isn’t meant to tell marginalized groups how they should be bringing up issues (though it is a good guide if you are concerned about being polite, particularly to a first time offender), it’s intended to demonstrate to people unintentionally participating in harmful behaviour what a call-out vs. call-in looks like. For PoC and other marginalized groups, yes it does take emotional labour to use call-in language and to try to understand someone that wounded you (here is a good read that incorporates the concept of emotional labour for call-ins, and discusses asking yourself if you are ready to do so). For the people who have unintentionally hurt a marginalized individual or group, please understand that someone calling you in is not an attack, it’s a chance to explain why you expressed something the way you did.

That being said, we may have reached another hurdle. What if you call someone in, and the person called in does not want to discuss the fact that they were inserting their personal trauma? I think this is where things start to get a bit messy, but I am of the opinion that if you’ve unintentionally triggered someone else’s trauma through ignorance present in your work, you owe it to them to at the very least mention that you were inserting your trauma, without having to bring up specifics (anyone is allowed to set boundaries). From there, the discussion can be hopefully be opened up to learning from each other, and reaching a consensus. Sometimes that consensus requires the creator to edit or remove their work. As an addendum, if you are a creator that unintentionally hurt someone with your work that didn’t have an ulterior personal motivation, it’s your responsibility to understand why what you did was wrong, apologize, remove the work and do better next time. I know some people cherish their OCs, but you are allowed to change your perspective and make adjustments to your character without erasing them entirely. Now we’ve reached another potential obstacle - what if an offender doesn’t respond to your call-in? First of all, ask yourself, did you actually call them in, or did you attack them? Here is a good opinion piece from a Black professor on this matter. I’d like to clarify that I am not trying to tone police, I am speaking as someone that used to go ham on ignorant people on Facebook and Reddit, and has since changed their tactics and has even gotten through to Trump supporters (some of this stems from my spiritual growth as well, but that is not the point here). There is another issue to address here now as well - what if you have tried, repeatedly, to call someone in and they just don’t change their behaviour? Alright, then it’s probably time to call them out. But again, ask yourself, did you truly try to get through to them? If so, well, at the end of the day, some people are, unfortunately, lost causes. In summary, a call-in is meant to come from a place of wanting to help someone who has seemingly gone astray, because you are worried about their thoughts, feelings, and behaviours towards a marginalized group. You know that if they made a mistake it isn’t them, isn’t their heart, and you want them to be able to understand why what they did hurt others, and give them the chance to correct themselves. It comes from a place of love and acceptance, because you don’t want your friends to harbour negative beliefs. Finally, I want to give a real example of this in action. My cousin is a photographic artist, and was recently called in to discuss the nature of one of her pieces. Her subjects are usually people, and they come from a wide variety of backgrounds. To help support BLM (she does a lot of work to help fight racism in general), she auctioned off one of her pieces. The subject of the piece happened to be a Black woman. She was called in by Black members of her art community to discuss how people bidding on an art piece that featured a person from a marginalized group perpetuated the ogling and monetization of Black people. She gave a response that acknowledged that her piece did perpetuate this issue, because she wanted to raise awareness of this historical harm, and recognized that her intention was ignorant of this perspective. The Black community also acknowledged that the piece itself was not harmful in any way, only that the surrounding issue that they were painfully aware of needed to be brought to light. The auction went ahead, and the piece sold for ~$1000, all of which was donated to BLM. I think as a fandom we should be cognizant of when a work itself is harmful, or when the intention is harmful. Sometimes they overlap, sometimes they don’t. Both are talking points, and we should not be afraid to discuss them, but this requires respect from all parties. We also do need to be able to recognize what is strictly fiction, versus what has real-world impacts. My askbox is always open and my DMs are open to mutuals if you would like anything clarified or expanded upon. Or, if you’d just like to discuss a topic, vent, or have any questions about my own beliefs, you are welcome to reach out. I am happy to discuss anything, as long as there is mutual respect.

#fandom critical #da fandom #da fandom critical #fandom racism #tw: racism #tw: trauma #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #call out culture

191 notes · View notes

unholyobsessions · 3 years

Text

in all your gorgeous colors (i promise that i’ll love you for the rest of my life)

Pairing: Alex x Willie

Description: The Universe is in charge of soulmates and making sure they meet, but Alex never wanted to meet his and he makes it pretty clear once he does.

Read on ao3

Warnings: none

A/N: companion piece to my juke au Oblivious Memories but can be read as a stand-alone. this is also my first willex fic. as always it's probably filled with mistakes, do me the favor of ignoring them.

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

Color is a fickle thing, the Universe contemplates. But it’s also beautiful, which is the reason that the use of color isn’t that common in soulmate meetings.

But Alex Mercer and Willie Williams are a unique pair.

So the Universe decides that having these two be unable to see color until they look into each other’s eyes is the best way to go, because once they find the true beauty with each other, they’ll understand the wonder of what’s around them.

. . .

Alex resents the idea of soulmates. As he hears his parents describe in tremendous detail the beauty and brightness of the world, he hates that he is unable to experience it. His surroundings are clouded by a mixture of whites, blacks, and greys that he has grown accustomed to with great reluctance.

Reggie likes to tell him that color will be that much better, because the significance of it will be bigger. Alex smiles at his friend but struggles to believe it. He knows his resentment is childish and more likely than not misplaced but he can’t help it. He’s never been good with being left out and being the only kid in his class unable to see something that so many take for granted, hurts.

So Alex wholeheartedly believes that he will despise his soulmate. He doesn’t want to love someone who has prevented him one of life’s simplest joys for all his life. He even hopes that he will never meet his soulmate, although that is highly unlikely, the only documented reason of soulmates not meeting is that one of them passed away before they could.

This train of thought is something Alex considers often, whenever his mind doesn’t seem to settle down. It’s not relaxing per se but it’s familiar so it calms him, allows him to pace himself and slow down his racing heart.

It’s what he’s thinking of when he hears a loud warning a little too late followed by the hard push of a body colliding against his own. Alex throws his arms forward, wincing when he feels the sidewalk burn his palms but he reasons with himself that it is better than getting his head cracked open.

He groans loudly and attempts to push himself off, much too distracted by the ache that seems to be spreading throughout all his body to notice the new development in his surroundings. Once he has gathered himself he zones back into reality just as the other person speaks.

“Oh dude,” the stranger complains. “You dinged my board.”

And Alex knows that the word flabbergasted is one to be used in limited situations but he cannot find another word to describe the feeling that overcomes him once he hears those words.

“What? Your board? You almost killed me!” He exclaims, knowing full well that he is exaggerating but the moment grants him the right to be dramatic. Realization crosses the other man’s features and when Alex looks into his eyes he finally notices.

They’re brown.

Not black, or grey or anything in between. They’re brown and Alex is sure that he has never seen something so beautiful.

He allows his gaze to travel across the other’s body, feeling slightly blinded by the brightness of their clothes.

“Oh,” the man speaks, so softly that Alex is afraid he might swoon. He looks like he’s about to introduce himself, most likely excited or at least happy to have met his soulmate but Alex does not share that sentiment.

With a strangled, choked up noise escaping from the back of his throat, Alex spins on his heel and walks away and when he hears the angelic voice calling out he breaks into a sprint. He doesn’t stop until he arrives at Julie’s house which is at least a mile from where he was. He sits at the curb, placing his head between his knees in order to catch his breath.

Well that was, the Universe hesitates, trying to find the word to describe the encounter. Unexpected, they decide. Realistically, the Universe was aware of Alex’s feelings regarding his soulmate but they just assumed that he would get over it once they met.

They’re just going to have play matchmaker apparently. The Universe really had not planned for this.

Alex sits there, trying to gather his thoughts. His eyes are darting around every corner and crevice on the street, trying to identify the thousands of different colors he is no able to see. If he’s being honest, it’s kind of giving him a headache. He is ultimately interrupted when he feels two bodies sit on either side of him. He comes face to face with Julie and Luke. He groans loudly and drops his head back on his knees. Of all the people to find him it had to be the dictionary definition of true love soulmates.

“I don’t think he’s happy to see us Jules,” Luke teases from over his head. Alex can almost picture the grin that is surely adorning his lips.

“I think you’re right, which is definitely strange considering he has been sitting outside my house for the last thirty minutes.” Julie replies with amusement clear in her voice.

And were it any other person, Alex would have been embarrassed and maybe even slightly offended, but it’s Julie, who fits with Alex, Reggie, and Bobby, as much as she fits with Luke as if she had been their friend all along. Another reason Alex did not want to risk meeting his soulmate. What if he didn’t fit in, what if he disliked Alex’s friends who at this point are better described as family?

His breathing starts to shorten again and Luke immediately places a hand on his back, rubbing smooth circles in an attempt to calm him.

“Hey man deep breaths, come on,” Luke speaks softly, like he always does whenever Alex gets a little too far into his head and spirals. Julie links their hands together and Alex gives her a weak smile as she presses his fingers to her pulse point on her wrist. He focuses on the steady beat of her heart against his finger tips, trying to calm his breathing to match her own. Once he settles down, he pushes into Luke’s space, burying his head on the space between his neck and shoulder.

“I met him,” Alex explains, words mumbled against Luke’s skin, hands clutching what he now identifies as a cream colored cutoff with a weirdly colored design that he thinks is orange.

“Really?” Julie asks in excitement. He feels Luke shake his head, probably to try and convey to her that Alex and soulmates are not a topic to be excited about. Julie, bless her heart, does not understand and proceeds to ask, “What’s his name?”

“I don’t know,” Alex mutters, curling himself further into Luke. “I sort of ran away before we could do the whole introduction thing.”

And Luke should not have found it funny, he should have told Alex it was okay. But no, the asshole started laughing which causes Alex to push away from him, stand up, and start to pace the street in front of them. He vaguely registers Julie slapping Luke on the backside of the head and chastising him, as she often does whenever he does something stupid (re: all the time).

“Shit what the hell did I do?” Alex stops abruptly in front of his friends, who are now looking up at him with worried expressions. “I just left him there! What kind of person does that? And now I’ll never see him again.”

“Whoa slow down there buddy,” Luke stands and holds his hands out in front of him. “First of all, Julie and I met like a thousand times before we realized we were soulmates, the Universe will find a way-“

“It always does,” Julie pipes in, standing as well though it is a couple inches shorter than the guys.

Luke smiles at her and continues, “Exactly. Now the question is, do you want to see him again?”

Alex stares off into space, not focusing on anything in particular. What does he want? When the decision seems impossible two things enter his mind. First it’s the soft spoken Oh that made his head spin even now when it’s only a memory. Next is the beautiful brown color of his eyes, that Alex is sure cannot be compared to anyone else. He knows that anyone that says that brown eyes are dull and boring has never seen his soulmate’s because there is nothing brighter or more beautiful than what Alex had seen.

“Yes,” the word escapes his lips without him even realizing it and he can’t find it himself to regret it or deny it.

Luke grins widely and pulls Alex into a hug that is quickly joined by Julie. “Then just give it time. It will happen.”

Alex isn’t sure how true that may be.

. . .

It takes some getting used to, the color thing.

