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youvebeenlivingfictional · 2 years

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Relative Dating Part Twenty Three

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Pairing: Indiana Jones x Reader

Rating: M

Notes: Welcome back to the latest garbage fire! Hope y’all are doing well.

I love that gif so much the lil :(

Warnings: Cursing; period-typical sexism; canon-typical violence; angst; friendly reminder that the artifact mentioned is a fake one

Summary: The opening of the shaft’s entrance is a terrifying sound. It’s like the moans and rattles of a thousand lost voices, all calling for help at once.

Despite the calmness of the scene and the heat of the day, something in the air feels chilling. It makes your stomach twist as you shakily stepped down from the back of the truck. Your head is spinning, and your gut gives a nauseous churn as you steady yourself on the side of the truck. You aren’t sure what's making it worse: the speed and roughness of the car trip, the lack of food and water over the last day or so, or the fact that once, for just a moment, the cloth had slipped from the orb.

The truck had hit a bump, jolting the item in its crate. The bellhop had hurried to cover it, but that brief flash had been enough to give you a blinding headache. Now, the bellhop slides from the truck behind you, wincing against the sun. You look around the barren landscape, frowning a touch. You turn to catch side of the reedy man climbing down from the cab of the truck. He waves you toward the landscape with one hand, and rests his hand on his gun holster with the other.

You clutch your papers nervously, raising them to the landscape. From Indiana’s notes, you’ve created a tentative map. The horizon sits at the center, represented by a single thin line. From there, you’ve plotted a few markers along the ground, and a number of identifying landmarks.

You take a few steps forward, looking around the map, and back onto the landscape. There are a number of things that aren’t where they’re meant to be. Perhaps you’ve come to this site from the wrong angle? You hadn’t had a real key, and some of Jones’ notes had been incredibly vague. If you ever see him again—hell, if you make it out of this alive—you plan on having a little discussion on with him about clarity and concision.

You let out a scream as you feel a hand wrap around your ankle. You stumble back, and yank desperately from it, toppling over in the process. Your back hits the ground, and a pained gasp is knocked from you. You scramble back from the hand, even as the reedy man cackles a cruel laugh—even as another man rises from the ground. He’s clad in clothing light enough to protect him from the sun, hued in light browns and beiges to cloak him within the sand.

He stands fully and turns to the reedy man. The two grin and laugh and exchange words in Arabic. You glance back toward the bellhop as his hands close around your arm, drawing you up. You rise shakily, pain wracking your back and head.

“You move too slowly,” The reedy man turns to you again, his mirth melting. “We must find the path to the point of Second Rising before sundown.”

“What happens at sundown?” You ask nervously.

“If you’ve failed, we’ll kill you.”

—

“I don’t think I’ll fit—”

“Just take a deep breath and hold it,” Indy orders. He pauses in his step to glance back at Sallah, and finds his friend squeezing nervously through the opening to the temple. “See?”

Sallah grunts in irritated concession, then nods him forward as he raises his torch. Indiana grins and turns, raising his own torch to light the narrow passageway. It’s dark and cool inside, with a dry, musty smell. Critters skitter along the path as he swipes the torch toward the ground, wary of more vicious inhabitants, or booby traps.

“How many chambers are there?”

“From the accounts I’ve read, at least four. But Pembrooke, the archaeologist to first find this site, was unable to find any more than that before he died.”

“What killed him?”

“No one knows...Though it’s been theorized that he crossed the wrong man in refusing to pay a gambling debt.”

“And you believe that the orb will be found here?”

“Somewhere. That’s the idea.”

“Why here?”

“Somewhere in here is the Point of Second Rising.” Jones glances back toward Sallah to ensure he’s following closely before facing forward again. “They want to restore the orb to its rightful cradle. They think it’ll resurrect Akhenaten.”

“Why would they want to do that?”

“They want to bring their King and God back to what they deem a godless land.”

“All they need is the orb?”

“The orb...In the right place, at the right time.”

“When is the right time?”

“Dawn, tomorrow morning.”

“...Does she know that?”

Indiana grimaces a touch. “I doubt it. I didn’t tell her—That is, I didn’t have time.”

“Perhaps she’ll find it before we do, regardless.”

The thought of her makes Jones’ chest swirl with nerves, but he can’t help but smile a little bit.

“She probably will,” He agrees softly.

—

You think, of course, that your captor’s threat may be a futile one to scare you into submission and action. If you get them near wherever the Point of Second Rising is, but not to the Point itself, they would do far worse than they would without you. Still, you can’t shake the way the men trail you over the sand, or the memory of the reedy man’s hand on his gun. Every few moments, the fear that a wise person may’ve disposed of you surges through your nervous, empty stomach.

You come to a stop, peering down at one the ground. One of the markers that you’ve pointed to should be nearby. You look around the sand, sweeping your foot through it a little. You move back and forth, and back again—nothing.

“If you don’t work faster—“ The man begins to warn behind you. You hardly heed him as your foot knocks against something. You kneel down, swiping at the sand. Your hands whack against it, now—you have the feeling of a ridge rising from the sand. You begin to swipe at the sound around it, trying to shift it away.

You glance up as the bellhop slows beside you. You think, for one piteous moment, that the poor boy looks as tired as you feel. He’s been dragging the orb in that crate along behind the group of you, with little rest, and no chance for water. You give a small, encouraging nod as he kneels down beside you, swiping at the sand. The two of you manage to clear it away, unearthing a small, golden plaque. You lean down, blowing the sand from the hieroglyphs to get a better look at it.

“What is it?” The reedy man asks.

“...A cartouche,” You detemerine after a moment. “A cartouche of the god Aten.”

—

“Which way do we go?”

It’s a fair question, if an annoying one. But in Sallah’s defense, Jones has been staring at the fork in the halls for the last few minutes.

“If I knew, I would’ve gone by now,” Jones mutters. He shines his torch to the left, then the right. Any could lead to the orb; any could lead them down a disastrous path, meant to deter and punish grave robbers.

“Right,” Indiana finally says, nodding toward it. “Definitely right.”

Mercifully, Sallah doesn’t ask Indiana if he’s sure. He just steps back to let him lead the way. Indiana takes certain, steady steps down the dark path. He’s confident—it’s a hunch, but it feels like a great one.

In his haste, Indiana has raised his torch to eye the hieroglyphs along the hall, unconcerned with the path ahead. Now, Indiana takes a step, then another—and then his foot sinks into a tumbling stone. Indiana wobbles, takes too hard a step forward, and drops his torch as another stone plunges beneath his feet. He catches hold of himself, using his arms to stay upright.

Sallah lets out a panicked yell shout him, catching Indiana by the belt and yanking him back to the firmer path. The ground doesn’t hold out long—Indiana and Sallah scramble to return to the fork as the stones fall beneath their feet. They finally stop at the mouth of the entrance, peering down into the canverous, disastrous darkness. Indiana thinks that maybe he hears another yell—but surely it’s an echo of his own. Besides his panicked breathing and pounding heart, Jones hears the cracking and echoing of stones plunging to a distant ground.

Sallah and Indiana nervously eye the safe ground of the fork. Jones draws in a greedy, heaving breath, swallowing roughly. He and Sallah look down the lost path, to one another, and then to the remaining fork.

“Left,” Indiana nods. “Definitely left.”

—

The opening of the shaft’s entrance is a terrifying sound. It’s like the moans and rattles of a thousand lost voices, all calling for help at once. Your hands flex at your sides, nervous and sweaty. You hesitate in your steps, and wobble once the reedy man pushes you on. You glance toward the bellhop as he lifts the orb from its crate, gripping it carefully as he follows you down the steep steps.

You don’t want to go. There’s something about this place, this temple, that’s been giving you the creeps ever since you arrived. But it’s either the temple, or death. You glance from side to side, taking in the high, painted walls as you descend What you find there stops you in your tracks.

Perhaps it’s your shock, or your stillness, but the men on either side of you go still in turn.

You’ve never seen it intact, not once. Every other instance of Akhenaten’s name that you’ve ever encountered has been desecrated, scratched out from records and temple walls to ensure that he never finds a place in the afterlife.

You turn your stunned gaze to the grinning assailants. The reedy man nods slowly, allowing you to revel in the fullness of the implication.

“That’s right, my girl,” He says. “He lives.”

You’ve seen the path to the exit. You have no weapons, and you’re a little weak, but if you could lure the Althaani down a wrong turn, perhaps you could get a head start. You’re certain they won’t leave you alone, so whatever you do will have to be trickery. But how?

“Well?” One of the men asks impatiently. You grimace. You’ve been staring at these hieroglyphs for the last ten minutes, as if they were a map and not a passage from a hymn. If you were a touch less panicked and in better company, you’d be able to appreciate the hymn a touch more, for its sentimentality and poetic merits.

No, you lean back, rubbing your hands together.

“It says that the Point of Second Rising can only be completed from the deepest recesses of the temple,” You fib. “We should, um…” You look back toward the way you came, then turn to look forward, nodding deeper inside. “There must be some way—“

You urging is cut off as you hear crumbling from above you. The four of you look up, squinting into the darkness. And then—

Your mouth opens in a scream as a stone lands directly on the head of the man that had grabbed your ankle. You take a stumbling step back, squinting wildly into the darkness as the stones continue to rain down. The reedy man is yelling, ordering you and the bellhop forward, but you see your chance. You turn tail and run into the darkness, out of the reach of the torch’s light, and away from the rain of the rocks. You push your hands out to either side of you, tracking them along the walls.

“Get back here!” You hear. You turn your head, and your heart leaps into your throat as you see the reedy man chasing you, torch in hand. Your hand scrapes against the walls, and drops away when you feel an opening. It’s just wide enough for you to squeeze through, but it’s nowhere near the path that you’d taken before. Veering off path now could be fatal—but as the man’s footsteps grow nearer, you turn toward the opening and dart down it. You’re nearly halfway through the walkway when you hear a click. You look down, squinting into the dark and frowning. What on earth was—

The answer comes in the worst of ways. You hear a cranking sound, feel the walls shake on either side of you, and begin to squeeze in tighter. You push yourself through the passage, running up the mounting incline with all of your might, and fighting not to turn and look behind you. You can hear the man in hot pursuit—his panting, irritated swears, his warnings that the consequences will only be more dire if you don’t slow—

The opening in the opposite wall is a boon, and you draw in a greedy breath. You whirl around just in time to see the walls push together, and hear the man’s final yell before the horrifying crunch of his body. You cover your mouth to silence your own scream. You look around, and spot a flame in the distance. Your mouth drops open in a nervous gasp, and you take a couple of slow steps back from the flash of light. You whirl around, ready to run, and slam into something. That something grabs you, and you yelp, beginning to slap at them, putting up a fight.

“Hey, whoa whoa!” You hear. The voice is familiar and warm, and you go still as you recognize it.

“Indy?” You ask, stunned, catching sight of his shock as your eyes adjust to the light. “Indy—”

“Sweetheart? Oh, thank god—”

Your panic shifts to relief, and your hands rest on his shoulders, gripping at his sleeves, as if you can’t believe it’s him.

“Indy, how on earth—“ You stop yourself as his face becomes clearer, the light growing closer. You turn hurriedly, arms spreading to keep Indiana from harm. But—

“Sallah!” You sigh, relieved, smiling as his face comes into view.

“That’s one treasure recovered,” Sallah grins, patting your shoulder. “Now all we need is the orb.”

“The orb—The orb!” You turn back to Indiana quickly, hands tapping on his chest, unable to keep still. “Indy, they have it, they already have it. I’ve seen it.” Indiana’s face shifts to intrigue, eyes wandering your face.

“What? Where is it?”

“It’s here, it’s in the temple. They were trying to bring it to the Point of Second Rising—“

“If they replace that orb in its proper cradle at dawn, it could be powerful enough to level the city,” Indiana reports grimly, looking between you and Sallah.

“Well—Well what do we do, do we go after the orb or the cradle?”

“...The cradle,” Indiana decides. “It’s a long shot that they’ll even find the chamber. If they do, we can stop them there.” He looks over Sallah’s shoulder, then back over his own. “That is, of course, as long as we can find the right chamber.”

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#Indiana Jones x Reader #Indiana Jones x You #Indiana Jones/Reader #Indiana Jones/You #Indiana Jones fic #Indiana Jones imagine #Relative Dating

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ardentlyjae · 1 year

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All I Want - Epilogue One

Pairing: Taehyung/Reader

Genre: Not sure, drama?

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,325

Summary: Taehyung is finally ready to speak with you.

Part One

Taehyung leaned back against the couch and looked up. They were sitting in a small cafe in Paris enjoying a small cup of espresso each. He had his film camera that he took the last time he was home. He was waiting to find something he would like to take a picture of if the inspiration struck him. So, far he had been unsuccessful. As a result, his patience was wearing a bit thin. He turned to the woman next to him and let out a small sigh.

"How long has it been since we met?" He asked, turning back around to look at all the busy Parisians walking to their next destination. Still, no one interesting enough to take a photo of.

Jisoo chuckled. She didn’t seem to be having the same struggle as he did, her sketchbook currently showing a landscape she was in the process of drawing. "It's been a few years. Maybe two or three."

Taehyung let out a little smirk. "Do you think maybe it's time that we face our demons and go home?" It’s a question he’s had on his mind for a while, he was just trying to find the right time to bring it up to her.

The smile on Jisoo's face disappeared almost instantly. Her brows furrowing in confusion as she hesitated. Taehyung almost felt a pang of guilt, but it had been almost 5 years since the last time he spoke to you and lately he had been wondering if it was time for the two of you to have a long overdue conversation. His agreement with Jisoo had always been that they would travel together until they felt ready to face what they were running from, and Taehyung was thinking that maybe it was time for him.

Of course, Jimin kept him updated on your life, even when he didn't ask. He knew you had somehow made your way back to Jungkook and although at first there was a sting, he had now come to terms with it. He missed you, he missed your friendship, and he missed the way the two of you understood each other before everything happened. Jimin was his best friend but he was no replacement for you. There was no way that you could erase nearly twenty years of friendship between the two of you that easily.

"I've just been thinking," Taehyung began. "I've been talking to Jimin and I miss her, you know?"

"Taehyung," Jisoo lightly admonished. "I thought you said you were letting go of your feelings for her."

"And I am! I have. I just think it's been long enough and I feel like I am in a place where I know I can face her and not have my heart break. I just want to talk to her again," Taehyung explained. "There's no ulterior motive here to try to win her back if that's what you're thinking."

"Are you sure? You were a complete mess back then." Jisoo asked. She knew all about the history between the two of you. Taehyung had told her a few months into their travels together, after a particularly rough night where he had had a few too many shots of vodka and was crying in the lounge of the hotel they were staying in.

"I know I was. If it helps, she's back together with him. But surprisingly I'm fine with it, and I think I want to have her back in my life as my friend."

Jisoo let out a big sigh and didn't speak any further. Taehyung knew that meant she didn't quite agree with him but would not stop him from what he was about to do. It likely meant that she thought he was being an idiot, but it did not deter Taehyung in the slightest.

He was grateful to Jisoo if he was being honest. They were two broken people that slowly helped put each other back together. Jimin always thought that they would get into a relationship eventually, but Taehyung knew it would never happen. Jisoo was still broken, and she had always reiterated that she likely would never want to be in a relationship with anyone ever again. He finally, truly, knew what a platonic friendship with another woman was like and now he knew that he was absolutely capable of maintaining one with you, if you would allow him to do so.

"Hey Y/N?" Jimin said, his voice showing a hint of hesitation.

You were instantly concerned, your brows furrowing as you turned to your best friend. "Yes Jimin?"

"Taehyung is coming back home next week," Jimin said, casually taking a sip of his coffee. The look he was throwing over the rim of the mug meant he had a bit more to tell you.

You furrowed your brows. He never told you when Taehyung was returning these days.

"Okay...and what does that have to do with me? Should I stay away from home next week?"

"Actually, he asked me if I could find out something for him," Jimin explained. "He wants to know if you would be willing to meet up with him sometime. I think he's back home for good."

You were sure you froze hearing the unexpected news. "Are you sure you didn't mishear?"

"No he asked me and I quote, 'I've been thinking and I just know it's been too long since I spoke to Y/N and if she was willing I would like the chance to speak with her'" Jimin quoted, putting on his best Taehyung impression.

It almost sounded too good to be true. You weren't really sure if this day would ever come. But this also wasn't a decision that you could make on your own anymore. There was Jungkook and your relationship that you had to take into account. It had been a conversation the two of you had previously had, where the two of you agreed to discuss anything that may impact the two of you together before making any decisions.

"Jim, I'll think about it," you say slowly. "I need to talk about it with Jungkook before anything else."

"Understood. Just let me know soon, yeah?" Jimin responded, a soft smile on his face. He was clearly hoping that you two would agree to meet.

It was an odd feeling. Though you were always unsure if this day would come, it felt weird to know it was here. You'd moved on and you hoped that Taehyung had moved on as well. You spent the last five years working on yourself, knowing that there were some serious character flaws that needed to be addressed. One of the things you needed to work on was how honest you were with yourself and with other people. It put you in uncomfortable positions at times and it led you to many almost completely unbearable conversations with Jimin, Jungkook and even Jin, but it was something that you believed was fully worth it, because things in your life were good.

You were happy.

Your relationship with Jungkook was in a place you never really expected it to be. It was better than you ever could have imagined, but it took a lot of work to get there and a lot of convincing from Jungkook. There were many difficulties to get it to where you had it and a lot of trust needed to be rebuilt, but somehow you did it. Jungkook was worth it all. He always was.

After that initial meeting at the coffee shop you worked at, you began seeing Jungkook more and more frequently. You had gone almost two years without ever seeing him on campus but suddenly he was in the library by your favorite spot, or studying at your job, or even at the same campus events you would attend. You knew it was happening on purpose but you played dumb. It seemed like Jungkook had forgiven you but you hadn't forgiven yourself yet, and as long as that remained you didn't allow yourself to even consider a relationship with him.

Eventually, you managed to find a place where you could be at peace with yourself mentally and you accepted when Jungkook asked you on yet another date. You would never forget the look on his face when you accepted, as he was so used to getting rejected by that point.

The two of you always handled any potential issues together, the communication always remained consistent. He never worried about you and you never gave him a reason to and he did the same. It wasn't that you needed Jungkook's permission to talk to Taehyung, it was that this was a potential sore spot for him and Jungkook's feelings and maintaining his trust were your first priority in this situation. After speaking with him, he readily agreed and you packed a small bag for the weekend and left for home with Jimin.

You arrived a day after Taehyung arrived home. Jimin explained to you that Taehyung had been in Paris when he decided to come back, and he'd let you know where to meet Taehyung as soon as he discussed it with him, still acting as the middleman between the two of you.

The next day you found yourself waiting at the same park where you first met Taehyung. Sitting at one of the benches, you picked at your cuticles. Your nerves were a mess.

Eventually, you saw a pair of black doc martens walk up to you and you looked up to see a man with a smile that almost matched the brightness of the sun, his eyes smiling along with him.

"Hey Y/N, it's been a while." He said, opening his arms wide as if asking for a hug.

You hesitated, looking up at him as he stood in front of you. "Hey Taehyung."

When Taehyung realized you weren't going to stand up to hug him, he put his arms down and moved to take the empty seat beside you. You couldn’t read his expression, he didn’t show much on his face anymore it seemed. You weren’t quite sure how that made you feel either.

"How have you been?" He asked, turning to look at you.

"I'm...actually doing pretty good," you say, thinking about everything you left at your new home. "How about you?"

"I've been good, great actually," he says, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I've actually been doing a lot of photography."

You nod, unsure of what to say next. Silence falls over the two of you in a way that you are not used to. Conversations with Taehyung never used to be this awkward. But this is a new Taehyung you’re speaking to, and you are also a new version of yourself.

Eventually you speak again, "How was Paris?"

"Good actually. The city is beautiful at night and the food was some of the best I've ever eaten," he casually says. "How's being a doctor?"

"Not a doctor yet," you sigh, mentally reminding yourself that Jimin likely kept him updated on your life as he did to you. "Still doing medical school and it's killing me. You'd think my experience as a nurse would help, but there's so much to the human body that you can't learn in a makeshift hospital. It’s so different learning about it in a textbook instead of the body in front of you."

You notice that Taehyung had tensed up, though only a few seconds afterwards his shoulders had relaxed again. Maybe it hadn’t been a bright idea to bring up the war quite yet to Taehyung.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Taehyung spoke softly. "You’ve always been brilliant anyway. How's Jungkook?"

You turn to look at him, surprised that he brought him up first. You search Taehyung's face for any hint of what he may be feeling or thinking in his head, but maybe these five years apart have affected the two of you more than you thought, because his face is completely unreadable. You’re not exactly sure how you’re supposed to answer the question either.

"I know you're back together with him," Taehyung explains, shrugging in the process. "Honestly? I'm happy for you. I'm happy you found someone like him to be with. Truly."

A rush of emotions begins to fill you and you can't help yourself before you throw your arms around him and hug him tightly. Taehyung is tense for a few moments before relaxing a bit and then wrapping his own arms around you. His scent remains the same but his body feels completely different than it did 5 years ago.

"I missed you Tae." You whisper, not worrying about the tears that have begun falling from your eyes.

He chuckles, "I know Y/N. I did too."

Taehyung moves to let you go but as he pushes you away he keeps his hands on your shoulders.

"Y/N, I'm sorry for everything that happened back then. I put an unbelievable amount of pressure on you and it was my own expectations that ruined our friendship. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. You were my first friend and my most important friend and I hope you can give me a chance to rebuild our friendship and so that we can keep our promise."