He started out with wearing dark glasses almost everywhere, only taking them off when he was in the comfort of his room with the lights dimmed. The colors are beautiful sure, but also terribly overwhelming and Alex wishes he had someone to help him through it.

That’s the reason he starts to go out looking for him, everyday. As soon as the last bell rang in school he would rush out and pedal all the way to where he first ran into his soulmate. Sometimes he would be joined by Reggie or Bobby but mostly he wonders the streets alone, willing the universe to make his soulmate appear out of thin air.

When the bright yellow sun of the afternoon turns into a soft orange glow of sunset that Alex can now appreciate the beauty of, he begins to think if maybe he missed his chance. He knows Luke and Julie’s story but what if he wasn’t that important?

He let his anxiety get the better of him and now he’ll end up alone, with no soulmate, cursed to now associate colors with the painful feeling of loneliness. His fate is now even worse than what he has endured his whole life and it is all his fault, he can no longer place the blame on the Universe.

Alex doesn’t even notice that he started hyperventilating until he feels a hand on his shoulder that guides him to sit against the wall. He doesn’t pay attention to the person, assuming Bobby, Reggie, or Luke found him but then he looks up and sees the most gorgeous shade of brown that just a few seconds ago he thought he would never see again.

His soulmate guides him through a few breathing exercises and eventually his heart stops racing and his hands stop shaking. Their hand is still on Alex’s shoulder and when they notice him glancing down at it they quickly take it away with a mumbled “sorry.”

“No,” Alex finds himself saying. “I’m the one that should be apologizing. I didn’t mean to run away. Well no, that’s a lie. I did but it has nothing to do with you because I’m so sure you’re a great person and I regretted it as soon as I got myself together and I thought I would never see you again so I’ve been coming here every day for the last week hoping that you would show up and I guess you did so umm…hi.” Alex finishes with a deep breath. His soulmate is staring at him, eyes wide and trying to process everything he just said. Just when Alex thought that he wouldn’t say anything and just leave, they opened their mouth.

“I’m Willie,” he smiles and Alex’s breath is knocked out of him.

“Alex,” he whispers in return.

“You good to stand?” Willie questions in such a kind, soft, and worried voice that has Alex merely nodding, at loss for words.

Willie stands up first and offers his hand to Alex, who takes it gratefully. A shock goes up his arm and he almost jerks away but he forces himself to stay.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says again. “This is probably not how you imagined meeting your soulmate to go.”

Willie laughs and shakes his head. “Definitely not but hey, at least we got a good story to tell. Maybe they’ll even make a movie out of it.”

A loud, unexpected laugh escapes Alex. Willie’s face brightens and Alex regrets ever causing him to have anything but a smile on his face.

“Umm,” Alex starts, bringing the hand not holding Willie’s up to run over his face. “I know this niche little coffee shop not far from here if you maybe want to talk? Get to know each other?” He can’t help but phrase the statements as questions, anxiety welling up his body.

“Sure,” Willie agrees easily, soft smile on his face. He pulls slightly on Alex’s arm to get them out of the alleyway. “Lead the way sprinter.”

Alex gapes at him, an incredulous, “Really?” falling from his lips.

Willie laughs with his entire body and Alex feels all of his annoyance drift away. “I think I reserve the right to make jokes about it.”

Alex shakes his head but starts walking toward the coffee shop regardless. “Yeah I guess you do.”

A few moments of silent walking go by before Willie breaks it. “So what’s you favorite color?”

Alex turns to look at him and answers easily. “Brown.” Willie smiles. “Yours?”

Willie waits a beat before answering, taking the time to look at their surroundings before looking back at Alex. “Blue.”

Alex looks down, a bashful grin on his face. Maybe this soulmate thing isn’t so bad after all.

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fanfic #julie and the phantoms fanfiction #julie and the himbos #jatp #jatp fanfiction #jatp netflix #jatp fic #jatp willie #alex mercer #willex #willie jatp #willie x alex #willex fanfiction #alex x willie #julie and the fat ones

17 notes · View notes

auty-ren · 4 years

Text

The Offer: Chapter 2

Touches

Pairing: ClanLeader!Mando x fem. Reader

Rating: T (Mature for future chapters)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Injury, Touching, Insinuations of sex, Cursing (just a tiny bit), Fluff, Yearning (a lot).

A/N: I’m having so much fun writing this. Please let me know what you think! Comments and feedback appreciated always. It’s also on AO3. Hope y’all enjoy💕

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Mandalorian lore via mandoa.org (I dont own it)

ClanLeader!Au created by @magichandthing

Gif by @coredrive

Summary: You finally get to speak to Clan Leader Djarin again.

Your nose was definitely broken.

The elder assessed that much on her initial exam of your face.

The bile in your stomach churned and nausea flooded your senses at the thought of having to reset the broken cartilage. You knew they would have to realign your nose otherwise it would never grow back properly. However, your stubbornness took hold and you wouldn’t let the elder anywhere near your face. You knew the pain that was eventually going to happen, but you dreaded the process. You wanted to postpone it for as long as you could. You tried to rationalize other options, internally debating and trying to come up with excuses for Mira and the Elder. Maybe if it was left alone, your nose would heal just fine; it seemed like a probable outcome you just hoped Mira would see it that way and leave you be.

Mira, of course, had different plans.

It took Mira straddling you, completely immobile due to her weight pressing into your chest, and the strength she held your arms with for the Elder woman to be able to fix your nose from its dislocated position. When she finally did, you're sure your scream reverberated off the walls.

“We underestimated your strength ad’ika.” The woman joked after giving a final dose of a bacta shot. Your eyes were still watering and you just huffed in response, causing Mira to chuckle from across the room.

Mira’s company started to grow on you, even though at first your time together was filled with silence. She often busied herself around the hut; shining her armor, cleaning her assortment of weapons, tinkering with different pieces of mechanics that littered the shelves. You would offer to help and she accepted, reluctantly at first, but you were starting to think she enjoyed your company as much as you did hers.

Most of the conversation was you asking questions about Mira and her people. You had some knowledge of the ways of a Mandalorian but Mira always explained it better. She always answered you with a sense of patience, explaining everything to you in detail you could understand. You appreciated it, the last thing you would want to do is offend her people with ignorance. She seemed to enjoy your enthusiasm for learning about Mandalorian culture.

“Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando' a bal Mand'alor, An vencuyan mhi.”

“What?”

“It is a rhyme taught to children, so they can better understand our way of life.” She put down the tool she was cleaning her armor with, handing you the piece to polish. Before you could even ask, she recited the same phrase to you in basic.

“Education and armor, Self-defense, our tribe, Our language, and our leader, All help us survive.”

Days bled into weeks and you started to lose count of how long you had been with Mira. Your injuries had healed fully thanks to Mira and the elder that visited you. Light remains of your still healing bruises were all the evidence of the encounter. As you felt better, Mira invited you to accompany her into the village. It had almost become pleasant, the little routine you two had. The fresh air always felt nice, and Mira filled the time telling you more stories of her clan.

“That man,” you paused, debating whether or not you should even bring up the topic. “The one who I met when we first arrived, who was he?”

Ever since then you found yourself wondering about him more than you liked to admit. He and Mira had been the first people to treat you with kindness in a long time, so you figured the reaction to him was just grateful. Your curious nature made it almost impossible to not want to know more. You had learned much about Mira the last few weeks, and the persistent thoughts of him would certainly cease at knowing more of him. At least that's what you told yourself, but it was hard to forget that blooming you felt in your chest when he first spoke to you. How the deep timbre of his voice felt like honey that settled in your bones. You caught yourself daydreaming how his voice would sound without the mask of his voice coder, just as rich and deep but something new and soft against your ears. It probably felt heavenly to hear him whisper things to you, his breath gentle in your ear.

Mira turned to you and watched as you waited for an answer. It was as if Mira could read your thoughts from the way her head tilted to look at you. You were thankful she didn't pry, that was a conversation you didn't want to have.

“He is the strongest and conscientious of us all, which is why the High Elders chose him to lead and defend our clan. Each of the pendants he wears is a testament to his fortitude.”

You listened intently, hanging on to every word Mira spoke.

“They say he received his signent by hunting a Mudhorn that terrorized the village and killing the beast with a viro-blade as his only weapon.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, your voice just a whisper in the silence left behind her words. As much as you will yourself to be satisfied with this information, it only seemed to stoke the fire that had been set ablaze by him. You wanted to know so much more, the desire to be around him was something you tried hard to ignore.

—

Much to Mira’s protest you mostly stayed to yourself, already feeling so out of place. Aside from her, the elder, and the brief encounter with the clan leader Djarin you hadn’t spoken to anyone else since being here. She tried all she could to get you to attend their weekly dinner, a celebration every clan member attended, she insisted. You eventually caved to her persistence. So you sat with her at one of the long wooden tables, chipping away at the plate full of food in front of you. Every so often you stopped to pull at a loose thread in your sleeve, somehow hoping the action would ease the anxiousness you felt.

The clan had given you new clothes shortly after settling with Mira. She presented the garments to you one night, explaining that the leaders agreed you would feel more comfortable in them. A simple, deep red, long sleeve tunic, and a long brown skirt that flowed around the movement of your legs. It was similar to the attire you’d seen some of the women in the village wearing. It felt unusual at first, you were so used to wearing the same few articles, almost threadbare in places from the years of consistent wear. These clothes seemed almost new, soft to the touch, and fit your body perfectly. The gesture nearly brought tears to your eyes, no one had given you such a thoughtful gift since you were a child.

It was so refreshing to see that not all the hope had been purged from the galaxy. Mira's people were just as legend had described them, fierce warriors with integrity and strength that rivaled entire battalions of soldiers; but there was also love and kinship that was deeply rooted in pillars of their society. It seemed almost surreal, this warrior race had taken you in; had healed and cared for you. It was something you had to witness first-hand, no amount of stories could convey the community the Mandalorians had, at least no one would believe you if you had tried.

You opted to observe the events of dinner, not wanting to cause any more trouble than you felt you had already. Mira had not lied when she said everyone would be there. The tables were filled with people laughing and enjoying the company of each other. It felt so peaceful, and the unsettling feeling in your stomach subsided as the dinner went on. The evening eventually started winding down when dusk had settled over the village. You thought it would be rude to leave without Mira, so you waited patiently on the sidelines wanting to return to the hut.

“How are you feeling?”

Din leaned his shoulder against the wall behind you, his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side. You jumped, you hadn't even heard him coming towards you. He seemed amused at your reaction, letting out a huff that slightly jolted his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” You felt that same pull start in your chest. “Mira has taken very good care of me.”

“Good.”

He became silent, watching the clan mingle like you were. This was exactly what you had been hoping for, to be alone, to be able to talk with him, and ask all the things you had been pondering since your initial meeting. But now you felt so small, every word you had readied was lost on your tongue, swallowed by the intimidation you felt. He was the noblest warrior of his clan, strong and authoritative in his ways but he made your heart flutter in a way you didn't know could. It was suffocating, being around him but you craved it nonetheless.

He moved to sit next to you, straddling the bench you sat on. You could feel him looking at you, but you didn't dare tear your gaze from in front of you. You felt your face flush all the way to the tips of your ears. He hadn’t said five words to you and you were already a mess.

“I should find Mira,” you broke the tension, hoping to escape so you could finally breathe again. “It's late.”

Before you could distance yourself he spoke, halting you in your tracks.

“I can return you to your hut,” he paused pushing himself to stand. He considered you for a moment as if to debate his next words.

“If that's what you wish.”

—

“I haven’t seen you since your arrival.” It wasn't really a question, more of an observation. You turned to look at his helmet, still trained on the path in front of you.

“Mira forced me to break my isolation.”

A huffed laugh came through his helmet, effectively melting some of the tension that had built up. Your own smile stretched across your lips, he still made you incredibly nervous but he at least had a sense of humor.

You didn't exchange any more words, silence falling back over you both. It felt just a little different than before, the tension wasn't drawn so tight. A light airy feeling replaced the energy that flows between the two of you. You could feel your muscles relaxing just the slightest bit, the bubbling worry in your stomach replaced with a dull ache.

Your senses focused back on your surroundings, cool darkness had enveloped your path, lit only by the torches mounted against the huts. People still congregated in the street, groups exchanging wishes of sweet dreams as most of them prepared for sleep. As you passed, side by side with their leader, each person stopped to give a small bow. Some of their gazes lingered on you, not in a judgemental way, most of them just seemed curious in nature. It was probably odd, seeing some strange woman being escorted by the most respected man in their village. If he noticed their looks, he didn't make it known.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a small flash of bright color, sticking out noticeably against the neutral tones of the earth. You stopped and tucked in between two of the homes lining your path home, was a small flower bed. Some of the buds had yet to bloom, the new petals poking through the green shell that encased them. Others were full and brilliant, ranging from every color under the sun. You kneeled down to gently caress the buds in the palm of your hand.

Din didn’t realize you had stopped at first. He noticed the absence of your footsteps and turned around, watching you admire the flowers. He walked closer to you, essentially blanketing you in his shadow. Like before, you failed to notice his presence behind you.

“Sorry,” you apologized once you realized he was waiting for you. Standing up and brushing the dirt from your knees. You awkwardly clasped your hands together in front of you, waiting for him to respond. He stood still, completely static and it felt like a standoff of who would move next. You thought of saying something, anything to get him to act again but before you could he cut you off.

“You like…” He seemed to carefully consider his next words, in some ways it almost seemed meek the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. “Flowers?”

You turned your head to glance at the bed behind you. Realizing now how odd you must've looked, stopping to smell flowers like some child. You looked forward and he had yet to move still staring directly at you, at least that's what you assumed it was hard to tell with his visor.

“Yes, um…” Your mouth felt dry and tightened around your words. You know he didn't ask for an explanation but you gave one nonetheless, trying to ease your embarrassment.

“My mother used to have flowers on my home planet,” You turned your face down to your hands, rubbing your thumb at the juncture of two of your fingers. “I haven't seen any since the day I left...”

It had been a long time since you had thought of your old life. Ever since the war it had become painful to even entertain the good memories. Your parents had become ghosts of what they once were. Their faces were just flashes in your mind, reduced to the few reminders that stuck with you. The smells of cedar and earth reminded you of your father, his clothes always permeated with the smell of the outdoors. Sometimes you could recall how kind his eyes were, seeing a glimpse of them in your dreams. You remembered your mother’s flowers, how they grew during the warm season filling beds of green with vivid, swirling color.

“I didn’t realize they still grew.” You tried your best to keep the emotions these memories held from finding your face, but Din sensed them nonetheless. He hesitated for a moment before gesturing for you to follow him again.

—

“Thank you, for walking with me,” you said turning to him with a small smile on your face as the hut came into your view.

“Of course.” He stopped just a few feet away from you, turning to mimic your position.

“Goodnight,” you said, turning and walking up the few steps of the porch to Mira’s home.

“You never told me your name,” he said, causing you to stop just in front of the door, you turned back to face him.

You told him, giving a slight smile at the end of your words. He parroted your name, climbing up the stairs becoming level with you again. He moved closer to your body, leaving just a few inches between your chests. You looked up into his visor, your reflection more noticeable with the close proximity of your bodies.

He repeated your name, his hands going for one of the necklaces resting against his chest. He lifted it away from him, bringing the necklace around your neck, the cool metal of the pendant resting just above your breasts. You looked between him and the mythosaur skull, the same one you saw plastered on nearly everything in the village. You wanted to say something, your mouth opening, and closing while trying to focus long enough to string a few words together.

“You’re so beautiful.” He leaned his arm against the door behind you, pinning you between him and the wood of Mira’s hut. His other hand came up to trace along the length of your neck, his knuckles stopping when they reached your chin.

You felt like you were on fire, your blood running white-hot under your skin, leaving a blushed tint in its wake. You didn’t dare look up at him, afraid you’d melt under his gaze that seemed to bore straight through you. You kept your eyes fixated on the expansion of chest level with your eyes.

“Have you thought about staying?” His fingers gripped your chin, bringing you to look directly at his visor.

“Stay?” You were a little taken back, your voice coming out as a squeak compared to his. “Here?”

“Yes, here.” He chuckled, his voice dropped mocking the whisper in your tone. A smile threatens the corners of your lips and you bite on the inside of your cheek to stop the spread. He thought it was entertaining, watching you become giddy under his attention. You turned to look just past his shoulder, willing the flush you felt on your face and neck to subside. You had wanted his attention and now you had it but you were failing miserably at being anything but at his mercy.

“Do you like it here?” He said sensing your hesitation, forcing you to focus on him again.

“Yes, of course.” It was true, you enjoyed your time. But to stay? What place did you have here? They had made you feel so welcome but you were an outsider and you had yet to offer any contribution to their way of life. You had felt better than you had in years. Like a familiar version of yourself had taken over again, replenishing the life you so desperately tried to find before. It felt invigorating but you knew it couldn't last forever, and with your injuries in the final stages of healing, you knew that time was coming to an end.

“Then stay.” His voice was firm but held a sort of gentleness that made your heart flip in your ribcage.

He grabbed your hand, leading your palm to rest in the middle of his chest. Your fingers instinctively spread over the warmth of his skin, he interlocked his fingers with yours, effectively trapping your hand behind his.

You couldn’t see his face, but it felt as if you were staring right into his soul. You imagined the depth and piercing look of his eyes. You imagined they were just like the rest of him, fierce and intriguing but with a softness hid behind them. Mesmerizing you and making you want nothing more than to fall deep in their hypnosis. You wanted to kiss him, to feel him against you, flesh and bone to be explored by your fingertips. You wanted to be encased totally by him, to drown in the warmth he exuded, to feel nothing but him for the rest of your days.

With a newfound boldness, you slipped your hand away from his slowly trailing down the center of his chest. The pads of your fingers moved over the toned muscle of his chest, doing exactly what you had daydreamed about since you met him. His skin was a beautiful tanned color with scars scattered, telling the story of his battles. You traced a few, fingers delicately moving across the raised skin. You felt his breath released from behind his helmet, so quiet you may have not noticed if it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest. You continued your movements, traveling down until you met the trail of hair that peeked out from his trousers. He abruptly grabbed your wrist, a groan filtering through to your ears. His grip was firm, stopping your actions but being careful not to hurt you.

“You should get some rest.” His voice was so low, gravelly, barely registering with the voice coder of his helmet. He released his grip, moving your hand back to your side.

You were afraid you had fucked up, misreading him and crossing some forbidden line. Shame flooded your mind, causing your gaze to drift to your feet. He reached up to your face, pushing the hair that fell in your face back, revealing the timid look that fell on your features. He held his palm against your face for just a moment longer than necessary. As his hand fell from your face, you were back to staring into the darkness of his visor, surprised by the tenderness of his actions.

“Goodnight,” He whispered, turning back to walk down the steps, leaving you stunned and missing his warmth.

“Goodnight.”

—————

Taglist: @queenofheavenandhell @youmeanmybrain @theocatkov @dreamgirl-67 @duker42 @spxcedxdddy @vikingqueen28 @hdlynn @leo-moon @tiffdawg

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed!💕)

431 notes · View notes

averykedavra · 3 years

Note

people are allowed to feel upset or bad for characters or because of plotlines. You can't both say this and insist no one should ever feel bad because a character they see themselves reflected in gets insulted. Sometimes characters act badly. Sometimes they insult their friends. Expecting a show to stop in its tracks to point out that it was bad behavior is what shows for toddlers do. Even shows for 8 and up can trust their audience a bit more most of the time.

ok i admit that my post was written late at night, and maybe wasn’t as comprehensible as i hoped, but i think u missed the point.

when i said “people are allowed to feel upset or bad for characters or because of plotlines!” i meant stories don’t always elicit good feelings. sometimes sadness is the point. i didn’t mean that they shouldn’t feel bad when they feel insulted, demeaned, or offended.

when i said “a piece of media shouldn’t make anyone who watches feel bad about themselves,” i meant they shouldnt feel bad abt something about themselves that’s good. not that they can’t watch a favorite character get upset.

when @chronophobica said “I expect a show about mental health to be able to convey its point without being offensive,” it means people are allowed to have high standards for a show with high impact. not that we need to be babied.

when people say “using infodump as an insult hurt me” it means that they don’t want to see a good thing treated as a bad thing. that other media already does this, and they don’t want to see it happen. not that nobody is allowed to be mean in media ever.

when you say “sometimes characters act badly" you assume that in this case, it was clearly deemed an inacceptable thing to say. or roman was clearly in the wrong. instead, it was a throwaway line.

when i say “this hurt some people, and we should acknowledge them, even if you weren’t hurt personally” that’s what i mean. when i say “thomas made a mistake” that’s what i mean. i don’t want them to “trust the audience” to cover for their bad behavior. we aren’t obligated to turn a blind eye to anything.

there’s a grey area between spelling something out and ignoring it altogether. there are ways to treat it with the weight it deserved. and tbh when you put it in black-and-white, you’re the one who sounds like you haven’t graduated from shows for toddlers.

we can discuss and debate whether this was a big deal or not, or if thomas’ apology was good, or if this is representative of a larger problem. but we can’t go around stopping people from having the debate at all.

(and tbh it’s messages like this that made me upset abt the whole thing in the first place. so, uh, good job on making me dig my heels in. congrats.)

here’s my post with several links to other posts and videos, if you want a better explanation or several, bc i’m tired and i want u to better understand the issue if u can

#almost deleted this ask but found i did have stuff to say!#i hope this was coherent idk #i'm kinda tired of battling this out tbh bc it's like if u can't accept 'we should listen to ppl who are upset #and not idolize content creators'#idk where we're gonna get with the discussion tbh #like u seem to just not get the point #but idk whatever i'm tired #fandom problems #ts spoilers #tw long post #ts criticism #asks and answers #anon

27 notes · View notes

flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 belongs to this

Content warning: Memory loss (only briefly and not shown too explicitly) and brief mention of future death (very brief and only in the last section. To skip stop at ““I am with Jaskier,” he said instead of a real answer”)

can be read as a stand alone, I think. Only brief references to earlier chapters

Almost 5k sorry. I blame Lambert for this

“I’ve been thinking,” Geralt said and let his hand trace lazy patterns over Jaskier’s arm. “But I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Promising start.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh. “Sometimes I do have good ideas.”