"Taehyung, I forgave you a long time ago. But I am also sorry for not being honest with you when you returned. It was wrong of me to allow you to believe I had been waiting for you. I did it out of my own cowardice and selfishness and I hope you can forgive me for my mistakes as well."

"Always Y/N.," Taehyung reassures me, taking hold of my hand and giving it a small squeeze. "So we're friends again?"

"Yes. Always. Until we are both really old and senile and can’t control our own bowel movements anymore.”

A/N: Surprise? This was written in a very quick moment as I try to get back into the habit of writing. My apologies if it’s not as good as the previous work, I'm slowly trying to get back into the habit and I know my writing skills aren't what they used to be. If you made it this far, thank you for even reading AIW in the first place. It means the world!

#its fanfiction #bts #taehyung #Kim taehyung #bts fanfic #v #v fanfiction #v fanfic #it's been so long this is probably trash

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angryschnauzer · 3 years

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Moonlight On The Sand

Summary: Stationed to the desert for a short mission, you are on terrain inspection when the full moon emerges from behind the clouds. However little do you know there’s something about the Captain accompanying you that may change things forever. Based on this ask from @fairndsquare

Pairing; Captain Syverson x Female Reader (no race or size mentioned) Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sand Castle (Movie) Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Werewolves, Werewolf!Sy, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Unprotected Sex, Ovulation, Breeding, Outdoor Sex/Car Sex. This is NOT an ABO story.

I do not run a tag list, but please go follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert every time i post a new story. Masterlist got too big for Tumblr, so past works can be found at @angryschnauzerwrites or on my AO3

Only the finest, free range, organic typos for me, allowed to run wild and free.

Sy fumed silently as he drove the truck through the abandoned desert. He was furious that he had been overruled, but the general had finally done a site visit and his word was final; Sy had to show the new logistics planner the area, and there was no avoiding it.

What the General didn’t know was what Sy had been through during his posting in the dry and barren landscape. That mythical creatures didn’t always originate from leafy green valleys, or snow capped mountains, sometimes they dwelled in dry arid plains and rocky outcrops.

The truck hit a particularly proud rock on the dirt track and leapt into the air, your hands flying as you grasped for something to steady yourself on, one on the dash and one on the particularly meaty thigh of your commanding officer.

“Sorry” the gruff man uttered through gritted teeth.

“S’okay… the moon’ll be up soon and we’ll be able to see better as its full tonight” you casually replied, looking out over the desert surrounding you, surprised as the truck slowed down a little.

“The moon?”

“Yes, you know the big round rock orbiting the earth?”

“I know what the moon is darlin’, been cloudy the last ten days so hadn’t been keeping track…” he muttered to himself.

You used the small penstick flashlight to glance over the map;

“I need to see this valley, and get an idea of what it’ll be like to bring the trailers in with water tanks on”

The Captain glanced where you were pointing and nodded once, letting the truck veer to the right to follow the camel route up through the hills.

As the truck gained elevation Sy could feel his mouth watering. He could not only smell you, he could sense how you had grown wet in his presence. It was like a sickly sweet coating of pollen at the back of his throat on a spring day back home. Halfway through the day he’d been in a conference call as you stood in the corner of the room, observing as he updated his superiors back in Washington, when he’d picked up another sense, the only way to describe it was as if something had suddenly ripened in the room. It’d taken him until the end of the call to realise it was you and your body had just reached its most fertile point in the month. You were ripe and ready, you just didn’t know it.

That single thought had plagued Sy for the rest of the day, something in the pit of his belly was just telling him to flee, to get as far away from you as possible… for your safety. But then his military training had kicked in and he’d followed orders, and that’s how he found himself pulling the truck onto a rocky pullout on the curved track as it skirted around the hill, the view over the valley spectacular as the moon finally emerged from behind the clouds and illuminated the earth below.

Stepping out of the truck you used your night vision goggles to scan over the plateau in front of you, looking out over the wide vista. You felt the heat of his body first, standing behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling up. You knew what he was wanting.

24 hours earlier.

Scrolling your phone you checked the calendar, relieved that the mission to the desert would be there and back in the space of two weeks, back in time before your monthly bleed would start again. If there’s one thing you didn’t want to have to deal with, it would be tampons and sand. It would mean you’d be ovulating whilst there, but you had enough sugary snacks packed to keep the hormones subdued, and this wasn’t your first time being overseas, although normally you were confined to a small base north of Washington DC.

The flight had been long and bumpy, little more than a glorified cargo hold, so by the time you arrived at the compound and finally got to meet the infamous Captain Syverson, you were tingling with anticipation for what the next two weeks would involve.

When he finally spoke, it was low and deep, resonating through your spine;

“You need to get in that truck, and drive it far from here…”

You went to turn but his hand caught your arm, keeping you looking out over the valley;

“Captain?”

“Private, do as i tell you… there are things in these hills, that you don’t know of and don’t need to know of…”

It was then that you sensed it: the connection. It was like a spark shot up your spine, and in a moment of foolhardy courage you turned, the air being sucked from your lungs when you saw him. The Captain stood before you, his eyes burning into your soul, the ring of fire in his irises and his canine teeth just a little more prominent. Your chest heaved with a shaky breath, and his nostrils flared;

“Private…” he warned one last time.

But rather than running in the opposite direction, you slowly took a step forward, holding your hand to his cheek and for a moment your touch soothed him. You took in how his hair had grown longer, his shoulders even broader, he was virile and potent. That’s when he felt it, his senses clouded as the moon took hold, but finally he realised; you weren’t afraid.

His body slammed yours against the side of the truck, his lips on yours as his tongue pushed into your mouth; tasting you, devouring you. Your hands clung to the sides of his weather beaten uniform, pulling him ever closer so you could feel every inch of his body pressing against yours until suddenly his hands were on your hips and he was lifting you onto the still warm hood of the truck. With expert skill he had quickly shed you of your cargo pants and sensible undergarments, his face between your thighs and you watched with fascination as he inhaled deeply, humming as your scent hit his brain before he dived in.

His tongue was everywhere; licking and tasting you, running firm circles over your clit before descending and pushing the thick muscle into your velvet channel, his sharp teeth pressed against your soaked folds as he tasted you from within. When you came you screamed into the night sky, your legs shaking as the feral beast between your thighs growled in satisfaction, his eyes glowing.

He pulled you from the hood and carried you to the rear of the vehicle, opening the tailgate before sitting you on the edge as he made quick work of his cargo pants, his thigh holster holding them up as his thick cock unfurled from the worn in cotton. You swallowed nervously; you were far from a virgin but the thought of the thick gnarled girth splitting your insides apart had you pulling away for a moment. That was until he gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling your face to his as he rested his forehead on yours and you instantly felt calmer and relaxed. The first touch of his hot flesh against your soaked core had you trembling with anticipation, before he paused, one massive hand resting over your stomach, and he growled as the warmth of your womb almost burnt into his palm;

“Mine...” he muttered, before those feral eyes met yours; “...ours”

“Captain… now, please…” you whined, knowing that what he knew about you, and you were ready.

With a roar he surged forward, your ripened walls parting for him as if welcoming him home. With his palm still pressed to your stomach he could feel himself inside you, the thickness pushing out your belly as he moved slowly and carefully, working to get just the right angle until he paused and you saw that ring of fire in his irises again burn bright.

It was then that he moved faster, the pull and push hitting every spot inside you, feral and wanting, an urgent need to to fill you with his seed, to breed you took over. Faster and faster he pounded into your soft body, drawing orgasms out of you quicker than you could process them, before he slowed and pulled you up so you were sitting, your bodies still connected. In that moment it was when the connection, the bond was finally fully formed, and as he pressed his forehead to your and started to fuck you again, you felt your spirit joining with his. His thrusts got faster, harder, his breath hot on your skin. The angle of his pelvis meant it took just a couple more thrusts and you were coming again, this time he threw his head back and let out a cry-come-howl as he released into your womb, his seed flooding into you as your body eagerly milked him of it.

You stayed joined in the most intimate of ways until the cool night air made a shiver run down your back, the movement of your body making you realise the Captain was still hard and nestled deep within you;

“So… are we stuck?”

“No… but this is the first time i’ve done… this… whilst i’ve been like… this…” he let out a huff of air; “I’m not exactly sure how long i’m gonna stay hard Darlin’... we could be here a while…”

“All night?” you said, a hint of hope in your voice

“I’m yours until the moon goes down Darlin’”

“And after the moon goes down?”

He Captain paused;

“What would a girl like you want with a beast like me come daybreak?”

Running your hand over his beard your thumb caressed the skin of his cheek;

“Everything Captain… i want all of you...” It was only in that moment that Sy saw it, the ring of fire in your own eyes. He had found his mate and you had found yours; “Breed me Captain…”

#captain syverson #captain syverson smut #captain sy x reader #captain syverson x reader #henry cavill

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plus-size-reader · 3 years

Text

Personal

Peter Hayes x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1846 words

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader learns that she is in Peter’s fear landscape

—————————————————————————————————

You didn’t know much about the other initiates' fear landscapes until today, when you were going to be going through your final simulations in front of everyone else.

It was designed that way.

Sharing your deepest fears was far from anything done at Dauntless, mostly because it was much too personal, but this was the one exception. This was how you got into Dauntless, how you proved yourself, and you were willing to do whatever it took.

Even if you might not have chosen to share with them had you given a choice. You were pretty reserved to begin with, doing your best to just get through this without drawing too much attention to yourself.

You wanted to be Dauntless, but that didn’t mean you wanted everyone in the compound to know everything about you. Thankfully though, of all the fear landscapes that had been displayed today, yours was far from the most memorable.

At least, for you.

The ceremony was over now, and you were pretty confident that you had done well. The process was a relatively simple one, as uncomfortable as it could be, and it was over before you had really processed what was going on.

You were lucky.

Most of your fears were standard, shared with others in your troupe, but even the ones that weren’t super common didn’t raise any red flags.

For you, the most shocking thing of all was getting to see everyone else’s fears and the things that they hated more than anything else. You didn’t get really personal with any of them in all your time here, so it was interesting to see.

There was just something about seeing someone actively interacting with their greatest fears that told you more about them than any words ever could. In that moment, all they were thinking about was getting out, and that made them impulsive.

It was real.

There was no need to save face in a do or die situation like that.

Though, that didn’t exactly answer all the questions you had that words may have helped to clarify. After all, less than an hour ago, Peter was hooked up to that monitor, the screen showing his deepest, darkest fears without fail.

To start, it seemed like his landscape was going to be just like everyone else’s, which you had to admit you were a little disappointed by. For whatever reason, you had a special interest in Peter’s landscape, because for the life of you, you just couldn’t figure him out.

From one moment to the next, talking to him could be like talking to two different people. He was guarded and hard to read, but having come from Candor, that only reminded you of home.

His standoffish and rude personality didn’t put you off in the least, because when you stopped to think about it, that was just how people acted where you came from. It was normal for you, just like it was normal for him.

However, you never would have thought Peter cared for you at all. As much as you enjoyed his refreshing company and attitude, you doubted he gave your existence much thought at all, he certainly didn’t act like he did.

As best you could tell, he found you just as inconsequential as everyone else here, like it didn’t matter if you stayed or not.

Though, you did have to rethink that as soon as you heard a familiar voice on the screen in front of you. Just thinking about it, you felt a familiar flip in your stomach from that moment, when you looked up to see yourself there.

Initially, you assumed that you must have been mistaken, that it wasn’t you in his landscape at all, but there was really no way to deny it.

The girl there was you, laying on the concrete floor of the pit, clearly bleeding from some kind of wound though you weren’t exactly sure what had happened. All you knew was that something had happened and you were hurt, bad.

...And Peter was panicking.

Even when he was sitting, in the center of the room, you could tell that he was in some kind of distress. He was practically dripping sweat, the muscles in his jaw tense as he took a second to survey the sight in front of him.

It was clear that he’d been here before.

You weren’t sure when something like this would have become part of his fear landscape but the way he dealt with it made it obvious he knew what he needed to do. You weren’t doing well, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

He had to let you go.

The landscape had closed out with Peter turning his back and leaving the room, where presumably, you would die. In all honesty, it was hard to watch in the moment but now that it had passed, you were confused.

Peter had never even given the impression that he enjoyed your company, led alone the fact that he actively worried about something happening to you. It didn’t make any sense, but you couldn’t exactly go get answered.

You weren’t sure how he would react.

It wasn’t like you could just walk up to him and demand answers for what he’d done there, could you? That was something a Candor would do, sure, but you weren’t Candor anymore. This wasn’t as cut and dry as it would have been before.

He didn’t owe you an explanation, you knew that, but the more you sat here, the more your head was spinning, coming up with all these outlandish explanations for what you were doing there.

Maybe it was a mistake? Maybe it just happened to be you but had never been before? Maybe it wasn’t you at all.

You liked to think that you would recognize yourself if you saw your face on a screen, but in that moment, you were still rattled from your own freak landscape so it could have just been a misunderstanding.

Couldn’t it?

Choosing to believe that would have brought you the most comfort, but the actions of the other initiates told you that wasn’t an option. They had been staring at you since this morning, talking in hushed whispers about it.

You knew they had to be.

Besides, even if you hadn’t been so perceptive to the truth, Molly had all but told you that was the case when you passed her.

Eventually, you decided that the only choice you had was to get answers from him. You couldn’t just let everyone else talk about you without even knowing what was going on yourself. If nothing else, you could find out what Peter was thinking.

At the very least, you would be able to put any rumors to rest and move on.

He had to have something to say for himself.

You weren’t entirely sure how you were going to lead up to this conversation with Peter, but the nuances didn’t matter all that much . Worst case, he would tell you that what had happened was none of your business and you would know where you stood.

The last thing on your mind was hurting his feelings or offending him, which was why as soon as you sat down beside him in the dormitory space, you didn’t bother explaining yourself.

Instead, you sat down right next to him on his cot, “What was that all about this morning? Why was I in your fear landscape?” you questioned, not bothering to soften the rough tone in your voice as you waited for him to speak.

It was bleak, sure, and not polished in the least but that was one of the things you enjoyed most about knowing Peter came from Candor as well. You didn’t have to worry about refining your approach like you did now that you were in Dauntless.

He was used to that way of speaking.

Still, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to have this conversation. After all, he had been doing well enough at keeping his feelings for you under wraps, but that whole thing at the ceremony was going to make that a little harder.

How was he supposed to deny it? Obviously he cared for you enough that the threat of something happening to you had become something he actively feared.

That didn’t really happen with people you just knew.

“I don’t know. You think I have any control over what happens in those?” he shrugged, hoping that he could keep up the plausible deniability thing for long enough that you would just get up and go back to whatever it was you were doing.

It was harsh, much more aggressive than he meant for it to come out, but similarly to how he paid your mannerisms no mind, you didn’t even blink an eye.

“Come on Peter, I know you know better than that” you hummed, taunting him a little now that you were here. Clearly, he was going to try and make you feel like you had no right to be here but that was very wrong.

You knew as well as he did that he had full control over the things he cared about and the things that worried him. Somehow, you had made it on to that list, you knew that for sure, all you were asking him was how or why?

He knew why you were there, he just didn’t want to tell you.

“What does it matter? You saw how it ended for you, it’s far from romantic” he grumbled, turning to look at you with an almost incriminating look in his eyes.

He was doing his best to figure out how he could get out of this without going too far, but it didn’t seem to be going that way.

Trying to keep it up wasn’t getting him anywhere.

The idea that it should have been romantic was funny to you, considering the fact that it was a fear landscape in the first place, but you got what he was talking about. It wasn’t like you could draw any connections based on what happened.

However, you knew that the fact it was you in that scene meant something. It could have been anyone dying on the floor, but it wasn’t, it was you.

“Admitting you have a crush on me isn’t going to kill you” you prompted finally, taking a stab in the dark after all the beating around the bush he was doing. You didn’t want to say anything about him, not directly, but you knew the truth.

He felt the same way for you as you did for him.

“Maybe not, but I would have liked to do it in a way that didn’t involve you bleeding out” he shrugged, a small smile creeping on to his lips.

This wasn’t how Peter saw this whole thing happening between you but he figured that it was better late than never. At least now, you knew just how desperate he was to always have you by his side.

#peter hayes #dauntless #divergent #the divergent series #peter hayes x reader #peter hayes x ps reader #peter hayes x plus size reader #peter hayes imagine #dauntless x reader #dauntless x ps reader #dauntless x plus size reader #dauntless imagine #divergent x reader #divergent x ps reader #divergent x plus size reader #divergent imagine

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helnjk · 3 years

Text

If I Could Tell Her - H.P.

Harry Potter x reader

this is my next installment of my showtunes fic list. this is based on the song If I Could Tell Her from the musical Dear Evan Hansen. this is also the first fic i’ve posted for harry on here !

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: nearly a year after the final battle, harry is still struggling to gain his bearings in the world. luckily she’s there to hold his hand along the way.

Warnings: mentions of food, & just a whole lot of mutual pining

lyrics are bolded & italicized

–

He just seemed so far away

Y/N took a deep breath.

With one foot in front of the other, she took a step and twisted to the right, feeling the familiar tightness that came with apparition. In the blink of an eye she found herself in front of the home that she and her friends had spent their summer before 5th year in.

She chose to skip the knock on the door, opting instead to just let herself in. Many changes had been made to the house since it was the Order headquarters. The biggest and most obvious one being Harry taking up permanent residence in it.

“Harry, love?” She called out, despite knowing that he would be where he always was.

“In here!” A disembodied voice replied, coming from towards the end of the house.

Like so many times before, Y/N found the dark haired boy in the kitchen. He was sat at the dining table, a few parchments spread messily in front of him and detailing the plans he had yet to accomplish for the renovations.

The war had taken a toll on Harry, it had taken a toll on everyone really, but no one could blame him for wanting some time by himself for a while. They all knew how much he deserved to rest and recover.

But now, nearly a year after the final battle, Harry found himself less and less willing to venture out into the world again. It was as if everyone had started moving on and making progress with their lives without him. And in some ways, they were, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was able to live a life without the looming threat of war on his shoulders.

Instead, he focused his attention on the house left to him by his late godfather, and vowed to make a home in it.

While most people left him to his own devices, Y/N knew that he craved companionship most days. Having been friends with him from the moment she stepped into the train compartment nearly eight years ago, she understood him more than most. So began the habit of popping by every so often to have a cup of tea and a chat.

“Been hard at work, have you?” She smiled, taking a seat across from him.

“Just trying to figure out what to do with the drawing room on the second floor,” He said and she noticed how his brows furrowed ever so slightly at the puzzle in front of him.

“You mean the problem you’ve been ‘figuring out’” She used her fingers to make quotation marks, “For the last three weeks?”

Harry didn’t answer, but she noticed him roll his eyes playfully. Y/N knew that this meant he was in a relatively good mood today, and he could take the barrage of news from the outside world that she had brought with her.

So, she took a seat across from him and began her recount of the stories she heard throughout the week.

“So Bill and Fleur announced that they’re having a baby,” She began.

–

The pair of them continued on with their regular routine, Harry would busy himself with his plans for Grimmauld Place while Y/N brought him up to date with the events of the outside world. Every so often, he would risk a glance up at her and the edges of her lips would curl up in a smile.

It was during these moments that Y/N always had to pause. It only took one look from Harry for her to become a puddle of unexplainable emotions. During the war, when they had gone on their horcrux hunt, there wasn’t any time to dwell on these things. Survival was always the top priority. But now, now she had months and months of these little interactions and her heart was finding it hard to ignore.

She often found herself shaking her head and trying to clear her daydreams of the two of them. Too often she would fall asleep to images of her and Harry going on dates and pressing soft kisses on each other’s lips. But she knew in her heart that that was all they were, daydreams and fantasies.

Harry needed her as a friend, and she could give him that.

As the afternoon wore on, she remembered the main reason for her visit that day.

Harry was in the process of clearing up the cluttered table and she took the opportunity to bring it up, “So there’s going to be lunch at the Burrow this Sunday.”

His movements paused. She continued, “And I was hoping that you would come with me. Molly always has loads of food and I’m sure you’d enjoy it more if it were fresh and not leftovers like I usually bring over.”

There was another lull in the air.

Y/N opened her mouth to try and convince him further but he cut her off, “Sure.”

“What?”

His eyes met hers and he gave her a small smile, “I reckon it’s been too long since I’ve last had Molly’s amazing cooking.”

A slow smile stretched across Y/N’s face. This was the most he had agreed to in nearly a year and she was hopeful about slowly reintroducing his loved ones back into his life.

“Perfect.”

There's nothing like your smile

Sort of subtle and perfect and real

The Burrow hadn’t changed much since Harry last saw it.

The peculiar house still stood tall and proud in the Devon landscape, held together undoubtedly by magic. The smoke billowing from its chimney reminded him of cozy Christmases spent together with everyone he held close to his heart, and the lively chatter filtering through the open windows made his heart stutter in anticipation.

Y/N took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. Her smile was gentle, letting him know that she was there if he needed it. He could tell that she was nervous too, not for herself, but for how he would react to being surrounded by so many people again after so long.

He couldn’t tell how he knew, he just saw it in the way she smiled. But he was grateful for it, because without her steady grasp on his hand, he probably would have disapparated before he even got through the threshold of the place he used to call a second home.

“Come on then,” She urged, beginning to take steps towards the entrance, “Let’s see who’s already here!”