“Mhhmm,” Jaskier said and snuggled closer to him, his hand coming to rest on Geralt’s chest. “Staying in bed was an excellent idea. So what have you been thinking about?”

Jaskier dragged the blanket further up until it almost covered his whole face, only the eyes peeking out to look up at Geralt.

Geralt hoped Jaskier couldn’t feel his heart speed up uncomfortably. He had been toying with this idea for a while now, ever since he had realised that it would be no use trying to regrow their flowers. The time for that had passed and the air had become too cold for them to sprout.

“You are cold, aren’t you?” He didn’t need to ask that question when the answer was so obvious in the way Jaskier was seeking out his warmth while being buried under a heap of blankets.

“Of course I am. It’s mid-autumn.” His tone took on a teasing note. “Good thing I have a lovely witcher to keep me warm.”

“What if you had more than that?” The question was out before Geralt could stop his mouth. He silently cursed himself. He had meant to ease Jaskier into his idea, not blurting his thoughts out as they came.

Jaskier’s brows knitted together and he rose slightly to get a better look at Geralt.

“I don’t need more than that. You are quite enough for me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Geralt swallowed nervously. “I meant, what if you had more than one witcher around you? With no flowers to sell, no music lessons and no contracts we won’t have much this winter.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Jaskier’s words tumbled out of his mouth with all the enthusiasm of a young bird that was soaring up into the sky for the first time. “Please say you’re taking me to Kaer Morhen!”

Geralt sighed. This was exactly why he had hesitated to tell him. “Do you think you will manage there? You know the winters aren’t very … pleasant in the keep. Colder than here.”

“Lucky me then, that I have a lovely witcher to keep me warm,” Jaskier repeated with a playful smirk.

Geralt’s lips twitched up, but his fingers stilled in Jaskier’s hair. As much as Jaskier’s enthusiasm made his heart leap, he needed him to be serious.

“It’s just an idea,” he said carefully. “I haven’t thought much about how to get there yet. I don’t want to disappoint you if it doesn’t work out.”

Jaskier swatted his hand against his chest. “You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried. Not when you’re so sweet suggesting we could go see the family again.”

Geralt’s lips stretched into a real smile at the word family. He had known of course that this was what his brothers and Vesemir were to Jaskier, but there would never come a day where Geralt would tire of hearing Jaskier say it out loud.

“Now, as much as I love being utterly lazy and cosy in bed with you,” Jaskier said while throwing the blankets off, ignoring his own shivering. “I believe we have preparations to make.”

“I can’t believe I ever missed this.” Yennefer’s voice cut sharply through Jaskier’s chatter, as he was doing his best to introduce Yennefer and Kris, who had been helping them with their travel preparations, to each other while also being unable to form a coherent sentence out of excitement.

Kris just gave Yennefer a lopsided grin and a nod in greeting.

“I guess you’ll be taking over from here?” they asked, fond exasperation in their voice.

Yennefer scoffed, though her eyes rested softly on Jaskier, not hesitating to steady him should the need arise. “I’m only taking them to their little vacation spot and then I’m off. Nothing could convince me to endure more of this” she nodded her chin towards Jaskier’s ear-to-ear- grin “than necessary. I don’t know how you do it.”

Kris just shrugged, but whatever answer they might have given was cut short by Jaskier’s mock offended gasp.

“You – “ he pointed an accusatory finger at Yen. “You love me and you know it. You just lack the mental strength to compete with my wit and charm.”

Geralt rolled his eyes at them. At least one thing that hadn’t changed, Geralt noted with the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Come on then,” Yennefer said. “We have no time to waste. Any longer and Jaskier might become ancient instead of just old.”

With a sly smirk she turned to Kris, whose eyes widened at the sight of the portal that appeared in front of the cottage at a wave of Yennefer’s hand. They looked on in wonder, as Geralt guided Jaskier through it. The last thing he could hear was a bemused “Enjoy your time off from these idiots” before the familiar headache that came with walking through a portal overtook his senses, only receding when he stepped out to feel frozen forest floor beneath his feet, the wall of Kaer Morhen towering over him.

“Since when are you able to portal so close to the keep?” he asked with a frown once Yennefer had passed through the portal as well.

“Since your bard would break his neck trying to make his way up the mountains,” she said, a look of barely concealed worry on Jaskier, who was swaying and leaning heavily against Geralt. Apparently travelling per portal didn’t get any easier with age. “I will renew the warding spells soon enough. At least until I have to get back here in spring to get you back.” Her lips quirked up. “That is unless Jaskier doesn’t do something to piss me off in the next few hours, making me leave you two to get back on your own.”

“Thank you, Yen,” Geralt said, hoping that his voice conveyed all the sincere gratitude he felt. None of this would have been possible if Yennefer hadn’t answered his letters so quickly, ready to make sure that Jaskier was safe and happy for the winter, even if she didn’t let up with her taunts.

“Just go see the others. I’m sure they’re already waiting for you.”

Yennefer was, of course, right.

The three of them hadn’t yet reached the gates, when they heard a shout of “Get your arses out here! They’re finally here!” coming from inside the keep.

Geralt felt his shoulders relax at Lambert’s unmistakable voice and the last of his tension left him, once he saw his family walk towards him. It had been too long. He hadn’t realised how much he had missed them.

The only thing keeping Geralt from running towards his brothers and tackling them into a long overdue hug was Jaskier, who was still gripping tightly to his arm.

The other witchers stopped their approach, their smiles frozen, when they finally laid eyes on Jaskier.

They stood still, as if Jaskier was a scared animal that could spook at any sudden movement.

No, that was not it. They looked, like they were scared of Jaskier. To anyone else they might look no different than on any other day, but Geralt knew them well enough to see the hints of fear around their eyes.

His heart clenched as Eskel turned his face slightly, a vain attempt to hide his scars in the shadows. Coën unfolded his arms, hunching his shoulders to make himself appear smaller and less threatening, while Vesemir did his best to ease his frown into what might have looked approachable and welcoming for a witcher, but for anyone not knowing them, would still seem like a threatening scowl.

Lambert was the only one, who did nothing to hide the tension in his body and his strained expression.

For a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity no one said a word. Geralt could hear his brother’s stuttering hearts and held breaths.

The unspoken ‘What if he doesn’t remember us?’ hanging heavily in the air.

An indignant snort next to him broke the silence.

“It’s been a while since my beauty has left anyone speechless for that long,” Jaskier said with a wink, not a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “Or maybe you don’t even recognize my handsome face under all these wrinkles?”

“Fuck, buttercup.” Lambert was the first to release his breath in a sharp laugh, laden with relief. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

Jaskier’s answering laugh was enough to ease the tension out of the others. Smiles took the place of tense frowns and they finally got to embrace after years of being parted, only breaking away from each other when Jaskier’s shivering became too hard to ignore and he was ushered inside by Vesemir.

Jaskier hadn’t said anything about it, but it was obvious that he was aching. Winters were always harder for him and the sudden change in the climate - travelling from the mildly chilly south to the frozen north in a manner of minutes – left Jaskier shaking and pulling a grimace he was barely able to hide at every movement he made.

Yennefer clicked her tongue disapprovingly when Jaskier insisted that he was fine. She would hear none of his complaints, when she brought forth something that looked almost like candy, but judging from the face Jaskier pulled when he swallowed it, tasted nowhere close to the delicious treats he always liked to sneak.

It was worth it, though, to see the poorly concealed expression of pain fade from Jaskier’s face.

His steps were still slow and a bit wobbly at times, but Jaskier made it back to the library where the others were sitting, ready with blankets and a roaring fire in the hearth, without even once groaning in pain.

“What did you give him?” Geralt asked Yennefer quietly, once Jaskier had nestled himself under the blanket with Eskel, swatting away Eskel’s attempts at draping the blanket in a way that wouldn’t leave an inch of Jaskier bare.

“It takes away some of his pain. Triss showed me how to make it.”

Geralt perked up, willing his heart not to speed up in foolish hope. “It’s healing him?”

Yennefer sighed and leaned back, her eyes boring into Geralt with fierce seriousness. “I know what you’re thinking. Stop it.”

“I wasn’t –“

“Of course you were. Yes, it’s healing him in a way. It makes sure he is feeling a bit stronger and makes it so that Jaskier won’t hurt that much. But what he has is nothing that can be healed. Not permanently.”

Geralt felt himself deflate, even though he had known nothing would ever come of this train of thought. “He will still age.”

“As he should.” Before Geralt could speak up again, she gave him his answer. “I can do nothing about his mind either. I won’t alter any part of who he is. And this is who he is now.”

“Our lives have been made longer.” Geralt wasn’t sure why he said it. One could hold a sword to his throat and still he wouldn’t subject Jaskier to even half of what had been done to them. It just…Geralt had to at least voice it, even as he knew the thought would be leading nowhere.

“You don’t want that for him,” Yennefer said softly.

“No. I don’t.”

“He doesn’t want that either.” She paused, letting her eyes drift over to Jaskier, who was talking animatedly about their garden, describing the flowers in vivid detail and imagining with a dreamy expression how pretty wolfs and the griffin would look with flowers in their hair. “I talked to him about it, did you know? Must have been almost a decade ago. I offered to look into magic that could prolong his life. Do you know what he said?”

Geralt grunted, not sure if he wanted to hear it.

“He said his songs gave him all the immortality he could want. He said he was allowing himself to make the selfish choice and grow old.”

Geralt scowled, but swallowed down against the lump in his throat that was making his words come out choked. “Nothing selfish about being human.”

“Many would disagree.”

Laughter rang through the library as Jaskier brought one of his anecdotes to conclusion, his warm eyes landing on Geralt with a smile that showed off all of his wrinkles in their full beauty.

Something that had been pressing uncomfortably on his heart came lose in Geralt’s chest. “Nothing selfish about being happy then.”

Geralt’s eyes didn’t leave Jaskier, even as Yennefer reached out for his hand and offered the little comfort with her touch that she could. He skin felt smooth against his. Geralt missed the wrinkles of Jaskier’s fingers.

“I wouldn’t have had to see you grow old and aching all the time, if we had stayed together.”

“No,” Yennefer agrees. “But neither of us would have been as happy as you two are and as I am with Triss.”

“Nothing selfish about being happy.”

Yennefer had barely left the keep to go back to her own happiness, when Jaskier called out for him to get the thing they talked about.

Geralt dodged his brothers’ questioning eyes. Jaskier had spent too long agonizing over this to spoil it for him. Immediately after sending the letter to Yennefer asking her to help them with a portal, Jaskier had started gathering ideas for this, even writing them down, so as not to run the risk of forgetting anything.

Jaskier was practically vibrating with excitement, when he took the bag from Geralt under the curious eyes of the others.

Geralt shooed Eskel off his seat next to Jaskier and took it in his stead, ignoring the only mildly scolding look he received.

“Vesemir, you are first,” Jaskier said brightly and held something out for the eldest witcher, who accepted the gift with a lifted eyebrow. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly when he read the cover of the book.