“Oh Y/N, you made it!” Molly’s voice exclaimed as they entered the home, “I was wondering when you’d get here–”

The Weasley family matriarch paused at the door between the kitchen and the living room, her eyes set upon the boy she considered her son.

“I can’t say no to a gorgeous meal of yours can I, Molly?” She joked, slightly tugging on Harry’s hand to bring him into the room, “And I brought a guest with me today.”

Molly seemed to gain her bearings once again as a radiant smile crossed her face, she knew not to make too much of a fuss about Harry being over after months of hiding away. Instead, she simply patted his cheek, “Lovely to see you again, Harry dear. Now come on, there’s enough food to go around!”

The kitchen of the Burrow was alive with conversation. Most of the Weasleys and their significant others were gathered around the magically enlarged table, chatting over steaming dishes of wonderful smelling food.

Their entrance garnered many beaming smiles, but everyone knew not to pay them too much attention. Harry chose to take a seat next to Ron, who nudged him with a small smile on his face. He returned the gesture, already feeling more at ease. Since his hand was still connected with hers, Y/N chose to take the seat right next to him.

Throughout the meal, Harry hadn’t spoken much, only nodding to whatever the person he was in conversation with said or sometimes adding a little quip here and there. He took comfort in Y/N’s steady presence beside him, once in a while squeezing his thigh or patting his arm.

“–and he wouldn’t tell me how to turn it back to normal!”

Ron’s particular way of storytelling brought him out of his stupor. He was in the middle of an exciting story on the twins’ latest prank on him, and Y/N had let out a snort of laughter.

Harry’s heart seemed to stop as he watched her and he couldn’t take his eyes off her as he noticed the smile on her face. Of course he knew that she was beautiful, it was something so obvious to him as they grew up together. But there was something in the way her smile lit up her face at that moment.

It was like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long. To him, her smile was refreshing, invigorating, and all-consuming. Harry looked at Y/N and felt as if he could never get enough of her. A spark ignited in him and suddenly he was determined to keep her in his life as long as possible.

Y/N caught onto his stare as her laughter tapered off and she raised an eyebrow, “Everything alright?”

As quickly as it had come, the spell she had on him vanished as he nodded, “Yep. Brilliant.”

The conversation flowed around them, merry laughter filling the air once again from different areas of the room, but Harry only had eyes for Y/N.

But he kept it all inside his head

What he thought he left unsaid

“Y/N-” He cut her off.

Her eyes darted to him confused. He could feel his pulse in his neck and blood rushed to his ears. Suddenly he couldn’t help but wring his hands together nervously, unable to explain his actions.

“Yeah, Harry?” She asked, fully turning her body to face him, “You okay?”

“I’m brilliant,” He mumbled, heart pounding in his chest, “I just have something I want to tell you.”

Anxiety bubbled in his chest and up his throat as the words came out of his mouth. He hadn’t even planned on telling her anything as she arrived that day, yet here he was. She just looked so beautiful, the soft candlelight almost glowing on her skin and highlighting her features. Harry was sure he had never felt more in love with her than he was in that moment, and she hadn't even been doing anything.

Her eyes shined with concern and her attention was fully on him now. He hadn’t been known to interrupt her when she went on her long spiels of updates. Sensing his nervousness, Y/N placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

Unbeknownst to him, her own heart pounded in her chest. Against better judgement, she had imagined a scenario exactly like this wherein Harry would spontaneously profess his undying love for her too many times. And secretly, she hoped that this would be the moment her daydreams would come true, nearly holding her breath in anticipation.

It wasn’t.

“I’m thinking about asking McGonagall about how I can become a professor.”

It took Y/N a few seconds of blinking at him to completely process what he had just said. Despite the slight twinge of disappointment in her chest, she knew that this was such a big step for him that she couldn’t feel bad about it.

“Oh love that’s wonderful!” She nearly yelled, throwing her hands up and wrapping them around him, “You were such a good teacher in fifth year, I know you’ll do great!”

A soft blush formed on his cheeks at her praise, but he happily accepted the hug, “Thank you. I figured it’s about time I started focusing on myself and what I want to do, instead of just this damn house. Being a teacher just feels right.”

Despite all appearances, Harry berated himself silently. He had completely chickened out. Of course, he really had been thinking about sending an owl to his old head of house, but that was not what he planned on saying at all.

He didn’t know what happened. His mouth just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, but he couldn’t take it back now. The moment was ruined.

If I could tell her

Tell her everything I see

If I could tell her

How she’s everything to me

Y/N could tell Harry was nervous.

He was hosting a dinner at Grimmauld Place with the Weasleys and a few of his friends from school to announce his plans to get accredited to be a professor. He also wanted to show them how the renovations of the house had been going. She had arrived at his place early, as she always had, to help him prepare but he was a bundle of nerves and couldn’t sit still.

So, she did what she always does whenever he got into a little bit of a panic. As plates and cutlery floated to their designated places and the table set itself, Y/N kept the conversation flowing. Although, it might have been more of a monologue with the way he was only responding to her in hums or soft grunts.

She was unaware of the inner turmoil raging in Harry. He had decided that he would finally tell her exactly what he felt about her. To hell if she didn’t feel the same, he thought recklessly, as long as he got to finally tell her what he had been feeling for nearly a year.

During a lull, he finally plucked up enough courage to speak.

“Listen Y/N–”

“Harry–”

The pair stared at each other, amused. This had always happened to them when they were still in school, as if their wavelengths were always on the same page.

“You go ahead, Haz.” She smiled at him.

He took a deep breath, “Alright.”

Plucking up whatever was left of his Gryffindor courage, he turned to face her, a fierce sort of determination in his eyes.

“I love you, Y/N.” He spoke clearly despite the ball of uncertainty in his chest.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, her eyes shining with something he couldn’t place. He stopped her, though, placing a hand on her arm, “Just let me get this off my chest, alright? Then you can say what you want to say.”

She nodded.

“Looking back at what my life’s been like this past year, and honestly the years we spent at Hogwarts too, you were the only constant thing I had. And I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to figure out what I was feeling, especially when you were being so patient with me. But, yeah, I-I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

For once in her life, she was left speechless. In all of her daydreams, Y/N always had a witty quip up her sleeve after Harry confessed his feelings, but now they seemed to just escape her.

“I love you too,” Was all she could choke out, a small laugh tumbling out of her lips.

The two shared a dopey smile as their bodies gravitated towards each other. Their lips met in a soft kiss, with a certain slowness attached to the relief and exhalation that came from their confession. Y/N couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, arms slowly snaking around his neck, as Harry pecked her lips over and over.

A soft ‘oh’ echoed through the silent room and the pair of them broke apart. Molly Weasley was stood at the door, holding a roast in her hands and blinking furiously at what she had just witnessed. Behind her, most of the Weasley clan stood eyes slightly widened and small smirks on their lips.

Ron was the first to speak up, “It’s about bloody time.”

As he spoke, the silent spell cast over the lot of them was broken. Hermione rolled her eyes at the lack of tact her boyfriend had, but she was secretly thrilled.

“Well, now that that’s finally settled, I think it’s time for dinner!” Molly bustled in, looking for a place to put her food down and the rest of them clambered through the door.

Harry spared an embarrassed glance at Y/N, but she was grinning from ear to ear. He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze before going to help set up.

#kai's showtunes fics #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter fics #harry potter fic #harry potter x reader #harry potter x y/n #tw food #tw food mention

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asweetprologue · 4 years

Text

window to the soul

Octoberfest 3: ghost (from geraskier hollow) + stare

“It’s drawn to strong emotions,” Geralt said, and Jaskier knew that he was about to become bait.

The monster of the week was a wraith, but of an unusual type. Over the years of traveling together, Jaskier had seen plenty of wraiths - noonwraiths, nightwraiths, even a plague maiden once. He probably could take one on himself, knowing what he did about the process of destroying them, though it would be difficult without the use of yrden holding them in the physical realm. Luckily it was Geralt’s job to dispatch them. Jaskier usually didn’t even go along to watch anymore, unless the story behind the haunting was particularly ballad worthy.

This time, the wraith was different. Geralt had quickly identified the lost soul, a young woman who had recently died. She’d been deeply in love with a merchant that had regularly come and gone from the town, and had tried to cast a spell to trap his heart. Jaskier knew, after everything with Geralt and the djinn, that there was no curse or potion that could truly emulate love. Her spell had made the merchant obsessed with her, the man driven slowly mad by a fixation that he did not want and could not escape. In the end he had killed the girl and then himself, to escape from the madness that she had struck into his mind. The strength of her grief and the magic of the binding spell had changed the spirit of the woman into something else entirely, something extremely dangerous.

“It’s a sort of hybrid between a vampire and a wraith,” he explained. They were in the field beyond the village, and Geralt was meticulously checking over his potions. His blades were laid off to the side, the slick oil that he used to slay spectres shining across his silver blade. It was nearing sunset, the twilight hour that made it easier for apparitions to make themselves seen in the material world. Jaskier was sitting across from him, nervously stripping leaves from a small twig. Geralt continued. “The emotion she felt and her unrequited love turned her into a heartwraith. Sometimes people call them ‘hungry ghosts.’ They’re never satisfied, and they feed off of people’s emotions to try and fill the void in them.”

“Sounds like a truly awful existence,” Jaskier mused, watching Geralt. The evening light played across his broad shoulders, turning his hair from silver to gold. Jaskier thought he might be able to understand where she was coming from, even if he’d never have tried to bind Geralt to him unwillingly. It was a terrible thing, to be so deeply and unfortunately in love with someone who didn’t want you.

“I need to draw her out,” Geralt said gruffly. “She’s seeking out powerful emotions, like the couple that were attacked and the man who was beating his wife. I’ll need your help.” Jaskier sighed. Of course, it didn’t make much sense for Geralt to try to draw her out. Though Jaskier didn’t subscribe to the notion that witchers felt less than regular humans, Geralt was what Jaskier would dub repressed. The man couldn’t look an honest emotional conversation in the face without getting flustered and running away.

“Whatever you need,” Jaskier said, like he always did. He didn’t love playing bait, but he knew Geralt would never let anything bad happen to him.

Geralt nodded and picked up his silver sword, his steel one still securely in its sheath on his back. “Come on. We need to build a fire to destroy her locket.” The girl had kept a locket with a small lock of the merchant’s hair inside, which Geralt had guessed helped tie her to this plane. Over the next few minutes, the two men built a small pyre. Geralt pressed the locket into Jaskier’s palm, his fingers brushing over Jaskier’s skin. He tried not to blush at the contact.

“When she’s distracted, throw this into the fire. It’ll weaken her,” Geralt said. Jaskier nodded mutely, clutching the warm metal close. The fire crackled merrily beside them, painting the landscape around them in swatches of ocher and dark blue. It was truly approaching night now, only the barest hint of sunlight still left on the far horizon.

“What do you need me to do?” Jaskier asked. “To get her attention, I mean.”

Geralt gave him an odd look. “Nothing. I’m going to draw her in.” Geralt’s face was pinched in a way that Jaskier had come to realize meant he was experiencing some kind of emotion, though it was always hard to tell which one. Anger, frustration, sadness and pain all translated into relatively the same expression - tight jaw, drawn eyebrows, thinned lips. Jaskier wanted to reach out and sooth the tension from his friend’s features, but luckily the locket demanded his hands’ wandering attention. Geralt gestured to the soft earth beside the fire, clearly bidding Jaskier to sit. He did so, flopping gracelessly into a crossed legged position, back straight from tension. It was hard to forget that a wraith could appear any moment to wreck the quiet evening.

Geralt settled next to him, dropping into the kneeling position that he favored for meditation. His eyes were grave as he looked over Jaskier’s face. “Just… sit still,” he said softly. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with that tone, so he just tried to do as Geralt asked. He settled in, waiting for something to happen, but Geralt just stared at him.

For a moment it was awkward. Jaskier felt a blush spread across his cheeks as those golden eyes regarded him, sweeping over his face and following the line of his neck. Geralt was a man who always split his attention half a dozen ways at once, one eye always on the door and an ear out for trouble. Jaskier had accepted long ago that Geralt never fully listened to him, and that was alright. It wasn’t in his nature, and Jaskier didn’t need participation to hold a conversation. Now, though, he felt the full force of Geralt’s focus on him, looking back at him as if trying to see beyond a mask. Geralt’s own face was impassive, that slight frown still marring his features.

What could he hope to accomplish through this? If he wanted to elicit strong emotions, there were certainly easier ways to do it than a staring contest. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever elicited strong emotions in anyone that he wasn’t actively singing to. It was he who was often overtaken by the whims of his own heart, prone to fits of temper and weeks of lovesickness by turn. Geralt never seemed to feel anything other than mild annoyance. Gods, what if Jaskier annoyed him so much that just looking at him made the witcher angry enough to summon a spectre? Jaskier knew he could be infuriating, but surely if Geralt detested him that much he would just leave Jaskier behind. Right?

Anxiety filled his chest, but he’d been instructed specifically not to move. Forcing himself to relax, Jaskier found himself taking the opportunity to just look back for once, something he so rarely had a chance to do. He absorbed all the details of Geralt’s face that he never allowed himself to - the way Geralt’s left eyebrow was ever so slightly interrupted by a tiny scar, the slight wrinkles on his forehead from years of frowning and the even fainter ones around his eyes, the ever so slight part of his lips. The dramatic light of the fire and the moon overhead made his face into a patchwork landscape of color, the valley of purple shadow in the hollow of his cheek highlighted by soft gold. Jaskier committed every feature to memory, thinking of the notebooks he could fill with songs dedicated to Geralt’s eyes and lips and brilliant white hair. He loved him so much it felt like it was going to drown him, leaving no room in his chest for his lungs.

After he’d finally taken in all the abstract elements of Geralt’s face that he could in the low light, Jaskier’s eyes dragged back to meet Geralt’s. The gold of his irises were nearly consumed by dark pupil, his eyes expanding to take in as much light as possible in the darkness. In this lighting he looked both more and less human, and it made Jaskier feel helplessly fond. Their eyes met, and suddenly the situation struck Jaskier as a bit funny. Two men sitting in a field, silently staring at each other, one pining away like nothing else while the other tried to summon a ghost. It was ridiculous. He quirked a playful eyebrow at Geralt, as if to say, Aren’t we just a couple of fools?

Jaskier watched Geralt’s face shift, a second of surprise flitting across his face. And then, without warning, there was something new there, something Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen before. A softening in Geralt’s eyes, in his brow, as he looked at Jaskier, open and affectionate. The expression hit Jaskier like a punch, or a kiss, demanding and devastating. Geralt’s mouth opened on a low exhale, and Jaskier leaned forward, wondering if he dared, if Geralt might -

There was a screech, and the wraith was upon them.

Geralt was up in an instant, silver sword flashing as he blocked a clawed hand from coming down on Jaskier’s head. Jaskier yelped as he scurried out of the way, clutching the locket he’d almost forgotten. There was a sudden burst of purple light in the field, making the shadows around them dance and twist eerily. The wraith made a horrible noise, like flint scraping across metal, endless and clearly annoyed. Geralt pushed her against the wall of the magical trap, cutting off bits of wispy energy with his sword.

Jaskier wasn’t sure when the exact right time was, but the wraith was certainly distracted. Jumping forward, he tossed the locket down into the fire, watching as the clasp popped open and the little lock of hair fell into the embers. It caught quickly, and Jaskier heard the wraith shriek again, this time a haunting and mournful sound. When he turned back it was just in time to see Geralt shove his sword in her chest. The strange, cottony fabric of her ragged dress seemed to dissipate in the wind, her dry flesh cracking and falling away like old paint. After a moment there was nothing left but a pile of ash.

“Go in peace,” Geralt said, and turned to Jaskier. Dropping to one knee, he said, “Are you hurt?”

Jaskier pushed himself into a better sitting position. They were close, too close. He hoped the warmth of the fire would mask his blush. “I’m fine, thanks to you. Is she really gone?”

Geralt nodded. “Should be. She has no tether to this world anymore without the locket.”

“Right,” Jaskier said. He paused. “So. Um. What you did there seemed to work, at least.”

Geralt leaned back away, out of Jaskier’s space. He missed the proximity immediately. “I wouldn’t have exposed you if I could think of another way.”

“Well, it’s not easy to find someone as irritating as me on such short notice,” Jaskier said nervously. “Hardly efficient.”

Geralt gave an almost comical shake of his head, surprise slapped across his features. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Jaskier shifted, uncomfortable. Giving a forced laugh, he said, “Well, I can only imagine that you were conjuring up strong emotions of the, ah, annoyance you so often display when I do something like, I don’t know, sing or eat or breathe. I know you’re not so easily swayed by my charms.” He tried to pass it off like a joke, but he knew it fell flat even as he was saying it. There was too much hurt in his throat to make it come out anything less than bitter. He stared into the fire, watching the locket turn a liquid red from the heat.

A warm hand suddenly came up to cradle his jaw, and Jaskier blinked in surprise as Geralt’s fingers urged him to look up. “It’s not that,” Geralt said forcefully. “You must know, Jaskier, you have to - When I look at you, it’s so...” He cut himself off with a frustrated sound. Words had never been his strength. “I feel many things for you, bard.”

Jaskier swallowed. “You do?”

Geralt’s eyes were hot on him, and Jaskier wondered if one could be branded by a glance. It certainly felt like it. “Yes,” Geralt said. “Intensely.”

“Oh,” Jaskier stammered. “Um. I’m not sure if I’m reading all this right, but assuming that you’re saying you don’t hate me, then, ah -”

Geralt gave an annoyed huff, and Jaskier was just about to comment, say something like, see, I am irritating, but then Geralt was kissing him, and he decided to let it go. He leaned into the press of lips, gasping softly. It was brief, nearly over before it began, but Jaskier could feel the warmth of it after Geralt pulled away, breath ghosting over his skin. Jaskier shivered.

“Quite the opposite,” Geralt said softly. His eyes were molten gold, hotter than the locket still melting in the fire at Jaskier’s side, and Jaskier never wanted to look away.

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” he said, and leaned up to kiss him again.

this fic was heavily inspired by Somedrunkpirate’s piece A Lover’s Lament, which is one of my favorite stories of all time. If you read it you’ll be able to see exactly what scene I borrowed from, and I need you to know that it lives in my head rent free.

edit: for some reason tumblr ate everything but the heading for this fic and I didn’t realize until this morning, so thanks to the ten people who liked it with no content LMAO. yall the real

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

Text

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 3

A/N As promised, Jamie returns in this chapter. He has an appointment to keep, after all. Because I can’t think of anything more creative, this chapter is entitled “Second Appointment”. For previous chapters, your best bet is to check out the story on my AO3 page.

The week both crept and flew past, like one of those dreams in which she ran until her lungs burned, but never managed to get anywhere. Kinetic motion trapped in amber. Claire never did tell Geillis about her excursion to Corstorphine Hill over the weekend, embarrassed by how it had ended.

And now it was Thursday. She’d opted for a protein smoothie for lunch, a meal with no chance of leaving leafy residue between her teeth. It was likely wasted vanity. As two o’clock drew near, she bargained with herself to abandon any hope she may be harbouring. Jamie Fraser had shown no interest in participating in the psychiatric process during his first appointment. Fraternal obligation had brought him to her office once, but he didn’t strike her as a man who yielded the reins of his life easily. It wasn’t likely he would return.

When it came his distinctive knock, crisp and insistent, caught her unawares, even though she’d just been staring at his name in her planner. She hastily pushed the items on her desk to one side, patted uselessly at her curls, and called out for him to enter.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Beauchamp,” he greeted cautiously. “Miss Duncan told me tae come straight in.”

There was something different about him today. His clothing, certainly. Instead of casual wear, he wore trousers and a button down, wet splotches over the shoulders attesting to the fact that it had begun raining again. And while he still took up an inordinate amount of space in her small office, he seemed... diminished, somehow. A paler echo of the fireworks display of his first visit.

“Of course. Please have a seat, Mister Fraser.”

“Jamie, if you will,” he corrected as he settled gingerly into the armchair. ��Mister Fraser was my Da.”

Something about his tone and the fact his laser blue eyes wouldn’t meet her own as he spoke the words caused her to lean into his statement.

“Did your father pass away recently, Jamie?”

A moment, an indrawn breath of panic, and then it was cleverly masked with a wry glance.

“Aye, last year. An’ yer no’ very subtle, doctor.”

“I didn’t realize subtlety was called for,” she parried. “You made another appointment, and I specialize in grief counselling. Why else would you be here?”

Despite the fact that it wasn’t productive from a psychiatric point of view, she enjoyed his reluctance to hastily expose his inner demons. Too often, her practice required her to work carefully in order to avoid shaping the pliable emotions of her patients. While obviously hurting, Jamie had an unflinching, unalterable quality that she admired. Not to mention that the intellectual game of cat and mouse they were playing was wildly stimulating.

“I suppose I enjoyed our conversation,” Jamie teased. “An’ Miss Duncan’s shortbread.”

With an awkward squint that she imagined was meant to be a wink, her patient rose to investigate the current offerings on her tea table.

“Och, petit fours!” he exclaimed with childlike glee and perfect French pronunciation. “There was a café none too far from my flat in Paris tha’ made these. I’d often grab some on my way tae the office.”

He returned to the desk with a small plate of the pastries, pushing it towards her as he settled into his seat.

“No, thank you. I’ve just eaten.”