“Bestiary of serpents and other sea-dwelling monsters,” Vesemir read out loud. “Where did you get this, lad? There is barely any reliable information of sea creatures out there.”

Jaskier’s smile turned sheepish, but there was a boyish glint in his eyes. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Vesemir obliged, opening a random page. For a heartbeat his expression didn’t change, before he burst out into laughter.

“This is the stupidest stuff I’ve ever read,” he snorted, before glimpsing at the shelf designated specifically for books featuring hilariously incorrect descriptions of various beast – most of which had their origins in Jaskier’s songs – where this bestiary would undoubtedly find its new spot of honour.

Geralt stayed quiet, as the rest of the witchers received their gifts and Jaskier’s eyes shone brighter with each smile he got out of his friends.

A knitted blanket for Lil’ Bleater, who by now barely deserved that name anymore that earned him a soft look from Eskel.

“Can’t let her get cold,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “We old folk must stick together.”

A pin with a greenish yellow gemstone called Griffin’s Eye that Jaskier had bought from a fisherman who had found it in the sea, for Coën. Jaskier explained that it could be worn in a beard, just as some people would put jewellery in their hair, though Jaskier didn’t fail to sternly remind Coën that there was no need to hide his scars beneath his beard, as he was just as handsome as the rest of the witchers.

“Well, apart from Geralt, of course. He’s the prettiest,” Jaskier said with a wink. “But I am biased, so that hardly counts.”

A little wooden figure of a cat that Jaskier had begged Geralt to make for Lambert.

“For when you miss Aiden.”

It earned Jaskier a “Fuck off”, but Lambert’s attempt at disguising his softened eyes with outrage had no one fooled.

“That’s everything,” Jaskier said, beaming at the way Lambert, Eskel and Coën were running their fingers over their gifts to feel the texture and Vesemir was already thumbing through his book with a chuckle on his lips.

“Not quite,” Geralt said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

When Jaskier gave him a confused look, Geralt pulled a little shard of sea shell out of his pockets and placed it on the sill of the fire place.

“It’s for good luck. For our second home.”

Despite what Lambert had said to welcome Jaskier, there was no doubt in any of the witchers that Jaskier had changed.

Geralt could see it in their expressions, when they weren’t sure how they should talk to Jaskier; in the way they wouldn’t shove him playfully anymore like they used to for fear of hurting him.

Eskel had always been gentle with Jaskier, but it was strange seeing Lambert and Coën walk on eggshells around him.

It was hard to miss that Jaskier noticed as well.

At first he didn’t pay much attention to it, but after a while, Geralt couldn’t help but notice Jaskier flinching, whenever Lambert went to pat his back only to change his mind last minute. He couldn’t unsee the way Jaskier’s face fell when Coën opened his arms as if going in for a hug to then let his arms fall limply and awkwardly, before Jaskier could fling himself into his arms.

The whole idea of coming to Kaer Morhen had been that Jaskier would be around familiar faces other than Geralt’s; that he could be with people who knew and loved him from before.

“They just need time to get used to it,” Geralt said in what he hoped was a soothing voice, after Lambert had cut himself off from making a cutting taunt and left before Jaskier got the chance to say anything. “They won’t be idiots throughout the whole winter.”

Jaskier cracked a weak smile. “They’re always idiots.”

“Of course they are.” Geralt leaned in conspiratorially. “Are you going to pass up on your chance to take advantage of that?”

Jaskier’s eyes, already sparkling in mischief were answer enough.

The next days were filled with harmless, but incredibly annoying pranks Jaskier pulled with the help of Geralt.

It was almost like old times, when Lambert and Jaskier would try to outdo each other to prove that they were the superior nuisance. With the small difference of course, that no one dared to take revenge on Jaskier.

That is, until one fateful morning, Lambert stormed into Geralt’s room, scratching his arms frantically.

“You!” He pointed accusingly at Jaskier, whose delighted grin was half-hidden by the blanket. “You have gone too far.”

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of,” Jaskier said with the shit eating grin of someone who knew very well what they were being accused of and that they deserved every bit of it. “I am only a helpless and innocent old man after all.”

Lambert snorted. “Innocent, my ass. You put fucking itching powder into my shirt.”

“Oh, is that what it was?” Geralt had to repress a snort at Jaskier’s big eyes and not-at-all-innocent tone. “I must have misread the label. Old and fragile as I am.”

“Fuck off, buttercup.”

“That is no way to talk to your elders, young man. Truly, if only I wasn’t so – Hey! Put me down!”

Lambert didn’t pay his protests any mind, kicking the bedroom door open with his foot.

Geralt followed them, conveniently ignoring Jaskier’s calls for help that were broken off by his own laughter.

The sounds of mirth too were soon replaced by an undignified shriek, as Lambert unceremoniously, yet carefully dropped Jaskier into a pile of snow in the court yard.

Geralt stood to the side, leaning against the doorway, content to watch in amusement as Jaskier enacted his own revenge by throwing snow at Lambert. Geralt was only forced to join in when some stray snowballs not so accidentally hit him in the face as well.

He knew Jaskier’s hands would be freezing soon and they would spend the rest of the day making sure Jaskier didn’t catch a cold, making him drink tea and bundling him up in a blanket in front of a warm fire.

But for now, Jaskier got to enjoy the snow and the knowledge that Lambert was back to being the annoying bastard that he was always meant to be.

After that, the tension in the keep eased away steadily. Geralt’s brothers were still hovering over Jaskier, ready to jump to his aid at any minute, but after Jaskier had started loudly complaining about ‘young people these days’, they had taken to making it into a game of who could keep an eye on Jaskier the longest without being spotted or betting playfully scolded.

Coën didn’t exactly win with in a rout, but he certainly managed to secure his place close to Jaskier, when one day after supper, he just picked Jaskier up and started carrying him to wherever he wanted to go.

Jaskier’s delighted laugher mingled with half-hearted protests made Geralt’s heart swell.

“No, Coën, put me down this instant! I refuse to get carried about like a sack of potatoes!” He struggled in the griffin’s arms, weak enough to make it clear to anyone watching that he wasn’t truly trying to escape. “If you don’t let me down now, I will annoy you into letting me go!”

Coën chuckled at the threat and only tightened his grip. “Don’t be ridiculous, bard. I used to give Ciri piggyback rides all the time when she was around. If I could manage that rascal, I sure as hell can manage you.”

“Are you challenging my ability to be a nuisance?” Jaskier asked with a glint in his eyes that promised trouble.

Safe to say, Jaskier made good on his threat to be as bothersome as possible. And safe to say that with every attempt at annoying him that felt closer to how Jaskier had been as a young man, Coën seemed to take more joy in carrying him around.

Geralt feared it would take the entire winter to determine which one of them would win this battle of stubbornness.

Seeing Jaskier interact with his brothers as he had always done before lifted a weight from Geralt’s shoulders, he hadn’t been aware he had been carrying.

Still, there were days, even weeks at a time, when Jaskier retreated into that far-off place in his mind. He still teased the witchers, still laughed and was happy, but there was something off about it.

Geralt couldn’t be certain if Jaskier’s relationship with his family was still the same because he knew that he had loved them for years, or because he wasn’t aware of how much time had passed since he had last been in the keep.

After all, being surrounded by men who still looked the same as they had decades ago was bound to mess with Jaskier’s head, especially when every so often, he seemed to lose all sense of orientation and time on his own.

On days like these, Geralt could feel the pitying looks of Eskel and Coën burning into him.

Lambert was the only one who didn’t fuss over Jaskier when he got that distant look in his eyes or treat Geralt like a thin sheen of ice that could shatter at the lightest pressure. He had always been one to throw explosives at frozen lakes.

Lambert closed off himself, becoming gruffer than ever.

Geralt was almost grateful for him. As much as he appreciated Eskel’s concerned touches on his shoulder telling him that he was there if Geralt needed him, he didn’t want pity, didn’t want his family to treat him like he was about to break.

They were already deep in their cups, when Geralt couldn’t help but voice his thoughts. Eskel and Coën had left him and Lambert to drink alone after one too many jabs from Lambert, when the others had become too obvious in avoiding talking about Jaskier, who had spent the day staring into the fireplace mesmerised, only moving when Geralt urged him to eat.

Lambert scoffed at Geralt’s clumsy thanks for not pitying him.

“Well, he’s my friend too, isn’t he?”, Lambert said, gripping his tankard tightly, scowling at is as though it was the cause of all his problems. “The others might have forgotten that Jaskier’s not only your family in their ridiculous selflessness, but I for one am pissed that sometimes my friend doesn’t recognise me.”

Those words startled Geralt out of his drunken haze. “Being pissed off is selfish?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Lambert’s scowl deepened. “That’s what I’ve always been called though when I got pissed. I was pissed when I was dragged to this shithole as a child. I was pissed when I was send out to save people who would spit at me. I don’t fucking care if my anger is selfish.”

Unbidden images of Geralt storming away from Jaskier because he couldn’t handle seeing him like a shell of himself, fought their way to the forefront of Geralt’s mind. Images of Jaskier holding him close when it all became too much for Geralt.

“Good. You have every right to be angry.” Geralt said, eyes boring into Lambert’s. “But just for the record. It’s not - It’s not selfish. Or if it is, then we both are.”

More often than not, it was like old times. Once everyone had gotten used to Jaskier disappearing into his mind every once in a while, the old routine was back. Evenings were spent with Jaskier prodding everyone for details of their hunts or sitting in the library together while Jaskier played his lute, for as long as his joints allowed him too.

Yennefer’s medicine did not work miracles. She had made that abundantly clear before she had left, but it gave Jaskier the chance to make music for longer than just a few minutes before the ache in his fingers would force him to stop.

In the mornings, Jaskier would watch them train and spar with a familiar spark in his eyes.

Seeing Jaskier perched on a bench, nestled in a blanket to keep the cold at bay with an expression of pure joy was worth enduring Lambert’s merciless teasing about Geralt getting slow and lazy in his time off the Path.

Geralt couldn’t deny it, the long absence of any real fight was showing, but it felt good to spar with his brothers again.

He had been unsure how Vesemir would react to his decision of giving up hunting for a while, but all his old mentor did to acknowledge it was frown when Geralt got bested by Coën for the third time in a row.

“Retirement is no excuse for sloppy footwork.”

As the snow started to thaw and the witchers grew restless, itching to go back on the Path, Geralt found himself in Eskel’s room, sitting together on the bed like they had when they had been children.

Despite Eskel’s multiple attempts of talking to Geralt about Jaskier’s state, Geralt had successfully managed to avoid this conversation. Until now.

It was different knowing that soon their time here would end and their paths would split again, Eskel going off to risk his life and Geralt tending to flowers and taking walks on the shore with Jaskier.

It was good talking to Eskel. Talking to anyone, really, but Eskel had always known what to say and how to comfort people.

He didn’t ask about Jaskier. Spending the winter months with him had answered all questions better than Geralt could have done. Instead, Eskel asked about Geralt. How he was handling the quiet life, if he was alright, if there was anything Eskel could do to help him.

It was so close to how they used to talk before the trials and then after their first year on the Path.

Just like back then, Geralt didn’t know how to reply. How was he handling all of this? He didn’t know. Maybe it was alright not to know.

“I am with Jaskier,” he said instead of a real answer. Eskel nodded, as if that meant anything to him. Maybe it did. Geralt knew that it meant everything to himself.

“How will you manage after?” Eskel said carefully, tone blank, but one of his hands rested on Geralt’s shoulders, grounding him.

Neither of them explicitly said it, but they both knew what ‘after’ meant. After Jaskier was gone. After there was no quiet life on the coast left for Geralt to return to.

Geralt didn’t answer for a long time.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, leaning into Eskel’s touch. “But I will manage. Somehow. We still have time. For now, I am going to plant flowers and watch him smile and be happy.”

Eskel gave him a long look, but didn’t reply.

Maybe it hadn’t been fair for Geralt to escape the path and build this new life. Maybe it had been selfish to turn his back on the world and let his brothers continue on their own.

He thought of sea shells on window sills, of laughter and soft smiles, of flowers and toes that dug into sand until the sea washed his doubts away. He thought of Jaskier’s hand in his, squeezing lightly as if to say I am still here. Thank you for being here with me.

Maybe Geralt was selfish for choosing Jaskier and maybe he was stupid in refusing to think about what would come after. But for now, it was enough to have Jaskier’s smile and his blue eyes in his life and just be happy.

20 notes · View notes

drxwsyni · 4 years

Note

May I request some yandere present mic attempting to court a fellow teacher who, despite also liking him, keeps turning him down. She doesn't think he's genuinely interested in her because she has a hard time believing anyone would actually find her desirable?

thx for the request, hope you’re okay with where i took this!!!

_____

(1.3k words) title: gifts

_____

It was subtle at first.

He’d linger in the teacher’s lounge longer than normal, doing anything to extend his stay when you were around.

Then it progressed to him taking up residence in the seat next to you on the couch. Yamada would ask about how your students were treating you, if the workload was too much―always interested in your well being, but in a professional sense.

It was nice, to say the least. Coffee was freshly brewed and at the ready for when you walked into the room during break, him waiting patiently for the opportunity to strike up a conversation. He’d crack a joke here and there, easing your pent up tensions greatly. The time you began to spend with the voice hero was like therapy―taking you away from the stresses of being a newly transferred teacher into such a prestigious school.

That was until it moved into something more...personal.

He was clingy.

The second you were away from work, whether it be on your break or early in the morning before class began, he was there. It had you questioning how on earth he managed to get his own work done, being around you whenever possible.

You could manage it, but the closeness that was becoming all too apparent only had you thinking of one thing. And eventually your suspicions had come to light, in the form of Yamada asking you out on a dinner date.

Not that you didn’t like him, at this point you actually had grown quite fond of his company. However, you’d never been one to accept proclamations like these. Your friends called it being a tease―but you knew it was more than that. After internalizing it for so long, it was simply a matter of understanding that these moments were most likely done on a whim, with intention being everything but thought out.

Yamada wasn’t the most serious of men, so there was no way he’d really contemplated the outcome of his actions. If he did then surely the current feeling would be short lived, and it would only take your rejection to make him come to his senses.

So you politely denied him, reasoning with not having the time, and not wanting to distract him from his work―when really it stemmed from issues of self-confidence.

He’d taken it without batting an eye, so you assumed it finally clicked how the idea was never a good one to begin with.

But that assumption slowly faded.

He became more insistent. Hinting at going out after school, or taking you to his favorite restaurant, even offering to cook for you himself.

Time after time you denied his advancements. You knew full well that he wouldn’t like where it would lead with you―after all, who would?

Yamada must’ve picked up on your complete dismissal of the subject, because he only became more aggressive with his intentions.

You started coming to class only to find small gifts waiting on your desk. The contents stayed consistent in value for a while―chocolates mostly, flowers―innocent things.

It became alarming when they became more pricey. You’d walk in to find luxurious perfumes or jewelry sitting neatly adorned with designer brands labelling the boxes they were situated in. None of the items were of that you’d be able to normally afford. It made you feel nice to be doted on so passionately―but also horribly guilty.

You were convinced that he hadn’t thought out the implications, as doing so would never have led to this. To stop him from damaging his wallet any further, you brought up the issue.

Given the circumstances, you were forced to be blunt with him. Unlike last time, he was adamant on questioning your reasoning. You knew a simple explanation of not having the time wouldn’t pass―him knowing just as much as you that it wasn’t really the case.

Instead, you chose to be honest. It was never something you wanted to admit, it bringing a strange sense of shame along with the confession. But you knew there was no other way to convince him.

The response was short―you said that there was no way such a successful man such as himself could really want to indulge someone like you in ways he had suggested. Driving the point home, you vaguely conveyed that your past partners never enjoyed themselves with you, and it was something they made very clear.

Like last time, you expected, or rather hoped, that he’d just accept your confession and move on.

But that was far from what happened.

You’d never seen Yamada so emotional―so distressed.

He demanded to know who made you think so little of yourself, saying there must’ve been some serious screws loose in their heads to ever convince you of that.

And when you refused, he did not at all take it well. It wasn’t immediate―he’d left you for the day telling you he wanted you to think about what he said. Yet, when he returned and you still didn’t want to give the individuals up, he became almost patronizing.

Yamada pestered you until you gave him the names out of frustration than anything else really. He calmed down after that, saying you did the right thing by telling him.

The voice hero left soon after, saying he had some work to finish up, of course not without sending you a signature wink and a smile before doing so.

You went home that day unsettled to the bone. He was eager to leave you after that―too eager.

But that wouldn’t be the only thing to leave you deeply disturbed for long.

Being a teacher at a hero school, it was only natural that you kept up on the news. Your students liked to ask you all sorts of questions on the subject, so you’d be neglecting your duty if you didn’t stay well informed.

Yet informed was everything you didn’t want to be after seeing the most recent coverage of villain activity on the news.

The offender was still at large, putting more tension on those who, like you, were educated on their crimes that night. The newscaster displayed images of every single one of the individuals you had confessed to Yamada. All deceased and beaten to a pulp with blood draining from their ears.

You sat paralyzed with fear for what felt like hours. Eventually however, you pulled yourself out of your thoughts, making haste to lock all the doors and windows of your home.

When you made it to the front door, your heart sank into your stomach as your eye caught a small box sitting on your doorstep. Debating whether it was worth it or not, then concluding that you had nothing left to lose, you opened the door. In the blink of an eye you had grabbed the box and slammed the door closed again, locking it immediately.

Hesitantly, you set the parcel on the coffee table of your living room. Steeling yourself, you untied the ribbon keeping it closed, slowly lifting the lid off.

The contents made you want to throw up.

There were pictures―so many pictures.

Some were of you at work or walking home. There were too many taken from what must’ve been somewhere outside your windows. You were eating dinner in a few, cleaning in others. You could barely keep your eyes on the more disturbing, or rather revealing ones for half a second before throwing them back into the pile.

When you finally made it to the bottom of the parcel, you weren’t sure if what was waiting there was any better.

There was a handwritten note:

I hope these help you see just how perfect you are in my eyes sweetheart. Even if they don’t, I’ll be more than happy to teach you once you come home.

See you soon,

‘Zashi

The front door lock clicked open.

#yandere bnha #yandere present mic #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha

159 notes · View notes

thekytchensynk · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday Sero

Have some nonsense because why not right?

“So, surprise party. What do you think?”

Jirou just stared at him for a long few seconds, chewing on a piece of pocky. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“A surprise party,” she repeated, inflection turning it into a question.

Sero nodded, then looked around the room. Had he … interrupted something? Sure, being asked to help plan a surprise party wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence but his classmate was acting like she expected him to be pulling a prank on her.

Leaning back in her chair, Jirou gave her silence another few seconds before asking, “Why me? Why not Kaminari? Or Kirishima? No offense, I like Mina and all, and I’m happy to help. But aren’t you guys like her best friends?”

It was Sero’s turn to let a silence settle. How to explain without it sounding kiiiinda mean. His eyes meandered over the fresh-cut grass of UA’s lawn, the scent of which still hung on the air, but no easy answer presented itself in the landscaping.

Defeated, he slumped back over his knees. “Have you met them?” he muttered. “They’re great, seriously, but Mina can sniff out something like this at a hundred paces. If I ask them for help, this will stop being a surprise party within a literal minute.”

Jirou sighed. “You know it won’t be that much better with me, right? She can see when basically anyone is hiding things from her, right?” Her voice dropped to a mutter as she added, “‘S like a radar, I swear.”

“Yeah. But you and I have a little cover when it comes to birthday planning around now,” Sero said.

Jirou looked pointedly away. “How do people find this stuff OUT.” When she looked back at him, he raised an eyebrow and she rolled her eyes. “How? How does she always…”

“It’s a gift,” Sero agreed. “A really irritating gift sometimes. It’s like she can see into your brain. Which is kinda why I wanna do this?”

“So like … the surprise is the present?” Jirou asked.

“Yeah.”

After considering this for a few more seconds, Jirou nodded. “All right, fine. We plan a surprise party for Mina? And if people ask, we claim the party’s for each other? That’s not gonna raise some eyebrows?”

“We’re teenagers living in a dorm building together. Passing someone a pencil in class raises eyebrows,” Sero said.

“Fair. All right. Let’s do it.”

“So, a surprise party! What do you think?”

Kaminari and Kirishima exchanged a look. Then, as though acting on an impulse from a single, shared brain cell, they looked back to Mina and said in unison, “We’re in!”

But almost immediately, Kirishima added, “But … if we’re all in on it, isn’t he going to get suspicious?”

“He might suspect, but he’s not going to get, like, aggressive about it,” Mira said. “So if you feel like you’re about to let something slip, just leave. It’s only for a week anyway.”

Kaminari looked thoughtful, frowning at the floor with a somewhat unwarranted intensity. The other two stayed quiet, glancing at one another and then just watching, curious where this was going to go.

“Won’t we need a lot of stuff?” he asked at last. “I mean, food, and a cake, and music, and decorations?”

Mina dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “It’s not that big a deal,” she said. “You handle the music, yeah? Kirishima, can you work out the decorations? And I can do the rest?”

The grins on their faces told her all she needed to know.

This was gonna be fun

A couple days later, Sero and Jirou sat on a couch by the window in the common room between classes. Outside, bright summer sunshine slanted down toward them and only the tinting in the glass kept it from blinding the pair.

“So, I stopped by his room and asked him about it,” Jirou was saying, staring down at her phone as she talked. A music playlist took up the screen. As she spoke, she thumbed down the list, scanning the songs included.

“And?”

“He can’t,” she said. “Maybe you should have asked him. Aren’t you two friends?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Sorry to ask you to do it. I’ve just been trying to figure out the rest of the food. I asked about it at the cafeteria, but they said we’d need a teacher’s permission.”

“And we can’t get that?” Jirou asked, finally pocketing her phone again.

“Who am I going to ask? Mr. Aizawa?” Sero groused. “I-”

“Whacha talking about?”

Both Sero and Jirou jumped at the voice that materialized between them, and they slid in opposite directions on the couch. Leaning her elbows against the back of the couch, Mina continued, “Woah. Sorry, Was I interrupting something private?” She grinned wickedly at the two of them.