Like a searchlight, his bright eyes didn’t miss much. He glanced significantly at the half-empty plastic smoothie container to one side of her desk. Rather than chide her for her austerity, as Geillis frequently did, he instead made a show of biting into each of the four little squares until there was nothing left but crumbs. Her stomach muttered in complaint.

“What did you do in Paris?” she asked as he finished his snack with a contented sigh.

“Oh, a wee bit of this and that,” he demurred. In response to her exasperated look, he continued, “I started out at the Bourse. Futures, options, arbitrage, that sort of thing. I have a good ear fer languages, sae from there I went into foreign exchange. Import export, and the like.”

“You’re a financier?” she asked, somewhat more incredulous than she ought to be. She wasn’t certain what she had pictured James Fraser doing for a living, but greasing the wheels of capitalism definitely wasn’t it.

“Was,” he corrected. “I quit an’ came home tae Scotland last year.”

“When your father died,” she guessed.

“Aye.”

She once again had the sense of standing in front of a locked door that Jamie had no intention of opening. Rather than hammer uselessly on its stubborn surface, she nimbly diverted the conversation sideways.

“What do you do for work now?”

A slow blink followed by a dawning smile indicated he was aware of her stratagem.

“I’m a carpenter.”

It was rare for Claire to be truly surprised by people. She made a living reading their unspoken cues. Twice in the same conversation was unheard of.

“A carpenter?” she repeated as though she hadn’t heard him perfectly well the first time.

“Aye. Like Jesus, ye ken?”

With a quicksilver grin, Jamie launched into a description of his current occupation, which involved the making of reproduction antiques and custom pieces for clients around Scotland. She realized with a start that she’d read an article about his business in a popular local magazine.

International financier. Self-made entrepreneur. Tall drink of water. James Fraser had a lot of things going for him. And yet here he sat, paying her by the hour to listen to him avoid talking about whatever hardship had befallen him.

She mentally composed a list of the topics he was deftly avoiding with his charming anecdotes. His father’s recent death. The reason behind a radical change in career. Living in the city on account of unspoken ‘family obligations’, even though his verbal reminiscence of the Highlands was so poetic it damn near made her cry. There was something raw just below the surface of his nonchalance, and her innate curiosity cried out to find out what it was.

“You told me last week that your sister, Jenny, insisted you attend counselling. But you said that you’re handling matters fine on your own. Can you tell me why your sister believes otherwise?”

It might have been amusing to see such a large man squirm in different circumstances. His left hand furrowed through his hair, setting the autumn waves on end. His mouth, so recently relaxed and mobile as he eagerly shared the details of his craft, froze in a pained frown. She considered whether she had pushed too hard too soon.

“I gave a lot of thought tae what ye said when we parted last week,” Jamie began at last. “Tae be honest, it haunted me. Jen kens me better than anyone, an’ while I like tae complain tha’ she meddles where she doesna belong, the truth is she’s truly scared fer me. An’ even if I dinna agree tha’ my lifestyle is cause fer concern, I owe it tae her tae try tae sort myself out. I owe her far more than that,” he finished with a rueful shake of his head.

“What kind of lifestyle has your sister so worried?” she probed.

“Whisky, women and song,” he quipped, before adding, “Weel, I canna carry a tune, but twa out of three isna half bad.”

He tried to smile away the awkward tension that descended on the office, the air ripe with unspoken words. Claire felt disappointment whirlpool in her gut. Just another charming rake, after all. It really shouldn’t matter, and yet somehow it did. More than she dared to admit.

“Yes, well, the road of excess leads to the palace of consequences, ” she sniffed at last, angry at herself for sounding like a schoolmarm. What a bore she must seem to him, with her regimented behaviour and rigid morals.

Jamie rose abruptly, and for a half-second she imagined he might lunge at her, or storm from the room. Instead, he spun around to face the door. Without a word, he untucked his shirt and began to expose his lower back.

Claire was momentarily stunned silent. Just as she managed to draw a deep enough breath to censure Jamie for his highly inappropriate strip tease, the golden velour of his lower back transformed without warning into a furrowed landscape of scar tissue, ripples and craters left by some massive trauma. The air left her lungs on a questioning sigh.

“I ken all about consequences, Doctor Beauchamp,” he stated. “I live with them every moment of my life.”

Her fingers found the knotted skin, surprisingly warm and mobile beneath her touch. A shiver shimmered over the unmarred muscle of his flanks.

Before she could find any appropriate words of apology, the office door opened and Geillis stuck her head in. She barked a cough upon seeing Jamie’s state of undress and Claire’s position, leaning across her desk. Doctor and patient jumped apart like opposing magnets.

“Sae sorry for the interruption, but yer three o’clock is here. Should I tell her ye’ve been... delayed?”

Jamie muttered an obscenity under his breath which Claire whole-heartedly seconded. There was no way Geillis wasn’t going to be utterly insufferable about this.

“Mister Fraser was just leaving, Geillis.”

With a lewd wink and a nod, the door closed.

“Look, Jamie...” she began just as he apologized. “I’m sae sorry, lass.”

They both laughed nervously. Jamie finished tucking his shirt into his pants and turned to face the desk.

“I hope this willna cause ye any difficulties with Miss Duncan,” he began, eyes wide with concern.

“No more so than usual,” she sighed. “Geillis is a good friend. She just... doesn’t know when to quit, sometimes,” she explained.

“Sounds jus’ like my sister. Perhaps we should introduce them.”

She smiled, struggling to find something else to say to move past the moment. She could hear Geillis and her next patient conversing just outside the door. There was no time left for subtlety.

“Will I see you again next week, Jamie?” she asked, giving up on finding a more oblique way of phrasing the question that was reverberating through her mind.

Jamie’s bashful smile dipped towards the floor, causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

“Aye. I’ll even keep my clothes on, if ye ask nicely.”

It was that smile, that hair, those eyes, that carried her through the rest of her week, aloft on the anticipation of something utterly forbidden.

#my writing #outlander

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

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Hello!

I love all your work so much and I saw that you were going to be taking a break from your Bachelor universe so I wanted to throw some prompts your way to maybe help get some other creative juices flowing *waggles eyebrows*

1) switched at birth AU

2) Everyone already knows their dating AU

3) Law and Order (SVU AU)

4) you’ve got mail AU

Thank you anon, I'm glad you like my writing!

Now that I've finished my Bach fic, I've been at a bit of a loss what I want to do next. Maybe it's because I'm all out of new ideas, maybe it's because work has been absolutely hectic, but my creative brain is completely empty. So I figured, why not try to do one of these prompts?

Here's the thing: I have never seen SVU or You've Got Mail. And I'm pretty sure Switched at Birth is also a TV show I have never seen? When I saw "everyone already knows" my immediate thought was "oh! like in Friends!" but then I remembered I have absolutely read that fic somewhere?? Like someone already wrote that for Jonsa. (I tried to find it again but have had no luck.)

So I chose switched at birth as a concept - I'm not sure if you meant the TV show or not, but I just wrote whatever popped into my brain.

A warning: this turned out a bit more angsty than I intended, and isn't necessarily Jonsa? It is if you squint. A few other notes, Alayne is a completely separate person from Sansa, Lysa is not related to Catelyn, and Baelish never knew Catelyn either. Sorry if it's confusing and/or not at all what you were looking for!

Sansa feels as if the world has dropped out from beneath her.

They all sit in the drawing room of what she can only describe as a mansion (and she knows that next to her, Father is likely seething. This is the kind of money he aspires to, but will never be able to reach. He will never have a name. Father is a Baelish, he could never be a Stark.)

She stares at the family sitting opposite and her heart sticks in her throat at the sight of them – the mother, the three sons, they all have the same copper hair that she does and she swallows against the rising tears.

This is what she could have had, she thinks as she averts her eyes, but she only manages to catch sight of the family portrait above the mantel. A father, a mother, siblings. She could have had all of this, if not for the slip-up of an overworked, underpaid nurse sixteen years ago. She could have been Alayne Stark. Instead she is Sansa Baelish.

Switched at birth.

Alayne sits with her family (that should be Sansa's family), and she doesn't look as out of place as she should. Her dark hair matches Mr. Stark's – matches the other daughter, Arya. Alayne fits right in.

Sansa sits with Father (no, not her father; the man who raised her) on the opposite couch and wonders if her Mother (no, not her mother) had known, somehow. Is that why Mother had always been so cruel to her? Why she always seemed to hate Sansa for reasons she could never figure out? Perhaps Mother had known, somehow, that Sansa wasn't hers. Sansa remembers reading fairy stories of Changelings – how the mother would know, insist the child wasn't hers, how no one ever believed her. Is that why Mother threw herself off the roof all those years ago?

“Well this is fucking awkward,” the girl, Arya, mutters, and it breaks the silence as Mr. Stark sighs and presses a hand over his face and Mrs. Stark begins to scold her for her language and impropriety. Sansa watches Alayne laugh, and she feels more than ever like an intruder. She may share the Stark blood, but it seems as if Alayne and Arya are more alike than not. And by the way the brothers are trying to hide their own laughter, it seems Alayne fits in with all of them.

Perhaps it wasn't a mistake to switch them, Sansa thinks bitterly. Perhaps the Starks are better for having Alayne.

….

She is forced to get to know the Stark family, though she does not think she wants to. She doesn't want to look at their life and wish it could have been hers – wish that Ned Stark with his kind eyes and calm voice could have been her father. Wish that Catelyn Stark with her smiles and her freshly baked cookies could have been her mother. Wish that she could have been surrounded by siblings and dogs and even two strange psuedo-adopted-but-not-really brothers that she meets later on named Jon and Theon. The Stark household is chaotic and confusing and Sansa tells herself she would have hated growing up here.

….

She isn't surprised to find that she's not sad Father isn't her real father. In fact, there's a sort of joy inside her that when she turns eighteen, she can be free of him. He is still her legal guardian, the courts have decided, but she has less than two years before she is free and they aren't actually related and so she doesn't have to feel guilty about her dreams of leaving him.

It grows inside her as the weeks and months go by – a hatred she has never truly let herself feel before. She hates him, despises him. She always has.

Catelyn Stark is insistent on getting to know her because Sansa is her daughter, but Sansa can tell that Father has no real desire to get to know his own real daughter. He does not care about Alayne – no, what he cares about is ingratiating himself into the Stark family. She wonders if the Starks can see it like she can. She hopes not – she doesn't want them to think she's only coming to these weekly meetings for their money and their name.

In all honestly, she's not actually sure why she keeps coming to these meetings. All they do is remind her that the Starks will never truly be her family. All they do is highlight how much Father cares about social climbing. These meetings are painful and every week when she finally gets home and takes a shower and gets into her pajamas and climbs into bed, she sobs into her pillow for what could have been.

…

“You know the party's inside, right?”

Sansa startles out of her reverie and whirls around, heart pounding, to find Jon Snow standing behind her, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket.

It's Christmas and the snow is thick on the ground and she's shivering in the thin wrap that she came outside with, her coat in a closet where Mrs. Stark had taken it hours earlier.

“Are you allowed to be smoking?” she asks instead of answering and he laughs, pulling one out of the pack and placing it between his lips.

“I'm eighteen,” he shrugs, speaking around the cigarette dangling out of his mouth. His hands come up and he lights it, with one cupped around the end against the cold winter wind.

“I can't imagine Mrs. Stark approves of smoking,” she sniffs, then shakes her head no when Jon holds the pack out to her in offering. She watches his mouth twitch into a smile for a moment, like he knew she wouldn't take one, before putting the pack back in his coat pocket.

“Seems you don't approve, either.”

“Well, I am her daughter.” She says it and means it to be a joke, but the words come out soft and it wavers at the end.

Jon watches her for a moment, then unzips his coat and shrugs it off and holds it out to her and she stares at it blankly, her mind not processing the gesture. He shakes the coat, like he's insisting she take it and she finally does, slipping it on and then closing her eyes at the immediate warmth of it.

“I get it,” Jon says after a while, when he's halfway down to the filter, clouds of smoke drifting up into the night sky. “I mean, not exactly, I'm not sure there's anyone who can understand... you know-” he gestures at her. “But I get what's it's like - to be a Stark, but not. They practically raised me, but I'm not... I'll never actually be one of them.”

“I used to read fairytales,” she admits, turning her face from him because it's easier to talk into the dark, snow-covered landscape than him. “About secret princesses, and the king and queen were always so happy to have their daughter back. In the stories, there was never another princess who already took her place. Who fit in better.”

Alayne is a perfect Stark, she thinks. Over the months, she's seen it – how Alayne plays football and hockey with her brothers and sisters, makes jokes that Sansa would never. She's nothing like Sansa, who always preferred reading poetry to playing outside, with perfect manners and perfect posture. Cold and reserved. She wishes she were more like Alayne – more like a Stark.

She hears Jon sigh and take one last drag of the cigarette before he puts it out in the snow. “You're a lot like Cat, you know,” he says finally, and she feels something twist painfully in her chest. “And Bran. I mean, I don't know you that well, I guess, but...”

She shakes her head because he's wrong. She's nothing like any of the Starks (though she's not a Baelish, either). Jon sighs again, louder this time, with more annoyance.

“You are,” he insists, and she finally turns to face him again and opens her mouth to argue, but he gets there first. “You'd see it if you let yourself. If you actually tried. Cat's... Cat is trying so hard. You should see how she gets before you come over. Everyone is freaking out about it but you won't even try to get to know them. And I might not get how you feel, but Alayne? Have you even tried to talk to her?”

That painful twist in her chest tightens, it swoops down into her belly and up into her throat. “I am-”

“Like I said, I can't imagine how it feels, you know? And I'm sure it's a lot, and you're allowed to feel how you feel, but the Starks are... they want you here, I promise. But if you don't want to be, if you don't want them in your life, maybe this should all stop, cause it's hurting them and I think it's hurting you. Maybe we shouldn't be trying to force it if it's not what you want.”

Her mind is blank, she can't think of a single argument, though she wants to argue. She wants to say that Alayne hasn't tried talking to her, either. She wants to insist that she is trying, but... but she's not. Not really. She's holding herself at a distance, she's already decided she doesn't belong.

“What if they don't like me?” The words slip out of her, unbidden, her voice barely a whisper. It wavers in the dark. (Her deepest fear – that if she lets them get close to her, they'll decide she isn't worth it, that they don't want her.)

She's not sure what response she was expecting, but it's not for Jon to smile – he does, gives her a little half smile and raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I don't know you that well yet, but so far I like you just fine. And I'm not even a Stark.”

“You seem like a Stark,” she tells him, and watches something flicker across his face and she doesn't know him well enough yet to tell what it is.

“I'm not actually related,” he says, though she already knows this. “Not by blood or anything.” For a moment he brings his hand up to rub at the back of his neck and he suddenly won't look at her and she wonders if she said something wrong. “We should go back inside,” he seems to change the subject and she hesitates, but then he holds out his hand. After a moment, she takes it, and follows him back inside, out of the freezing night air and into the warmth of the house. In the distance, she can hear voices and laughter, she can smell the cinnamon and pine in the air.

She could get lost here, if she let herself.

“There you are,” Mrs. Stark looks up as they enter the kitchen, and Jon lets go of her hand. Mrs. Stark narrows her eyes at Jon, then looks at the back door, like she guesses what he was doing out there and doesn't approve.

“I'm uh...” Jon starts, looking between Mrs. Stark and her, “I should get back to the party.” Before he goes, he turns back to her and she remembers she's still in his coat and she hurriedly takes it off, feeling heat high up on her cheeks as she does. “Try,” he says, voice too low for Mrs. Stark to hear. Then he takes his coat and leaves the kitchen – leaves her in the kitchen. Alone. With Mrs. Stark.

“Are you having fun?” Mrs. Stark's voice is light, but there's something underneath, a hesitance.

“I am,” she says back, wondering if she should make some excuse and leave. Wondering if Mrs. Stark doesn't want to be here talking to her.

(Try.)

“I wanted to thank you for inviting me,” she blurts out, and Mrs. Stark looks at her sharply. “I had some of the pumpkin pie, it was really good.”

It's such a stupid, nonsense thing to say, but Mrs. Stark looks pleased.

“It's a family recipe,” Mrs. Stark says, and then – a bit of hesitation - “I could teach it to you, if you'd like.”

Sansa's breath catches in her throat and it takes her a moment to say, “I like baking.”

“So do I. I could never get Alayne or Arya into it.” Mrs. Stark says it with a fond smile and Sansa feels something break open inside of her and she realizes, she knows, that she wants this. She wants to know this family, she wants to be a part of it. She doesn't want to take Alayne's place, she never could, but she...

“You could teach me,” she whispers. “Sometime. I'd like that.”

“So would I,” Mrs St- her mother, says with a smile that lights up the room.

#ask #anon #prompt fic #jonsa #sort of #modern au #again #also sort of angsty #and i'm sorry

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asagimeta · 3 years

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Enhypen Theory- Ruins & Rituals

So I've been watching Given/Taken alot lately for writing purposes and am curious about something....

What's with the weird monument?

The beginning of the video starts with Jungwon standing in a desert with a bleeding nose, but we don't see this scenery again until the third "arc" of the music video, when the rest of the boys join him and immitate firing arrows at this broken monument of some kind- we later see them at night, dressed in their uniforms, dancing in front of it- though before this Jungwon is seen again slowly burning from (presumably) the sunlight

But... what is it? What's the significance and why does the video open there? Why are they firing arrows? There are just so many questions and I, personally, haven't really seen this part of G/T addressed yet so I'm going to take a shot at it for my first HYBE theory! (I actually have been *following* HYBE theories for a few months now but I'm new to K-Pop in general so I've been quiet until now)

First, it's important to note that it stands out as odd from the rest of the video

The beginning and middle of the video have two primary locations with similar but still considerably different vibes-

Old fashioned clothes, indoors, a sense of containment and "other"ness, even though they aren't the same, you can still feel the connection to eachother- but that's completely removed in the desert scenes, wich are outdoors, in modern clothing, and present the boys with more individuality (IE: lacking uniforms)

And it makes me wonder if the ruins they're visiting are of their old testing facility

Let me break it down a bit better-

The two primary locations we see other than these ruins are a mansion-wich I'll, possibly incorrectly, refer to as "the orphanage" henceforth- and a testing/containment/research facility of some sort

At first I wondered if the ruins were simply the orphanage but that's clearly not the case as you can see the exterior of the mansion in one of the snapshots early on, it's very different looking- even the shape is extremely different, and it seems to be in a forest just below a hill, not in the middle of a desert

What about the other place though? The facility- as I'll call it from here on- doesn't have the same deniability

In fact, we see a very similarly shaped building to the ruins during one of the snapshots, but we don't have any clear indication of what it is, why would it just randomly be there? Unless, ofcourse, it isn't random

Initially I assumed the orphanage and the facility were the same place because the boys are wearing the uniforms in both locations, but I'm starting to think that isn't the case, and that the boys were moved to the facility after being experimented on at the orphanage

The thing is that vampires don't always turn when they're given the venom/virus/blood/whatever-it-is-that-turns them, and when this substance is manmade or engineered somehow, it takes even less frequently, this is true of all supernaturals, and again, is emphasized when the people attempting to make the transitions are humans experimenting with forces beyond their understanding, so it's typical of these practioners to have large "sample sizes" of potential experiments, often turning to hospitals, schools, and orphanages (to name a few) seeking the few candidates that can survive and thrive under these new conditions- from there they'll experiment on all of them until they get the desired result, and those select few will move on in the process to the next step

Sound familiar at all? I think this is further representative of the idol industry

We know that a big theme of Enhypen's storyline is going against the toxic nature of the idol industry, with songs like "Not For Sale" and "Mixed Up", and themes like being museum or display peices in "Let Me In", and the process of a large group of young boys being picked through and groomed until there are only a few left standing, who are then taken away from the "orphanage" and brought to a more intense experimentation/testing facility, sounds alot like idol-potentials who are on talent shows, win, and then assigned to a group and agency who put them through intense preperation for their debut

We know Enhypen went through that exact process on I-Land, so it's not a stretch to say this may be what they're referencing

But back to the ruins

You can see a definite difference in the way the orphanage looks vs the facility, wile the orphanage is a western style mansion that looks like it came from the late Victorian era- though, as Laina Sunflower pointed out, it does seem to have some modern conveniences like pen lights and electric fans- (the person conducting the experiments is also wearing a face mask, wich looks more modern from what I can tell)

-the facility is seemingly more modern than that, and has a much less homey feel, resembling instead a more containment type of vibe- large areas of open space, large glass windows dividing one from another, and the boys all seem to have their own rooms to keep separated from eachother, very unlike the mansion where you can probably safely assume that they share rooms, as unlike the sleek, minimal style of the facility, is cluttered with children's toys, furnishings, and accents, and you get the vibe that the boys are allowed around eachother often, the entire feel is more casual, and considering the number of tables in the dining room, you can also safely assume that there are many more inhabitants of the orphanage than just Enhypen themselves, meaning that it's more likely they share rooms

We know what the outside of the mansion looks like, but we don't have as definitive of a space for the facility

Wile the tower in the snapshot is a bit different in shape from the ruins, they're similar enough, and the landscape is notably perfect for a facility containing baby vampires- a barren desert devoid of the one thing they need most (blood) and full of the one thing that can most harm them (sunlight), it would be like keeping Superman in a chamber beneath the red sun surrounded by kryptonite, there's very little chance of them escaping

There's also something particularly strange about the ruins, in that there's a LADDER hanging off of one side leading to the top of the facility

The entire set up reminds me of the vampire facility in True Blood, and I wouldn't be surprised if the facility had this peculiar setup to make it even more difficult on the boys to possibly escape, I wouldn't even be surprised if these ruins are only a small portion of what's been left, maybe the original facility was a little in tune with the building from the snapshots before whatever happened to it... happened

There's also some other things I want to point out with this line of thought-

Sunghoon is kept in a room filled with orange light at one point, sitting on the edge of a bathtub-?- when his hand catches on fire

Some have theorized that this is Sunghoon's power, just like other boys have the power to levitate, hypnotize, and teleport, but what if that isn't it? What if that was the facility testing him in a room full of manufactured sunlight to see if he indeed burns in the sun? True Blood, again, has a similar theme (and it wouldn't be unusual for HYBE to draw influences from other popular media, what with TXT's frequent Harry Potter references)

Additionally, could this be in part about their escape from the facility? We see the boys make a running motion as though they're trying to get away, only to stop

We see something almost exactly the same in "Fever", but this time they succeed in seeming to go through the door to their freedom

I also wonder if the Victorian style clothing vs the French Roccoco style clothing is meant to show that there was a large gap between the time they were originally imprisoned and the time they got out?