“We were hoping to get permission for a pizza party in the dorm for the end of term,” Jirou said smoothly. “Never thought there’d be this many hoops though.”

Mina’s eyes narrowed as she studied Jirou for a long few seconds. Her searching expression was enough to make Sero struggle not to fidget, and he wasn’t even on the receiving end of it.

After an excruciatingly long few seconds, Mina straightened up and added, “Aww man. A pizza party sounds awesome.” Then with a wave, she wandered off, heading apparently up to her room.

The pair watched her go before both basically collapsed back onto the couch.

“Like a radar!” Jirou hissed. “How does she do it!”

Mina scowled at her phone. Was anything going to go right?

Sorry, but Mr. Aizawa caught me with the streamers! He thinks I was going to use them for some sort of prank and took them. Forgive me!

Kirishima’s text wasn’t long, and didn’t contain anything that took more than a cursory approach to decipher, but she kept reading and rereading it, hoping that this time it would say something different than she’d read the last dozen times.

It wouldn’t be so bad if this were the only thing, she mused as she closed the app and leaned her head back to stare listlessly at the ceiling. But first Kaminari had managed to fry his speakers. Then when he’d asked Jirou about borrowing hers, but she’d said they were too heavy to be safely moved down to the common area, and too delicate to be trusted around their rowdy classmates.

She half suspected sabotage, especially given all the time Jirou and Sero were spending together lately. Could they have figured it out and be trying to mess with her?

No. She didn’t think they’d do that. What would be the point?

She had to admit to herself that maybe, she was just feeling a little bit lonely?

She liked Jirou -- she was absolutely cool and smart and had great taste in all sorts of things. But Mina also liked the comfortable camaraderie of their little squad, and lately, that had been fractured. Most nights, either Kaminari or Kirishima were out later than usual helping her. Sometimes she herself was. Bakugo, who thought the whole surprise party thing was stupid, was just avoiding them. And Sero…

He had to suspect something, and his instinct about the source seemed preternatural. Lately, it felt like every time she walked into a room, he walked out. If she walked up to talk, he’d get nervous and excuse himself. He seemed to have replaced hanging out with them with hanging out with Jirou.

To be honest, it kind of hurt. She was starting to regret the whole thing.

“Two more days,” she muttered to herself. “Just two more days.”

“Tomorrow’s the big day,” Jirou said around a bite of her breakfast.

“Thank god,” Sero said, pushing food around his plate. “This is way more stress than I wanted. I know she knows we’re up to something. I just don’t know if she knows what yet.”

Jirou glanced over his way. “Of course. You act like a toddler with his hand in the cookie jar whenever she walks in the room.”

“I’m not good at this sort of thing!” he protested, before giving up entirely and pushing his barely touched meal away. “And nothing is going right-”

Which was an understatement. After the cake failure and the food failure, Iida had come up to him, awkwardly and entirely unasked, to convey that the teachers had told them there were to be no defacing or making a mess of the dorms as part of their end-of-semester celebrations. And while their planned decorations weren’t for the end of the semester, he assumed Mr. Aizawa would not appreciate the difference in this particular circumstance.

Not to mention, he thought people would be psyched about the idea of a party. But once he started inviting some of their classmates who could keep their mouths shut last night, the reactions were … let’s go with “uninspiring.”

Oh. OK.

I’ll try to make it.

Huh. All right.

You’d have thought he was inviting them to a study session instead of a birthday party.

It was frustrating.

“Oh, and about the music,” Jirou said.

At last, the one thing that would be going right.

“I forgot I agreed to let some upperclassmen borrow my speakers for a tournament,” she concluded. “Sorry about that. My phone has an OK speaker though, so we can use that.”

“Ah. Right.”

Looking down at his own phone, Sero wondered what god he’d offended.

“Uuuugh, this is a disaster.” Mina whined. She “sat” in a chair upside down, with her back on the seat, her legs up over the back and her head toward the floor.

“It’s not a disaster,” Kirishima said bracingly.

She raised her head and looked over at him. “No food, no decorations, music off your computer speakers and almost no one except us three definitely coming,” she said, leveling a stare at him despite the odd angle. “How is that not a disaster?”

“Maybe everyone’s planning on coming and just didn’t say so?” he asked awkwardly.

“Yeah! You know people like to keep their weekends open,” Kaminari threw in.

“Right, right. Well, maybe you can save the day, Kaminari.”

“Me?” He sounded genuinely puzzled. “What?”

“Did you ask Satou about the cake?”

He brightened up. “Oh, yeah!” But then his face fell again. “He said he wouldn’t be able to though. Sorry.”

With a sigh, Mina let her head drop back toward the floor again. “See?” she said, gesturing vaguely in Kirishima’s direction. “Disaster.”

This time he didn’t object.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

Jirou waved for him to stay in his room. “I mean, with what? There are just a couple decorations, so that’s easy enough. And if Mina corners you, you’re going to spill the beans.”

Probably not incorrect. Whatever she thought about the party, he was honestly going to just be glad to have the whole thing behind him, he thought as he puttered around his room wasting time.

What if she hated it? She wouldn’t get mad -- she generally took things in the spirit they were intended. But he didn’t want to disappoint his friend. Or make her uncomfortable. Not that a party would. But maybe he misjudged? What if the surprise bit did?

He glanced at his phone. Five minutes to 2 p.m. Time apparently flew when you worried yourself slightly ill. Just about time to go down and prepare for the “surprise” part of the surprise party.

As he reached the fourth-floor landing, he heard footsteps and turned to see who it was.

Ah crap.

Mina looked as surprised to see him as he was to see her. Hadn’t Jirou said not to worry about keeping her in her room, that she’d set something up? Why was she here?

For her part, Mina’s accustomed bright smile took a couple seconds to make itself seen. He wondered if his shock was showing too clearly on his face, because it seemed like she looked uncomfortable to see him.

“Hey!” she chirped. “Heading somewhere?”

“Uhh,” he said articulately. “Yyyyeah.” Idiot!

“Where to? She asked, starting down the first couple steps to the third floor, then looking back and waiting for him to follow.

Well, this was it. There was literally no way he could get her to go back to her room. There was no real way to warn the folks downstairs she was coming down early -- assuming anyone was there except Jirou, of course.

Time to just get this over with. He followed her down the stairs.

“So hey, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a couple days,” she said as they headed down.

“Yeah?”

“Have you been avoiding me lately?”

You act like a toddler with his hand in the cookie jar whenever she walks in the room, the memory of Jirou’s words prodded him helpfully.

“Huh? No, not really. Heh heh,” he said, trying to brush it off, but he could just feel the awkwardness in his tone and posture and this was turning into a total mess. How did these stairs get so long?

Mina looked a little doubtful, but nodded. “OK. Then are you and Jirou like…” she trailed off.

It took him a couple seconds to put together what she was even asking. Once he did, his face heated up. “Wh… no!”

“Because you know if you are, we’re cheering for you.” That mischievous grin on her face told him they might also needle him. But it didn’t matter.

“That’s seriously not it. She’s cool and all, but … that’s not it.”

Her smile faded again, just a little. “Something I did then?” she asked as they rounded the corner and stepped onto the final staircase, to the ground floor.

“No! Seriously Mina, I’m not avoiding you or anything. It’s just been kind of a weird week.” He supposed the one good thing about how she kept peppering him with questions was that it hept her focused on their conversation instead of peeking ahead and maybe seeing all of the nothing they’d put together for her party. “Sorry if I gave you that impression though.”

“All right.”

“We good?”

She sighed. “Yeah, we-”

“SURPRISE!”

Sero thought Mina jumped at the sudden chorus of shouting voices. It was hard to know for sure, because he definitely jumped at the sound. He’d been expecting it as they reached the ground floor, of course, but that had been a bit louder than he was prepared for. Turning to look at the common room, he saw ...

He saw a party. There were streamers, and a “Happy birthday” banner and food and a cake. Jirou’s sound system was set up in the corner.

And as far as he could see, everyone from their class and a few more besides were here.

He gaped. This was … unexpected. Then he looked over, to see Mina looking just as flummoxed.

As people got the party started, Kaminari hurried over and grinned at Mina. “So, what do you think?”

“Where did all of this come from?” she asked. She sounded as confused as him, actually.

Wait a second.

Before he could voice his suspicions, Jirou wandered up. “You should see your face,” she said.

“I thought everything fell through,” Sero said.

“Well of course,” Jirou said with a wry smile. “We were all conspiring against you both.” Kaminari looked over at her and nodded, still looking totally pleased with himself. “It’s a good thing you never compared notes.”

“Wh.. how could we?”

“And that’s what we were counting on.” she chuckled, then gave him a little wave and wandered off.

At nearly the same time, Kaminari gave Mina a little shove toward where Kirishima stood near the food. “Come on, he’s been like this close to spilling the beans for four days or something, if you don’t let him finally tell you everything, he might literally explode.”

Still a bit bemused, Sero watched them go before wanding off to join … whatever this was.

It was about an hour later when Mina found him chatting with Asui and Uraraka about some new single that had recently come out. As Asui leaned over to show Uraraka her phone so she could pull up the video, Mina plopped down on the couch next to Sero.

“So,” she said, settling in.

“So.” he agreed.

“Has the last week been as frustrating for you as it’s been for me?”

“Yuuuup.”

By design, apparently. It had taken less than a day for Kaminari to spill the secret to Jirou, who informed him of Sero’s side of the equation. From there, the planning had spread until the only people not in on it were, funnily enough, the two who started it.

“I owe Kaminari and Kirishima an apology,” Sero said, shaking his head. “I was sure if I asked them they’d give it away. Instead, everyone kept it from us.”

“I thought I was noticing a few little things,” Mina said thoughtfully. “But you were acting so suspicious that I didn’t really pay the rest of the weirdness as much attention.”

“Yeah. I was pretty sure I was going to give it away too,” he laughed.

“I didn’t suspect this at all, honestly,” she said, looking around. “And I definitely didn’t expect they’d all play both of us.”

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment,” Sero said. “Thanks for trying to plan a party for me.”

“Thanks for planning one for me too!” she replied. Then her smile turned sly as she added, “But mine would have been better.”

“Yeah yeah.”

They sat there for a few seconds, surrounded by the music from Jirou’s speakers. Then Mina hopped to her feet and held a hand out to him.

“Let’s go. Birthday dance.”

“Come on, I’m terrible at dancing,” he said, taking her hand and letting her help him up.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a birthday dance,” she said matter of factly.

And who could argue with that?

#bnha #fanfic #bnha sero #mha ashido #sero hanta #birthday shenanigans

3 notes · View notes

oopcio · 4 years

Text

the lovely @sahana-anand requested oh so politely that i write a oneshot for her apprentice, in which i’m happy to oblige!

word count: maybe one day i’ll start doing these... today’s not the day.

pairing: julian devorak x wynne toprak (the arcana x oc)

warning: nsfw (minors shoo)

“whew! barkeep, how about another round?” julian called, slurring his words, much to wynne’s annoyance. how did she manage to get herself in this situation? oh, right. julian just had to have a ‘drinking buddy’. as if he couldn’t do so alone like he always did, she thought... “and one for wynne, as well?” he cocked a brow, meeting her eyes. she merely scoffed and turned her head.