This also fits with "Drunk Dazed", we see the mystery woman before the boys, still in their Rococo style clothes, performing a "ritual of blood" by pouring blood into the fountain, could the boys have been rescued, found, or "adopted" by **real** vampires after their, probable, human experiments? If the French Rococo style represents the boys during their escape period, this could make senses, and could also serve to explain, to a degree, their blood festivities in the first place

This doesn't make alot of sense though in terms of timing as the Victorian era is around two hundred years *after* the French Rococo period, so unless it's symbolic....

But I've wondered about the weird contrast between the boys being experimented into vampirism vs being turned naturally, as the mystery woman seems to heavily implicate that she herself is a vampire and that she's showing the boys a "natural" ritual, something that's part of the vampire community/species/way of life, but this is a giant contrast to the more clinical, experimentation vibe of what the boys had been going through in their orphanage/facility days; I'm reminded again of True Blood here, as well as "Bitten", "Servamp" (the manga), and plenty of others where the older, stronger vampires (or werewolves) free the younger ones from human captivity

Things I still haven't figured out or that I find most notable:

-Jungwon seems seperated from the others the most here, he's the one at the beginning with the nosebleed and the one catching on fire- something that doesn't happen to any of the other boys- and in one of the flashbacks he's the one standing outside of the orphanage banging on the window as the others go about their routines, and in “Fever” he’s the one left behind/last in line when everyone is running towards the door, he seems to be the "main" charector in Given/Taken, as he's the last one on screen revealing what everyone suspected: that they're vampires; he's also the one with teleportation, most prominantely seen in Drunk/Dazed, flittering around outside the room where Sunoo is pouring his blood into his glass and coming in between the two groups of three who, according again to Laina Sunflower, seem to be at odds with eachother

-Sunoo is also the one seen to be biting (or attempting to bite) Jungwon, this could be a really interesting nod to their relationship, the two seem to be connected in a special way (is this why Jungwon is outside Sunoo’s room in Drunk/Dazed, flittering around anxiously as though he’s not sure what to do with himself or isn’t sure what to do about something that’s bothering him?) Could Sunoo have been responsible for turning Jungwon, or maybe completing his transformation? Or even just feeding off of him, wich, in some lore, creates a special bond between two vampires?

-Speaking of Drunk/Dazed, we see the mansion reappear during their first "bloody birthday party"- when there was only one candle on the cake- does this mean that they celebrated their life as vampires before being transferred to the facility? Were they vampires for a fair amount of time- several months or maybe even a year or two- before being taken away?

-Why are they immitating firing arrows? They don't seem to be *actually* doing this, just mimicking it, why expose themselves to the sun just for something symbolic? Is it a repetition of something they've done before? Did they originally destroy the facility themselves? Or it it something else..?

If anyone has any ideas definitely let me know, HYBE is my new favorite thing for theorizing!

#enhypen #enhypen theory #hybe #hybe universe #kpop #kpop theory #hybe theory #hybe universe theory #dark moon with enhypen

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tsunflowers · 3 years

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this is the sewer freak romance novel we have all been waiting for but that I will never actually write

Ok so the setting is in what used to be America in the aftermath of what was probably a nuclear war but no one ever goes into it and they just call it The Blight. Humanity rode it out by living in underground bunkers but within living memory they’ve finally been able to build habitat bubbles on the surface and fill them with breathable air so they can at least see sun again. There are several bunkers which maintained digital contact the entire time and while they were underground they built tunnels to each other so they could trade but they’ve had to seal off the tunnels and now you have to travel the blighted landscape to reach other habitats. Bc years back a bunch of people were like “we’re not waiting for your pussy habitat bubbles we can hack it on the surface right now” so they went out and got irradiated and the bunker people wouldn’t let them back in. So they started living in the tunnels and became sewer freaks. The sewer freaks are known to eat people and everyone is convinced they’re just biding their time until they can storm the bunkers and take over the habitats so they have to take the overland path even though it’s objectively more dangerous. The habitats are largely self-sufficient but there are some specialty parts that can only be produced in one habitat… and they just ran out. Enter our heroine

She’s named Ticonderoga bc lots of people are named after silly things from the old world but she goes by Ty. She has pcos or another condition that makes it very unlikely that she’ll ever be able to give birth which makes her uniquely expendable among the young women of the habitat. There’s this huge push in the community to expand the population now that they have the habitat bubbles but she knows she can’t be a part of that and people actually warn the boys her age away from her bc she won’t be able to have kids. Bc in a closed society like this everyone’s medical status is everyone’s business. This combined with the fact that she doesn’t have a job lined up for when she turns 18 bc her mentor died and The Council silently got rid of the job completely means that she’s selected to join the expedition to the other habitat. Btw the job is the storage and maintenance of physical artifacts and documents from the habitats history and from before The Blight. Everyone else has relied on technology for so long that they’ve forgotten the value of Real items and they’re like “didn’t we digitize that ages ago? who give a shit” but ty is Retro and she knows that holding something in your hands gives it a totally different feeling. She also likes to draw by hand. I kind of want her mentor to be a cool lesbian but she does die. Wait I had a great idea I’ll get back to this later

The rest of the expedition team is like older guys who’ve done this before and they’re kind of hazing her and telling her scary stories about sewer freaks. The general vibe is like “if you can’t keep up why are you even here :/" and she’s like it’s not like I asked to be here fuckers. But she’s actually kind of enjoying it in a weird way bc there are all these mutant plants that she’s never seen records of before bc the habitat bubble people ignore the outside world as much as possible. One morning while the guys are breaking camp (she tried to help at first but they were like “don’t chip a fingernail girlie”) she sits down to sketch a mutant flower. Which is hard bc she’s in a hazmat suit but she wants to record it somehow. And when she looks up she realizes the guys left without her. It’s not like they left her for dead bc she has a gps and radio communication. She could call them up and be like “hey fuck you guys.” But it was seriously a dick move and she’s really upset about it. She turns off her comms to kind of process and figure out what to do to catch up/how she’s going to confront them when she does and then suddenly….:.. a sewer monster appears on the surface!!!

We get like two full pages describing the sewer freak’s physicality at this point so as a reader you’re like ok she seriously wants to get hot and heavy with this sewer monster. He has, you know, smooth translucent skin and huge dark eyes and delicate long-fingered hands and he might be bioluminescent although she probably can’t tell that during the day. And he is definitely like cut also. He is one ripped sewer freak

Ty has this emergency signal she’s supposed to set off if she’s separated from the group and something happens to her but she’s not exactly in the mood to get rescued by a bunch of guys who just ditched her for fun. And besides her analytical brain is whirring at the chance to see and interact with a real sewer freak. So she tries to greet him. They have some trouble interacting bc sewerspeak (the language of the sewer freaks) diverged from English some time ago but they manage to communicate that he thought she was hurt but it’s only her feelings that are hurt. Btw sewer people can sense radio waves or some shit so he got concerned about her when he noticed hers cut off bc he knows habitat people always have radios on. So he thought maybe her suit stopped working. He acts like he’s gonna leave and she’s like “no wait!!” bc she wants to make a tangible connection with him bc that’s her thing. So she gets him to stay long enough for her to sketch him. He’s clearly super impressed by the sketch so she hands it to him and he indicates that he wants to borrow her pencil. He adds his own sketch on the corner of the page, a stylized drawing of the flower she was just drawing. She’s like “oh you draw too?” but he points to the flower drawing and then to himself and she understands that it’s a glyph representing him and he’s named after the flower. (This means the habitat people are named after relics from the old world while sewer people are named after things from the current world. Do you get it) They trade names and then he leaves. She’s like wow! Maybe everything everyone said about sewer freaks was wrong, bc clearly some of them are kind of sexy and intriguing. So she heads off to meet up with her party with a spring in her step. The party actually felt guilty and turned around for her bc they saw her gps signal didn’t move at all and she disappeared from comms but when they see her they’re like wtf why is she is such a good mood?? but something tells her she should not brag to them about her freak encounter so she pretends she encountered mutant wildlife and scared it off and they’re a little bit impressed

I just realized if they’re so paranoid and their technology’s so good they could probably invent some vehicles to go between habitats so they wouldn’t have to walk it. Pretend I have an explanation for that one

She gets to the habitat with the group. It has the exact same layout as her home but she can’t stop noticing all the things that are subtly different. They have different slang, and the food they grow and cook is different bc of the backgrounds of the people in this one, and stuff. Also the pregnancy thing is probably more intense compared to her home. Like in her habitat there’s social pressure but here it’s a civic duty. She sees a lot of really young moms and people who clearly don’t want children. She realizes that her infertility actually gives her more choice and autonomy than most women in her society and it’s an uncomfortable realization. Can I have uhhh, unsubtle grappling with conflicting feelings about motherhood as a prerequisite for adulthood using a sci-fi setting for 600, Alex?

Ty wants to get Out Of There and maybe see that spicy little sewer freak on the return trip but there are all these protocols and rituals they have to observe. They have to formally trade. They have to spend the night. They have to accept a meal and travel provisions. Since I guess this is the shitty evangelical Christian habitat the meal is probably like, unseasoned chicken and green bean casserole or something

Idk if Ty has any friends back in her home habitat. I kind of want her to have a gay guy friend who shares her reproduction related struggles bc he’s like “can I live openly as a gay man knowing that people will judge me for not Doing My Duty? even if I go to the medical center and donate sperm am I comfortable fathering children I will never actually be a father to?” so in that way her mentor could be a mentor to him as well since she’s an example of an adult lesbian in their society, and maybe that’s how they met. So she’s also like "man I wanna get back home and hang out with my bff again"

when shes home her parents are like omg we were so worried about you out in the Blighted landscape. while you were gone The Council gave us some of your mentor's stuff that she wanted you to have. and it's like a very tender handwritten note about how much she meant to her mentor that makes her cry and also some blueprints of the now-sealed tunnel opening?? basically her mentor left a coded message telling her to go down to the tunnel opening. she and her bff figure it out together and he's like Uhhh I dont want to go down to the tunnel with the sewer freaks??? but she tells him she met a sewer freak and not only did he not eat her he was smokin hot. if the sewer freaks are like cave dwellers they probably shouldn't have hair but I can't. I need them to have hair. sorry it's not Scientifically Accurate. so anyway she's like "listen it's not like we're going into the tunnels. we're just going Next to them. it's fine"

so they sneak down into the tunnels. it's kind of sad down there. ty's been down there before to cross-reference documents and just to see where her ancestors lived but it's totally different to be down there with just one other person and confront the reality of living in cramped quarters underground. kind of makes her empathize with the sewer freaks as well. when they get to the location the mentor marked they realize that there's a sealed hatch with a broken lock and inside it are mysterious items that were deposited by the sewer freaks! their mentor must have been in contact with the sewer freaks all along and she knew they weren't evil monsters! some weird shit she said starts to make a lot more sense. if ty kept the drawing she puts it in the hatch to try to make contact and if she gave it to him she sees it in the hatch as an attempt at contact

so ty and the sexy sewer guy strike up a gift cache based friendship. they don't meet in person but every time she manages to sneak away to the tunnel he's taken her gift and left something new. she's having to train in a new job that she's not that interested in but knowing that she'll have sewer presents makes her everyday life exciting. this goes on for a while and then one day she receives a drawing of a person crawling through the hatch and she's like omg. I could crawl through the hatch. there's also a drawing of a sunrise so she's like does that mean I should do it at sunrise...? will he be there....? and she decides to fucking go for it. her friend stays behind bc he's scared and also she needs him to cover for her but she has a radio. she wiggles through the hatch as early as possible in the morning and who is waiting for her but the handsome sewer freak!!

he brought a light bc he knows habitat people need them but he personally can see in the dark. she sees his bioluminescence for the first time and is like Wow.... and on his side he’s like amazed and totally hot for her once he sees her out of the hazmat suit bc he wasn’t 100% sure she was human until then. All the adults say habitat people are like humans under the suits but he had never seen one in real life so in the back of his mind he kind of doubted it. Both sides have the thing where they’re like “we’re the only People.” But actually he knew she was a People the moment she drew for him bc spontaneously creating art and then freely giving it away is such a uniquely human gesture

he takes her down through the tunnels and she sees that they've been decorated and added to and the sewer people have a whole civilization down there. they can also go onto the surface freely but they get sunburned real fast so they try to limit it. but the tunnels are now dotted with surface exits and that's how he seemed to appear and disappear when she was on the surface. they just kind of explore for a while bc she's so curious but he clearly wants to lead her somewhere. they get to a large but cozy room full of bioluminescent moss and mushrooms and a ton of sewer freaks just hanging out and who is there but... her dead mentor?!

It turns out The Council actually tried to kill her mentor for being pro-freak!!! They were like “see how much you like those sewer freaks when they’re eating you!” and left her for dead in the tunnels. but since she was friends with the freaks they did not eat her, they took her in and healed her using sewer freak blood and now she has some powers and she’s married to a lady sewer freak

The eating people thing IS true but listen. It’s hard to get protein as a sewer freak ok?? So they’ve been practicing endocannibalism all along (eating the dead members of their community). And they’ve eaten some habitat people who they killed in self defense, and maybe way back in the first few generations of sewer people they did kill and eat habitat people for no reason. But they don’t do that anymore and they feel really bad about. Actually they don’t even do endocannibalism anymore bc they raise cave fish and hunt surface animals but it’s ceremonial

so ty is like whoa i can't believe it, but I do believe it, and her mentor is like "you can't tell the habitat people. they're not ready to accept it. but you can change that. your generation needs to be open minded and accept the new earth and the new people and I think that you are a special girl and if anyone can change minds you can" and she returns to the habitat bubble with the gears in her mind turning over and over wondering how she can possibly accomplish this mission...

I said she would my fair lady the sewer freak but maybe thats book two. and I decided while writing this that the sewer freaks do have their own culture so it's not like he needs to be taught to be human. but I still want her to dress him up in normal clothes and take him home to her parents

#sewer freak romance

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dinandgone · 3 years

Text

The Snap

Prologue to the ‘Blood and Beskar’ series

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

The Mandalorian x fem!Reader (eventual)

Warnings: None apart from a sneaky Mandalorian.

Word count - 1k

A/n ~ so this is my first Pedro fic but it’s going to be like a slow burn because I wanted to be really indulgent I mean if nobody reads it then it’s not really a problem. I just wanted to do something that I haven’t really read with the reader being a bounty hunter on the run idk. This prologue is just a bit of insight into the reader and a headstart to the next chapter. So enjoy, feedback is always welcome :)

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This was not the plan. The plan wasn’t to run and hide on a desolate outer rim planet. You were better than that. But recent events left you little to no choice in the matter. Fair enough, it was your fault for trusting anyone but yourself in this godforsaken galaxy. But you needed the credits. And along with desperation comes room for error.

In your case it was a big error.

An error that landed you a wanted criminal. A sizable bounty on your head.

Though things looked bleak you had your skills that you’d obtained over the years from the bounty hunting profession. Thinking outside the box, best places to hide, what to look out for and whatnot. Given, Felucia probably wasn’t the best place to hide but your options were limited, you needed a place that had a population but not big enough to make it easy for you to be found.

You sighed, drawing your knees to your chest as you remain lost in thought. Sweat dripping down your skin, shirt soaked and clinging to your frame. The climate was bearable, much better than the extremes of Tatooine or Hoth. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the vibrant colours of the market or the buzz of the cantina back home. You chuckled at the thought of attempting to even set foot on Nevarro - the bounty hunters hive. You were sure it would make many of its inhabitants happy at the thought of you dead. You’d pissed a few people off in your time as a bounty hunter, it was a given for the profession, all they needed was an excuse and now they had it.

Snap

The sudden break of a branch pulls you from thought your eyes shooting to the source of the noise, you stand with your hand trained on your holster the other ghosting the knife strapped to your thigh. You knew staying in one place for a period of time was never a good idea. Being on the run always meant you had to be alert and keep moving. You scan your surroundings for tell tale signs, movement or disruption in the foliage. But there was nothing but the soft sounds of light rainfall and wildlife. You still felt it, sending shivers straight to your spine. Something. Someone was watching.

You waited with bated breaths, eyes scanning the area waiting for an attack, but it never came. The feeling of uneasiness being quelled slightly from the lack of disturbance in the trees around you. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shook your head. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a proper nights rest in a real bed without the constant worry of waking up to a blaster in the face, even then the nightmares proved to make sleeping difficult. Realising you’d been stood in the same spot the entire time, you shift your boots from making a home firmly in the muddy forest floor. Sighing you moved you pick up your bag, you needed to get moving before it got dark. Your limbs ached in protest and your eyes strained from the constant wary focus on your surroundings. Every now and again you turn thinking you can hear movement behind you but each time nothing, the same old sounds of rainfall. You put it down to your head working overtime to keep exhaustion at bay. You could only focus on how your clothes rubbed your skin, the excess dirt and grime creating more friction. Oh how you missed the luxuries of having a fresher. Those luxuries had disappeared along with your ship as a result of a damaging game of Sabacc on Tatooine. You winced at the memory of the slimy Twi’lek grinning at you as he placed his winning hand on the table. Lucky bastard left with your ship and a hefty sum of credits. Why you thought you’d be able to bluff your way into winning a game of Sabacc you didn’t know, maybe it was because you were inherently drunk but it had cost you your ship and damaged your ego in the process.

“Never touching a drop of Spotchka again” you grumbled to yourself, reflecting on how much you missed your ship.

The sound of approaching footsteps disrupted your disgruntled ramblings. Spinning on your heel blaster in hand raising it to face the owner of the footsteps. An woman with a small cart stopped in her tracks, eyes wide and hands in the air.

“Can I help you?” You questioned steadying your feet in place

“Please don’t shoot! I’ve been walking behind you for a while you look like you’re exhausted, I wondered if you needed somewhere to stay for the night?” her response hurried and panicked. “My town is about twenty minutes north of here along the dirt track, if you want to follow me?”

You lowered your blaster, sliding it smoothly back into its holster, hand still hovering in place. The exhaustion was creeping in, you could tell that from the fact you hadn’t even noticed the trailing footsteps behind you. You glanced at her again, no sign of a blaster or weapon, if she did try anything you could easily overpower her. The promise of somewhere dry to stay for the night and the possibility of food focused your attention. Just one night and then you’d continue to plan your next move.

“Thank you, that is very kind.” you nodded, gesturing her to show you the way.

She continued forward cart in hand talking about herself and her village. A brief flash of reflected light in the dense forest, caught your eye as you turned to follow her. Her voice drowning into a faint mumble as you tried to zero in on any signs of movement. Stopping dead in your tracks, you tried to focus your eyes on the vast treeline aiming to pinpoint where you had seen it, but as you blinked the light disappeared as quickly as it had caught your attention. The same uneasy feeling from earlier snaking its way back up your spine sending chills across your body. You listening and scoured intently, for any further movement but the landscape remained the same. The rest of your surroundings came back into focus, the woman’s chatter once again flowing through the air. You turned and hurried to catch up just in time to re enter the conversation with the woman asking your name.

“Y/N” you replied warily looking over your shoulder “its Y/N”

#din dijarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the mandalorian x you #mando smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #mando x reader

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wille-zarr · 3 years

Text

The Mandalorian: "Not to a Mandalorian’s Standards”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Six ~ “Not to a Mandalorian’s Standards”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated T for language; violence; angst

word count: 8.1k

chapter summary: you must make a challenging decision concerning your arrangement with din, but all is threatened when old dangers arise

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: uwu

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Six: “Not to a Mandalorian’s Standards”

“Tell you what, Starlight-” your father’s eyes twinkle down at you- “there’s no better place in the galaxy to make a tough decision than on the back of a speeder bike, going faster than your mother would ever approve.”

Great advice, Papa.

Too bad that advice is about to get you killed.

Though, you do have a slight suspicion that when he told you “fast”, he never meant quite this fast.

But then again, knowing your dad, maybe he did.

“Oh-” you reach up, wiggling your goggles down into position- “blast it.” Gritting your teeth tightly together, you accelerate the speeder bike, shooting over the dried desert landscape of Arvala-7.

The cool evening air prickles the exposed parts of your face like a thousand sharp needles sinking into your skin, but the discomfort doesn’t distract you. You stare straight ahead, focused only on the tangled thoughts rolling back and forth in your brain in a jumbled, glued-together mess.

“Running away? You’re good at that.”

Faster. Faster.

If you could just go faster, maybe the voices would fall behind, leave you alone.

You lean forward on the accelerator, pushing the speeder bike to its absolute limits. The old bike begins to vibrate under your body, rattling as if threatening to blow apart in a thousand pieces. If you were still that adrenaline-seeking teenager, you might would take that as a challenge.

But hey, you’ve cheated death this long. It’d be a shame to lose the game at this point…

That and Cara’s the last person you’d want to upset if you destroy her bike.

You notice a cliff-wall looming in the horizon, rapidly approaching at the speed with which you are traveling. With a sharp hiss, you slam on the brakes, bracing, squeezing your eyes tightly together as you spin around in tight circles.

One…

Two...

Three…

Four spins.

You stop.

You don’t fight the grin that stretches across your face.

“Banthaspit! Hell yeah.” You peel the goggles off your face, harshly rubbing your eyes with a dust-encrusted hand. “If I wasn’t forced into hiding, the Keolith racing circuit wouldn’t know what hit it!” you snort.

With a sigh, you kick one leg over the speeder bike, positioning your body sideways on the seat. You force yourself to slowly exhale, shivering as all of the tension pent up within you tiptoes its way up your spine, releasing out into the fresh open air.

A temporary relief. Your stress rushes back in droves to fill the void.

“All wound up. You’re all wound up,” you mutter under your breath, “for no reason!”

With a groan, you flop backwards … wildly flailing your arms as you fall back against the open air.

“YIPE!” you squeak, sliding right off the bike and landing back on the ground below with a sharp oof. Groaning pathetically, you rest your head back against the dirt.

Well, at least no one saw that.

You’re not sure how long you lie that way. Not long enough, if your opinion means anything. Eventually, you gather enough motivation to crack one eye open and grimace up at the darkening sky.

All of this- this melodrama! All because some Mandalorian warrior pinned you to the ground? With his body?!

…

Oh, shit.

A Mandalorian kicked your ass and called you a brat.

You’re done for.

Your face explodes into flames. You know yourself all too well… You crave the mysterious, the exciting… all of which your proximity to the curious, cryptic Mandalorian has brought you more than an abundance of.

You can no longer ignore the red flags ding-ding-dinging in your head.

Hell.

It would probably be a… bad idea… to travel in close quarters with the Mandalorian. Not with your overactive imagination working overtime hours. Besides, when you made the deal to travel with Din, you had no idea a child would be involved.

Those dark, piercing eyes of the Mandalorian’s son appear before you, along with a pang, a squeeze in your chest.

If…if a bounty hunter tracked you down on the Razor Crest- the child… he could be hurt and…and-

Grinding your teeth, you dig your nails into the palms of your hands until you are sure you must be drawing blood.

No. Never again.

You need to talk with Din.

You know what you must do.

-------

Pulling back up to the homestead, you are met by a herd of stampeding whomp rats, also known as the Sorgan children.

“She’s back!”

“Hello!”

“We’ve been looking for you!”

“Whoa, whoa-” you toss your hands up- “One at a time, will ya?” You crack a grin. “I haven’t been this popular since a Hutt promised me his eternal love.”

“Huh?”

“What’s a Hutt?”

“Ah,” you laugh, kicking your leg over the speederbike, “I’m only joking.”

“Look, Ms. Cara, she’s back with your speederbike!”

You tear your eyes upwards, inwardly cringing as you watch Cara approaching.

“Um, look, Cara,” you laugh, rubbing your arm up and down. “I-I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your bike, um…”

Cara crosses her arms, eyeing you with a pointed expression.

Oh, Hutt fudge.

“You wouldn’t hurt me in front of children!” You bounce back, placing the bike between you and Cara, ignoring the children’s shrieks of laughter.

Cara takes a few steps forward, inspecting her speederbike with a few brief glances. “I suppose it’s still in one piece… You sure left in a hurry.” Rubbing her hands across the handlebars, she continues inspecting the bike. “Didn’t have a chance to finish your self-defense lesson with Mando.”

Maker!

For the love of all that is holy, Cara-

“Wait-” she smirks- “are you blushing?”

KARKING HELLS!

“I’m. not. blushing.” you hiss through your teeth.

“She’s turning RED!” Birdie shrieks.

“But why?” Winta asks. “I’m confused.”

“I’m not!” Your voice cracks along with your composure.

Blast you, Cara!

If Cara wasn’t capable of twisting you up like a Bothanian Pastry, you’d have some choice words right about now.

“It’s red from-from racing this bike against the wind- is all!” You knit your brows and cross your arms tightly across your chest. “Come on, kids-” you wave your hand to the side, your strained voice giving yourself away- “I’m… I’m sure your parents don’t want you out after dark.”

“I’m so confused.” Winta sighs, trotting towards the huts with the five other children marching along behind her.

Birdie pauses behind the rest. Finally, he twists around and races back to you. Throwing his arms around your legs, he grins up at you with his adorable little missing-tooth smile, turning your heart to mush.

“See you at the bonfire!” As quickly as he threw his arms around you, he spins around and dashes away.

“Bonfire?” You raise an eyebrow at Cara.

“Yeah,” she sits back against the seat of her bike, checking over the instrument gages. “The villagers’ idea.” Cara flashes you a quick glance. “They always do this when a visitor arrives, me or Din. I do have to say, for a bunch of country folk-” Cara smirks- “they sure know how to have fun.”

Celebration. Stars, you haven’t attended a party of any kind in months! Parties were usually a thing of business for you on Nar Shaddaa. A way to make connections, play politics, earn some extra cash- whatever. The point is, they were rarely enjoyable. At times, they were downright miserable.

Maybe that association will change tonight. Yes. Yes, you will have fun; you will relax. No use getting all worked up over the conversation you must have with Din tonight…

Which is easier said than done.

“Well,” you sigh, throwing both hands on your hips and meandering away, “guess I better get cleaned up then.” You let your eyes sweep the homestead yard, noticing, sure enough, a bonfire is being constructed several yards away from Kuill’s hut. But more importantly-

No sign of Mando, thank the stars.

You aren’t prepared to face him just yet after that, um, tussle earlier…

“Sorry about giving you a hard time.”

You twist back around at Cara’s voice.

“At least, I’m sorry for doing it in front of little ears.” Cara shrugs, but she is hardly hiding the amusement etched in her eyes.

You snort. “Don’t lie.” Rolling your eyes, you spin around, marching determinedly towards Kuill’s hut. “See you tonight.”

-------

“YIPE!”

“Look, I’m sorry!”

“Fu-… uh, um, I mean, stars!” You clutch your scalp, wincing against the relentless barrage of brush strokes. You hear a snort from behind where you sit.

“You don’t exactly sound sorry, Omera.” You tilt your head backwards to find Omera, a hand on one hip, a brush in the other, shaking her head in defeat.

“I think the easiest option-” Omera angles her head to the side- “would be to just cut out the tangled bits.”

“Kriff,” you whisper under your breath, absent-mindedly tightening the bathrobe Omera lent you around your waist. “Well, still better than another twenty minutes of this torture.” You pout your lips like a child.

“Why is it so tangled?”

Twisting around in the chair, your eyes find Winta in the corner of the room, braiding her hair with a dark green ribbon.

“Eh-” you toss her a smirk- “I don’t think you’re ready to hear about Taek just yet.”

“Hmf.” Omera grunts. “Would this Taek story also explain why one side of your hair is a good bit shorter than the other?” You feel Omera’s fingers rake through the ends of your hair, tugging when they reach a tangle. “Look at that! It’s a good three inches shorter!”

A bright grin stretches across your face. “No, that’s a different story altogeth- OUCH!”

“Sorry!” The amusement in Omera’s voice is thinly veiled. “Get my scissors, Winta.”

“Bloody hells, Omera!” you hiss under your breath. “Why does everyone here take such enjoyment in tormenting me?” You lower your brow when you are met with a melody of snickers.

“What,” Omera laughs, “have the children been giving you a tough time? Or Cara? Din?”

Din.

You could really use your own Beskar helmet right about now. You feel the entirety of the blood in your body blast up to your face, radiating warmth at just the mere mention of his name.

It’s like the longer you avoid him, the more embarrassed you grow.

Tucking your face under the collar of the bathrobe, you are met with the sharp rap of scissors against your head.

“Hey!”

“Head up. Do you want straight hair?”

“Not if you’re going to keep doing that!” You crinkle your nose. “Have you even cut hair before?”

“No.”

“Maker!”

At the threat of being smacked with scissors again, you decide it is your best bet to remain perfectly still. Silently listening as Omera and Winta rattle off about what she should wear to the bonfire and what games the children could play, you feel the tension drain off your shoulders. It sounds just like a conversation you and your mother might have had once… The air grows thick, and you let your eyes slip closed, breathing deeply, imagining the room you sat in was that of your Sularian home…

A tug on your sleeve from a little hand rips you out of your reverie.

“What are you going to wear?”

“Hmm?... What? Oh.” You blink, struggling to gain back your composure. Your eyes focus in on the little face in front of you.

“Um, I guess what I always wear,” you sigh. “…Don’t have any other clothes.” A teasing smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth. “A krayt dragon ate them all up.”

Winta bursts into giggles. “It did not!”

“Nah, maybe not.”

“You could wear a dress of mine.” Omera interjects.

“Really?” Your eyes widen in delight. “Um, I- uh, could I have one with sleeves?”

Better safe than sorry… You can’t risk questions about your forearm tattoos. Besides, if

Cara and Din recognized them… things would turn, no doubt, a wee bit awkward.

“Of course! And just in case you wanted to-” Omera’s voice takes on a knowing tone- “Din and Cara will be heading into the nearest outpost tomorrow to buy up supplies before Cara heads off.” Her voice softens. “You could go along with them and buy anything you nee-”

“Blaster,” you yank around in the chair, ignoring the yelp of frustration from Omera. “Need one like-” you frown- “yesterday.”

“Fine, fine.” Omera lowers her brows. “Now, please, could you just keep your head straight?”

“Haven’t I been?”

-------

You step out of the protective darkness of Kuill’s home, grinning brightly to discover the homestead yard bounding with life. The flames of the bonfire dance, bobbing back and forth from one log to another, casting a flickering golden haze over everything in its vicinity. Chairs and colorful blankets are spread out, circling the fire. Smiling, you watch with delight as the children race around underfoot, their parents shooing them away from the tables overflowing with food.

Speaking of food, the wafting scent of it carries along with the light nighttime breeze, triggering your stomach into growling like a Rancor. With a wistful sigh, you begin to walk forward.

But, oh dear.

To get to the food, you must pass by Kuill, Cara, and Din, who’s standing against the wall of a hut, his armor gleaming reflected golden light. You don’t think they’ve noticed you… yet.

Stars, stars, stars! You haven’t prepared a mask for this. You aren’t ready to face him!

Gulping a deep breath of air, you rip your eyes away, pretending to be otherwise occupied with the starry sky.

Blast it all! How could you have been so manipulative, so charismatic on Nar Shaddaa and yet fail so miserably now?

Damn, you’re out of practice!

Carefree.

Confident.

Yeah, that’s what you’ll be. With a sharp nod of the head, you settle for a self-assured expression, hoping it’d be a solid enough cover, at least strong enough to resist any ribbing from Cara.

You instinctively reach up to your brow line to grab at what would have been your hat brim to lower it. Cringing, you stare at your open fingers. You really miss the protection of the hat… You feel… vulnerable without it.

Again, you’re beginning to more and more understand the appeal of a helmet.

“Wait, look!” One of the voices of the children interrupts your stride. “She looks like a mom!”

“Hey,” you snort, crossing your arms, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Your eyes widen with an unease only children with no filter are capable of eliciting as they corral you, inspecting your new appearance with an intense, terrifying scrutiny.

“Stars!” You back up a bit. “It’s just a skirt! Please be kind!” you chuckle and kneel down, ruffling up the hair of the littlest boy. Your face softens as you take note of the Mandalorian’s son peeking at you from behind the children, a bit shyer than the rest. Smiling, you give him a little wink, stealing a little grin out of him.

“Enjoy their fascination while it lasts.” Omera chuckles as she walks up, resting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “They shower new people with attention until another new face shows up and steals the spotlight. Din was the favorite until you arrived.”

“So then, I stole you guys from the Mandalorian, did I? I’m cooler than a Mandalorian!” You chuckle with the kids as you stand back up. You tighten the knot on the front of your blouse, uncomfortable with a sudden sensation of being watched.

You know, you can just feel, that the Mandalorian is staring at you.

Oh hells.

“But-” Birdie frowns, tugging on your skirt- “you can’t fight in that!”

“Fight?” You jerk your head back, trying to make sense of his words. “You planning to fight me or something?”

Giggles.

“No, Kelsa saw you with Cara. Said she beat you up. We all wanted to watch.”

“Yeah… well.” You feel your cheeks flame when a bark of laughter reaches your ears.

“Cara!” you shout, spinning around on your heel and staring daggers in her direction.

“Sorry!”

You are about to shoot off a snotty reply when your eyes are drawn, magnetized to the singeing glare of the Mandalorian’s visor. You instantly shut your mouth.

He stares you down, arms crossed in a relaxed manner, as he leans up against the wall beside where Cara sits. You suddenly feel very, very small.

Oh… Stars.

You frown at Din, shifting your eyes away from him. You immediately slip back into your carefully crafted persona, shaking off your unease.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never been much of a fighter.” You twist around and face the children. “I’m… not very strong, much like you lot.” You sigh, pointing a finger at yourself.

You carefully tiptoe through your words. “I’ve busted my nose, broken bones, dislocated my shoulder-” you motion to each of these areas- “trying to fight with these.” Lifting both of your hands up, you clench them into fists.

Feeling a sly smile tickling at the corner of your mouth, you continue. “I think you’ll find the best fighter-” you let the smile grow- “uses this.” Pointing at your head, you chuckle and cross your arms.

“That’s fine and all-” Birdie frowns- “but I don’t see how your head could defeat the Mandalorian’s rocket dart things in a fight.”

“Rocket… darts?” You gulp. The things he hides in that armor... You steal a glance over at Din. His head is angled in that curious manner, watching your interaction with the children with great interest. You tear your gaze away, fearing your face would warm if you stared any longer.

“She means using your smarts, silly!” Winta groans.

“She is correct.” The new voice in the conversation belongs to Kuill. Grunting with exertion, he hobbles along with his cane to join the circle. The children immediately fall silent, listening reverently to the wise Ugnaught.

“Fighting isn’t everything.” Your face grows solemn with the respect that Kuill seems to elicit anytime he speaks. “Sometimes,” he grunts, “the most dangerous power… is held by the smallest among us.”

The way everyone sneaks glances with each other, you can’t help but feel everyone is in on a secret behind Kuill’s words. Discomforted, you clear your throat, letting your lazy outer rim accent slide forward.

“Gotta secret weapon, Kuill?”

Kuill’s chuckle is interrupted by a frowning Birdie.

“Maybe…” Birdie whines. “But we still wanted to watch a fight.”

You snort. “Stars, these kids are bloodthirsty.”

“Maybe if we asked politely, children,” Kuill grunts, “the Mandalorian would showcase some of his fighting prowess for us.”

The children burst into pleas and cheers, turning every ounce of their attention to tormenting Din into obliging them.

“It would be-” Kuill motions his cane at Din- “our honor to observe.”

Flopping his head back against the wall, the Mandalorian stares up at the sky. You bite back a grin when you hear him release a heavy, long-suffering sigh, detectable even at a distance.

“Stand back.”

The children and villagers fall silent, crowding together, as he shifts forward, stalking away from the building. Only the heavy clank, clank of his Beskar armor is audible, echoing in the thin night air. Everyone watches in anticipation, curious as to what the Mandalorian has in mind.

Plopping down on a blanket spread out on the ground, you cross your legs underneath yourself. A light dusting of movement against your hand startles you forward a bit. You gasp lightly, mouth falling open, as the Mandalorian’s son, the baby, crawls up beside you.

“Oh. Hello,” you chirp, taking his little three-fingered hand into your palm. “Um, ready to watch your Papa show off?”

He responds with a giggle.

Those large expressive eyes… stars! You want to turn into a pool of sugary liquid right here, right on this blanket.

Sweet face.

Sweet laugh.

The dagger twists in your heart. Grasping onto the necklace around your neck, you swallow hard, squeezing your eyes tightly together before opening them again.

You can’t think about her right now… not without losing it.

As if sensing your turmoil, the baby’s ears droop to the side.

“Don’t mind me,” you mumble. You take the baby into your arms, squeezing lightly. “L-let’s watch.”

You watch as Din freezes a good distance from the bonfire. “Cara,” he shouts with a wave.

You bite your lip, bursting with excitement when you see he has that big-ass rifle of his at the ready. He rests it pointing downwards, angling his head towards Cara as he crosses his gloved hands over the butt of the rifle.

You snicker.

Look at him.

Trying so hard to look bored. You know good and well he is thrilled to show off for everyone. You’ve seen his bathroom. Any man that uses as many hair conditioners as him would have to be a secret show-off.

Not to mention his sparkling, eye-catching Beskar.

“Diva,” you snicker under your breath.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the start of the show.

“Toss!”

Cara heaves back, launching something small and round into the air.

Din pulls back.

Rifle to shoulder.

Aim.

Blast.

A thousand sparkling, rainbow-colored lights rain down out of the night sky from the explosion, just like fireworks. You passively join the clapping and cheering, smirking to yourself as the Mandalorian continues raining sparkling shots in the sky as quickly as Cara can throw them.

You glance downwards, sharing a knowing look with the baby.

Yup.

Dad’s definitely a show-off.

You think he agrees.

After several minutes of this display, Din has adequately appeased the children’s lust for excitement and entertainment. Omera and the other two pairs of parents shoo the children towards the awaiting food. You watch from a distance as Din unloads his gun, striding towards Cara.

With a sigh, you stand, holding the baby against your chest, smiling softly when Winta motions to take him.

“I’ll take him to Momma.” Winta chirps. “I can feed him!”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. Pretty sure I had his stomach growling,” you chuckle, throwing Winta and the baby a quick wink.

You clasp your hands tightly together behind you and walk over to the side of Kuill’s hut shrouded in dark shadow. A longing smile faintly brushes across your lips as you watch the commotion centered around the tables of food. Sighing wistfully, you lean your shoulder up against the wall of the hut.

This is the closest you’ve been to recreating your childhood peace in years…

There’s a part of you that wants to ask if you could hang around for a bit... But the child you used to be on those snow-covered mountains is long-gone. You cannot replace what you have lost, what’s been taken.

Besides, you would only bring danger to these people if you stayed.

You have to move on.

The clank, clank of metal rips you out of your deep introspection. You spin around on your heel, unease building in your chest as the Mandalorian strides towards you, his rifle resting carelessly across his arms.

Okay. Okay. Don’t blush. Um, just… try not think about him on top of you.

Wait, that sounded bad. KRIFF. Now you’re surely blushing!

QUICK. SABBAAC FACE.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to focus on the present. As he moves closer, you didn’t need to see his face to know that a smug expression graced his face. You could see it in his stride.

Smirking, you cross your arms and lift your chin at him.

“Not too shabby, Din.” You raise an eyebrow when he stops to stand beside you, letting his weapon flip to rest the end of it on the ground. “You handle that big-ass rifle pretty well, I’d say.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders forward, only enhancing his intimidating presence that much further. Leaning against the weapon, he tilts his head sideways to stare down at you.

“Pulse rifle,” Din rumbles, amusement lacing his tone. “And as I said before, you handled my rifle pretty well yourself, Ka’r’ika.”

“But certainly-” you lower your eyebrows- “not to a Mandalorian’s standards.”

“Nope.” He jerks his head to the side.

“Ah well!” You sigh and throw your arms out. “Well, then, were my fighting skills at least up to Mandalorian standards?” You bite your lip to resist the smirk tickling at the corners of your mouth.

A deep, raspy chuckle slips out from underneath his helm. He leans over you as he walks past.

“Depends on which Mandalorian you ask.”

Oh.

Oh Maker!

MAKER!

TACTICAL ERROR!

Slapping a hand on your forehead, you spin around to rush away from the hut, deeper into the hidden darkness as you berate yourself for mindlessly flirting yet. again. You would have run off to escape again, but the wafting food lures you into turning around and staying.

That, and you’re not about to steal Cara’s bike again.

With no Mando in sight, you grab a bowl of stew. Sneaking over to an unoccupied blanket beside Omera and Cara, you curl your legs up under yourself…

…And you practically bury your nose in the bowl to hide your face when Din sits beside you to be near his son. The baby gleefully reaches his little arms out for his father who takes over feeding him.

Kriff! How could this evening get any more awkward!

“So, tell me,” Cara asks, “why’d you decide to leave Nar Shaddaa?”

You drop your spoon, coughing as you choke on the stew.

“OH-” cough- “I, uh, you know-” cough- “got… um-” cough- “…tired of it.”

“Really?”

“…Really.”

Wow. That had to be the lamest lie you’ve ever told.

Cara stares at you, mouth tight as if considering whether or not to prod you further. Din is leaning sideways, occupied with his son, but you know good and well he is listening to every word.

You return Cara’s stare, unflinching, daring her to question you further. You’ll lie much better now that you’re prepared, thank you very much.

“Nar Shaddaa?”

You have never been more grateful for an interruption! You shift your eyes over to Omera.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

You snort, perhaps a little harsher than you intended.

“Yeah, well-” you pretend to be occupied with something in your stew- “no surprise. A lady such as yourself would never work there.” You place your bowl down and tuck your knees up under your chin. “Hutt and syndicate casinos… Enough said.”

“Oh.”