“aren’t you satisfied with all the alcohol in your system already?” she spat out harshly, while the bartender placed julian’s umpteenth beer on the table in front of him. wynne absolutely could not stand him, especially drunk. how idiotic must one be to go this far? he was only causing more damage to himself with each sip. what was the point? what bothered him so much that he had to drink this much to forget about it?

“why, there’s no need for such hostility, my dear,” he hummed, gesturing loosely for the barkeep to take the drink elsewhere before they could even reach the table. wynne watched out of the corner of her eye as the they gave the glass to a very pretty lady at the bar, as they thought julian intended to send it her way. when the woman’s large, burly partner growled and sat up, stomping over toward their table, she froze up.

“what exactly in the seven hells do you think you’re doing, buying my girl a drink?” the girl’s partner, a tall, strong-looking woman hissed through her teeth as she slammed her large fist on the table, making both wynne and julian shudder from her intensity. “do you think you’re slick, you fugitive quack?! you think i wouldn’t notice?!?!” julian clammed up, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and stuttering as he tried, oh so hard, to explain the situation. but he was doomed from the very start.

the woman leaned over and grabbed julian by the collar, lifting him until he was standing, face-to-face with her while stabbing her big fingers into his chest. the comparison between the two was quite pathetic, and there was no way julian would be able to stick up for himself - especially in the drunken state he was in. wynne couldn’t do much, either; she was only five feet tall and forty two kilograms. this woman was taller than julian, even - and probably weighed as much (or more) than muriel.

once wynne felt like she’d gathered the feeling in her body once again, she stood and slipped out of the booth, asking- no, begging- anyone and everyone at the bar to help him get out of this situation. but all the patrons already knew better... this woman was a regular and everyone knew not to get involved with her, and especially not her girl.

finally, wynne approached the petite girl at the bar, who was suddenly thrust into the middle of all this mess. caution be damned, wynne told herself, catching her sleeve. “please, can you stop her? she will beat him senseless, he can’t fight back! he didn’t mean to have it sent here...” the words spilled out of wynne’s mouth a mile a minute, gently tugging on the other’s sleeve with every word in hopes to convey her urgency.

the girl was taken aback; no one had ever asked her to help break up one of the fights her girlfriend started ever before, and she’d given up long ago upon realizing it hardly ever did it go. when they both heard her call for more backup, though, they both had snapped out of their trancelike state, with the frail girl before wynne sending her a pitiful look. “i... i’m so sorry. andrea... there’s no talking her out of it now, and if i tried, it’ll only make things worse...”

wynne could no longer plead with her - she had to take matters into her own hands now. she heard the calamity behind her and cringed, uttering a silent apology to julian.

finally, andrea decided she had her fill and took her leave, hand-in-hand with her girlfriend. wynne promptly rushed toward julian, who laid curled up on the cold, hard ground, searching him as gently as possible for wounds. this night had turned around quite quickly... hadn’t it?

“where does it hurt?” she asked, a caring insistence in her sweet voice. julian would smile if he wasn’t in such excruciating pain...

he groaned when the light pressure of her hand came in contact with her stomach, where one of andrea’s posse had scratched him with their nails. really, it was quite remarkably deep... wait, this was no nail scratch. this was... oh, were these brass knuckles?!

wynne moved back quickly and searched his pockets for medical supplies, even if just for the tiniest bit, to help the healing progress. nothing serious at all, but definitely painful. upon finding it, she quickly stuffed it into the pockets on her sides and helped julian to his feet, to get him through a door towards the back of the establishment, leading to the alleyway behind the rowdy raven. quite, cold, and completely empty. it would do for the time being.

she lifted a chair toppled over beside the dumpster and pushed him into it, hearing him groan and clutch his stomach. “careful,” he muttered under his breath before shutting his lips together, watching her angrily rip open the bandages to place over his wounds.

“we wouldn’t be in this situation if you didn’t behave so stupidly!” she huffed, showing no mercy as she wrapped the guaze around his abdomen. “you have the nerve to warn me to be careful, when you’re the one who caused all of this? that’s rich!”

“alright, what’s your problem?” he couldn’t bear it any longer. “you always treat me this way - harsh and angrily, i mean. i’ve not done anything to offend you, to my knowledge, so forgive me if i’m mistaken. then, what’s all this for?”

“because i feel like an absolute fool seeing you put yourself in positions like this! i give you a hard time because i really like you, and because you’re stupid for not realizing it! now look who is tending to your wounds - it’s me! no matter how much dumb shit you get yourself into, i’m always the one at your beck and call! as much as i warn you to stop acting like a moron, i’m the one who keeps coming back, saying ‘it’s okay’ and comforting you! and i...”

for just the slightest bit, wynne stuttered. her hands shook on the tiniest scale as she finished wrapping him up. wh... what did she just say? “hey, forget what i just said, alright? let’s get you home.”

she held her hand out to help ease him out of the chair, but he just grabbed her wrist, holding it with a gentle yet firm grasp. she looked into his eyes and seen a look... unrecognizable. “are you serious? did you mean that?” he asked quietly, looking at her through dangling pieces of his auburn hair. “because you like me?”

“i said neverm-“ but she couldn’t finish. he used her to help steady himself to stand before her, never looking away from her eyes. and she knew there was no use denying it now... what had been said, was already out in the open. no going back now. “...yes. i... i meant it.”

the tiniest hint of a smile brought the corner of julian’s mouth upwards into a little smile. “i really do feel like an idiot now. i wish i’d realized this much earlier, and we could’ve done something about it earlier. maybe saved you a few gray hairs?”

“oh, shut up!” she whined, slapping his arm. “i have a long time before that happens. besides...” well, her current nervousness went without saying. she had just put her heart out on the line, and had yet to hear his response... it’s an uncomfortable feeling.

he simply chuckled and placed his hands on either sides of her jaw. he leaned down and pressed a soft little kiss to the crown of her head while her hands fell onto his chest, at a loss for words. “there’s no need to be nervous, my love. your feelings are returned, and i’m actually quite impressed that you hadn’t realized. pasha always told me that my crush was quite obvious...”

wynne’s cheeks heated up as she clasped her hands over them, in a desperate attempt to hide her flush. “i guess i was just... too busy with my own feelings to notice,” she mumbled, kicking at the pebbles under her feet shyly.

“then, what about now? what better time to make up for lost time, than right here, right now?” he questioned, sliding his warm hands up her forearm, slowly walking her back against the wall in the alleyway. he left more than enough room between them in case she decided she didn’t want this, but as the seconds passed, and she remained...

“and if someone sees?” she asked bashffully, hardly able to meet his eyes. he fixed that quickly - grabbing her chin softly and lifting it so that he could meet her eyes. “they’ll have no reason to come out looking for us unless we give them one. besides, it’s so dark, it’ll be nearly impossible for anyone to decipher what’s going on. so if you want this...”

wynne found herself without much need for convincing. with no words spoken, she wrapped her arms around his neck and used that to lean into him, connecting their lips. and that must’ve been answer enough for him; he simply grabbed her by her waist and returned the gesture, kissing back with the same fire and passion. gradually, he backed her completely against the wall and placed one hand on the brick, beside her head. she was now trapped between the building behind her, and julian’s body. though, she had no complaints.

julian’s arm snaked its way around her waist, now bringing them closer than they’d been before, their bodies pressed flush against each other. his lips found their way to the nape of her neck once he’d pulled her hair aside, earning a quiet moan from her. her hands moved to his hair, finding purchase in it in order to keep him in that very spot where he left marks symbolic of his love on her smooth, perfect skin. the way they blossomed into pretty little purple hickeys tempted him to leave more, over every inch of her skin, but the small bit of reserve he had left told him that there was not a moment to waste.

he pinned his leg to the wall between her legs, giving poor wynne something to provide even the smallest bit of friction she so desired. she rutted against it as much as she could, even throughout the stutters and jerks her body involuntarily made as a result of his mouth sucking desperately on her skin. even when she pulled on his hair, frantically trying to encourage him, he enjoyed it. she could feel the vibration of his quiet groans, and could hardly hear them when she listened for it.

“please,” the whine left her throat faster than she could process, and julian tuned in immediately at the ethereal sound. “please, no more teasing. i want you.” he couldn’t stop the smirk that teased his lips, looking down just enough to remove their clothes at a teasingly slow pace. at least, until wynne spoke again. “daddy...”

that seemed to speed him up, almost immediately. he threw what he could aside before grabbing the back of her knees, lifting them just enough to have her helplessly folded against the wall. not even a minute later and they connected, becoming one. what was not inside of her was wrapped tightly around her, as if anything less would open the door for the world to cruelly rip him from this moment.

the length of the time that went by with the both of them not admitting their feelings seemed to spur julian to make up for lost time with rough, deep strokes. wynne blindly searched for his shoulders, his chest - anything to hold on to, just to feel grounded. it felt good, it felt so good. for everything to be out in the open, giving way to this moment. how incredible it was, seeing that all of the times wynne made a snarky, sarcastic remark to julian, would even lead to this moment. was this his revenge, for all of that time? if so, it wasn’t much of a punishment... wynne enjoyed this more than she’d like to admit.

however, the choice wasn’t hers to make - her body decided to take charge for now, allowing her mind to be swallowed whole by all the waves of pleasure. so every moan, whine, plead and beg, was uncontrolled - much to julian’s excitement. he loved knowing she was enjoying herself as much as him, and that she could finally let her guard down. that felt just as good as fucking her, in his opinion.

“oh! daddy, come on, please! i’m so close,” she cried out, burying her face shyly into his shoulder, holding onto him for dear life. he nodded in mutual agreement, his hips nearly stuttering as that familiar knot seemed to tangle in the pit of his stomach.

and seconds later, it was like the world they’d both built in their pleasures crashed down on the both of them, the knots coming undone, all at once and at the same time. gripping one another tightly while the feeling of gratification washed over both of their bodies, basking in the sensation for as long as they possibly could.

once the feeling subsided for both of them, they were left pressed hotly together, panting in a desperate attempt to regain the breath that was knocked out of them from their orgasms. julian was the first to break the silence, afterwards. “i hope this isn’t the moment where you tell me you were just teasing with what you said earlier,” he whispered, chuckling deeply and helping her to her feet.

she giggled and shook her head, accepting his help as she grabbed their clothes. “no, i suppose you’re stuck with me now.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing,” he hummed, slipping into his clothes carefully before helping wynne into hers. “unless, you’re still going to make those mean remarks about me? even now?”

she hit his arm playfully, making him rub the spot as if he was hurt. “shut up,” she whined, straightening the both of them up so they could walk back home and avoid suspicions.

“be careful! i’m still injured,” he pouted, gathering their things and holding his arm out, awaiting her to link their arms together for the walk home.

“oh, don’t remind me.”

(a/n: wow this was long and probably really cringe im SORRY i feel like there’s no winning when you write smut and i’m too embarrassed to proofread lmao)

- jiah 💖

#the arcana #julian #oneshot #writing #smut #not my oc #jiah writes #i feel sinful #using metaphors rather than descriptive words?#it’s more likely than you think

13 notes · View notes