You feel a bit guilty for coming on so strongly in response to a harmless statement. You feel responsible to lighten the mood, show Omera you aren’t upset. Shaking your head, you flash a manufactured grin. “Stars, you should be grateful to not know what Nar Shaddaa is like… or wow!” You pretend to gag. “The Hutts!”

“I’ll drink to that.” Cara shrugs, swigging back something the Sorgan villagers called “Oriot Juice” that smelled suspiciously of alcohol.

“Cara…” Omera chides.

“What?”

Leaning back on your elbows, you chuckle. You begin mentally drawing away, leaving Omera and Cara to their fussing.

“What did you do there?”

You rip your eyes to the right, into the unreadable visor of the Mandalorian.

“You said something about… dealing cards?”

“Uh, yeah.” You blink, a bit taken aback. “For a short bit. I- uh- mostly performed.” You really hope he doesn’t prod for more details.

He turns his head away from you, and you could have sworn you heard him mumble something under his breath.

You need to shift the topic, fast.

“I sure do miss singing though.” You flash Din a cheeky grin. “All the attention, all on me.”

He makes a noise.

“That would be in character for you.”

You stick your tongue out at him for that. “Anyway, that guitar I brought off from Taek?” You smile slyly. “Let’s just say, through some creative finagling, I ‘acquired’ it hoping to sing on the streets to earn some cash.”

Your grin plummets into a scowl. “Let’s just say that it didn’t pan out.” You cross your arms tightly across your chest. “Cheap bastards,” you grumble.

The Mandalorian laughs, a deep, hearty sound.

You blink, stunned by this victory.

A laugh! Not a chuckle, you pried a full-on laugh from the stoic warrior!

Din leans in towards you, pulling you out of your elation.

“Well, we aren’t much of an audience,” he rasps, voice grainy through the vocoder, “but we’d be better spectators than what Taek provided.”

You beam. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t respond, just leans over on his side, his son tucked in beside him asleep.

You clasp your hands together. “I need my guitar!”

He looks in the direction of the Razor Crest. “Take my key unlo-”

“Nah, don’t need to. I grabbed the guitar out of the Razor Crest earlier today.”

He stares.

“But it was…”

“Yeah?”

“Locked.”

“Yeah.”

“…How?”

You blink.

“When I said I didn’t have any skills?”

He stares.

“I actually have a few…”

“…and you really should upgrade the Crest’s security system.”

…

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

-------

You can’t believe your voice or feet or both haven’t given out!

Cara was right, these Sorganians know how to have a damn good party. When you provided the guitar, the villagers responded by pulling out their own traditional instruments.

For hours, everyone (minus one stick-in-the-mud Mandalorian) danced, spun, twisted, frolicked, and skipped until no one could barely move. As fun as all the rowdy dancing was, your heart felt warm, full after sharing your own traditional songs: one a love ballad and the other a lullaby in the Sularian language.

Exactly what the energized children needed to calm them down and help put them to sleep.

“Thanks again,” Omera whispers as she walks past you, carrying a conked-out baby inside the hut. “Those songs were absolutely beautiful.”

You only smile.

Watching the other parents carry their children in for bed, you can’t help but feel keenly…. bitter.

This should have been your life.

Should have been your siblings’ life.

Should have been her life.

…

Imperials, go straight to hell.

You clench your hands into tight fists.

“When you’ve lived as many years as I have-” you jump at Kuill’s voice- “you learn to recognize… patterns in behavior.”

“I-” you blink- “not sure wh-”

“Sadness. Anger. Loss. Fear.” He pauses to point his cane at you. “All I see in you. You’re on the run.”

Your jaw drops. “N-no-”

“It’s not my place to question.” Kuill, grunting, begins to move away. “I hope you find the peace… you seek.”

Was…

Was it really that obvious?!

You’re understandably shaken up after being directly called out like that by Kuill…

You… need some space.

Stalking, practically running, from the hut, you freeze mid-step, nearly falling over your own feet.

There he is, both arms resting atop the fence, helmet fixated on the stars. He almost looks heroic with the way his cape swirls around his legs in the light night breeze.

Well…

Good time as any to have that conversation with him.

With a begrudging sigh, you fidget with your hands as you quietly tiptoe up behind the Mandalorian. He does not move or make any indication that he’s aware of your presence, though you know by now that he must.

You grab on to the post next to him. Grunting, you begin scampering up the boards to try and sit on top of the fence beside him.

“Oh,” you growl, struggling to climb up it in a dress. “Blast this damn skir- OOF.”

Two firm hands grab at your waist from behind, steadying you.

“Easy, Ka’r’ika,” his voice, low, rumbles near your ear.

His grip releases.

You squeak something incoherent, your tongue tangling up on itself. “Um-” you nervously laugh as you balance sitting on top of the fence- “uh, thanks…?”

He leans his arms across the board right beside you, angling his helmet to stare up into your face.

“Go to bed.” He inclines his helmet in the direction of the hut. “You should rest.”

“Hmf.” You cluck your tongue. “Always telling me what to do. If you wanted me to leave, you shouldn’t have helped me up here.”

He lets his visor drop to face the ground, and you can’t help but hear the sigh that slips out from under his helm. Admiring the stars glittering against his Beskar, you follow Din’s line of sight as he shifts his gaze upwards.

You bite your lip, uncertain of how to broach your pressing topic at hand...

“The stars,” you stall, “are so bright here. That’s the only thing I like about living outside the city.”

You have Din’s full attention now.

“They remind me of the eka-worms back home on Sularia.” You sigh heavily, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion on your shoulders. “During the darkest, coldest part of winter, the worms would twist and weave the most breath-taking, astonishing nets of webbing, absolutely littering the trees with them until the limbs would sag under the weight.” You wave your hand through the air, re-imagining them in your mind.

A smile brushes across your lips, and you glance upwards. “In the moonlight, the webs would sparkle like stardust. Weddings, proposals, everything.” You pause. “We all wanted it done under those glistening webs.”

Your eyes finally fall back to Din, and your heart squeezes at finding him focused on your face instead of the stars.

He glances away as if considering something.

“What?” you prod.

“…How did you escape?”

You shrug your shoulders, leaning as back as far as you could without tumbling off the fence. “Would you believe I only survived the Empire’s bombardment because I was a head-strong, disobedient child?”

He didn’t answer; just continued listening to your story with full attention.

So you continue.

“I-I was twelve… Papa told me and my four siblings to run out the front door. Long story short, I went out the back.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and take a deep breath.

“Bombs dropped. I lived. They didn’t.”

Your shoulders stoop even lower, collapsing in on yourself, and you find that you don’t have the energy to continue pretending that you’re okay- that your life hasn’t always been one big… hot… mess.

“I- I found Grandpa c-coming up the mountain… to see… To find us. And- I was… I was running down it.” You cover your eyes with a hand. “He was the only f-family I had left... then he went and… died too.”

Your fault.

It was all your fault.

“Stars,” you mumble under your breath, lower lip quivering as you tighten your palms against your face.

“My family… they died, too.”

You rip your face out of your hands.

“Victims of the Clone Wars.” His voice is a whisper, barely audible.

“Well,” you sniff, roughly rubbing your eyes to hide your emotion. “I- I guess we’re not too different after all, huh?”

He shifts back on one arm, angling his body closer to yours.

“No, I suppose not.”

Maker, you feel really awful about what you’re about to bring up…

“Din, we’ve… shared a lot together in such a short time.” You purposely avoid looking his way.

You have to just say it.

“You should know that I am eternally grateful for the kindness you’ve shown me.” At that, you force yourself to face him. “I’d still be stuck on Taek if it wasn’t for you…”

His visor is glued to your eyes.

“Mando, I’m…I’m really eager to get to Keolith.”

Liar.

“So, I’m… leaving with Cara tomorrow.” You are taken aback at how hard it is to form the words, the pain squeezing in your chest. “Then I’ll jump on a transport.”

Silence.

“If… that’s what you wish.”

Even through the modulation, you can sense the confusion, the hesitation lacing his tone. Stars, you can’t even bear to look at him! How can you explain, make him understand you have no choice? His son’s safety, your own stupid overactive imagination… No, it just wouldn’t be a good idea to travel together.

“I’m sure you’ll be thrilled anyway to get me out of your ship,” you mumble, awkwardly laughing as you push at his shoulder.

He shifts, stepping back away from the fence, away from you.

He inclines his head to the side.

“Come here.”

Oh- OOF!

His gloves curl their way around your waist, and you slap your hands onto his pauldrons for balance. He drops your feet down to the ground, but his hands remain secured, glued to your waist.

“Go to bed,” he rasps. “You need sleep.”

His hands abandon your waist, but the warmth, the heat left behind burns long into the night.

-------

“Hey!” you shout out Kuill’s window. “Wait up!”

Cursing under your breath, you continue tucking your shirt down into your pants as you stumble out the door. Standing beside the two speeder bikes, Cara and Din watch, arms crossed, as you approach. Your fingers fumble around the brim of you hat, lowering it down till your eyes are practically hidden from sight.

Hell, you feel lousy. You hardly got any sleep after the previous night’s conversation with Din. You know he is just another random acquaintance, the same you are to him, but…

Oh, kriffing fine.

You like him.

You’re… you’re going to miss him.

Ah well, you’ll just have to be sure and annoy him a little extra today as a parting gift.

“I need a ride to town.” You stop and throw your hands on your hips. “Gotta buy a few things.”

“Sure,” Cara lazily responds, throwing a leg over her bike. “More the merrier, right?”

You grin and nod. “Thanks.” You throw your leg over the seat of the second bike, flicking on various switches.

“This is going to b- HEY!”

A hand grabs your shoulder, sliding you roughly back away from the controls.

“Hold up,” the Mandalorian grumbles. “I don’t think so.”

“Din!” You swat at his hand. “Stop, no! Let me drive! You drive like an old man!”

“I mean, he could feasibly be one, for all we know.”

“Cara-”

“Din!” you growl, tumbling off the opposite side of the bike. You leap up to your feet, but it’s already too late. Din is settled down in front of the controls, watching you with his helmet inclined to the side.

He places a hand on his thigh and jerks his helmet towards the open seat behind him.

“Fine.” You stick your tongue out at him and spin around on your heel. “Then I’m riding with Car-”

Cara blasts off, leaving a trail of dust wafting behind her.

Slowly, you turn back around.

Din shoves out a hand, motioning again to the empty speeder bike seat behind him.

“Kriff it,” you grumble, throwing your leg back across the seat. You let your body slip down, molding itself completely to the back of his armor. You reach up, lowering your goggles over your eyes.

“Fine,” you bark, wrapping your arms around his middle. “Let’s ride.”

He kicks the bike into gear, and with a satisfying rev of the engine, away you blast into the desert horizon.

Definitely faster than expected.

“Guess you took my ribbing to heart,” you think with a grin. You let your arms relax their grip around his midsection, resisting the urge to throw your hands up and feel the passing breeze.

His hand grabs yours, pulling it back tighter around himself.

“Fine!” you shout over the noise. “Mother hen.”

He releases your hand, and you sigh, snuggling down into his cape, relaxed in the knowledge that you are safe for a few more days, as long as you are with him.

-------

Din and Cara park out of the way in a side alley where the bikes should hopefully remain unnoticed and undisturbed. You walk ahead of them, staring up and down the main street of the outpost. You lift your goggles off your head, reading over the various shop store signs.

Ah, yes, you see exactly what you need.

“Cara, Mando!” You turn back around. “Meet you back at the bikes later!”

“Stay out of trouble.”

You flash Din a grin.

“Always.”

Your first stop is to pick out a few new garments to replace those that flew away for a permanent vacation with the smuggler’s crew. You’ll wait until you’ve actually settled on Keolith to replace everything, but a few undergarments, blouses, pants, and gloves, and you are good to go for the time being. You stuff these goods away in your side satchel.

It… feels strange to own things again.

Next stop: weapons.

With a downright mischievous grin on your face, you enter the shop like a kid in a candy store.

“How can I help you?”

“Yeah, I need a blaster pistol, preferably something small but still packs a punch.”

You pause, eyeing something out of the corner of your eye.

“And a vibroblade.”

Oh, hell yeah.

-------

Walking back in the direction of the speeder bikes, you turn the vibroblade over in your hands.

“Maker! This thing’s sick.” You try twirling it in your hand, giving it a toss, cringing as it flies sideways. “Um, no one saw that,” you mumble, picking it back up. “Guess I’ll need a little, uh, practice.”

Lost in your own amusement, you march around the corner into the alleyway, focused only on the viroblade in your hands.

“Hopefully, Cara and Din won’t tak-”

Wait.

Hold up.

Who are…?

“Hey!” you shout, throwing a hand on your hip, “I don’t know who you are, but those are not your bikes.”

You pause, cringing inwardly. You may own a weapon again, it’s still a pretty bad idea to smart-mouth strangers…

The blue Twi’lek male and a brown-haired human female, both cloaked in black, remain motionless, leaning against the bikes with their arms crossed.

“Uh,” you hesitate mid-stride, falling dead still. “…C-can I help you?”

The two strangers share a glance.

“It’s her?”

“It’s her.”

Oh.

…

OH SHIT.

You launch backwards, hand flying to your holster, but before you have time to even think, a blaster is trained on your head.

“Drop the blade,” the woman barks. “And carefully throw that blaster aside.”

“Shitshitshit,” you hiss through your teeth while slowly, cautiously obliging the woman’s demands.

Bounty hunters. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

No, no! You can’t- you won’t go back! Not for him!

“L-look, th-this has to be a misunderstanding-”

“Listen carefully,” the woman interrupts, speaking your full name aloud. “You’re the companion to the Mandalorian?”

Mandalorian… they’re… they’re not here for you?

You blink, mouth gaped open.

Oh, bloody hells!

What has Din gotten himself into?

“I am she,” you keep your hands pressed against the thighs of your legs. “But, specifically, which Mandalorian do you refer to? I know sev-”

“Stop being cute.” She marches over, grasping your upper arm with a steel grip.

“Hey!” you yelp against the fingers digging into your flesh.

“Against the wall.”

She pushes you towards it, sending you stumbling over your own feet. You press your back as tightly as you can against the wall, shifting your eyes in all directions for any possible escape…

Oh, kriff kriff what do you do what do you do-

“Listen carefully.” The woman takes a step back, crossing her arms carefully. As you stare into the eyes of what very well could be the reason for your immediate demise, you force your breathing to even itself out.

Stay calm.

Whatever it is, you can talk your way out of it.

They want Mando, not you.

“You assisted the Mandalorian in taking something that I must have back.”

Oh karabast.

They do want you.

“Whu-? Marek?” you blurt, mouth gaping open a bit. “Marek’s datachip?”

“It’s not Marek’s,” the woman’s voice turns harsh. “Marek is but an employee of a crime syndicate…”

“…On Nar Shaddaa.”

Your blood freezes.

…

Oh.

Oh no.

This….. this is bad.

If- if they recognize you…

You have to talk your way out.

“Listen,” your voice turns firm, commanding. “I barely know the Mandalorian. I met him on Taek. I know nothing about the chip or who he stole it for.”

“None of that matters.” The woman takes a step back. You try and hide your intense relief at the space she’s given you. You can’t appear weak, not right now.

“We only wish to have it returned.”

Somehow you seriously doubt that…

“We can cut a deal.” The statement tumbles out of your mouth before you even realize what it is you’re saying.

“The chip- it’s in his ship, the Razor Crest.”

Bloody hell if you know where it is! He wouldn’t tell you blasted anything! But if you can stall these two long enough… it will give Din and Cara time to figure out what’s going on and save your ass.

“Well-” the woman raises her eyebrow- “I suppose we know where we are going then.” She motions you towards the bike. “Drive, but keep in mind-” she waves her blaster- “this will be at you back.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you snort, “just all part of the business, right?”

Right…

-------

You slow the speeder bike to a halt on the side of the Razor Crest facing away from Kuill’s homestead. Though you originally whined to Din about the distance, you are now intensely grateful the Mandalorian kept the ship anchored way far off from the homestead.

Keenly aware there’s a blaster pointed at your back, you step up to the ramp of the ship with a gulp.

Locked door, of course.

Thank the Maker you’ve already hacked the system once before. This shouldn’t take long… unless you happen to make a few little- oops!- mistakes that cost time. As you walk up the ramp, inwardly, you begin cycling through the racing, rolling thoughts clambering around in your head.

“Stars! Where are you Din? They should have come back by now, found the speeder bikes gone… I drove slower on purpose. Do they know something’s wrong? Do they think I’m pranking them? Curse my mischievous nature! I bet they think I’m pranking them!”

“What are you doing?” the man harshly demands.

“Uh, I- uh- don’t have a… key on me.” You throw your hands up. “But wait! I can hack the system- no problem!” You nervously laugh.

They both share a glance.

“Fine. Hurry.”

You turn back around, smirking to yourself.

Time for a bit of stalling.

“I just have to pull on this-” Sparks.

“Re-wire this-” More sparks.

“Punch in this-” Fire.

“Get back!” The woman snarls, clamping the panel protecting the wiring closed to stop the flames from growing.

“Get. This. Door. Open.”

“Y-yes, sure, no problem.” You fling the panel back open and start back to work.

Oh stars…

You are able to stall no more than five minutes without raising suspicion. As you step back inside the Razor Crest, you feel absolutely sick to your stomach. Having these Nar Shaddaa syndicate members enter this ship, this home… it’s violating. This ship was a place of refuge, safety after your traumatic time on Taek. And here you are- with yet another new tangled mess.

“In the cockpit,” you bark, stepping towards it. You are yanked backwards.

“He goes first. Then you. Then me.”

Biting your lip, you slowly nod your head.

You lead them up and over to the pilot’s seat, sitting down and punching on all the buttons you can find. “It should be… ahh… here it is! Oh wait, no….”

“What?” the woman snarls, clearly growing very agitated with your obvious game-playing.

“The chip! It’s gone!” You fake a gasp. “Let me check down in the hold!”

Not waiting for any commands, you practically fall down the ladder into the hold, racing towards the far wall and punching at the buttons of Din’s holo display, feigning dismay.

“Gone! It’s- he must have it on him! Oh, karking hells!”

“Hmm.” Her face hardens. “How inconvenient.”

“Sure is!” You shrug, knocking the brim of your hat back. “Look- new plan. The Mandalorian- I’m sure you heard about how he surrendered for me… at Marek’s base.” You throw your hands out to the side.

Think, think, think.

“…So, uh, you hold me hostage. He’ll come.” You nod your head. “H-he’ll give the chip over. Especially if I talk to him.”

This- this is bad.

Stars! This couldn’t get much worse!

The woman angles her head, eyes boring straight into your own. “Hmm, he probably won’t surrender for you…”

“…But maybe he will for them.”

You blink.

Them.

You spin on your heel.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Hi,” Winta waves, placing the baby down on the floor.

“Are they bad guys?” Birdie grins, pointing at the woman’s blaster.

Things just got worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: @sana-katarn @barrissoffee77 @royalhandmaidens @dracos-jedi-marvel @sinnamon-bunn @theclonewarsbrokeme @obirain @beskar-boba @disneyjedi19 @kyjoraven @orla-dahl @babe-dont @jdjdjdididisisiei

a/n: YEAH SO THE STORY REALLY RAMPS UP FROM HERE

First things first, THANK YOU TO EVERY PERSON THAT LEFT A REVIEW ON THE LAST CHAPTER! Tumblr AND Ao3! Guys, I nearly CRIED at how sweet and kind they were! It REALLY pushed me, even through the challenging past few weeks, to write for YOU GUYS.

Guys, this is only half of what I was planning for chapter 6! As usual, the chapter grew OUT OF HAND! So the other half will be included with chapter 7, which, you'll be thankful to know, is already mapped out and ready to be typed up! After all, I did end here on a cliffhanger of sorts, so it'd be cruel to make you wait too terribly long! 😉 Let's just say chapter 7 is going to be a lot of FUN with DRAMA. (I might have laughed/cried my butt off when mapping it out...) And a lot of ANGST. 👀 I see you, my angst-loving fans. I'm here to D.E.L.I.V.E.R.

GUESSING GAME: A new character will appear in chapter 7! This character has been alluded to already in the story! Let's just say, it's NOT what you're expecting! Any guesses?

Last note, about two weeks ago, I did a clean up/edit of chapter one. As it was my first chapter, I didn't yet have a grasp on the tone/voice of the story. I cleaned it up to make it fit better with the following chapters.

ANYWAY, see you soon! Please leave feedback here or on Ao3 (wille_zarr). (Shoutout to @sana-katarn for inventing the term "hutt fudge" at my request. She's out here being the real MVP.)

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lostinfantasyworlds · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday: Under the Northern Lights (coming soon!)

Summary (Modern AU): Kagome Higurashi has her dream job, working as a nature/wildlife photographer for the internationally well-known Yugen magazine. Her job whisks her all around the world, leaving her lonely sometimes but mostly just incredibly grateful to get paid to do what she loves. When she gets sent to northern Alaska for a month to photograph a series of celestial events, she runs into Inuyasha, a half-demon who lives on his own in the middle of nowhere. A mutual attraction draws them to each other, but Kagome's time there is limited. Will he ease her loneliness or only make it worse?

__________

I'm so excited about this story!! I've always loved night sky photography since I got my first DSLR, although I'm nowhere near good enough to photograph for a magazine - I can only dream 😂. Plus Yugen magazine is a concept I thought of in college for my Editorial Design class. So yes, this story is a little bit of a self insert on my part😆. But besides that, you can expect plenty of fluff and romance, as well as a nice dose of angst (don't worry - I believe in happy endings)!

I have no idea when I'll actually be ready to start posting this, but hopefully sometime in the next couple weeks.

Somehow there already existed the most perfect song to go along with this story. I still can't get over it. If you want to get the vibe, listen to Aurora Borealis by Bohnes (I'm so in love with it!). I'll be posting a full playlist (possibly one for each chapter because I'm extra AF) with the story 🥰

__________

Just a little disclaimer - I had not read any of Chasing the Vortex at the time when I wrote the outline for this story. I finally read it yesterday and realized how many accidental similarities there are in this story, so I apologize in advance @neutronstarchild and @fawn-eyed-girl ! I honestly didn't even know that Kagome was a photographer for a magazine in your story when I wrote this😆. I never want anyone to think I'm copying their ideas, so I just wanted to throw that out there that I’m sorry! I swear the stories are still very different despite certain similarities 🥰

Btw, if you're reading this and haven't read Chasing the Vortex yet, you definitely should! I'm loving it so far, it's SO good!! ❤️

_________

Tagging (let me know if you want on or off!): @alyyyyyssssaaa @bluehawaiicat @born-for-eachother @deactivated2431545484 @goshinote @gruviyasharuto @julyzaa @ladyaerilla @littleredwritinghat @liz8080 @malditamigs  @neutronstarchild @redflamesofpassion @rocioanime4 @sailorlolo @sangoslays @sunsetskys @superpixie42 @zukkosbaby

Preview under the cut! (Fluff with just a hint of angst)

The view was absolutely stunning, the sky covered in puffy clouds glowing with saturated reds, pinks, and yellows. The snowy landscape contrasted against the colorful sky, the jagged mountains providing a bold silhouette against the glowing crimson sun.

Even Inuyasha could admit that it was a particularly beautiful sunset. Unfortunately, he was having trouble paying any attention to it at all.

He found Kagome to be much more captivating.

He watched her silently as she worked, jogging around the area with her camera in hand, switching lenses and angles to capture different views. He was mesmerized by her, the way her passion for her craft oozed out of her as she clicked away, her eyes bright and a small smile on her face.

When the sun finally disappeared just below the horizon, she released her camera to hang from her neck and took a seat on the ground with her feet dangling over the edge of the rock face. Inuyasha sat down next to her.

“So, this was a good pick?” he asked.

“Mmhm! I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one quite as beautiful, and I’ve photographed a lot of sunsets. I’m so happy I got to capture that,” she responded, still a bit breathless. She turned to look at him with a beaming smile on her face, her blue eyes still sparkling with passion and excitement. The remaining light from the sunset cast a warm luster across her face, her cheeks and nose especially rosy from the biting chill in the air.

Inuyasha could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment. He had never seen someone glow like that before.

Damn it, why did she have to be so beautiful?

He tried to fight against the warm tingling bubbling up under his skin. He didn’t want to feel this way about her, knowing it was going to be pointless in the end.

But he also knew he was fighting a losing battle, the fuzzy feeling overpowering his better judgement.

Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Can I kiss you?”

He immediately felt embarrassment wash over him, his cheeks darkening with a deep blush.

Why did I have to go and ask that? Idiot!

Kagome’s smile fell only slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“We’ve done a lot more than just kiss, Inuyasha.”

She smirked at him, as if reminding him of the obvious. He huffed slightly in annoyance.

How does she not get it?

Now he was not only embarrassed, he was also apparently going to have to spell it out for her.

“I know that, dummy.”

He rolled his eyes for emphasis, then hesitated a moment before continuing.

“I just meant — cause we’re out in public like this and all. We’re not in bed so I thought it might mean something different...”

He trailed off as he saw the realization finally dawn on her face. Her smile disappeared completely, her mouth falling open in a silent oh. Her eyes unfocused, staring past him as she processed what he meant.

Inuyasha turned away from her, unable to look at her anymore. He felt his ears flatten against his head as he began backtracking.

“Forget it. It was a stupid thing to say, I don’t know what I was thinking,” he mumbled.

Kagome tried to work through her thoughts as quickly as possible, not wanting to leave him hanging. She hadn’t even thought anything of his question at first, being more surprised than anything else that he had asked it seemingly out of the blue.

But he was right. If he kissed her right now, it would mean something different than the kisses they had shared so far. They had both agreed to “have some fun” with each other while she was in Alaska, with the mutual understanding that she was going to leave in a couple weeks and never see him again. It was a subtle difference, but kissing outside of sex felt like another dynamic entirely.

She knew she should say no. That they would be crossing an unspoken line, one that would surely hurt them more in the end.

But he had asked to kiss her, showing that he respected her choices and boundaries instead of just assuming he had an unlimited pass to her body now that they had slept together.

And the way he blushed when he asked made her feel warm all over.

And she really wanted to kiss him too.

Making up her mind, she rested a hand on his face to turn him back towards her, noticing his lips part in surprise. She kissed him softly, letting it linger a moment before pulling back and removing her hand. They smiled at each other, and she decided to take it one step further by holding out her hand, palm up, in between them. Inuyasha took the invitation, lacing his fingers through hers. Kagome sighed happily before resting her head on his shoulder and watching the last of the sun’s light slowly disappear.

They both felt the shift, like the joining of their hands went beyond the simple physical touch. It felt like they had leapt off a cliff together, her inevitable departure waiting for them at the bottom like jagged rocks with the power to break them. She knew it was probably one of the stupidest decisions she had ever made, and yet the butterflies in her stomach and her racing pulse told another story. She felt happy, and light. Better than she had felt in a long time, possibly even in her life.

Once the sky had darkened and stars began to twinkle above, Inuyasha turned to look at her again, his expression serious. His golden eyes searched her sapphire depths, not sure exactly what he was looking for. They looked at each other for another stretch of time, maybe a second, maybe an hour, before he leaned in and brought his lips to hers again.

#inukag #inukag fanfic #inuyasha #kagome #wip wednesday #wip #mine #utnl #this ended up being a super long preview lol #also this is about halfway through the story for reference

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veliseraptor · 3 years

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Hey just wondering, do you have any draft or work in process or any plan for your next Loki fic? If so can you give us a little sneak peek. Or if you don’t, do you think you’ll write more about him in the future? I know you probably get this a lot and I’m sorry if it’s annoying or if it sounds rude or anything. I’m just wondering and also I’ve been binge reading your stories about him and got addicted so there’s that. But seriously I’m sorry if my message comes off as rude or annoying, that’s not my intention. Anyway hope you’re having an amazing day

I genuinely hate to sound like a broken record, anon, since you are being very polite about this! Which I very much appreciate! But the answer remains more or less the same: I don’t know. I have (counts) 38 different Loki-related WIPs in various stages of completion sitting on my hard drive. I haven’t been working on them actively lately because, to the dismay I’m sure of many of my followers, another fandom has devoured me whole. I’m really enjoying the experience, but it has left me with relatively little brainspace for things that aren’t that thing (or, I guess, other danmei novels and adaptations thereof?? idk okay).

At some point I would like to finish at least some of those stories, because I do not like leaving things unfinished. But I just don’t know when - or if! - I will. It just depends on if I get that emotional investment back. At the moment it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen imminently, but who knows. And maybe I’ll go back and reread what I have written of some of these, go “where’s the rest, op” and feel encouraged to write more.

All that being said - since you were so nice about this, I will give you a (3000 word) excerpt from one of the WIPs - Dead Superheroes Walking, which is the one about the characters who died/were dusted in Infinity War on a road trip through the Soul Stone.

---

“Anyone for a game of twenty questions?” Sam asked, after they’d been walking for maybe ten minutes.

“Really?” Bucky said. “Twenty questions?”

“I don’t think ‘I Spy’ would work too well. Not a lot of interesting landmarks. Or hadn’t you noticed that the landscape keeps repeating?”

“I am Groot,” said Groot.

“And I have no idea what that means,” Sam said.

Sam was right, Wanda realized. The landscape was repeating. It wasn’t obvious, at first, but there was only one tree, over and over; only one rock placed near to it. The sky was a flat and even orange.

A faint shiver ran down Wanda’s spine. Bucky stopped, though, visibly disconcerted.

“What the hell is this place,” he said.

“Does it matter?” Sam asked. “We’re not exactly going anywhere else. All right, I’ve got it. Twenty questions, yes or no answers only.”

“I am Groot?” said Groot. Sam eyed him.

“I’m not going to take that off the count,” he said.

“Is it alive?” T’Challa asked.

“Yep,” Sam said.

“Guess that rules us out,” Bucky said. Sam snorted, and T’Challa cracked a small smile. Wanda stared down at a small, triangular rock in front of her feet.

“All right,” Bucky said. “Is it an animal?”

“Yes. Two questions down. Wanda?”

She bent down and picked up the rock. It left red dust on her fingers, and when she pressed her fingers together it crumbled like chalk. She half expected the dust to vanish, but the red stain on her fingertips stayed.

“Wanda?” Sam said, more gently.

“Sorry,” she said. “Is it a person?”

“Nope,” Sam said. “That’s three.”

She wiped her hand off on her clothes. This place wasn’t right - she could feel it in her bones, deep down where her magic ought to be. But nothing had been right in the last few days. Very few things in Wanda’s life had been right. Why should her death be any different?

It only seemed unfair that the others should be here, too.

They sky did not change, but they stopped walking eventually - less because any of them were actually tired than because it seemed like they should. Or maybe because they were tired of walking and wanted some change, even if there was very little change to be had. The road went on. The landscape didn’t alter.

And no one else appeared.

“It can’t just be us,” Sam said. “Other people died. Where are they?”

Nobody had an answer for him, unless the tree’s “I am Groot” was an answer none of them could understand. Wanda thought it might be something to do with the fact that they’d all died when Thanos had snapped his fingers, but she stayed quiet, staring off at the horizon and only half listening to Bucky and Sam going back and forth at each other.

“I see something,” T’Challa said abruptly. They all turned and followed the line of his arm.

“I can’t see anything,” Sam said.

“Give it a sec,” Bucky said. “He’s probably got a hundred extra yards visibility on me. Maybe 150 on you–”

“I am Groot,” Groot said. Wanda strained her eyes, some part of her wishing - hoping–

“Is that a dog?” Sam said.

A moment later Wanda saw it too, and slumped. It did look like a dog padding towards them - or at least, it certainly wasn’t a person.

“That’s not a dog,” T’Challa said.

“Fox, I think,” Bucky said. “What the fuck is a fox doing here?”

“I don’t think it’s a fox, either,” T’Challa said. He shifted, like he was thinking about getting into a fighting stance. Wanda stepped forward, reaching for her powers, but nothing was there.

What would be the point, anyway? You can only die once.

The fox - and it was a fox, Wanda could see that now, though black instead of red - slowed as it began to draw closer. It sat down, still a ways away, and cocked its head, looking at them.

“This is weird,” Sam said. T’Challa was still frowning.

“What is it?” Bucky asked him. T’Challa shook his head.

“I’m not certain.”

The fox stood, stretched, and changed, unfolding into a person. Wanda sucked in a breath, staring at the man now walking toward them: dark-haired, pale, lean and taller than Bucky or T’Challa. A vague sense of familiarity nagged at her, but she couldn’t say from where.

The man stopped, still several paces from them, and cocked his head just as the fox had. “Well,” he said, a faint rasp in his voice. “This is new.”

Wanda stared at him, trying to remember where she recognized him from. “New?”

“Yes,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else. But then, this time is different.”

“Wait,” Sam said abruptly. “Shit. Are you-”

“Mm,” he said, still looking at Wanda. T’Challa’s eyes were narrowed, too, and Sam’s. Bucky looked blankly at them both.

“What?”

“It’s always nice to be recognized,” the stranger said dryly.

“Loki,” Sam said. “That’s fucking Loki. Right?” Wanda’s eyes widened, but he - Loki - just shrugged one shoulder.

“So I am. Or was. I’m not certain of the appropriate tense.” His gaze swept across them, indifferent, disinterested.

“You’re dead, too,” Wanda said. Loki glanced at her, eyes focusing briefly before they slid back into dullness. No, exhaustion.

“Or something,” he said.

“‘Or something?’” Sam said. Loki’s eyes flicked in his direction.

“This doesn’t feel like death,” he said, “but I remember the feeling of my neck breaking in Thanos’s hand fairly clearly, so…” Wanda flinched, and she thought she saw Sam’s eye twitch. She remembered Thor coming roaring down from the sky, thunder and lightning in his voice, and understood. She looked down.

“What do you mean that this doesn’t feel like death,” T’Challa said into the silence.

“I know a little of what death tastes like,” Loki said after a moment. “This isn’t it.”

“What does that mean,” Bucky said, looking agitated and uncertain.

“I am Groot,” said Groot, and Loki glanced at him, something briefly flashing across his expression before it was gone. Pain, Wanda thought.

“Not entirely accurate,” he said, “but not entirely inaccurate, either.” There was a brief pause.

“You can understand him?” Bucky said. Loki shrugged again. “What did he say?”

“It’s irrelevant.” Loki’s eyes moved back to Wanda. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you were simply the high cost of victory?” Wanda looked down, somehow feeling ashamed of her failure. Loki let out a quiet huff. “Pity.”

Bucky, oddly, snorted.

“Thanos gained all of the Infinity Stones,” T’Challa said. “Then…” He trailed off. “I am not entirely certain what happened then.”

Loki made a sort of hm noise, glancing at T’Challa sidelong. “So you didn’t die in battle,” he said.

“If so, I do not remember it,” T’Challa said.

“I am Groot,” Groot said to Loki, whose head swiveled violently toward him, eyes sharpening.

“Gamora,” he said, and there was a wealth of hatred and fear in that word. “You are a companion of hers?”

“I am Groot,” Groot said emphatically, and Loki blinked, then pressed his lips together and exhaled in a short burst.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“Can you maybe translate what he’s saying,” Bucky said irritably. “Since all the rest of us can hear is the same three words over and over.”

“He says that Gamora claimed Thanos meant to use the completed Gauntlet to halve all life in the universe,” Loki said. “If you know that he achieved his goal, then presumably you were part of the unlucky half. Though that does not explain why you are here. Or else does not explain why I am.”

“And who’s Gamora,” Sam said, with such exaggerated patience that it demonstrated anything but.

“An old acquaintance,” Loki said. He sounded distracted.

“I am Groot,” Groot said, and this time Wanda could hear the near pride in his voice. Loki didn’t respond. He was scanning their number again, Wanda realized, more closely.

She bit her lip, then raised her voice and said, “Thor’s alive.” His gaze snapped to her, and she made herself hold it though her instinct was to look down. “At least, he was when I...he drove an axe into Thanos’s chest. It didn’t work, it was too late, but…” She trailed off.

Loki glanced down, his eyes half closing, and Wanda thought she caught a brief flicker at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, and a barely audible, “ah, Thor.” Then his eyes were back on hers and he said simply, “thank you for informing me,” with a lack of feeling that made Wanda frown.

“You haven’t asked who any of us are,” Bucky said.

“So I have not,” Loki said. “I am not certain it is precisely relevant.”

“Excuse you,” Sam said. Loki glanced at him, that tired indifference returning.

“I approached because I was curious. I wasn’t intending to stay, nor would I think you were inclined to encourage it.”

T’Challa was studying Loki with curious intensity. “Were you going somewhere?”

“No,” Loki said, and then paused and adjusted, “perhaps.”

“I am Groot?” Groot said, and Loki’s lips pressed briefly together.

“It means perhaps. And don’t be crude.”

“I’m with him,” Sam said. “What does perhaps mean?” Loki looked briefly annoyed, and Sam said, “come on. We’re all dead here. Or - not. Which still begs the question as far as I’m concerned of what we are.”

Loki’s eyes went back to her, and Wanda shifted. “What?” She asked. “Why do you keep looking at me?”

“You haven’t noticed anything strange, then?” He asked. “Felt anything?”

Too many things, Wanda thought, but she didn’t think that was what he meant, and now they were all looking at her. Wanda hesitated.

“I don’t have my powers,” she said slowly. Loki made a derisive noise.

“Of course you don’t,” he said. “Do you need them to sense what’s around you? Midgardian magicians. Norns.”

Wanda glared at him, but took a breath and tried to turn inward, like she was going to use her power. It still wasn’t there, but this time, without distractions…

She jerked and saw a satisfied glint in Loki’s eyes, just for an instant. “There,” he said.

“Wanda, what is it?” Sam asked, looking suspiciously at Loki.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But it feels like…” She searched for the right words. “Like a heartbeat,” she said finally, even if that wasn’t quite right.

Bucky’s expression was a mixture of horror and alarm. “A heartbeat?”

“So that’s what it feels like to you,” Loki said thoughtfully. He seemed more engaged now than he had been at first, and somehow even though it shouldn’t matter that felt like a good thing. Maybe because nothing else was.

“It’s not actually,” Wanda said quickly. “That’s just sort of what it feels like - to me, anyway. It’s...different for you?”

Loki shrugged. T’Challa shifted.

“I know what she means,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t have described it like that. But there is...something.”

“Interesting,” Loki said, glancing at T’Challa and looking him over with slightly more interest. “To answer your implied question, I would call it a...resonance.”

“A resonance with what,” Sam asked.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be bothering to talk to you,” Loki said. “But partly it is that which makes me think this is something other than simple death.”

“What is there other than ‘simple death,’” Bucky said tightly.

“That is the question, isn’t it,” Loki said. “Maybe nothing. Maybe I am wrong. But if I am not…”

“If you’re not, what,” Bucky said, even tighter.

“Then it begs the question of why, doesn’t it?” Loki rolled his neck in a slow circle, and Wanda could have sworn she heard something crack. “At least, such was my thought. But maybe it is just desperation.”

He didn’t sound desperate. He didn’t sound much of anything.

“Why not stay with us,” Wanda said abruptly. Everyone else turned to stare at her, Loki included, and she straightened, turning toward her friends. “I mean it,” she said. “Why not? We’re all here together. And if he’s right and there’s a why, a reason...wouldn’t it suggest that’s true for all of us, including him?” She paused, and added, “and besides - what can he do to us, anyway?”

Loki barked a laugh. “That is a fair point,” he murmured.

“How do we know this isn’t some kind of trick?” T’Challa asked, his eyes narrowed.

“You don’t,” Loki said. “But I will say that you vastly overestimate my interest in you. Well, the majority of you. And your witch has a point: what is it you think I will do?”

“I don’t know,” T’Challa said. “That’s what worries me.”

“And ‘our witch’ has a name,” Sam said a little sourly.

Loki shrugged. “As you will. It makes little difference to me.” He moved around them and started to walk away.

“I am Groot,” Groot muttered, and strode after him, long tree-legs catching up in a few strides. “I am Groot?” He said to Loki, who checked himself and looked at him, his face tightening.

“Was, yes,” he said. “Why?”

“I am Groot,” Groot said definitively, and Loki shook his head.

“Call back your child,” he said, with a sharp gesture at Groot.

“Child?” Sam said, eyebrows shooting up.

“He’s an adolescent Flora Colossus,” Loki said, as though it were obvious. “And he is not following me. I don’t care who you were friends with.”

Thor, Wanda thought. Groot didn’t know any of them, but he’d known Thor, at least a little, and Loki was Thor’s brother, and Groot was, apparently, a teenager, among strangers who couldn’t understand him, who had just died.

Wanda’s chest ached. “If he wants to,” she said, “I don’t see why he shouldn’t.”

“I’m not interested in playing nursemaid–”

“I am Groot,” Groot said, and Loki gave him a hard look.

“No, you are not,” he said. “I’ve met grown Flora Colossi and you aren’t it. You’re barely more than a sapling. Maybe - what, four years old?”

“You know what,” Bucky said, “I’m with Wanda, actually. And the, uh...Groot. This place is weird. I think we should stick together, and it seems like he knows more about this place than any of the rest of us do.” His eyes settled on Loki. “And it’s not like we have a whole lot to lose, right now.”

Sam gave Bucky a long, skeptical look and then glanced at T’Challa, who shrugged.

“You assume I am interested in putting up with the lot of you,” Loki said flatly. He looked tense, Wanda thought. Like he was expecting some kind of trap. Wanda tried to summon a smile.

“You said you came over because you were curious,” she said. “And if you’re right, and there is some reason we’re all here...isn’t that something else to be curious about?”

“I am Groot,” said Groot, and Loki glanced at him, jaw twitching.

“I’m dead, you twig,” he said. “If not now, then probably soon. And if I did need protecting, you wouldn’t be much help.”

Bucky snorted, poorly muffled. Wanda bit her lip so she didn’t smile. Groot’s expression was hard for her to read, but it looked to her eyes like a glare.

Loki exhaled loudly and looked away. “Fine,” he said. “If you are inclined...I suppose there’s no harm in traveling adjacently.”

“Traveling where?” Sam asked. “You make it sound like you have an actual destination.”

“I have a...feeling,” Loki said, though something about the brief pause before he spoke made Wanda think there was something he wasn’t saying. The question was if it was important or not. “No more than that.”

“Well,” T’Challa said after a few moments of hesitation, “that is more than I have, at the moment. And so far as I know we weren’t going anywhere in particular, so…”

“I guess that settles it,” Wanda said. Loki eyed her like he suspected her of having some ulterior motive. She decided to pretend not to notice. “So which way are we going?”

#anonymous #conversating #fic excerpt #i know this is an unsatisfying answer! i know it!#i just don't have a better one #this does remind me i should write up an actual faq at some point maybe

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